Diamond Lil Narrator:
The Catholic Church flourished in the early days due to St. Augustine’s Spanish past. However, despite Captain Menendez de Aviles efforts at Matanzas Inlet to keep Protestants at bay, the arrival of the British, the Spanish sale of Florida to the United States in 1821 for a paltry five million dollars, and the arrival of Union Forces in the city brought a new and more mixed religious population to the first coast. During the Civil War, the first Catholic Bishop of St. Augustine openly sided with the rebel cause. Though a devout and holy man who served rich and poor and Yankee alike, it was a great disappointment to all when he seemed to be ill-fated in death despite the best efforts of the Mother Superior who tended to the funeral arrangements.


Mother Superior and The Bishop’s Tomb
I’m sure dear friends our Bishop did nought in life
To deserve his fate in death, nor did I, Mother Superior
That fatal day I oversaw the buriel of the first Bishop of Florida,
The Most Reverend Jean Pierre Augustin Mercillin Verot,
A saintly man of many good works,
For though a champion of the rebel’s cause
He took his priests to serve Union soldiers
At the dreaded Andersonville prison camp in Georgia.
Oh, how I admired this man who died in 1876
During the sweltering month of June.
With a multitude of celebrities in attendance,
We had done our best to preserve
The corpse laying it in a hole
With sawdust and ice, which unfortunately
Did melt! What could I do dashing to and fro,
But order an early funeral service
Placing the body in a metal casket with glass on top
To permit a viewing during the ceremony in a
Crowded church that turned into a hot and humid oven
So our Bishop did explode, spewing up into the air
Like a geyser shattering the glass and horror of all horrors,
Filling that sacred space with such a putrid smell
That I ran hither and thither in the face of this
Unreasonable event, Holy Mother of God. I ordered
Everyone out though most had already taken hastily
To the street in shock and awe, disgust and fear,
Rushing for the doors. Those with stomach for the job
Cemented the casket shut, and soon thereafter I became
Quite insane, died in fact, and began to haunt the
Dark streets always with a sense of something left
Undone in life, begging the good Lord for explanation
Of injustice done to rebel Bishop Jean Verot.

Song: To Keep My Love Alive (Ida Alice)

Henry:
But there were lighter days at my hotel
Reported in Tatler Magazine by my dear friend,
Anna Marcotte Hughes, who, when married to Captain Marcotte
Faced the Sioux at Fort Rice and Fort Lincoln,
Journeyed with her Captain from Fort Lincoln in 1873
To what is now Fargo with temperatures
Between 28 and 48 degrees below zero.
Such dangers merely sharpened her wit
In preparation for writing
Tatler’s chit-chat page

Anna Marcotte Hughes
Anna Marcotte here with a gossipy tale from
The pages of Tatler magazine about a party
Of elegant ladies and gentlemen from Chicago,
Guests at the Cordova Hotel where they never ceased
To speak of alligators, expecting to see them on the
Streets, complaining that they only saw little ones
That kids could take home in cigar boxes, and
Never a sign of the dreaded six-foot Florida gators.
Mr. John Conlon grew tired of all this whining that
“the large ones were not seen”, spoke with a well-known
Prankster, Mr. Moorehead, and then proposed that the
Chicagoans should not miss the alligator race around
The corridors of Ponce de Leon Hotel, offering
The tourist’s special reserved seats! A Mrs. Perry
Asked if there were no danger from the giant tails?
But Mr. Conlon assured her that the gators would
Be harnessed like a horse, the tail firmly secured
To every giant galloping alligator’s back. Showing
No fear our Chicagoans paraded across the street
Giving up their tickets at the Hotel door, and ecstatic
They were seated in the Rotunda, where they paid
Little attention to the showy guests parading about
Henry Flagler’s masterpiece, but as time went by
The Chicagoans grew impatient, but were assured
The race would take place, though in the courtyard
Since the Hotel corridors were terribly overcrowded.
The tourist party strolled amidst exotic plants and trees,
Until informed by Mr. Moorehead that the race, alas
Could not be held because the largest alligator had
Escaped and was running freely about the grounds!
The ladies screamed, raised their skirts, and ran to
Their ‘natural protectors’, and clutching their men,
They begged to be taken away, while the feisty
Mr. Condon took his orange-wood stick going
In pursuit of that dangerous creature, poking
Under bushes and among the flowers for the
Six-foot alligator that was nowhere to be found!
Finally the ladies dropped their skirts and tiptoed off
But not before Mrs. Perry was overheard to ask a passing
Guest in awe “if the dreadful alligators often got away”
Unfortunately for the pranksters this gentleman was not
In on the game and he revealed to the poor indignant
Ladies that there never was such a race about the corridors
Of the grand hotel since the ferocious alligators lived far
From such luxurious surroundings, thank god, in murky
Jungle waters and could not be harnessed like a horse!
The blushing Chicagoans hurried off and we can presume
They will do their best to return the prankish favor some
Other day and thus give us yet another Tatler tale
To please the readers of our charming Chit Chat pages.