This city, the ancient metropolis of the Spanish Province of East Florida, is situated near the Atlantic coast, little south of the 30th parallel of north latitude. The southern point of a narrow peninsula, formed by the confluence of the waters of the St. Sebastian River and the sea, which here is backed in behind Anastatia Island, through the inlets of North River and Matanzas bar, is the site on which the city stands.

The island, behind which takes place an expansion of these waters into a beautiful harbor, accessible to all classes of vessels drawing nine feet, which is the depth on the bar at low water, is a long, low, and narrow body of sand and coquina, or shell rock, which is covered with various shrubbery; and though it affords a barrier to the surf of the Atlantic, it does not obstruct the cooling sea-breeze, nor indeed a prospect of the ocean from elevated stations.

PECULIARITIES.

The town is nearly surrounded with salt water. The face of the country, skirting on the seaboard, from Cape Hatteras hither, is low, level, and sandy. This feature prevails southward to near Cape Florida; when the rock-bound shore, the rudiments of which begin with the coquina formation opposite the city, again is made the barrier against the encroachments of the sea, and continues until it is broken up among the keys of the Florida archipelago.

The country around the city, is a plain of sandy shell soil, termed “pine barren.” With this the city is joined, on the west, by a substantial bridge over the St. Sebastian River; and on the north, in a neck of land over a stone causeway. Egress at this point is made from the city by a thoroughfare, once commanded by a fortified trench and gateway. On the east, are the harbor and bay, which open in a beautiful sheet of water, over which, towering above the sand hills, on the adjacent island, is seen the light-house, originally a fortified “look-out,” where the Spanish sentry watched against danger.

The peninsula on which the city stands is said to have been originally a “shell hammock.” The soil consists of shell and sand, with an intermixture of vegetable mould. The surface has but a slight elevation above the level of the surrounding water. Both these circumstances are favorable. In wet weather, the texture of the soil is favorable to a rapid extraction of the super-abundant moisture from the surface; and in dry weather, the slight elevation of the land above the sea, enables it to withstand drought,—the waters percolating through the soil, refresh vegetation.

These things conspire to promote the health of the city, inclosed as it is by the arms of the sea, to whose salubrious and refreshing breezes it is entirely open.

DESCRIPTION OF THE CITY.

The city of St. Augustine is built in the style of an ancient Spanish military town. The plan of the city is a parallelogram, traversed longitudinally by two principal streets the whole length. These are intersected at right angles, transversely, by several cross streets, which divide the city into squares. Though not larger than many of our New England villages, the city is nevertheless regularly laid out, as it was intended to be compactly built, each square having more or less space, once occupied with groves of the orange, which a few years since were the glory and wealth of the place. Indeed, it was once a forest of sturdy orange trees, in whose rich foliage of deep green, variegated with golden fruit, the buildings of the city were embosomed; and whose fragrance filled the body of the surrounding atmosphere so as to attract the notice of passers by on the sea; and whose delicious fruit was the great staple of export.

The harbor fronts on the east, and is furnished with good wharves. The sandy beach of the St. Sebastian brings up the rear on the west, affording space for a delightful drive around the city; while a once thrifty but now ruinous suburb—the bubble of speculation in “morus multicaulus” times—called the North City, fills the background on the north.

BUILDINGS.

The coquina rock, a concretion of sand and shell formed on the neighboring sea-beach on the south side of the bar and on the island—the upper extremity of which opens in sheets, ready for quarrying, and on which quarries are now extensively worked—is the principal building material. The streets are excessively narrow, and are furnished with neither side-walks nor pavements. The houses are usually two-story buildings, generally crowded into the streets; and are built without much regard to architectural style or ornamental beauties.

Not unfrequently a piazza projects from the base of the second story, which in some cases is inclosed with movable Venetian shutters, so as to control the draft of air, and increase or abate it at pleasure.

