In February, 1835, an unprecedented depression of temperature destroyed the orange trees which embosomed the town and rendered the place exceedingly attractive. The deep green foliage concealed the dingy and often unsightly buildings. The fragrance of the blossoms in spring was almost overpowering, and was said to be perceptible far out to sea. The income of the people of the town derived from the sale of their oranges was not far from seventy-five thousand dollars annually, and the crop that was yearly sent from St. Augustine in sailing vessels exceeded three million oranges. One orange tree upon the plaza is reported to have borne twelve thousand oranges. In 1829, Mr. A. Alverez picked from one tree in his garden six thousand five hundred oranges, and it is recorded that “an old citizen picked from one tree eight thousand of the golden apples. The Minorcan population of St. Augustine had been accustomed to depend on the produce of their little groves of eight or ten trees, to purchase their coffee, sugar, and other necessaries from the stores; they were left without resource. The wild groves suffered equally with those cultivated. The town of St. Augustine, that heretofore appeared like a rustic village, its white houses peeping from the clustered boughs and golden fruit of their favorite tree, beneath whose shade the foreign invalid cooled his fevered limbs, and imbibed health from the fragrant air, how is she fallen! Dry, unsightly poles, with ragged bark, stick up around her dwellings, and where the mocking bird once delighted to build her nest, and tune her lovely song, owls now hoot at night, and sterile winds whistle through the leafless branches. Never was a place more desolate.”[37]
Many of the trees had attained a very large size and great age. A large number sent out sprouts from the roots, and if undisturbed, many groves would have borne profitable crops in a few years. The scale insect, however, made its appearance in 1842 in countless multitudes, blighting the groves throughout Florida. For twenty years it was a constant struggle, on the part of the few who retained their faith in the success of orange culture, to rid their groves of this destructive insect. Finally, nature provided in some way an exterminator of the insect, and from that time there has been no serious drawback to the culture of oranges in Florida. Williams describes the inhabitants at this time as “a temperate, quiet, and rather indolent people; affectionate and friendly to each other, and kind to the few slaves they held. They mostly kept little stores, cultivated small groves or gardens, and followed fishing and hunting.” Posey balls, masquerades, and sherivarees were their principal diversions.
The posey dance of St. Augustine was introduced in the following manner: “The females of a family, no matter what their rank or station in life may be, erect in a room of their house a neat little altar, lit up with candles, and dressed with pots and festoons of flowers. This is understood by the gentlemen as a polite invitation to call and admire the taste of the fair architects. It is continued for several successive evenings; in the meantime the lady selects from her visitors some happy beau, whom she delights to honor, and presents him with a bouquet of choice flowers. His gallantry is then put to the test; should he choose to decline the proffered honor, he has only to pay the expenses of lighting up the altar. But if he accepts the full dignity offered him, he is king of the ball, which shortly succeeds, and the posey lass becomes queen, as a matter of course. The posey ball is a mixed assembly. People of all ranks meet here on a level, yet they are conducted with the nicest decorum, and even with politeness and grace.
“Sherivarees are parties of idle people, who dress themselves in grotesque masquerade, whenever a widow or widower is married. They often parade about the streets and play buffoon tricks for two or three days; haunting the residence of the new married pair, and disturbing the whole city with noise and riot.
“The carnival is a scene of masquerading, which was formerly celebrated by the Spanish and Minorcan populations with much taste and gayety; but since the introduction of an American population, it has during the whole winter season been prostituted to cover drunken revels, and to pass the basest objects of society into the abodes of respectable people, to the great annoyance of the civil part of the community.”[38]
These and other customs have long since ceased to exist, and many are already forgotten. One of these was “shooting the Jews,” originally a religious ceremony, but afterwards a diversion. For many years it was the custom to hang effigies at the street corners and upon the plaza on the evening of Good Friday. When the bells in the cathedral, which are never rung during Good Friday, began on Saturday morning at ten o’clock to ring the Hallelujah, crowds of men in the streets commenced to shoot with guns and pistols at the hanging effigies. This was continued until some unerring marksman severed the cord about the neck of the image, or perhaps it was riddled and shredded by the fusilade.
The Spanish veil was until a late period the only covering for the head worn by the ladies of the town. A lady now living has described the disapproval manifested at the appearance of the first bonnet in church. Great indignation was expressed, and loud protests against the insult offered to the church and congregation by this supposed exhibition of ill-breeding and irreverence.
In the memory of those now living wheeled vehicles within the gates were first allowed. Before that time all moving of goods was done in packs. The narrow streets without sidewalks evidently were not intended for the passage of carts and carriages. Saddle-horses were common, but their path was the center of the street, which was rendered hard and smooth with pounded coquina, and kept so neat that the ladies wore on their feet only the thinnest of slippers.
One of the ancient customs brought from the island of Minorca is yet continued.
On the night before Easter Sunday the young men go about the city in parties serenading. Approaching the dwelling of some one whom they wish to favor with their song, or from whom they expect the favors asked in their rhyme, they knock gently upon the window. If their visit is welcome they are answered by a knock from within, and at once begin the following song said to be in the Mahonese dialect: