By 1870, Ft. Lauderdale was empty — well, the original Lewis farm, Richard Fitzpatrick’s burned-out plantation, and the trio of military forts that had given Ft. Lauderdale its name – all were gone. It was still a troubled time; the bloody Civil War was thankfully five years in the rear-view mirror, but much bitterness still remained. Florida, like the rest of the South, was suffering through the painful, messy Reconstruction effort.
But that was the fortunate summer when deputy U.S. surveyor Marcellus Williams and his 13-year-old son, Arthur, happened to stop by the former Ft. Lauderdale site, as part of their survey of the 80-mile stretch between Biscayne Bay and Jupiter Inlet. And they left us a brief verbal snapshot of what they found.
Members of the survey crew camped at New River for those few days amidst a small stand of coconut, trees, a remnant they speculated had left behind by the soldiers. Not far off in the interior, they tell us, there were Indians a-plenty. But at New River itself, the Williams survey party found only two white settler families. And they even left us their names: the Halls and the Browns. According to son Arthur Williams, the settlers included:
“. . . . a man named Hall, his wife, and two children [living] on the South side of the river, and a Mr. Brown and his wife, two grown sons, two grown daughters, and a younger son and daughter.”
Hall, he said, was operating a small farm beside the river. But Brown had a far more exciting occupation; he “seemed to make his living by wreck and beach-combing,” assisted by “a little schooner” to ferry his finds to Key West that was manned by Brown’s two adult sons.
So, who exactly were these two early Ft. Lauderdale settlers? And how did they get here? Ah, that’s another great Florida pioneer tale!
Isaiah Hall may have been only a “farmer” when the surveyors met him, but his life story reads a bit like an adventure novel. He and his family had come to New River in 1863, roughly seven years before the survey crew caught up with him. But the decision to settle at that spot hadn’t exactly been their own. As later historians bluntly put it, Hall and his family had been “run out of Miami by pro-Confederacy sympathizers.”
A Southerner by birth, Isaiah Hall grew up on a plantation in Georgia, next door to another plantation that was owned by the family of his soon-to-be wife. Lavinia Booth (born in 1821) was a pretty brunette, and soon caught his eye. She and Isaiah were married in 1840. It’s possible they had (and lost) several earlier children before a surviving son, Obadiah, was born to them — still in Georgia — about 1855.
But as Lavinia would later say, Isaiah was “of a roving disposition.” He and his friends kept venturing south repeatedly to Florida on hunting and trapping expeditions. Isaiah evidently liked what he saw. About 1857, he moved his wife and young son south; a daughter, Sarah, was born somewhere in Florida that year.
So, where, exactly, in Florida did the Halls come to rest? Well, one much later newspaper account (reproduced below) would say Isaiah had been “one of the first settlers” at Elliott’s Key (the northernmost of the Keys). This account also gives us a supposed glimpse of Isaiah himself, calling him a “very large man,” and claiming he once consumed an entire 11-pound barracuda all by himself.
The stuff of legend? Possibly. But other accounts agree that by 1858, the Hall family had taken up residence at today’s Coral Gables, “just south of the wading beach at Matheson Hammocks” – a spot that became known as Hall’s Creek.
At the time, Florida’s southeastern coast was still a “wild and unsettled” place. No railroads or even decent wagon roads connected it with the north. Travel to the southern region was almost exclusively by boat, with Key West as the transportation hub. Situated just 140 nautical miles from Hall’s Creek, Key West had already become Florida’s second-largest city, with a population topping 2,800 souls by 1860.
It’s unclear what enticed Isaiah Hall to pick the wilds of Dade County. But a handful of residents were already working there as “manufacturers of arrowroot” (coontie). Isaiah, too, could have been seeking a small plot of land to farm.
