Treaty Ratified—Jackson Appointed Provisional Governor—Goes to Pensacola—Mrs. Jackson in Pensacola—Change of Flags—Callava Imprisoned—Territorial Government—Governor Duval—First Legislature Meets at Pensacola.

Although the United States was unremitting in its efforts to induce Spain to ratify the treaty of cession, her ratification was postponed from time to time under various pretexts. Prominent English journals having declared, that if Florida was ceded to the United States, Great Britain, in order to maintain her influence in the Gulf of Mexico, should insist upon a surrender to her of the Island of Cuba, public opinion in the United States settled down to the conclusion that the delay of the ratification was due to British intrigue. But, that this opinion was ill founded, is evident from President Monroe’s message of the seventh of December, 1819, in which he says: “In the course which the Spanish government has on this occasion thought proper to pursue, it is satisfactory to know that they have not been countenanced by any European power. On the contrary, the opinion and wishes of both France and Great Britain have not been withheld either from the United States or Spain, and have been unequivocal in favor of ratification.”

The procrastination of Spain was the occasion of intense public feeling in the United States; which at length formally manifested itself on March 8, 1820, in a resolution reported by the committee of Foreign Relations of the House of Representatives, to authorize the President to take possession of West Florida. Patience, however, prevailed, and on February 19, 1821, the ratification took place.

General Jackson was shortly afterwards appointed Provisional Governor of Florida, and instructed to proceed to Pensacola with a small military force, to receive from the Spanish authorities a formal surrender of West Florida. On April 18, he left the Hermitage, with Mrs. Jackson and his adopted son, Andrew Jackson Donelson, to enter upon the long, tedious journey to Pensacola, via New Orleans.

A stage of the journey in Southern Alabama, brought him to a military post, in the neighborhood of which, William Weatherford, the Creek hero, resided. At the suggestion of General Jackson, Colonel Brooke, the commandant of the Post, and his host, invited Weatherford to dine with his conqueror. The invitation was accepted. When the Great Chief appeared, Jackson cordially met him, and taking him by the hand, presented him to Mrs. Jackson as “the bravest man in his tribe.”

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.

There soon occurred, however, a painful interruption of the gallant Spaniard’s social enjoyment—so graceful an attendant of the change of government—by an occurrence which must be regarded as a lasting reproach to its authors.

The treaty required the Spanish government to surrender all documents relating to private rights in the archives of the province. This duty had been performed by Callava, who had caused a separation to be made between the documents falling within the definition of the treaty and others which did not, and had delivered the former to Alcalde H. M. Brackenridge, an appointee of the American governor. The latter papers, packed in boxes for transportation to Havana, were placed in the custody of Domingo Sousa, one of Callava’s subordinates. In the separation of the papers, one relating to the estate of Nicholas Maria Vidal, involving a trifling sum, was by accident placed with the documents in one of the boxes in Sousa’s possession.

A woman claiming to be an heir of Vidal complained to Brackenridge that the paper had not been delivered to him and was about to be removed to Havana by Sousa. Brackenridge, instead of politely calling Callava’s attention to the woman’s complaint and asking for a surrender of the document, at once made a preemptory demand for it upon Sousa. Sousa properly declined compliance, alleging his want of authority to do so without instructions from Callava, and at the same time, to relieve himself from responsibility in the matter, sent the boxes to Callava’s house. Brackenridge at once reported the matter to Jackson, who ordered Sousa to be imprisoned, and at the same time Callava to be arrested and brought before him immediately, although it was night and Callava was at the time at a dinner party at Colonel Brooke’s. When the knightly Castilian was brought before Jackson, he naturally proposed to enter a protest against such astonishing proceedings. This Jackson would not permit, but insisted that Callava should at once answer interrogatories to be propounded to him. Callava’s persistent attempts to protest were as persistently interrupted by Jackson, until at last the latter, in a rage of passion, ordered him to be imprisoned, an order which was promptly executed by committing him to the calaboose, where Sousa had preceded him. This outrage committed, Alcalde Brackenridge, as if determined to leave no bounds of decency unviolated, had the boxes at Callava’s house opened that night and took from one of them the worthless paper—worthless at least to the claimant—that had occasioned the trouble.

For this disgraceful transaction Brackenridge is primarily responsible. He was an intelligent lawyer, afterwards a judge, and later a member of Congress from Pennsylvania; and therefore, presumably acquainted with the decencies, to say nothing of the amenities of official intercourse. He was likewise well acquainted with Jackson’s prejudices and irascible temper, as well as what a fire-brand to his nature were the wrongs, whether real or simulated, of a woman. In the light of these considerations, Brackenridge must stand condemned, as either a wilful mischief-maker, or a wily sycophant, playing from selfish motives, upon the weaknesses of a great man.

But neither Jackson’s greatness, nor his being the dupe of Brackenridge, can remove from him the reproach of having in this transaction violated official courtesy, the chivalrous consideration due by one distinguished soldier to another, as well as the laws of international comity and hospitality.

