The Minorcan Quarter, The Colonial Tale of St. Augustine

By Nancy Pellicer Dyer

In 1777, as war raged in the thirteen colonies of America, a destitute band of Mediterranean immigrants escaped slavery from one Florida colony to begin anew in another, St. Augustine. Desperate, six hundred survivors of the ill fated New Smyrna Colony took up arms and fled, escaping nine years of brutality, starvation, disease and death. They were met at the gates of an unwelcoming city by new challenges, sacrifices and disasters.

The fourteenth colony of Florida is greatly overlooked in our nation's history. Yet from our nation's oldest city comes this tale of how the longest surviving inhabitants earned the right to call St. Augustine home. Their frontier existence was a day-to-day struggle to survive oppression, epidemics and wars. Follow this band of refugees as they scratch a new life from the hostile streets and set down deep roots.

They started out fourteen hundred strong and after nine years held against their wills, over one thousand died. The governor intervened promising to end their plight and suffering. Governor Patrick Tonyn tells the band of refugees they can have land in the city of St. Augustine to start anew. The Minorcans risk their lives to escape indentureship in the brutal colony only to find things were not as promised by the governor. Many more would die on the streets as they waited for the promised land.

The Minorcan Quarter is a story about life and raising a family in a wretched and unfriendly environment where little was gained without plenty of sacrifice. Often humorous, the author spins an engaging tale built around strong characters, both men and women, facing major events in our nation's history. Against all odds their spirit prevailed in the ghetto despite the ever changing English, Spanish, and American governments.

Following in the path of the first novel, The Minorcan Yoke, the sequel, The Minorcan Quarter is an inspirational tale of struggling immigrants. They not only survive but thrive through extremely difficult times, as they are ravaged by catastrophes to build a proud community that has lasted for centuries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Pellicer Dyer
• Release date: Sep 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310099335

Nancy Pellicer Dyer

Nancy Pellicer Dyer is of Minorcan descent. Her family is from St. Augustine, Florida, the nation's oldest city. She grew up hearing stories of the struggles of her ancestors from her father. Her desire to find the truth behind the folk tales culminated in her desire to share what she had learned in her first novel, The Minorcan Yoke.Nancy extensive research also lead to her sequel novel, The Minorcan Quarter. Continuing where the first book left off, The Minorcan Quarter tells of the hardships the newly freed indentured servants endured as they set out to establish roots in our oldest colony.Nancy is a Navy veteran and has had a successful working career in the communication industry. Today, she is a full time author working on her third novel. Nancy and her husband live near Richmond, Virginia. She is .

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The Minorcan Quarter

The Colonial Tale of St. Augustine

By Nancy Pellicer Dyer

The Minorcan Quarter

By Nancy Pellicer Dyer

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Nancy Pellicer Dyer

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This is work of historical fiction. Many of the people were real but the

story has been fictionalized. No part of this book may be produced in

any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means,

including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission

in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book,

except for the minimum words needed for review.

Print version ISBN: 978-0-9846536-8-3

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014915004

Published by Global Authors Publications

Edited by Mary Lois Sanders

Interior Design by Veronica Byrd and KathleenWalls

Cover Design by Kathleen Walls

Cover Image Copyright David M. Schrader,

Used under license from Shutterstock.com

Author Photograph by Larry J. Dyer

The Minorcan Quarter

The Colonial Tale of St. Augustine

By Nancy Pellicer Dyer

Dedication

To Suzanne Pellicer Fogleman and Sheila Senik for your time, encouragement, and proof reading.

To author Lydia Hawke for your gracious mentoring, expertise, guidance, and editing.

To Larry Dyer for your never ending support, love, and encouragement. You always set the best examples in life and learning for me to emulate.

Most of all to my father, Andrew Joseph Pellicer, Jr. Your pride in my accomplishments made every endeavor worth while. The rest of the Minorcan story is told for you.

The indigo field at New Smyrna ran to waste; the sugar mills in decay; and the iron works sank into the ground. Over them clambered the yellow jasmine and the passion flower; above them the magnolia bloomed once more; and years afterwards, a party of explorers found the wild orange growing out from the rusted boilers. So kindly nature drew over the ruins her mantle of green, and blotted out with flowers each vestige of the unhappy site.

