  The test of the Castillo’s strength was not long in coming. Relations with France had become peaceful, but incursions by the English-led Indians kept the backcountry inflamed. As tensions increased, Gov. JosÉ de ZÚÑiga y Cerda looked at the St. Augustine defenses with an experienced eye. ZÚÑiga knew, after a military career spanning 28 years, that strong walls were not enough. The Castillo’s guns were ancient and obsolete—many of them unserviceable. The powder from MÉxico so fouled the gun barrels that after “four shots, the Ball would not go in the Cannon.” Arquebuses, muskets, powder, and shot were in short supply. Once again Captain Ayala sailed directly to Spain to ask for aid. It was a race against time, for the War of the Spanish Succession with France and Spain allied against England had broken out. Gov. James Moore of Carolina lost no time moving against St. Augustine in 1702. If he could capture the Castillo, he would clap an English lock on the Straits of Florida and forestall a possible Spanish-French attack on Charleston. On the way south, Moore’s forces destroyed the Franciscan missions in the Guale country. At St. Augustine they avoided the Castillo and occupied the town, whose inhabitants had fled to the fort. South and west of its walls, where the town approached the fort, the Spaniards burned many structures that could have hidden the enemy advance. Moore’s 500 Englishmen and 300 Indians vastly outnumbered the 230 soldiers and 180 Indians and Negroes in the Castillo’s garrison, but Moore was ill-equipped to besiege the Castillo. He settled down to await the arrival of more artillery from Jamaica, and thus matters stood when four Spanish men-of-war arrived and blocked the harbor entrance, bottling up Moore’s fleet of eight small vessels. Moore burned his ships, left most of his supplies, and retreated overland to the St. Johns River. He left St. The ease with which the English had taken and held the city for almost two months made it clear that more defenses were needed. Moreover, English and Indian obliteration of the missions in Apalache, Timucua, and Guale had reduced Spanish control to the tiny area directly under the Castillo guns. In the next two decades strong earthworks and palisades, buttressed at strategic points with redoubts, made St. Augustine a walled town, secure as long as there were enough soldiers to man the walls. But in those dark days who could be sure of tomorrow? In 1712 came La Gran Hambre—the Great Hunger—when starving people even ate the dogs and cats. At last the war ended in 1714. The threat to St. Augustine lessened, but it was an uneasy kind of peace with many “incidents.” In 1728 Col. William Palmer of Carolina marched against the presidio. The grim walls of the fort, the readiness of the heavy guns, and the needle-sharp points of the yucca plants lining the palisades were a powerful deterrent. Palmer “refrained” from taking the town. For their part, the Spaniards fired their guns, but made no sorties. Palmer’s bold foray to the very gates of St. Augustine foreshadowed a new move southward by the English, beginning with the settlement of Savannah in 1732. With his eye on Florida, James Oglethorpe landed at St. Simons Island in 1736, built Fort Frederica, and nurtured it into a strong military post. From Frederica he pushed his Georgia boundary southward all the way to the St. Johns River—a scant 35 miles from St Augustine. Mortars have long held an important place in the family of field artillery because of their ability to throw a projectile over a barrier. The Spaniards were among the earliest to use mortars whose trajectory could be varied, thereby making the mortars even more effective. Meanwhile, Castillo de San Marcos began to show signs of being 50 years old. The capable engineer and frontier diplomat Antonio de Arredondo came from Havana to inspect Florida’s defenses and make recommendations. Backed by Arredondo’s expertise, Gov. Manuel de Montiano wrote a frank letter to the governor of Cuba, who was now responsible for Florida’s security: “Your Excellency must know that this castle, the only defense here, has no bombproofs for the protection of the garrison, that the counterscarp is too low, that there is no covered way, that the curtains are without demilunes, that there are no other exterior works to give them time for a long defense; ... we are as bare outside as we are without life inside, for there are no guns that could last 24 hours and if there were, we have no artillery-men to serve them.” Spanish-English Conflict, 1670-1748
The construction of the bombproof vaults in 1738-40 and 1751-56 provided a substantial room for the guard. Bedding was laid on the raised platform at left. Cuba’s governor was a resourceful administrator eager to meet his responsibilities. He sent guns, soldiers, artisans, convicts, provisions, and money. The walls would be raised five feet and masonry vaults, to withstand English bombs, would replace the rotting beams of old rooms in the Castillo. Stronger outworks would be built, too. To supervise the project, Engineer Pedro Ruiz de Olano came from Venezuela. The work began in April 1738 rather inauspiciously. The master of construction, one Cantillo, was a syphilitic too sick to earn his 16-real daily wage. Much of his work fell to his assistant, a 12-real master mason. All six stonecutters were Negroes. One was an invalid, and none of them as yet had much skill with coquina. For moving stone, there was but one oxcart. The labor gang—52 convicts—was too small. Nevertheless, quarry and kiln hummed with activity, and in the Castillo the crash of demolition echoed as the convicts pulled down old structures and began trenching for the new bombproofs. They started on the east, because this side faced the inlet where enemy action was likely. As usual, misfortunes beset the work. Cantillo’s illness worsened and Blas de Ortega came from Havana to replace him. Eight convicts working at the limekiln deserted. Engineer Ruiz moved a crew of carpenters, sawyers, and axemen from work on the Castillo to rebuild a blockhouse where the trail to Apalache crossed the St. Johns River. The oxcart driver broke his arm. Quarrying and stonecutting dragged. The old quarry played out. Luckily, a new one was found and opened, even though farther away. And Havana sent two more carts and more stonecutters and convicts. It was well into October before the carpenters began setting the forms for the vaults. The masons followed close on their heels and finished the first of the massive, round-arched bombproofs before the year ended. Just a year later all eight vaults, side by side along the east curtain, were done. Each one spanned a 17- by 34-foot area, and had its own door to the courtyard. Windows above and beside the door let in light and air. Ordnance
