From the Governor, Don Jose Callava, now came a dignified note of protest; but the invader’s only reply was an announcement of his purpose to take possession of the town, on the ground that its population had encouraged the Indians and given them supplies.  On May 24, 1818, the American forces and their allies marched in, unopposed, and the commander coolly apprised Callava that he would “assume the government until the transaction can be amicably adjusted by the two governments.”  “If, contrary to my hopes,” responded the Spanish dignitary, “Your Excellency should persist in your intention to occupy this fortress, which I am resolved to defend to the last extremity, I shall repel force by force; and he who resists aggression can never be considered an aggressor.  God preserve Your Excellency many years.”  To which Jackson replied that “resistance would be a wanton sacrifice of blood,” and that he could not but remark on the Governor’s inconsistency in presuming himself capable of repelling an army which had conquered Indian tribes admittedly too powerful for the Spaniards to control.

When the Americans approached the fort in which Callava had taken refuge, they were received with a volley which they answered, as Jackson tells us, with “a nine-pound piece and five eight-inch howitzers.”  The Spaniards, whose only purpose was to make a decent show of defending the place, then ran up the white flag and were allowed to march out with the honors of war.  The victor sent the Governor and soldiery off to Havana, installed a United States collector of customs, stationed a United States garrison in the fort, and on the following day set out on his way to Tennessee.

In a five months’ campaign Jackson had established peace on the border, had broken the power of the hostile Indians, and had substantially conquered Florida.  Not a white man in his army had been killed in battle, and not even the most extravagant eulogist could aver that the war had been a great military triumph.  None the less, the people—­especially in the West and South—­were intensely pleased.  Life in the frontier regions would now be safer; and the acquisition of the coveted Florida country was brought appreciably nearer.  The popular sentiment on the latter subject found characteristic expression in a toast at a banquet given at Nashville in honor of the returning conqueror:  “Pensacola—­Spanish perfidy and Indian barbarity rendered its capture necessary.  May our Government never surrender it from the fear of war!”

It was easy enough for Jackson to “take” Florida and for the people to rejoice in the exploit.  To defend or explain away the irregular features of the act was, however, quite a different matter; and that was the task which fell to the authorities at Washington.  “The territory of a friendly power had been invaded, its officers deposed, its towns and fortresses taken possession of; two citizens of another friendly and powerful nation had been executed in scandalously summary fashion, upon suspicion rather than evidence.”  The Spanish Minister, Onis, wrathfully protested to the Secretary of State and demanded that Jackson be punished; while from London Rush quoted Castlereagh as saying that English feeling was so wrought up that war could be produced by the raising of a finger.