El Norte

by Carrie Gibson

  WHILE SPAIN’S TROOPS were battling to regain control of parts of its empire, the War of 1812 in the Florida borderlands took on a new and bloody dimension. On August 30, 1813, a group of some seven hundred Creeks attacked Fort Mims, a fortified outpost on a plantation about forty-five miles north of Mobile, in protest at growing U.S. encroachment on their land. Led by Red Eagle, whose father was a Scottish trader and whose mother was a Creek, the Indians killed around 250 people within the fort and set it on fire.65 The attackers were known as the Red Sticks, after the clubs they painted red and used in war.66

  The U.S. retribution was swift, and led by General Andrew Jackson, who was authorized to raise five thousand men. However, the operation was complicated because a Creek civil war had started some months before.67 On one side were the Red Sticks and on the other were members of the Creek confederation who did not want to go to war against the United States and put their allegiance with Jackson after he pledged to protect them.68 The Red Sticks allied with the British, some of whom were agitating in the Florida and Georgia borderlands.69

  Fighting continued throughout 1813 in Alabama and in parts of Georgia, and Jackson received reinforcements in early 1814. On March 27 he landed a decisive blow on the Red Sticks when he and between two thousand and three thousand troops, aided by Cherokee allies, marched to Horseshoe Bend on the Tallapoosa River, in central Alabama, to attack the Red Sticks who had barricaded themselves there. Jackson’s men broke through their defenses and after a day of fighting some nine hundred Red Sticks were dead, added to the thousand already killed in 1813.70 The Creeks later signed a treaty ceding millions of acres in Georgia and Alabama to the United States, making this a turning point not only in U.S.-Indian relations but also in western expansion.

  Throughout the Red Stick War, Jackson kept Florida in his sights, in part because he wanted to stop the British from landing around Pensacola and to drive out the troops who were already there. In addition, he suspected that the Spanish were aiding British efforts against the United States, as well as harboring Red Sticks. However, the then secretary of war, John Armstrong, had sent instructions to Jackson to hold fire on Pensacola and proceed with caution in order not to damage relations with Spain. Armstrong agreed that “if they admit, feed, arm and cooperate with the British and hostile Indians, we must strike on the broad principle of self-preservation,” yet he also told Jackson that “under other & different circumstances, we must forbear.” The letter was dated in July 1814, but Jackson did not receive it until January 1815, by which time he had already taken matters into his own hands.71

  Jackson had returned to the Alabama area to negotiate the peace treaty with the Creeks in the summer of 1814, and once that was finished he wrote a menacing letter to the governor of West Florida, making claims that enemies of the United States “have sought and obtained an asylum from justice within the territory of Spain.”72 Governor Mateo González Manrique, in his reply, claimed that Jackson’s allegations were without foundation and that “it is evident that no act direct, or indirect has emanated from this Government, from which disagreeable consequences can result.” González Manrique pointed out that while the United States was fighting the Creeks, there were “many others whom the American Government protects, and maintains, in committing hostilities, in fomenting the revolution, and in lighting up the flames of discord in the internal provinces of the Kingdom of Mexico.”73

  By August 1814, Jackson’s exasperation was palpable, and he moved from Fort Jackson to the fort in nearby Mobile, which U.S. troops had captured from the Spanish in 1813. Jackson wrote to Armstrong, asking “how long will the government of the United States tamely submit to disgrace and open insult from Spain.”74 Over the months that followed, Jackson plotted his long-desired attack on Pensacola, finally marching into the town on November 6, 1814, with forty-one hundred soldiers and Indian allies, and seizing the Spanish forts.75 He wasted no time in making demands on González Manrique, including possession of “the [fort] Barrancas and other fortifications, with all the munitions of War.” Alongside this was the threat that “if not delivered peaceably, let the blood of your subjects be upon your own head. I will not hold myself responsible for the conduct of my enraged soldiers and warriors. … I give you one hour for deliberation.”76 González Manrique made a cool reply, telling Jackson that his demands were “in no way acceptable” before asking him to “abstain from similar messages” because the answer would be the same. As far as the Spanish governor was concerned, Jackson would be “responsible for the blood that is spilled.”77 The next day Jackson attacked Pensacola, and the Spanish capitulated. The following morning the British, who were using Fort Barrancas, blew it up and fled to their squadron anchored in the Gulf of Mexico. With the British and their Indian allies run out of town, Jackson’s mission came to a temporary end.78 He left for Mobile a few days later, and from there went to New Orleans, where the British fleet was thought to be landing. Jackson was in the city in time to defend it and defeat the British in the Battle of New Orleans on January 8, 1815—two weeks after the Treaty of Ghent that ended the War of 1812 had been signed in Europe.