The tops of the ponderous vaults were leveled off with a fill of coquina chips and sand. Tabby mortar was poured onto the surface, and tampers beat the mixture smooth. After the first layer set, others were added until the pavement was six inches thick. The whole roof was thus made into a gun deck, and cannon were no longer restricted to the bastions alone. For unlike the old raftered roof, the new terreplein was buttressed by construction that could take tremendous weight and terrific shock; and masonry four feet thick protected the rooms underneath from bombardment. In San Carlos bastion, by mid-January of 1740, they had finished the tall watchtower and the new parapet. It was the English settlement of Georgia that had spurred all this activity. In fact, Spain’s plan for recovery of Georgia and other Spanish-claimed land was well past the first stages. Troops were assembling in Havana and reinforcements of 400 had already come to Florida. The situation came to a head when Spanish officials boarded Capt. Robert Jenkins’ ship Rebecca, believing the English mariners to be illegally carrying goods to Spanish settlements, an enterprise forbidden by Spanish law. In the ensuing scuffle, Jenkins’ ear was sliced off. Jenkins, back in London, reported to Parliament that the Spanish officer who handed him back his ear said: “Carry it to your King and tell his majesty that if he were present I would serve him in the same manner.” Alexander Pope, the couplet maker, smiled and said: “The Spaniards did a waggish thing/Who cropped our ears and sent them to the King.” But others were not amused, and England and Spain declared war in 1739. It was called, of course, the War of Jenkins’ Ear. England’s main target was the Caribbean, with Havana at center with Portobelo, Cartagena, and St. Augustine on the perimeter. Admiral Edward Vernon quickly won fame with his capture of Portobelo in 1739. Oglethorpe tried to imitate him in Florida. Already he had probed the St. Johns River approaches; St. Augustine would be next. Governor Montiano, however, was fully aware of weaknesses. “Considering that 21 months have been spent on a bastion and eight arches,” he pointed out, “we need at least eight years for rehabilitation of the Castillo.” How a Siege Works, Circa 1700
The Cubo Line originally stretched from the Castillo to the San Sebastian River. It was strengthened and rebuilt repeatedly by both the Spaniards and the British. The city gate, a part of the line, was built in 1808, only a few years before the United States took control of Florida. His concerns were genuine, for work on the vaults had to stop as the war dried up construction funds. The fort was left in a strangely irregular shape. The east side, including San Carlos bastion, was at the new height, but all others were several feet lower. The old rooms still lined three sides of the courtyard. On June 13, 1740, seven British warships dropped anchor outside the inlet. The long-expected siege of St. Augustine had begun. Montiano hastily sent the news to Havana and with it a plea for help. He had 750 soldiers and the 120 or more sailors who manned the galliots. Rations would last only until the end of June. The attackers numbered almost 1,400, including sailors and Indian allies. While the warships blockaded the harbor on the east, William Palmer came in from the north with a company of Highlanders and occupied the deserted outpost called Fort Mose. Oglethorpe landed his men and guns on each side of the inlet and began building batteries across the bay from the Castillo. Montiano saw at once that all the English positions were separated from each other by water and could not speedily reinforce one another. Fort Mose, at the village of the black runaways a couple of miles north of the Castillo, was the weakest. At dawn on June 26 a sortie from St. Augustine hit Fort Mose, and in the bloodiest action of the siege scattered the Highlanders and burned the palisaded fortification. Colonel Palmer, veteran of Florida campaigns, was among the dead. As if in revenge, the siege guns at the inlet opened fire. Round shot whistled low over the bay and crashed into fort and town. Bombs from the mortars soared high—deadly dots against the bright summer sky—and fell swiftly to burst with terrific concussion. The townspeople fled, 2,000 of them, some to the woods, others to the covered way where Castillo walls screened them from the shelling. For 27 nerve-shattering days the British batteries thundered. At the Castillo, newly laid stones in the east parapet scattered under the hits, but the weathered old walls held strong. As one Englishman observed, the native rock “will not splinter but will give way to cannon ball as though you would stick a knife into cheese.” One of the balls shot away a The heavy guns of San Marcos and the long 9-pounders of the fast little galliots in the harbor kept the British back. Despite the bluster of the cannonades, the siege had stalemated. Astride the inlet, Oglethorpe and his men battled insects and shifting sand on barren, sun-baked shores, while Spanish soldiers in San Marcos, down to half rations themselves, saw their families and friends starving. On July 6 Montiano wrote, “My greatest anxiety is provisions. If these do not come, there is no doubt that we shall die in the hands of hunger.” The very next day came news that supplies had reached a harbor down the coast south of Matanzas. Shallow-draft Spanish vessels went down the waterway behind Anastasia Island, fought their way out through Matanzas Inlet and, hugging the coast, went to fetch the provisions. Coming back into Matanzas that same night, they found the British blockade gone; they reached St. Augustine unopposed. Oglethorpe made ready to assault the Castillo despite the low morale of his men. His naval commander, however, was nervous over the approach of the hurricane season and refused to cooperate. Without support from the warships, Oglethorpe had to withdraw. Daybreak on July 20—38 days since the British had arrived at St. Augustine—revealed that the redcoats were gone. This 1763 engraving shows the finished Castillo after all the bombproof vaults and a new ravelin had been built. Beyond the military aspects, which were so vital to the decision to establish St. Augustine, the city had become a vibrant community of soldiers, their families, government officials, and shopkeepers. Religion and the church played an important part in the life of the community. This page from a Roman Catholic missal. printed in 1690, is open to the service for Easter The right-hand column recounts the story of how the Marys went to the tomb and found it empty. |
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