- Charles B. Reynolds

Old St. Augustine 1891

Also by Nancy Pellicer Dyer

The Minorcan Yoke

Minorcan Quarter

Table of Contents

Family Tree

The King's Highway

First Days

The End and Beginning

Changes in Life

Cherokee Grove

War of 1812

Indian War

Elder Years

Afterword

About the Author

Foreword

As a result of the Seven Year War between Spain and England, the Treaty of Paris ceded Florida to England in 1763. England granted religious freedom to the inhabitants of Florida to encourage them to remain, but the Spanish occupants departed St. Augustine for Spanish owned Cuba, leaving a near empty town to the arriving English Protestants.

In an effort to repopulate the newly acquired land, England released a proclamation that encouraged the settlement of Florida. Large land grants could be obtained from the Board of Trade in London. Several such land grants were combined in a partnership and a new colony was established at the Mosquito Inlet, renamed New Smyrna. To populate the new colony, indentured servants were brought from the Mediterranean, people ideally suited for the harsh climate and crop production.

For nine years the Minorcan, Greek, and Italian indentured servants of the New Smyrna Colony persevered, struggling to survive against tremendous odds and brutality until at last they were granted their freedom by the Governor of East Florida.

But hope was not yet at hand. Their journey to freedom would start anew.

The Pellicer Family Tree

Husband - Don Francisco Pellicer, born 1747, died 1826

1st Wife - Margarita Femanias, born 1747, died 1784

Children:

Son - Antonio Pellicer, born 1774

Daughter - Juana Pellicer (aka Jane), born 1776

Son - Bartolome Francisco Pellicer, born 1778

Daughter - Catarina Pellicer, born 1780

Daughter - Margarita Pellicer, born 1781

2nd Wife - Juana Villa, born 1764, died 1826

Children:

Daughter - Maria Pellicer (aka Mary), born 1784

Daughter - Antonia Pellicer, born 1786

Son - Francisco Pedro Pellicer (aka Chico), born 1788

Son - Andres Pellicer, born 1791

Son - Juan Antonio Eugenio Pellicer, born 1793

Daughter - Margarita Pellicer, born 1795

Son - Santiago Pellicer, born 1796

Son - James Pellicer, born 1797

Daughter - Juana Pellicer, born 1799

Son - Pedro Francisco De Paula Pellicer, born 1801

Son - Antonio Pellicer, born 1802

Daughter - Juana Antonia Paula Pellicer, born 1803

Daughter - Rafaela Margarita Pellicer, born 1805

Slaves:

Pompey, Peter, Parker, B*, Mark, George, Billy, Andrew, S*, Bella, Sally, A*, Tony, Mary, Charlotte, Peggy, Manuel, Victoria, William, Hannah, Cato, Thomas, Lucy, and Child, Jim - Leased

* The records of some slave’s names are illegible

1

The King's Highway

New Smyrna

April 1777

Juana Villa tightly clutched the shawl wrapped bundle to her breast as she stepped over the vine that twined itself among the small bushes at the edge of the woods. Her foot splashed down in the puddle forming over the leaf litter and she turned back seeking reassurance that her sister and parents were close on her heels. She could make out the figure of her father in the rear, partly obscured by the rain in the predawn light. Juana could feel her tattered wet skirt clinging to her legs. The cool morning air and dripping leaves under the jungle canopy added to the eerie feel. She shivered as she tried to pull her clinging skirt free, her bare foot snagged on a root. She gasped as she stumbled. The bundle clamored as the two metal pots jostled within her shawl. She stopped and silently repositioned them as she looked about to see if anyone had heard.

Antonia pushed her gently onward. Keep going, no one can hear in this rain.

Juana continued to lead her family deeper into the woods as her heart pounded loudly. She hesitated when she saw some figures moving past the palmettos ahead. They looked like ghost figures as they moved silently in the mist and gloom. A quick sweeping glance of the woods beyond reassured her that the others were also Minorcans and not the overseers or corporals. She pushed on toward the specters.

Juana stopped at the edge of the gathering of people. There must have been hundreds, nearly all the remaining colonists. They stood silently facing the King’s Highway, the sandy path that led from the colony to St. Augustine.