  With the British gone and the war over, Jackson’s gaze on Florida intensified. He was determined to run the Spanish out and defeat their Seminole allies. There had already been retaliatory U.S. attacks against the Seminoles in 1812–13, during the Mathews rebellion in East Florida, and ongoing skirmishes followed.79 One of Jackson’s immediate concerns was the free black settlement known as Negro Fort—also known as Prospect Bluff—located deep in the forest on the edge of East Florida, with the Apalachicola River running alongside it. Occupied mostly by free people of color and some Native Americans, it had a relatively sizable population of 2,810, supported by the fort that the British had built during the war a few years earlier.80 Negro Fort was in Spanish territory, but Jackson claimed that the settlement’s occupants—and their alleged ammunition—presented a threat to the state of Georgia, as well as to any boats moving along the Apalachicola River. He wrote to the governor of West Florida in April 1816 with complaints that “secret practises to inveigle Negroes from the frontier citizens of Georgia as well as from the Cherokee and Creek nations of Indians are still continued by this Banditti and the Hostile Creeks,” a situation that could “interrupt that good understanding that so happily exists between our governments.” Jackson also sought clarification over who built the fort, and whether the 250 people who lived within it were subjects of the king, though he made his own intentions clear. If these people were “not put down by the Spanish Authority,” he wrote, “[it] will compel us in self Defence to destroy them.”81

  The then governor, Mauricio de Zuñiga, appeared to agree with Jackson’s assessment in his reply, saying that his “sentiments coincide entirely with yours on the … necessity of dislodging the Negroes from said fort.” He claimed it was not built by the Spanish government and that the people living there were “by me considered in light of Insurgents or Rebels against the authority not only of that of H.C.M. [His Catholic Majesty] but also of the proprietors from whose Service they have withdrawn.” The problem, Zuñiga claimed, was that he could not act without orders from his superior, who he was confident would sanction taking action, but in the meantime Zuñiga asked Jackson that “neither the Government of the U.S. nor Yr. Exy. will take any step to the prejudice of the sovereignty of the King.”82 The pace of Spanish bureaucracy, however, exhausted Jackson’s patience. He instructed his men to destroy the fort, and a small base was set up nearby from which they could launch attacks.

  By June 1816, Jackson had received reports that “about 20 Choctaws, a number of Seminoles and a great number of runaway negroes … have abandoned the Fort on account of scarcity of provisions and have gone to Savannah (alias St. Josephs) River in East Florida, whither they will no doubt all retire in case of an attack by land, as they have a Schooner and several large Boats to make good their retreat. … From this spot they can easily annoy our Settlements on Flint River a
nd the whole Georgia Frontier.”83 Drastic action was now needed, and on the morning of July 27, 1816, ships were dispatched down the Apalachicola River, with a navy gunboat making a direct hit on a gunpowder magazine left over from the war. The resulting blast killed 270 people and demolished the Negro Fort settlement in one fatal shot.