These appendages, though they add greatly to the comfort of the occupants, nevertheless disfigure the buildings by impairing their symmetrical proportions. The piazza, especially, awakens a sensation of peril, as one passes for the first time on horseback through the streets, particularly if he has been accustomed to the broad thoroughfares and elevated structures of a northern Anglo-American city. The contrast is great.

GREAT ANTIQUITY OF THE CITY.

In all its outlines and main features, this city is deeply traced with the furrows of age. It also wears a foreign aspect to the eye of an American. Ruinous buildings, of antique and foreign model, vacant lots, broken inclosures, and a rough, tasteless exterior, scarred by the ravages of fire and time, awaken a sense of discomfort and desolation in the mind of a stranger.

APPEARANCE.

From the sea, as you enter the inlet from the harbor, the city presents a fine view. Any distant prospect is decidedly pleasing. Its deformities—the narrow streets—dilapidated buildings, with their projecting piazzas—are lost to the eye in the distance; in which, also, unity of effect is produced by the regularity of the plan on which the city is built; which effect is heightened greatly by the ornamental trees, whose foliage screens many of the houses—the overshadowing pride of India—and the vigorous “morus multicaulus.” There is, however, much to relieve the first unfavorable impressions of a stranger. Its comfortless appearance is the effect of first impressions, which of course are superficial, and often delusive. The blighted stocks of desolate orange groves—the tokens of decay—the obvious lack of industry and taste, and the consequent want of thrift—on a close inspection, are relieved by a constant succession of images of the past, illustrative of the character of Castilian mind in a heroic and barbarous age. Moreover, there is a rapid transition in progress. This ancient city is being transformed into American features, both in its external appearance, and in the habits and customs of the people.

Many of its recent edifices are in the neat, attractive style of American village architecture. Especially is this the case in the neighborhood of the Magnolia House.

PUBLIC PLACES.

The city has a public square, or inclosed common. In the centre, a monument some sixteen or eighteen feet high, has been erected. It commemorates the giving of a constitutional basis to the Spanish government. On its fronts, the following Spanish sentence is engraved:—“Plaza de la Constitution.”

The three sides of this square, or plaza, are now bounded by as many streets, fronting on which are the public buildings. The Government House, now used as a hall of justice, and for public offices, stands on the west front. On the east, near to the water, are the market buildings. The Roman Catholic Cathedral, surmounted with the vertical section of a bell-shaped pyramid, which supports a chime of bells, and which terminates in a small cross, stands on the north; and on the opposite south front is the Episcopal Church, a neat, well-proportioned Gothic edifice, having a spire and bell.

The Presbyterian and Methodist Churches, the former north and the latter south from the common, on the same street, are well-built, substantial houses of worship, of

simple Grecian style of architecture and neat American finish.

PUBLIC WORKS.

St. Francis Barracks, on the southern extreme of the city; Fort Marion, on the north, with its water-battery and the sea-wall, are among the objects of historical and military interest within the city.

The sea-wall is erected of the native coquina rock. The upper stratum is granite flagging stone. This important work is more than a mile in extent, and of sufficient width for two to walk on it abreast. As a public promenade, as well as a fortification against the encroachments of the sea, it is of great use; and it is also a place of universal and of delightful resort.

This wall incloses two beautiful basins, furnished also with stone steps. These are the points of embarkation and of debarkation for the numerous boatmen who navigate the neighboring waters for pleasure and for profit.

The Castle is a fortress of great strength, covering several acres, and built entirely of stone from the neighboring coquina quarries, and according to the most approved principles of military science. It is said to be a “good specimen of military architecture.”

Its walls are twenty-one feet high, terminating in four bastioned angles, at the several corners, each of which is surmounted with towers corresponding. “The whole is casemated and bomb-proof.” This work is inclosed in a wide and deep ditch, with perpendicular walls of mason-work, over which is thrown a bridge, originally protected by a draw.