Juana heard a distant rumbling sound and shifted position to see what it was. A slow moving two-wheeled oxen cart came into view. She watched as the two large beasts effortlessly pulled the bulky wooden cart over the wet sand. The crowd stepped back from the path giving the bovine and their enormous spread of horns plenty of room. Serafin Triay walked beside the cart and swung a stick to prod the closest ox. Juana watched the sorrowful man who never said much. She felt pity for him. It was obvious he still suffered from a broken heart even after four years. It was a shame his wife died in child birth, taking the unborn child with her. She admired the romantic gesture of the long mourning period.

Two more carts rumbled past and then a smile grew on Juana’s face when she spotted Don Francisco Pellicer. He was carrying his son and Doña Margarita followed with their daughter. The tall Minorcan stopped in front of the solemn flock. Juana pushed forward through the crowd, eager to hear what he had to say.

Don Francisco’s black eyes searched the thin drawn faces. Some looked puzzled but most held a spark of hope as they waited to hear his words. Don Francisco lifted his chin, Your indenture is over. He paused to allow the words to sink in. Juan Genoply, Antonio Llambias, and I spoke to Governor Tonyn and he has granted our freedom. He has promised a small plot of land for each family in St. Augustine. We can start our lives anew. We are leaving New Smyrna, so gather your belongings silently and we will depart in a few minutes.

Fortunately, the rain muffled the crowd’s murmur of excitement as Juana looked back toward her sister and her parents. She smiled when her father’s eyes met hers. He nodded back. Juana was so grateful her father had included her in the secret late night rendezvous months before. She felt privileged, one of the few adults being included in the planning for this life-changing event. She had kept the secret, and now she was pleased to see the joy and excitement on the faces of the others. The day had finally arrived and they were going to leave the colony where she had spent most of her life. She pulled at her clinging skirt, freeing her legs, as the wet tricked down her back.

Juana turned her attention back to Don Francisco when one man asked, What about the overseers, will they not try to stop us?

We will form a tight group, women, children and elderly in the middle. The men will take up whatever arms or weapons we can find and provide protection around the group, explained Francisco.

Elder Marcos Andreau spoke up. What about the land we have been promised by Dr. Turnbull? Will we lose the farms we were promised?

Yes, you cannot have this land granted to you. This is what the governor told us. He said Dr. Turnbull lied to us about the land. We would never have legal title to it. Unless you are Protestant, the crown will not allow it, said Don Francisco.

Indignant voices rumbled at the deception. When they were recruited in their homelands of Italy, Greece, and Minorca they were promised that they did not have to renounce their Catholic faith. This news was yet another broken promise they had suffered since their arrival here in New Smyrna nine years before.

Don Francisco wiped his rain soaked face. Quickly now, prepare to go.

Juana and her family set their bundles down near the oxen cart as they waited for the others to return for their belongings. She shifted her weight repeatedly, impatient for the journey to begin.

As piles of belongings began to grow near the sandy road, the small and frail were loaded into the oxen carts. The women worked deftly, re-bundling and securing their few belongings within their shawls, helping one another balance the loads upon their backs, heads and yoke carrying-poles.

As sunrise neared Don Francisco paced back and forth among the men, assigning them places on the outside of the mass of people. To each man he offered a word of encouragement and praise for their bravery. He made sure each had a weapon such as hoes, shovels, clubs, long stout pointed sticks, axes, cutlasses, knives or their ever present hunting slings and stones the Minorcan men were famous for. Once he was sure they were ready, he found his wife Margarita near one of the oxen carts.

Father Camps walked among his flock touching a hand here and a shoulder there. When he saw that everyone seemed ready, he raised both hands into the air to gather the crowd in silence. May God bless you on your journey, my children.

Several in the crowd crossed themselves and some stepped forward to kiss the hand of their spiritual leader. They understood why the priest would not be joining them on their migration. Someone had to stay behind to care for the sick and elderly.

Don Francisco placed the small leather pouch that contained their worldly fortune in coin in Margarita’s hand.

Margarita knowingly looked up into his eyes and clutched the pouch in her fingers.

Just in case, Francisco began. It is a start and security for our future. It can mean the difference in our success or failure. If something were to happen... Francisco stopped. He knew she understood by the tears that began to fill her eyes. He pulled her close and kissed her passionately.

