When the Civil War came to an end in 1865, St. Augustine was three centuries old. As the effects of the war and the reconstruction period wore away, the entertainment of winter residents and visitors was resumed. The city was still exceptionally quaint and foreign in appearance.
A visitor of 1869 found the Florida House, one of the city’s three small hotels, crowded with guests and wrote: “The number of strangers here greatly exceeded our expectations, and thronged in every street and public place. The fashionable belle of Newport and Saratoga, the pale, thoughtful clergyman of New England, were at all points encountered.”
The city badly needed better hotels and travel facilities. Visitors then had to come up the St. Johns River by steamer to Picolata, and from there a horse-drawn stage jolted them for eighteen miles over a miserable road to the San Sebastian River, where a flatboat ferried the carriage across the river to the city’s outskirts.
By 1871 travelers could go up the St. Johns River by steamer to Tocoi Landing, and there take a mule-drawn car over a crude railroad that ran fifteen miles east through the wilderness to St. Augustine. It was called the St. Johns Railway and a few years later installed two wood-burning locomotives.
The San Marco, St. Augustine’s first great resort hotel, was opened in 1886, and burned to the ground in 1897.
Its Isolation Broken
The bonds of isolation and inaccessibility, which had retarded St. Augustine’s growth yet preserved its Old World character, were gradually being removed. Some signs of this awakening were apparent. “Hammers are ringing on the walls of a new hotel,” a visitor noted, “in which northern tourists are to be lodged, a splendid coquina wall, which might have stood for another century, having been torn down to make room for this ephemeral box.”
The same observer lamented that because of these changes the city was losing some of it former charm: “The romance of the place is gradually departing now. The merry processions of the Carnival, with mask, violin and guitar, are no longer kept up with the old taste; the rotund Padri, the delicate form of the Spanish lady, clad in mantilla and basquina are gone.”