Somewhat surprisingly, the Halls aren’t mentioned in the list of the 83 Dade County residents in the 1860 census. But given the general lay of the land, perhaps it’s not that much of a mystery. Miami, after all, wasn’t even officially Miami yet; the area was still known as Fort Dallas. The Brickells’ trading post on the south side of the river didn’t exist; it wouldn’t be built for another decade. And Matheson Hammock, where the Halls chose to build, was even remoter still. Fort Dallas, if you’ll remember, was located on the north bank of the Miami River. Matheson Hammock was on the south side, near Biscayne Bay – some seven or eight miles as the crow flies. Using crude trails through underbrush, it would have been even farther. So whether someone was going on foot or by boat, a trip to Matheson Hammock would have required several hours – if the census-taker even knew the Halls were out there. Little wonder, perhaps, that the four Halls didn’t make it into the official 1860 tally.
The following year kicked off with a political bang, one that would reach even those burrowed deep in the wilds of Florida: on January 10, 1861, Florida seceded from the Union. Florida was the least-populated of the Confederate states, and Miami was too tiny to play much of a role in the coming war. But locals soon felt the impact. President Lincoln seized Key West to make sure it remained under Union control, and imposed a strict naval blockade along the Southern coastline.
Suddenly, Miami residents found themselves unable to obtain their usual provisions and supplies from Key West. From time to time, a few daring captains attempted a covert voyage. But blockade-running was risky business for ships and crews alike. Most commerce ground to a halt.
Despite being a Southerner by birth, Isaiah Hall was no fan of slavery. And unlike most of his Dade County neighbors, he supported the Union blockade — not just with words, but actively. Putting his coastal knowledge to work for the military, Isaiah servied as a pilot for the U.S.S. Sagamore from 1862 to early 1863, with voyages ranging as far as Key West and the Dry Tortugas. The Sagamore, a wooden-hulled, screw-driven, Unadilla-class steam gunboat, would capture some 21 blockade runners over the course of the war.
As you can imagine, Hall’s help for the Union earned a less-than-warm reception from his neighbors. In early 1863, amid rumors that Confederate troops were on their way to kidnap Lavinia, Isaiah and his family were forced to flee their home, leaving all their possessions behind. Mother and children put out to sea in a small boat, where they were rescued by . . . . none other than the Sagamore, with Isaiah on board.
The ship’s crew ferried them north up the coas before veering slightly south again, eventually depositing the family on the shore of the New River on February 8, 1863. Apocryphal reports suggest that before leaving, the crew took up a $50 collection to aid the family in their new home. But they’d brought nothing else with them.
A home at New River may not have been their choice. But Isaiah Hall and his family remained there – safely away from the ire of their Miami neighbors – through the war’s end in 1865. During that time, two more children arrived: John, in 1862, and Martha, in 1864.
By 1868, Isaiah had evidently managed to redeem himself with his neighbors. He was elected to the Florida state legislature as a representative from Dade County. And according to family lore, the Halls even returned to Miami. Finding their old home gone, they settled on land at the mouth of the Miami River — property that would later hold the Royal Palm Hotel.
At Miami, Isaiah made his living trading with the Indians, purchasing skins, feathers, and other products from them to sell in Key West. Son William arrived in 1868, becoming (according to his mother) the “first white child born in Miami.” Daughter Mary soon followed in 1869.
But the Hall family must have kept their toe-hold at New River as well. When the Williams survey crew arrived there in 1870, they discovered Isaiah Hall farming on the south side of New River, with his wife and “two” children. The Dade census that same year confirms Isaiah’s occupation as a farmer, and similarly lists his wife and six offspring, ages one to 15.
According to Lavinia, the Hall family eventually moved to Big Pine Key when Isaiah secured a contract to supply the government with button wood. Isaiah passed away at Big Marco, probably about 1900. As for their six children, Lavinia reported that they all married and settled in Key West, and she eventually came to live with them.
Lavinia passed away in Key West in 1922, at the astonishing age of 101. She’d borne a total of nine children, she told a reporter, and proudly counted 26 grandchildren and 48 great-grandchildren. We’re not quite sure where Isaiah’s remains were laid to rest. But Lavinia, her son Obadiah, and daughter Martha are all buried there at Key West.
For a glimpse at other early Ft. Lauderdale pioneers, check out our earlier post here. And what about beachcomber “Pig” Brown and his family, the other early Fort Lauderdale pioneers mentioned by the surveyors in 1870? Ah, that’s another fun pioneer tale for next time!