Francisco turned to the crowd and said, Freedom is ours, now let’s go north to St. Augustine and claim our land!

In the dawning light, they quietly emerged from the woods, nearly six hundred men, women, and children, swarming from the thickets and trees, moving toward the open road of the King's Highway. The gaunt, hollow faced, nearly starved crowd moved in an eerie ghost-like manner through the rain. They were determined to not be stopped.

Juana paused to look back at the priest as he stood on the edge of the forest. When he turned back for the settlement she rushed to catch up with the circle of women. Then she heard the distant shout of a corporal as he sounded the alarm of the mass escape.

The galloping hoof beats grew louder as the horses raced after them. Juana felt the crush of women as they crowded together for safety. She looked back as they propelled her forward.

The first overseer gestured wildly with his musket as he neared the men in the rear, All of you, return to work! His shouting penetrated the heavy rain.

Juana’s fear sent shivers through her bones and she welled up with tears. Her eyes locked on to Margarita Pellicer's eyes and she could read the fear upon the Doña’s face. When Margarita broke eye contact to look back, so did Juana.

Several of the Minorcan men fell behind the mass and bravely waved their hoes and axes at the mounted pursuers.

Juana recognized Don Francisco’s voice over the chaos of voices and sobbing women as he shouted to the overseers, We will not be stopped! We have the backing of the governor! We are done here, so let us be!

Juana watched the most brutal overseer of them all, Louis Pouchintena, stop his horse and prime his musket, taking care to shield the powder and wick from the thick rain. He drew a sight on Francisco to fire.

Juana froze in her tracks, terrified. Jostled by the women, a loud hiccup broke from her lips. She heard Margarita scream. In a flash, appearing from the misty rain, a horse raced forward and collided violently with Louis Pouchintena’s mount, knocking his musket to the wet sandy highway.

From atop the charging stead overseer Lewis Portella shouted, You’ll not kill another. Don’t you see this is over? The killing will stop!

Relieved that Margarita’s warning scream and Portella’s intervention had saved Don Francisco, Juana turned her attention back to the wet sandy path and raced with her clattering bundle to catch-up to the group of women. Her overwhelming feeling of doom now lifted, she was determined to push on with the others. Keep going ladies. The men are standing their ground to buy us some distance, Juana encouraged the others to hurry and she moved quickly past the laggards.

From the rear Juana recognized the shouts of young Andrew Turnbull. Stop! You will return to work or I will have you shot!

She glanced back just in time to see the doctor’s nephew charge ahead of the stragglers, then spin around waving his outstretched arms, You can’t do this; it’s against the law!

She didn’t like the pompous dandy. She gave a chuckle when she saw the Minorcan men side-step the flustered adolescent, ignoring his idle threats as they continued the seventy mile journey that awaited them.

With her final glance, she watched young master Turnbull beg the unwilling corporals and overseers to continue the pursuit as their horses came to a stop.

Juana’s chest heaved as a hiccup rumbled from deep inside. Her bare feet found a rhythm upon the sandy hard packed path that led north. Her thoughts, now calm, turned to the first time she had seen Don Francisco on the docks in Mahon, Minorca nine years before. She was only four but it was one of those childhood memories that transcended time. He was seated upon a beautiful black Menorquina mare in his fine cape, fancy vest, white ruffled shirt and shiny gold buckled shoes. He had a presence about him unlike any man she had ever seen before. He captivated her attention and that fascination remained with her to this day.

Juana smiled to herself at the thought of the old wooden doll that was neatly nestled in her shawl slung upon her back. She could recall sitting beside the carpenter in the warm sun on the deck of the ship as he carved her treasure, once piece at a time. She thought about the once long silky locks of goat's hair, now a thinning crown worn away by time.

Months Prior

Woods Tavern, St. Augustine

February 27th, 1776

James Penman stood at the bar and watched Dr. Andrew Turnbull enter the tavern and settle at the empty table in the center of the room. Penman nudged Spencer Mann who turned to watch the Scottish doctor make himself comfortable in the crowded room. Penman pulled a coin from his vest pocket and held it up for the tavern keeper to see, then tipped his head toward Turnbull. Mr. Woods acknowledged the drink payment and approached the doctor for his order. When he returned with the rum, Turnbull pulled his coin bag from his waist coat.

