Historical Sketches of Colonial Florida

by Richard L. Campbell

Coming into Florida early in July, on reaching what was then known as the Fifteen Mile House, now as Gonzalia, where Mr. Manuel Gonzalez then had his cattle ranch, the General spent several days with him. Whilst there, hearing of the approach of his troops, accompanied by Mr. Gonzalez, he went up the road to meet them. Coming to a creek, they saw the wagons of several up-country traders stuck in the mud, which the latter, for lack of sufficient force, were making ineffectual attempts to move. On the other side of the branch were several men lying on the ground, and horses grazing near them. Accosting the men who were tugging at the wheels of a wagon, Jackson said, “Why don’t you get those men across the branch to help you?” “Oh! they say they are General Jackson’s staff.” “Well,” said he, “I am General Jackson himself, and by the eternal, I will help you!” And with those words, dismounting from his horse, and throwing off his coat, he lustily put his shoulder to the wheel.

Upon the arrival of the troops at the Fifteen Mile House, headquarters were established, and remained there until all the arrangements were made for a formal change of government.

Mrs. Jackson, however, took up her residence at Pensacola two or three weeks before July 17, when the change of flags was to take place. During the Sundays which preceded the change, Mrs. Jackson, who was an eminently pious woman, cherishing great reverence for the Sabbath, was greatly scandalized by the manner in which it was dishonored. Shops did more business on that day than any other. It was a day of public gambling, fiddling, dancing, and boisterous conduct. When the last Sunday of Spanish rule came, seemingly because the last, the fiddling, dancing, noise and confusion, exceeded that of any preceding one. Unable to restrain her pious indignation, Mrs. Jackson vented it in a protest against the Sabattic Saturnalia, made through Major Staunton, with the emphatic announcement that the next Sunday should be differently spent.

In anticipation of the change of government, there was a large influx of people from the States, induced by the great expectations entertained of the future of Pensacola; a future in which it was confidently predicted, it was to be the rival of New Orleans. Many persons also came expecting official appointments from the new Governor, but who, greatly to his chagrin, as we learn from Mrs. Jackson’s letters, were disappointed, in consequence of the President himself making the appointments.

At length the sun arose upon the day when its beams were for the last time to bathe in light the ancient banner of Castile and Aragon, as the emblem of the sovereignty of these shores. In the early morning appeared in the Public Square the Spanish Governor’s guards, handsomely dressed and equipped, consisting of a full company of dismounted dragoons of the regiment of Tarragona. After a parade, they fell into line south of the flag staff, extending from east to west in front of the Government House, which stood on the north-east corner of Jefferson and Sargossa streets. At eight o’clock there marched down Palafox street a battalion of the Fourth Infantry, and a company of the Fourth United States Artillery, coming from their camp at Galvez Springs, which filing into the Square, formed a line opposite the Spanish guards, and north of the flag staff. Precisely at ten o’clock, General Jackson and his staff, entering the Square, passed amid salutes from the Spanish and American troops, between their lines to the Government House, where Governor Callava awaited him for the purpose of executing the documentary formalities of the cession. As the first sign that this act was performed, the Spanish sergeant guard at the gate was relieved by an American sentinel. General Jackson and Governor Callava then left the house, and passed between the double line of troops. As they reached the flag staff the Spanish flag came down, and the stars and stripes went up, saluted by the Fourth Artillery and the sloop-of-war Hornet, whilst her band, assisting at the ceremony, played the Star Spangled Banner.

At Barrancas the ceremony was slightly different. The flags of both nations appeared at the same time at half-mast. In that position they were saluted by the Spaniards. As the flags were separated, one ascending and the other descending, both were honored with a salute by the Americans.

The day was naturally one of rejoicing to the Americans, but as naturally one of sadness and in some instances of heart aches to the Spanish population. The advantages of being under the United States government were too great not to be appreciated by owners of real estate and business men generally. But there was a sentimental side to the change. Some of the Spanish garrison had married in Pensacola, and with others the inhabitants had formed social ties, induced by a common language, habits and tastes. To them it can well be imagined that the change of flags was but the presage of bitter separations. In 1763 all the Spanish left the country, and in a common exile mutual consolation was found; but, in 1821, the sorrow was that a part went and a part remained to mingle with a strange people. Mrs. Jackson, in a letter, thus expresses the emotions of the occasion: “Oh! how they burst into tears to see the last ray of hope depart from their devoted city and country—delivering up the keys of the archives—the vessels lying in the harbor in full view to waft them to their distant port.... How did the city sit solitary and mourn. Never did my heart feel more for a people. Being present, I entered immediately into their feelings.”

The Sunday following the change was, according to Mrs. Jackson’s prediction, one of quietude and freedom from the license of previous ones, which had so shocked her religious sensibilities. She thus expresses the change: “Yesterday I had the happiness of witnessing the truth of what I had said. Great order was observed, the doors kept shut, the gambling houses demolished, fiddling and dancing not heard any more on the Lord’s day, cursing not to be heard.” For the change the lovers of Sunday quietude were doubtless indebted to Mrs. Jackson, for her prediction is not to be taken as that of a prophetess who merely foresees and foretells, but that of a woman with a will of her own, and conscious of her ability to direct the stern governor in the exercise of his authority, at least outside of politics.

The next morning after the change of flags, the Spanish officers and garrison sailed for Havana in the transports Anne Maria and Tom Shields, under convoy of the United States sloop-of-war Hornet.

Governor Callava and staff, however, remained in Pensacola, where his handsome person, polished manners, soldierly bearing and high character made him a general favorite with the American officers and their families, who extended to him every social courtesy. General and Mrs. Jackson, however, were distant and reserved in their bearing towards him, resulting in some measure from a prejudice against Spanish officials induced by the general’s experience with Maurique and Masot. Perhaps, too, there mingled with that prejudice a slight feeling of jealousy of Callava’s social success, a weakness from which strong characters, under the insinuation of others, are not exempt.