Pensacola's Ghost in Yellow

A haunting reminder of Spain's last days in Florida.

by Dale Cox

A living history event at Historic Pensacola Village
in downtown Pensacola, Florida.

The sad story of the "Ghost in Yellow" is about a young woman named Felice who was so devoted to her country that she shed her own blood rather than accept Florida's transfer to the United States.

The story revolved around an old home near Plaza Ferdinand in Pensacola and was written for a newspaper by Ruby G. Powell in 1906. She repeated it as told by her grandmother:

...She was a Spanish girl. Years ago—nearly a hundred years, when this house was not much more than a frame structure, partly log—and there were only a few like it, for we had to have the lumber sawed by hand—my grand mother had a ward—Felice. Her father was a Spanish officer at the garrison at St. Marks; he died there and she was left in my grandmother’s charge. She was a devout Catholic and a loyal Spaniard, high strung and emotional. Felice had a lover at St. Marks, a dashing cavalaier, strikingly handsome in his glittering uniform and clinkering silver spurs. [1]

The garrison or fort at St. Marks referenced in the passage was the Spanish fort of San Marcos de Apalache. It is preserved at the state park of the same name at St. Marks, Florida.

The young woman Felice loved her country above all else, but she was filled with dread for Florida's role in its future:

Life from the time when Felice roamed the streets of the
Spanish town is recreated at Historic Pensacola Village.

Gov. Callava, the Spanish governor, was very kind to this young orphan girl, who lived at my grandfathers. He had befriended her soldier; had promised him a commission and many acres of land in Florida, if they would make their hole here. But Felice had strange forebodings.

“Florida, it is not for my people; it is for the Americans,” she would say, and often, after returning home from a visit and talk to the governor, her face was troubled, and she was very quiet for hours at a time, crooning over some strange old Spanish songs as she plied her needle between the rows of beautiful drawnwork for which she was so skilled. Her face grew sadder each day, after it was known that Spain had signed the treaty ceding Florida to the United States.

When a transport would come up from St. Marks, bringing soldiers to be taken back to Spain, Felice would kiss her crucifix, murmuring, in broken tones, "Ay de las vencidas," (woe to the vanquished) while her tears would overflow and drop on her work. [2]

The young woman's fatal date with destiny came on July 17, 1821. United States troops marched into Pensacola from their camp just outside town to meet their Spanish counterparts for a ceremony marking the official change of flags. 

The Lavalle House, seen here, stood in Pensacola at the
time of the transfer of Florida from Spain to the United States.

Andrew Jackson had twice captured the city at the head of conquering armies. This time he came as military governor to accept possession of West Florida from Spain under the terms of the Adams-Onis Treaty. 

Felice watched from her window as he arrived in fulfillment of his duties:

But that her country had given up Florida—their own ‘land of flowers,’ theirs in its kindred warmth of climate, theirs by right of discovery, and glory of conquest—had given it up for a paltry consideration of money and claims, cut her to the heart.

As the Spanish flag touched the ground and our own was raised aloft, the band burst into a new and patriotic air. There was no cheering; the Spanish faces were stolid, stony as ever; they relaxed not a muscle, but Felice made the sign of the cross, and turned from the window with a sob. That night my grandmother sent a servant to call her to supper, and she was found at her mirror, seated in front of the low dressing table. She wore a yellow dress. A single red rose pinned on her left shoulder, gave the needed touch—her national colors. Her long hair hung down as if she were about to comb it out, but buried deep in her heart was a stiletto, her hand still clutched the handle tensely, and the warm blood dyed the front of her gown. She was dead, but her blood could not avail to save Florida for Spain. [3]

The flag of Spain flies from the front of the Lavalle House
at Historic Pensacola Village. The colors of this flag were
reproduced in Felice's death scene.

Felice's feet never set foot on Florida soil after the colony became an American territory. Still, her spirit continued to linger in the old house that stood somewhere in the heart of today's downtown Pensacola. 

Ms. Powell's grandmother, who recited the story, told of seeing her in around 1896:

I, myself, have seen her once. ‘Twas Christmas, ten years ago. She sat over in that corner, combing out her hair. I could see her yellow dress as plainly as I see you, and could even see the stiletto glisten in her breast. [4]

She did not try to speak to the ghost, fearing that she would disappear as soon as she did so. 

Felice gained no love for the United States after her death, and her ghost even associated itself with the Confederate soldiers who occupied Pensacola in 1861-1862. One sighting of her occurred on either November 22, 1861, or January 1, 1862, when the thunder of cannon fire shook Pensacola Bay:

A display at Plaza Ferdinand in Pensacola shows what
archaeologists found beneath the surface. Traces of the city's
old Spanish fortifications run beneath this grassy lawn.

When my father and husband were quartered here, with their company of soldiers during the blockade of the civil war, they were awakened one night by the firing of cannon, and rushing from their beds, to seize their guns, almost stumbled upon a women dressed in yellow, seated in front of the fireplace, combing out her hair. My father knew at once who it was, but Mac started toward her. ‘What the,’ he began, but he had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when she seemed suddenly to disappear through the walls. The story leaked out, in some way, and soon every soldier in Pensacola knew about the ghost in yellow, and some even declared that they saw her moving around the men when the cannonading was heaviest. [5]

The specter made another appearance when Union forces occupied Pensacola on May 10, 1862:

...On the day that the federals got possession of the city, several of them came in the house, intending to burn it. They, too, saw the ghost in yellow, knowing that all the refugees had fled, and that there were no women and children in Pensacola, they were very much started at the apparition. But one, an Irishman, braver than his companions, put out his hand to touch her, when she seemed to crumble, and not a trace of her was left. The soldiers were so frightened that they fled, and not one could be induced to go near the house again. [6]

The fate of the Ghost in Yellow is unknown. Perhaps she survived the eventual demolition of the house to which she was attached and continues to roam the streets and sidewalks of downtown Pensacola. If so, she is no doubt comforted by the efforts of the University of West Florida and other entities to preserve and protect the old city's rich Spanish history.

A great way to learn about Pensacola's history is by visiting Historic Pensacola. The complex features "four museums, tours, & more!" Click here for more information: www.historicpensacola.org.

References

[1] Ruby G. Powell, "The Ghost in Yellow," The Weekly True Democrat, December 28, 1906, reprinted from the Florida Times-Union, December 25, 1906.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.