It’s Mr. Penman’s pleasure, sir. The tavern keeper nodded toward the man standing at the bar and Dr. Turnbull raised his cup in thanks.

Have you any news of Mr. Drayton’s trial, sir? asked the Jericho plantation owner.

I am not at liberty to discuss the trial being a member of the jury, Mr. Penman, explained Turnbull.

The men at the tables nearest to Dr. Turnbull grew quiet and turned their attention to the two men. James Penman picked up his mug and moved toward the doctor’s table. You would be of an opinion as to the fairness of our governor in the matters of the trial of the Royal Judge Advocate, would you not, sir?

The doctor, aware the conversation now had the attention of all present scanned the room. He estimated the crowd to be nearly eighty men. He fingered his cup of rum a moment. In my opinion... Turnbull met Penman’s gaze. No, fair is not a word I would associate with the treatment of Mr. Drayton by our governor.

A mumbling spread through the room then quieted as Spencer Mann moved to Penman’s side. The well known Justice of the Peace asked, And tell us, good sir, did Mr. Drayton sufficiently argue his innocence? The charges levied against him by Governor Tonyn, in the matter of land swindling, is grievous indeed.

Turnbull nodded. I believe he has.

Tell us of your proof, have done with it now so we can make our opinion of this matter, insisted a second lieutenant at a near table.

A mumbling in the crowd rose. Two of the officers seated with the second lieutenant agreed with the request, Aye and Here, Here.

Very well, answered Turnbull as he pulled a copy of the written declaration of Royal Chief Justice William Drayton’s testimony from his portfolio. This has not yet been cleared for the public but upon your insistence I will enlighten you. He laid the papers upon the table for all to see. I denounce Governor Patrick Tonyn for the strifeful manner in which he has persecuted our friend Mr. Drayton. Is it not true that when the Crown wishes to acquire more land it makes payment to the Chiefs of the Indian tribes for such land? The laws of our Kingdom say nothing to forbid any one of you from doing the same. It only requires that you pay the crown your due taxes for your holdings. Our governor believes he holds a supreme authority over granting us our land and telling us where we can live. His resentment of William Drayton for challenging this false authority is why he has chosen to imprison our friend, falsely accusing him of disloyalty to the Crown. He paused, lifted his finger pointing at one man after another. The same thing can happen to any of you if you stand in this tyrant’s way. I call for your declaration of loyalty to the crown and your support in demanding, Turnbull pounded his fist on the table before him. DEMANDING the resignation of Patrick Tonyn!

The crowd cheered and several near men rushed the doctor, eager to clasp his hand.

Andrew Turnbull pulled a clean parchment from his portfolio and above the volume of the enthusiastic crowd requested, Mr. Wood, a quill and ink if you will.

Governors Mansion

St. Augustine

March 1st, 1776

Governor Tonyn slid his fingers between the drapes and looked down at the gate below. He observed Dr. Turnbull knocking on the mansion gate. The dandy then glanced at the portfolio tucked under his aide’s arm, returning his attention as a corporal opened the door, swinging it wide. Tonyn let the drapes drop as the two men entered the courtyard. He moved to the over stuffed chair and sat down to wait. After a few minutes a servant knocked and opened the door.

Dr. Turnbull has arrived, Your Excellency, the servant announced.

The retired Sixth Dragoon general exhaled, waited a few moments, and then rose from his chair. Reluctantly he put on his coat, squared his broad shoulders and went to meet the doctor.

Dr. Turnbull, good of you to come. The governor extended a hand, ignoring the doctor’s aide.

Dr. Turnbull rose from his seat, took the hand and presented a slight bow at the waist.

Andrew, I am in need of two hundred of your men for my militia, Tonyn saw Dr. Turnbull stiffen, so he offered an explanation. As you may well know, numerous battles with the Americans have occurred for over the last year. Naval blockades, various militia actions, and the influx of British citizens from the northern colonies are causing havoc. I have my hands full and desperately need to recruit more fighting men to protect our outlying plantations, port, and citizens of St. Augustine. I call upon you to provide men at your earliest convenience, sir.

