Early eighteenth-century social life in St. Augustine wasn't the glitter and pomp of larger territorial governments. In this harsh, out-of-the way frontier area, social activities had a crude simplicity.

   Castillo soldiers tippled wine, drank smuggled English rum, played cards, or cavorted with the local trollops. Wives found their outlet in the church, in gossip, and an infrequent public festival or dance.

   Memorial funeral rites for a deceased monarch helped break the terrible monotony. Houses and public buildings were draped with black crepe and everyone wore appropriate mourning dress.   

   Women donned black gowns and head dresses. Soldiers and civil officials wore dress uniforms or their best clothes, suitably adorned with black symbols of mourning. The bells of the parish church tolled continuously from five in the morning until ten at night.

   In contrast to royal funeral rites, fiestas for a new monarch were eagerly anticipated. The colonists could feast freely on the food and liquor provided by the governor.

   Trumpeters, drummers, and pipers of the presidio gladly turned from martial music to join guitarists of the town for dancing and singing. Candles lighted St.Augustine's narrow streets, doorways, and windows and put the town in a festive mood.

   Church and convent bells were rung joyously, and soldiers in dress uniform, civil officials in their best clothes, and women in their most elegant finery, promenaded along the gaily decorated streets and attended Mass at the parish or convent church.

   In the spring of 1747, Governor Manuel de Montiano declared April 30 and May1as the time to honor the newly crowned King Ferdinand VI.

   In the plaza, on a stage constructed for the festival, officials proclaimed their great love and devotion for Ferdinand VI and solicited donations from the crowd.

   Montiano entertained the principal military, civil, and religious officials, and a "few notable residents" at a resplendent banquet in his residence, while the rank-and-file feasted on free food and liquor in the public square and surrounding streets. As they celebrated, the residents shouted continually, "Long live our king, Ferdinand VI."

   Plays, masquerades, and dancing on the newly constructed stage entertained the residents throughout the afternoon. The liquor flowed far into the night, and some of the soldiers, emboldened by the heady draughts, intruded on the governor's more sedate gathering.

   Entering the courtyard of the governor's residence, they began shouting loudly to get Montiano's attention. When he appeared, they pointed out boisterously that no festival in Havana had ever compared with the one now taking place in St. Augustine.

   Montiano listened politely, and then urged them to leave, personally accompanying them to the door of the courtyard where they made a noisy exit. Later, the governor wrote that he was proud of the loyalty of his men, despite the fact that an excess of drink may have clouded their judgment.

   These high points of social life in early eighteenth century St. Augustine occurred all too seldom. The accessions of Philip V, Ferdinand VI, and Charles III were times for rejoicing, but they took place only three times in sixty years, an average of once every twenty years.

   Small wonder the celebrations took on the aspects of a bacchanalian revelry.