Ghosts of the Past

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the metal bar. The floor beneath me dipped suddenly, slamming me into the railing that provided my only means of staying upright. My hair, whipping around frantically, clung to my eyes and mouth. Blinking in a futile effort to get rid of it, I squinted at the bright horizon. Against the convergence of turquoise water and cerulean sky, a brown hump was steadily growing larger. It was Dry Tortuguas National Park, one of the strangest parks we’ve ever visited. We were in for a unique visit!

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/2gL18MkqpyHWnzAx6

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November 10th, 2024 - Florida Day 5

Several hours earlier, Tyler and I greeted sunrise at the southernmost point of the continental United States. A stubby, bullet-shaped monument marks the inconspicuous spot where Florida sinks into the Gulf. The water splashed violently against the monument, as if the sea was hungry to devour Florida entirely. A smiling stranger with an extremely long mustache took our picture here. He was superbly cheerful for such an early hour, even taking the opportunity to sneak in a cheeky selfie of himself when I handed him my phone. The selfie lives in our Florida photo gallery now, a bright bit of joy given to us freely by a stranger. It takes so little effort to make someone smile, doesn’t it?

As the sun turned the horizon pink, we made a quick visit at the Little White House, a charming Key West residence that housed President Truman during presidential vacations. The historic building wasn’t open for tours at such an early hour, so we satisfied ourselves with getting pictures through the fence instead. By 7:45 AM, we found ourselves in a space that closely resembled an airport terminal. Long rows of seats formed a waiting area where people lingered before their boarding time. Yet it wasn’t a plane we were boarding. Just outside the long windows, a large boat named Yankee Freedom rocked gently at a dock. In a few minutes, that same boat would commence our two-hour journey to Dry Tortugas National Park. 

Located seventy miles from Key West, Dry Tortugas is only accessible by seaplane or boat. This makes it one of the least-visited national parks in the United States. As we boarded the boat, however, this fact didn’t seem entirely obvious. Our boat was full of excited visitors wearing swimming trunks and sunscreen. The boat’s galley brimmed with chatter as we collected bagels and fruit cups for our journey’s breakfast. We shared a table with a nice older couple from Iowa, who, upon noticing Tyler’s John Deere hat, spent the first half of the trip swapping farming stories with us. Key West slowly disappeared into the horizon behind us. Ahead, a vast blueness swallowed up the entire scene. The steady bouncing of the boat lulled us into a post-breakfast stupor. Many of the boat’s passengers, our Iowa friends included, took a catnap to pass the time. 

Battling seasickness, Tyler and I stayed awake. We found our thoughts drifting to the mysterious island we were visiting. There was a lot to be curious about. The seven small islands that make up the Dry Tortugas were said to have been discovered by Spanish explorer Ponce de Leon in 1513. Although I cannot verify this story on the Internet, our tour guide told us that Ponce de Leon was searching for the Fountain of Youth in his Floridian travels. On a quest to map the Florida coast, Ponce de Leon recruited indigenous people from western Florida to utilize their knowledge. Remarkably, they led him to the islands of the Dry Tortugas. Feeling queasy on our fast-moving modern ship, I couldn’t fathom how the indigenous people knew about the Dry Tortugas. Traveling seventy miles across the Gulf in a canoe would be a terrific feat, not to mention a testament to well-hardened stomachs! 