Tonyn noted the doctor’s arrogant expression as it turned to condescension. He knew the well connected plantation owner disliked him. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his strict military bearing or lack of interest in fawning over the pretentious fool. It mattered not; he had no need for the oily lickspittle’s consent. Ever since arriving as the new governor of this backwater frontier, he knew the doctor had a disdainful attitude toward him. And here it was, written all over his face, with no pretence of hiding it.

Irritated that his agenda of presenting a copy of the loyalty papers had been thwarted with this unexpected request, Turnbull’s anger multiplied. I have recruited and provided for these men at great expense to my partners and myself. As you are aware, my partners are of great influence; Sir Richard Temple acting on behalf of the estate of the late Prime Minister George Grenville and the widow of Sir William Duncan. Turnbull pulled his handkerchief from his sleeve, wiped the perspiration from his brow and tucked it once more beneath his lace cuff. You have no right to ask for our men. You will undoubtedly destroy my colony if you pursue such a request. I will not stand idly by and watch you ruin us financially.

I need these men to defend St. Augustine. If this town falls into the hands of the renegade Americans, then you will have no colony, sir! The governor slammed his open palm on the desk.

Turnbull drew back and paused. His cheeks grew red as he responded in a like tone of voice. No is my answer, sir. Good day.

Tonyn’s nose flared as he drew in hasty short breaths. He watched as the doctor swiftly left the mansion. The aide, carrying the unopened portfolio, followed close on his heels.

New Smyrna

March 13th, 1776

Dr. Turnbull sat on the edge of his desk as he finished reading the governor’s dispatch. He turned his gaze out of the window and saw one of the corporals tapping a supple whip against his thigh as he paced near a group of laborers. The men moved slowly, thin and exhausted, as they shifted blocks of indigo from the storage shed to the dock. The paper in the doctor’s hand fluttered in the breeze from the window and he turned his attention back to the dispatch. He shook his head slowly, appalled at the accusations of the governor’s words. He rose and began to pace as he pondered the dispatch. It looked to him like Patrick Tonyn was twisting the words the two of them had exchanged during their last meeting. Why else would he be ordering the doctor to report to St. Augustine within the week? It appeared the governor planned to arrest him for treason for denying the use of his bondsmen in the war effort. The leather portfolio on the bureau caught his attention and another thought crossed his mind. Had the governor gotten word of the declaration of loyalty papers? Turnbull pulled the signed document out and looked at the seventy four signatures that called for the governor’s resignation and pledged loyalty to the Crown.

It is unfortunate for the governor that he does not know who he is trifling with. No better connected man could be found in the Americas than myself, thought Turnbull.

After mulling over the possibilities, Turnbull worked out a plan to rid himself of any charges and this new governor. He would depart for England post haste, present the signed document and report on the incompetence of Tonyn to those with the power to have him removed. At the same time he would remove any doubt of his loyalty to the crown and work to clear his friend William Drayton of all charges.

St. Augustine

December 1776

Tonyn opened the courier’s package and broke the wax seal on the folded sheepskin. He skimmed Lord Germain’s orders: ... exonerate Chief Justice William Drayton ... reinstate ... false accusation of loyalty ... Tonyn shoved the decanter of cognac from his desk onto the floor and shouted, That imbecile!

As the noise of broken glass and shouting came from the governor’s study, all the house staff quickly moved from sight.

St. Augustine, Florida

April 1777

Don Francisco Pellicer led the weary remnants of indentured servants from the failed New Smyrna Colony. The seventy-five mile journey had taken fifteen days, twice as long as it should have if the colonists had been in fair health. The ox carts were overloaded with the children, elderly and sick. The oxen were still putting forth the effort to drag the tremendous load in spite of total exhaustion.

The dense canopy of the jungle opened and the afternoon light filtered down upon the refugees. Francisco saw a sign on the edge of the road ahead. Let us rest here for a moment, he instructed the Minorcans as he started toward the sign, Giosefa Lurance followed.

What does it say, Francisco?

Forbes Plantation. There must be a new plantation down this road. The two men stood and looked at the freshly cut path into the pines beyond.

Do you think they will share food with us? the Italian asked hopefully.

Do you have energy enough to inquire?