  From there, U.S troops were authorized in 1817 to go to war against the Seminoles in retaliation for earlier attacks, as well as to recapture any runaway slaves they were harboring. Jackson, himself a slave owner, oversaw a series of battles known as the First Seminole War (1817–18), which forced the Seminoles south, out of the panhandle and border region with Georgia. For Jackson, the Indians in Florida needed to be destroyed and the runaway slaves returned to their owners, and he refused to let the issue of Spanish sovereignty stand in his way. A man of the frontier, Jackson was comfortable pushing boundaries, political and physical.

  While the attacks against the Seminoles were taking place, the Amelia Island question resurfaced. Even after Spanish rule was restored, the island continued to be a base for smuggling and privateering. In 1817 it was again the target of a breakaway expedition, this one led by Gregor MacGregor, a Scot who had been a soldier in the British army before enlisting in the fight for Venezuelan independence in 1811.84 After initial success there, he fell out with Simón Bolívar and turned his attention to Spanish Florida, where Amelia Island lured him with the promise of lucrative privateering. He organized funds, borrowed a schooner, and rounded up men—many of them rebel agents from South America—willing to help him attack.85 On June 29, 1817, MacGregor approached Fort San Carlos and demanded its surrender. Believing themselves to be outnumbered, the Spanish officers agreed. MacGregor declared the island’s independence and ran up his flag, a green cross on a white background.86

  He sent the Spanish troops to St. Augustine and asked the residents who had fled upon hearing of the impending attack to return, assuring them that their property would be safe.87 He and French privateer Louis Aury, who joined him that September, turned to smuggling, which included enslaved humans, some of whom had been taken from Spanish ships and brought to the island.88 Before long power struggles overwhelmed profits, as Aury, MacGregor, and the other eager privateers fought among themselves. The dividing line was one of color, with Aury’s backers including former slaves from Haiti and free black people from around the Caribbean, while MacGregor and his supporters were a mostly white faction from the United States.89 The United States took advantage of the chaos to send in troops, which arrived in December 1817, taking control of the island with the justification that the rebels were illegally smuggling slaves and Spain was not doing anything to stop it.90

  The enraged Spanish minister, Luis de Onís, wrote to Secretary of State John Quincy Adams to “strongly protest, in the name of the King, my master, against the occupation of Amelia Island … one of the possessions of the Spanish monarchy on this continent.”91 Although Onís considered it “a violent invasion of the dominions of Spain, at the time of a profound peace,” the occupation attracted support in the United States, including some among southern newspapers unnerved by the presence of Aury’s black privateers and potential insurgents so near Georgia.92 The U.S. troops stayed put, and Adams wrote to Onís defending the measure, saying, “You well know, that if Spain could have kept, or recovered the possession of it [Amelia Island] from the trifling force by which it was occupied, the American government would have been spared the necessity of the measure which was taken … but Spain cannot expect that the United States should employ their forces for the defence of her territories.”93

  Jackson, meanwhile, continued to claim that Native Americans in Florida were posing a threat to U.S. territory, and on that basis he attacked the San Marcos de Apalache fort, located between the St. Marks and Wakulla Rivers, in April 1818. He wrote to the Spanish officer in charge, Francisco Caso y Luengo, of “a savage foe, who, combined with a lawless band of negro brigands have for some time past been carrying on a cruel and unprovoked war against the citizens of the United States.” He justified the occupation by saying he wanted “to prevent the recurrence of so gross a violation of neutrality, and to exclude our savage enemies from so strong a hold as St. Mark’s.”94 A short time later, on May 24, 1818, Jackson rode once more into Pensacola, which had reverted to Spanish rule after his previous incursion. Despite continued instructions to tread with caution, he seized the town and its forts with minimal resistance.95 Jackson later explained to his superiors that this was not prompted by “a wish to extend the territorial limits of the United States” but rather that the Seminole people had “for more than two years past, visited our frontier settlement with all the horrors of savage massacre—helpless women have been butchered and the cradle stained with the blood of innocence,” before alleging that the Spanish were arming them, or at the very least not blocking their access to weapons. “The immutable law of self-defense therefore compelled the American government to take possession of such parts of the Floridas, in which the Spanish authority could not be maintained,” he concluded.96 A few days later he wrote to his wife, Rachel, declaring that by taking the forts he had “destroyed the babylon of the South, the hot bed of Indian war & depredations on our frontier.”97