Upon his arrival at the islands, Leon was astonished at the quantity of sea turtles. After capturing a hundred turtles, presumably to eat, he dubbed the islands Las Tortugas (“the turtles”). Later, the name would be adjusted “Dry” Tortugas to indicate that the islands lacked fresh water. Upon first glance, the seven Tortugas islands don’t seem fit for anything but bird habitat. They are waterless, hot, often plagued with bugs, and assaulted by every marine storm that spawns from the warm Gulf waters flowing through the Straits of Florida. Yet, it is the same storm-spawning Gulf water that makes the Tortugas so important. Located between Florida’s tip and the top of Cuba, the Straits of Florida are a deepwater highway into major areas of American commerce. Historic merchant vessels would have flooded the Straits to access the Gulf, the Mississippi River, Cuba, and Mexico. A thriving pirate economy flourished on the fodder provided by the ships laden with Mexican gold and Asian silks. Treasure seekers and treasure stealers would have regarded the Straits as their home away from home. In many unfortunate cases, the Straits became their watery graves too. Shipwrecks litter the turquoise water around the Tortugas islands. Some were the victims of tropical storms or pirate violence. Others were assaulted by warfare. As a major hub for maritime trade, the Straits became a crucial asset to the early American economy. Florida traded hands several times before it became an American state in 1845. Shortly after the end of the Spanish-American War, Florida began to fortify itself. Forts were erected along the coast of Florida. Shortly thereafter, the Fort Jefferson of the Dry Tortugas followed suit.

Construction on the 16-acre brick hexagonal fort began in 1846. It was a massive undertaking. Construction crews endured blistering summers, temperamental weather, and a complete dependence on the food and water supplied by ships. The ships that transported the construction materials endured struggles of their own. One such ship, a flat-bottomed steamboat carrying bricks, ran aground on the nearby Bird Key, surrendering its load to greedy waters. In the middle of the construction of Fort Jefferson, the Civil War broke out. This put a chokehold on the fort’s progress, necessitating that bricks be sourced from more distant factories. Visitors to the island can observe the distinct change in brick color on the fort’s walls, a herald to the long-lasting effects of the Civil War.

Interestingly, the construction of the Fort was never completed. As it grew in size, the soft sand of Garden Key shifted beneath the heavy fort walls. The structural integrity of the fort was thrown into question, and so it was never able to become the massive gun platform it was intended to be. Despite this, the Fort was occupied and utilized. During the Civil War, it was transformed into a Union war prison. It was a miserable place to be. Prisoners and soldiers alike dubbed it “America’s Devil’s Island” as they suffered in the blistering sun. One of the most well-known Civil War prisoners in the Fort was Dr. Samuel Mudd, accused of being a conspirator with John Wilkes Booth in Lincoln’s assassination. History has never been clear about Mudd’s involvement. Some sources allege that Booth had always planned to utilize Mudd’s medical care after he assassinated the President, even going so far as to send supplies to Mudd’s farm in the weeks prior. Other sources claim that Mudd was a simple doctor, just performing his medical duty when Booth came to him with a broken leg. Though the narratives are twisted, one thing is certain: Dr. Samuel Mudd was captured and sentenced to hard imprisonment in Fort Jefferson. His wife was devastated. They kept in touch regularly through letters, though I’m certain Mudd’s letters couldn’t adequately capture the difficulty of his imprisonment. Mudd’s wife often wrote passionate letters to President Johnson to advocate for better conditions for the Fort Jefferson prisoners. When yellow fever broke out in the fort in 1867, it had a disastrous effect. Many individuals died, including the prison doctor. It was through this harrowing time that Dr. Mudd found himself pressed into a higher cause. He fought tirelessly to save prisoners and soldiers alike, sacrificing his own health without a second thought. When his noble battle was won, he returned to being a prisoner as if it had never happened. But this time, his wife’s fervent letters paid off. In response to his efforts against the yellow fever epidemic, Dr. Samuel Mudd was freed from the Dry Tortugas.

As we explored the fort that day, we had neither imprisonment nor yellow fever to hinder us. Freely we wandered, photographed, and snorkeled. We basked in the same sun that blistered soldiers’ skin decades before. We laughed and joked. It was a carefree experience. Later, on the rolling, seasick-inducing boat ride home, our burdens were light. Our wrists weren’t bruised from shackles. We weren’t worry-worn and aged. Unlike Dr. Samuel Mudd, we were free. For that, we were grateful as we left the Dry Tortuguas to sink into a molten sunset. History was left behind, preserving what once was. And there it still stays, a ghost of the Civil War and pirate times before. 

It’s waiting for you to visit its shores next.