Giosefa nodded and started down the fresh path.

If you’re gone too long we will move on, so catch up with us on the road. Francisco watched as Giosefa waved his hand in acknowledgement. He went to take a seat in the sand alongside the road with Margarita and the children.

Giosefa’s heart pounded as he set a fast and long stride to cover the distance down the freshly cut lane. When he saw the cleared field and men working along the edges clearing timber, he threw up his hand and shouted, Hello.

Some of the men stopped work to look up at the approaching stranger. Giosefa felt relief that he did not have to walk across the wide field when one of the men mounted a chestnut horse and rode to meet him.

As the rider came to a stop he raised a pistol, pointing it at the Italian. Ye be trespassing on me land, be off with thee, vagabond.

Giosefa swallowed hard. I mean no harm, sir. He pointed back toward the King’s Highway. We are six hundred from New Smyrna and we’ve need for food and water for the children. I ask in the name of mercy, sir.

Turnbull’s Catholics? The man kept his pistol leveled at the stranger.

Aye.

Be gone, I’ve nothing to share with Catholics or Indians. I’ve been raided enough. The governor has not heard me pleas for help and I’ll not hear thine. Now off with thee! Forbes flipped the end of the gun barrel back toward the highway.

Giosefa lowered his eyes as he turned slowly around and started back. After a few minutes he heard the rider’s horse thunder off back toward the field.

Within an hour Giosefa reappeared from the Forbes Plantation road, empty handed.

Francisco stood to meet him.

He wanted nothing to do with us, met me with a pistol. He said they have been raided by Indians and can’t spare the food for Catholics. We’ll need to keep moving. Giosefa sorrowful eyes expressed his disappointment in failing to find help.

Thank you for trying. Francisco handed the Italian a bota skin of water, then called to the Minorcans, Let’s continue.

After another couple of hours, the last turn in the trail grew closer. Don Francisco could see the city’s coquina stone wall through the dense forest growth.

One of the boys shouted, I see a wall! Is it St. Augustine, Don Francisco?

Yes, it is. The Minorcan smiled at the enthusiasm of the boy, an energy long gone in the rest of the refugees.

Drawing nearer the city gate, Francisco felt a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders, as if he were freed of a heavy wooden yoke. His nine year ordeal was finally nearing an end. He had started from Minorca with over fourteen hundred hopeful people. A collective of Greek, Italian, and Minorcan laborers all recruited by Dr. Andrew Turnbull to start one of the largest English colonies in the new world. They had endured countless hardships and brutal treatment at the hands of ruthless overseers. Many had lost loved ones who had died of swamp fever, scurvy, dysentery, starvation, and murder. When some complained of their treatment, or demanded to be freed of their contracts at the end of the terms, they were beaten, chained, or locked in stocks until they signed on, under duress for additional years.

Desperate to save his family and fellow colonists, Don Francisco Pellicer, along with two other men, Juan Genoply and Antonio Llambia, escaped in a small boat he had built and sought the Governor’s help in St. Augustine. Now with the Governor’s backing, they were finally free of their bonds. The only thing remaining was to seek out the governor and claim the small plots of land in the city as he had promised. It was a poor exchange; nine years labor for the fifty acres Dr. Turnbull had contracted to each of them, but along with their freedom, it was better than nothing.

Margarita moved through the crowd to walk near her husband, her oldest son following close on her heels. She handed the baby to Francisco so that she could pick up Antonio and carry him. It looks like the city has grown. How many homes do you think there are? she asked.

I would guess three hundred homes plus a number of shops and merchants. It has grown a bit since you were last here, replied Don Francisco.

Do you know where we will stay tonight? she asked.

Francisco shook his head, I hope to see the governor and get direction from him.

Don Francisco approached the guard at the gate ahead of his charges. We are from New Smyrna.

The wide eyed guard looked past the tall thin man at the approaching crowd of pathetic, emaciated, and nearly naked refugees. He stammered, Yes ... we have been expecting you for several weeks now. Please enter. He stepped aside.

Juana Villa’s eyes were wide as she took in all the strange sights of the town. Her sister Antonia crowded close to her elbow.

There are so many buildings, Antonia whispered.

