Like the other Golden Isles, St. Simons was occupied by Native Americans for many centuries before the first European ship ever crested the Atlantic’s horizon. During the 1500s, Spanish authorities based in St. Augustine, Florida, established three missions on what they called the isle of Asao. One of these, San Simon, eventually lent its name to the entire island.
Soon after the founding of Savannah, James Oglethorpe selected the island as the most likely position from which to make a frontal defense against the Spanish. Beginning in 1734, his forces began construction of a fort on the island’s western flank near a bend in Frederica River. The fort and the settlement that sprang up around its walls were named Frederica in honor of the Prince of Wales. Another fort was built to guard the island’s southern tip. This fortification was known as St. Simons.
The village surrounding the fort eventually grew into a community of 1,000 or more. The first temporary huts were soon replaced by brick and tabby dwellings that were peopled by bricklayers, masons, carpenters, cabinetmakers, locksmiths, silversmiths, watchmakers, millers, bakers, tailors, and others. A substantial community grew up within a few years where there was once nothing but marsh and forest. Today’s visitors can view the foundations of these formerly prosperous dwellings.
By all accounts, Frederica was a bustling place, with red-coated British regulars patrolling the streets alongside their quilted Highlander counterparts. Native Americans were often in town, sporting their moccasins and beaded clothing. Oglethorpe himself maintained a large farm and home near Frederica, which he dubbed Orange Hall.
In the 1730s, England and Spain came into conflict during the `War of Jenkins Ear.’ The strange name of this dispute comes from its origin. An English citizen by the name of Jenkins was taken prisoner by Spanish soldiers on a stretch of land between Georgia and Florida that was claimed by both governments. His ear was cut off by the Spanish, and England, itching for a chance to wrest Spain’s New World possessions away, declared war.
Never one for inaction, Oglethorpe organized a strong expeditionary force that sailed boldly into St. Augustine’s harbor. The English sacked the town, but the coquina-walled Castillo de San Marcos proved all but invulnerable to cannon fire, and Oglethorpe withdrew.
Following this attack, the Spanish authorities were eager for revenge. In 1742, a strong fleet from St. Augustine landed troops on the southern tip of St. Simons. Vastly outnumbered, Oglethorpe’s forces marched to meet the invaders as the Spanish pushed north to Frederica. The two armies clashed briefly, and then the English seemed to withdraw. Though accounts are confusing from this point on, it seems that the colonial forces lay in hiding and ambushed the advancing Spanish grenadiers, decimating their ranks with withering musket fire. The brief encounter became known as the Battle of Bloody Marsh. Having lost some of its key officers, the invading fleet withdrew, never to threaten Georgia again.
It is truly amazing how such a short, brief event can have such a dramatic impact on history. Had the Spanish been successful in their campaign, the history of the southeastern United States could have been very different, and written in a disparate language.
With the cessation of Spanish threats, the garrison at Frederica was slowly withdrawn, and the town was eventually abandoned. A fire in 1758 destroyed some of the old settlement’s buildings, and the land was sold in 1760. In 1903, Belle Stevens Taylor deeded the property to the Georgia Society of Colonial Dames of America. A portion of the old fort was repaired, and efforts went forward to have the one-time village declared a national monument. This dream finally became a reality in 1947, when the tract was officially dedicated and the National Park Service took over its management.
In 1772, James Spalding, the father of Sapelo Island’s Thomas Spalding, began a large plantation on St. Simons that was first known as `The General’s Farm.’ Spalding and all the other inhabitants left St. Simons during the Revolution. He returned after the war, only to find his home and farms in ruins.
It was not long before Spalding began to recoup his losses in dramatic fashion. He is credited as being one of the first to cultivate long-staple cotton imported from the West Indies. This was the beginning of the fabled Sea Island cotton empire that came to be an almost unimaginable source of wealth for island planters.
By the early 1800s, a number of successful plantations were situated on St. Simons Island. Luxurious homes were built, and exquisite carriages transported guests to and from the various homeplaces. Many of the planters’ children traveled abroad, and the finest books and furnishings were imported from Europe. Some of the planters even had their portraits painted by Thomas Sully of Philadelphia, the foremost American artist of his day. It was a time of gracious living on St. Simons, and its like would continue until the Civil War.
The foundation for the first St. Simons Lighthouse was laid in 1811. Within a year, British troops invaded the island during the War of 1812. Plantations were sacked, but the returning planters soon set things right by virtue of their continuing wealth from Sea Island cotton.
With the coming of the tragic North-South conflict, Confederate troops were stationed on the southerly tip of St. Simons to guard the inlet. These forces abandoned the island in 1862, blowing up the lighthouse as they left. Union troops soon occupied St. Simons, and during the remainder of the war freed slaves were housed on the island.
The end had come to St. Simons Island’s most colorful era. No longer would the fields wave with snow-white cotton. The war and the coming of the boll weevil quickly pushed the old way of life into the past.
The island’s economy finally began to revive with the establishment of several sawmills during the 1870s. As the 20th century approached, St. Simons became one of the most popular summer vacation resorts in the Southeast. Guests initially arrived aboard two steamships, the Emmeline and the Hessie. They were met at the pier by surreys, but this primitive mode of transportation was soon replaced by a donkey-drawn railroad. Finally, a steam engine replaced the tired animals, and St. Simons entered the 20th century with a bright future based on tourism.
With the opening of the Torras Causeway in 1924, the average person could now afford to spend a few days or even a week on the island. New building went forward apace, but somehow the wise island leaders always found a way to keep construction in line with St. Simons Island’s very special air of enchantment and relaxation. Today, islanders are still optimistic about the future, though they must remain vigilant to guard against massive development. So far, they have been successful, and this writer wishes them well.