A writ of Habeas Corpus was issued by Hon. Elijias Fromentin, U. S. Judge for West Florida, to bring before him Callava and Sousa, on the night they were committed. Obedience to the writ was refused by the guard, who sent it to the Governor. Thereupon, His Excellency issued a notice to the Judge to appear before him, “to show cause why he has attempted to interfere with my authority as Governor of the Floridas, exercising the powers of the Captain-General and Intendant of the Island of Cuba.” The Judge prudently delayed his appearance until the next day, in order to allow the Governor time to cool; but in the meantime remained in momentary expectation of a guard to take him to jail. The affair, however, ended in a stormy interview, in which to the Governor’s question, whether the Judge “would dare to issue a writ to be served on the Captain-General,” the latter replied, “No, but if the case should require it, I would issue one to be served on the President of the United States.”

After the troublesome paper was procured by Brackenridge, an order was made for the release of Callava. A few days after his release he left Pensacola for Washington to make his complaints to the United States government.

Some of the Spanish officers whom he had left in Pensacola, published after his departure, a paper expressing their sense of the outrage to which he had been subjected. This being regarded by Jackson as an attempt “to disturb the harmony, peace and good order of the existing government of the Floridas,” the protesting Spaniards were by proclamation ordered to leave the country by the third of October, allowing them four days for preparation, “on pain of being dealt with according to law, for contempt and disobedience of this, my proclamation.”

A tragedy occurred during Jackson’s rule, which illustrates his lack of tenderness of human life. With full knowledge of the affair, he permitted a duel to be fought in a public place by two young officers, Hull and Randall. When he was informed that the former had fallen, shot through the heart, pistol in hand, with the trigger at half-cock, he angrily exclaimed: “Damn the pistol; by G—d, to think that a brave man should risk his life on a hair-trigger!”

Jackson’s bearing generally, and especially his summary dealings with Callava and Sousa, had inspired the population with great fear of his despotic temper. Of that feeling there occurred a ludicrous illustration. An alarm of fire brought a crowd to the Public Square, which was near the fire. General Jackson also hurried to the scene. To stir the lookers-on to exertion, he made a yelling appeal. The crowd not understanding English, and thinking it had heard a notice to disperse, took to its heels, and left the General the sole occupant of the Square.

Mrs. Jackson was a domestic woman, and better satisfied to have her husband at home, than to see him in exalted stations requiring his absence from the Hermitage. Whilst in Pensacola, she pined for that dear spot; and it is, evidently, with joy, that she announced in a letter to a friend, that the General calls his coming to Florida, “a wild goose chase,” and that he proposed an early return. In October they returned to Tennessee.

That a man of his estate and political prospects, should have accepted, to fill for a few months, the office of Governor of a wilderness, with a salary of $5,000, admits of only one explanation. His recent campaign had been so severely condemned, that he regarded the tender of the appointment by Mr. Monroe, as having the semblance, at least, of a national apology for the injustice which he had suffered, and accordingly he accepted it in the spirit in which it was tendered. In a word, he filled the office, because filling it would be a vindication of his conduct in the campaign of 1818.

On the third of March, 1822, congress established a territorial government for both the Floridas as one territory. The first governor under the territorial organization was W. P. Duval of Kentucky, who had represented a district of that state in congress, and who was the original of Washington Irving’s Ralph Ringwood. He resided, temporarily, in Pensacola, where the legislative council of thirteen, appointed by the President, held its first session. It had hardly begun its work, however, when the yellow fever breaking out compelled an adjournment to the Fifteen-mile house, before mentioned, where the Florida statutes of 1822 were enacted. One of them illustrates the vice or virtue there may be in a name. The title of “An Act for the Benefit of Insolvent Debtors,” was misprinted in the laws of the session so as to read: “An Act for the Relief of Insolent Debtors.” The error destroyed its utility, and no man, it is said, as long as it remained on the statute book, ever invoked the relief of its provisions.

The limit assigned to these historical sketches has now been reached. The space that intervenes between the visit of the luckless Narvaez to Pensacola bay and the establishment of the territorial government of Florida embraces a period of nearly three hundred years. The changes and shifting scenes which, during that period, marked the history of the settlements on its shores, stand in contrast with the persistency of the arbitrary boundary line of the Perdido, established by the mutual consent of the Spanish and French in the early years of the eighteenth century. Disturbed by the English dominion for twenty years, it was restored by the Spanish, and finally confirmed in 1822 by the act of congress establishing a territorial government for the Floridas.

In 1820 the constitutional convention of Alabama, in anticipation of the ratification of the Spanish treaty, memorialized congress to embrace West Florida within the boundaries of that state. The memorial enforced the measure with all those obvious arguments which come to the mind when it turns to the subject. But they were silenced, as if by the imperious decree of fate that the Perdido boundary should be, and forever remain, a monument of d’ Arriola’s diligence in reaching the Gulf coast three years before d’ Iberville.

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