  When news of these events in West Florida reached Florida’s east coast, Spain’s Luis de Onís was quick to protest, and President Monroe wrote to Jackson over the taking of Pensacola, saying it could produce “unfavorable consequences.” Monroe—whose administration had been distressed by Jackson’s actions—told the general that he had been “transcending the limit” of his orders. However, Monroe claimed the United States was “justified in ordering their troops into Florida in pursuit of their [Seminole] enemy,” but that was not an act of hostility toward Spain. The seizure of Pensacola, however, “would assume another character”—that of war, one initiated without the approval of Congress.98

  Jackson defended his actions, telling Monroe that “it will afford me pleasure to aid the Government in procuring any testimony that may be necessary to prove the hostility of the officers of Spain, to the United States.”99 Congress investigated his actions in January 1819, including the question of whether he had instigated an unauthorized war. After a debate that lasted nearly a month, a House proposal to condemn the Pensacola expedition as unconstitutional netted 70 votes in favor, and 100 against, vindicating Jackson and clearing the way for his political ascent.100

  Part of Monroe’s frustration with Jackson was that he didn’t want the invasion of Pensacola to spoil what was so tantalizingly close, as he explained in his earlier letter:

  The events which have occurr’d in both the Floridas, shew the incompetency of Spain to maintain her authority in either, & the progress of the revolution in So[uth] America, will require all her forces there. There is much reason to presume, that this act, will furnish a strong induc’ment to Spain, to cede the territory, provided we do not wound, too deeply, her pride, by holding it.101

  Monroe was correct: the Florida situation had reached a turning point. Spain had to cut its losses, and Florida had always been on the fringes of the empire it was now failing to preserve. The United States was also concerned that a weakened Spain would leave open a back door for potential enemies to enter the United States, something that had been made clear with the British during the War of 1812.102 Negotiations began for the transfer of both Floridas to the United States, finally putting to rest a boundary dispute that had lasted decades.

  Spain was not pleased with the circumstances, as a letter from Onís to Secretary of State John Quincy Adams in December 1818 made clear; Onís complained that Jackson “fell upon Florida as a haughty invader and conqueror, regardless of the laws of humanity and the feelings of nature.”103 Despite the many difficulties that led to this point—raids, independence attacks, the invasion of Pensacola—the two sides managed an agreement. The 1819 Adams-Onís Treaty, also called the Transcontinental Treaty, was signed on February 22, 1819. Its key provisions were
the cession of East and West Florida to the United States, with the new boundary being the Sabine River. From the river’s mouth in the Gulf of Mexico, the line moved north to N 32°, where the Sabine intersected with the Red River; from there, the line moved steplike in a northwest direction to the Arkansas River, going on to reach a final boundary of N 42°, with the westernmost limit being the Pacific. In exchange, the United States renounced claims to or any designs on territory southwest of the Sabine River, while also promising $5 million in compensation to Spanish subjects in Florida, though that would come later and, for many of the families in Florida at the time of the handover, not until after a long legal fight.104

  Congress ratified the treaty in 1819, on the heels of the 1818 Anglo-American Convention, which established a boundary between the United States and Canada along N 49° as far west as the Rocky Mountains, freeing the Oregon territory beyond that for joint occupation. A pathway to the Pacific was opening up. Spain, meanwhile, did not ratify the agreement until 1821, the same year that Andrew Jackson became military governor of the Florida territory. The following year, 1822, the U.S. Army sent Lieutenant Colonel Zachary Taylor to mark the western edge of the treaty boundary, building Fort Jesup on the Louisiana side of the river. Another twenty-three years passed before Florida achieved U.S. statehood, but its more than three hundred years as a Spanish colony had come to a decisive end.