Within its massive walls are numerous cells. On the north side, opposite the main entrance, is one fitted up as a Romish church. It has now become converted into a storehouse for military fixtures. These rooms are at best dark, dungeon-like abodes; and, by natural association, they revive the recollection of scenes characteristic of a dark and cruel age.

Some of these gloomy retreats, though like Bunyan’s giant Despair they now can only grin in ghastly silence at the Pilgrim stranger, yet look as if they were once the strong-holds of despotic power. With this character the gossip of common fame also charges them.

The Castle commands the entrance to the harbor. Its water battery is furnished with a complement of Paixhan guns of heavy caliber. These are in a state of readiness to be mounted.

The Castle is a place of chief and universal attraction to the curious stranger. On approaching the main entrance, through the principal gateway, the first object of interest is a Spanish inscription, engraved on the solid rock immediately over head, and under the arms of Spain, and is as follows, viz.:[1] “Reynando en Espana el son Don Fernando Sexto y Sierdo Governador y Capitan General di esta Plaza de San Augustine de Florida y su Provincia el Moriscal de Campo Dn. Alonzo Fernandez de Herida se conduyo este Castello el ano de 1756 dirigendo las abras et Capitan ynginero Don Pedro de Brazas y Garay.”

On reaching the interior of the Fort, the several apartments may be explored, except those where the magazine is found, and those which are used as cells for prisoners—the State being permitted to confine its prisoners therein.

Within the bastion of the northeast angle, far under ground, is a dark, dungeon-like recess, constructed of solid mason-work. Before entering here, the guide will furnish himself with a torchlight of pitch-wood.

This place was accidentally discovered soon after the work fell into the hands of the American army. It was then walled up, and was not before known to have had an existence. Of this concealed retreat, Rumor has whispered strange things.

A human skeleton, with the fragments of a pair of boots and an empty mug for water, it is alleged were discovered within. As to the history of the place—whether it was once an inquisitorial chamber, or the scene of vengeance, where bigotry invoked the secular arm to silence heretical tongues, and suppress heretical thoughts; and as to the name, character, standing, guilt or innocence, pleasures or pains, of the poor unfortunate to whom the boots and bones belonged, there is silence. Either Fame has been unable to catch the echo through the lapse of time, or shame bids her be silent, or horror has paralyzed her tongue.

By these, and like rumors, either truth or fiction has succeeded in investing this place with mysterious and melancholy interest to an American citizen.

The Barracks occupy a spot on which were the ruins of an ancient monkish retreat, near the south end. The main building is a substantial structure, of large dimensions and neat appearance. The prospect from it, of the harbor, bar, ocean, and neighboring country, is delightful. Its location is one of the most eligible in the city. A large space is inclosed in rear of the main building, for a garden; the southern extremity of which is occupied as a military burial ground, where repose the ashes of the major part of the regular force of the United States, who fell in battle during the recent bloody Seminole war. Chaste and beautiful monuments with appropriate inscriptions, mark the spot where sleep the gory dead.

Here, beneath two pyramids, together in one bed repose the ashes of one hundred and seven men—the gallant Major Dade and his intrepid warriors—a sacrifice to the vengeance of the brave and warlike Seminole, who with the Indian agent were the first fruits of the terrible threat of Osceola, who having indignantly rejected all overtures on the part of the government to leave the graves of his fathers, on closing his intercourse with the government agent, being refused the right of purchasing powder, thus addressed himself to Gen. Thompson: “Am I a negro? a slave? My skin is dark, but not black. I am an Indian—a Seminole. The

white man shall not make me black! I will make the white man red with blood; and then blacken him in the sun and rain, where the wolf shall smell his bones, and the buzzard live upon his flesh!”[2] The extreme point of the peninsula, south, on which the city is located, is occupied with the outlines of an ancient breastwork, in a ruinous condition, and the United States Arsenal buildings.

On the whole, it will be seen, from the facts above stated, that this city is not without its interest to the antiquary and to the historian. If not old Spain in miniature, it is a chip of the block of the old in the new world, a relic of the past interwoven with the texture of the present age.