Juana nodded at her only sibling. I was only four when we left Mahon and came here. I forgot how crowded it was. She glanced down the lane of homes that stood one next to another. Between some of the home she caught glimpses of backyards with gardens, and out buildings then she saw a stable with two horses. The structure had solid walls and a roof of tile. She stopped to get a better look.

Antonia halted along with her sister. The horses even have houses. What a rich and wondrous place. I never could have imagined.

Juana took her sister by the elbow and pulled her along as others also stopped to glimpse into the backyard. It’s a stable. Come on.

The long line of exhausted men, women, children, and beasts trudged slowly toward the plaza of the slave market in the center of town, just southwest of Fort St. Mark, as they followed Don Francisco.

As they neared the plaza the streets came alive with people and noise. Some turned their attention upon the newly arriving refugees, appalled at the sight of the naked, gaunt and exhausted strangers. Others ignored the strangers as they watched a group of men carry two poles with fully clothed human figures, stuffed with straw, and hanging by nooses.

Don Francisco could read one figure sporting the sign, John Adams and he waited for the other straw figure to be turned so he could see that sign. It read, John Hancock. One man jumped up on the steps of the covered market pavilion and shouted to the crowd, Death to the Adams brothers!

The crowd cheered.

Another man in the crowd pumped his fist over head. Burn them!

The crowd erupted in more cheers.

Francisco saw a torch move overhead from the rear of the crowd then he felt Margarita slip her hand around his elbow.

What’s happening? she asked with fear in her hushed voice.

Don Francisco glanced at her; then he looked beyond her and noted the fear on the faces of his fellow colonists.

It must have something to do with the war between the British and American colonies, he answered in a calm voice.

As the two straw men erupted into flames, citizens began to shout: Loyalty to the King, Death to the traitors, and Independence means War.

Don Francisco had seen enough and turned his back on the market commotion. He gestured to his exhausted people to follow as he led them to the shade trees that lined the field near Fort St. Mark.

He waited for the stragglers to gather in the shade of the oaks then walked among them as he spread the word. We will rest here until we can find out what is to be done with us.

As the crowd from the market rally dispersed some of town’s people gathered to gawk in disbelief, mumbling their disapproval of the vagrants.

Mary James’s home faced the fort and as she exited her front door, basket on her wrist for her day’s chore of shopping, she gasped. Mary turned back to her door and called for her daughter. Sarah, come here quickly and bring Paula.

Sarah glanced past her mother at the dark haired, tawny skinned, malnourished weaklings grouped together in the field across the lane. This number of people would nearly double the town’s population overnight. Mother, are they the New Smyrna colonists? There are so many of them. Sarah gripped her mother’s elbow.

The Italian girl, Paula Lurance, pushed her way out the door past the two women. Yes, they are my people. Paula’s head bobbled back and forth as she strained to spot her brother-in-law among the refugees then hiked her simple homespun skirt and started toward the group.

I need you to go to the church and ask for help. Ask for blankets, clothes and food. Yes, food and water first. Then bring what we have from home, quickly Sarah. Mary marched off after Paula toward the crowd.

Paula quickened her pace as she reached the nearest refugee. Giosefa, she cried.

Juana turned her head in time to see the happy reunion between the relatives as they embraced. She got up along with several other colonists to greet their friend.

Dominga was next to hug her. We missed you, Paula. What about the others, are they all here in town?

Paula stroked her Minorcan girlfriend’s hair as she nodded. Yes, all sixteen of them are here and fine. The town’s people took us in after we escaped. We gave our testimony to the governor and remained in town while Don Francisco, Juan, and Antonio returned to lead all of you out of the colony. Paula reached for her brother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. When she saw Juana Villa she pulled her close and slipped her arm around the young girl’s waist.

As Juana smiled at her friend Paula, she noticed a short heavy set woman pushing into the gathering crowd.

Mary James moved straight for Paula. Paula, who leads here? Mary demanded.

Several in the crowd looked to Don Francisco and after a moment of silence he stepped forward. Madam, we are of the New Smyrna Colony. I am master carpenter Don Francisco Pellicer.

Dr. Andrew Turnbull’s colonists? she asked.

He nodded.

These people are naked. her eyes landing on Giosefa who wore a ragged coat and loin cloth. She placed the knuckles of her clenched fists