The man in the wall/The man in the ceiling.
Fort Halls at night.
Walking into Fort Jefferson, crossing the bridge and through the sally port, feels a bit like crossing into another world. The brick walls shelter the interior from wind, bird noise, and everything else outside. Yet, the interior is so large that it doesn’t seem like you are inside a building. The parade ground, through conflicting reports, is somewhere between 10 and 13 acres. (I’m sure it’s possible to measure and math, but math is too scary for the Halloween season.)
Inside the fort, there is much to draw your eye. Great informational signs, trees which have been growing for a hundred years, the walls of the fort itself, the other visitors, and on. One of the most prominent markers you will probably miss sits inside the parade ground. A large marble stone memorial stands to honor Major Jos Smith, and his young son Henry Price both victims of the Yellow Fever outbreak in the Dry Tortugas.
Yellow Fever came to the Dry Tortugas and swiftly moved through the soldiers, prisoners, and others who lived in and around the fort, causing massive casualties. Usually, when the outbreak is mentioned, it is to segue into stories of the fort’s most prominent prisoner, Dr. Samuel Mudd, who eventually earned his pardon for treating those with the illness after Major Jos Smith, the other physician, died.
However, that’s not the story I wanted to tell. Neither do I want to write of the death of Jos or his son. Theirs is tragic tale. (As ghost stories often are.) But I, fortunately, never knew about them while I lived out at the fort. (I was too scared to approach and read the memorial because I thought that it was a cemetery marker.)
No, the story I heard from the yellow fever days, while probably myth, was more frightening than tragic.
Much could be said about how our understanding of disease and it’s spread has changed in the last two centuries, but people then at least knew about yellow fever, and how terrible it could be. They understood the need for quarantine and isolation. If nothing else, a body fallen victim to illness was known as something to avoid. Which is why, in the early days of a yellow fever outbreak on Garden Key, before most men were too sick to take proper care, it was rumored that a drastic measure was taken to isolate one of the first victims.
Supposedly, when the first man succumbed to his illness, no one wanted to approach the poor soul. Perhaps for fear of the disease, or perhaps in haste to avoid spreading the infection further, someone decided that it was best not to move the body, or at least to avoid the long walk to escape the fort. Whatever they were thinking is conjecture now. All the rumors tell us is their final decision.
This early victim had obviously died of an illness everyone wanted to avoid, so the men decided to seal the dead man into the walls of the fort. They decided to brick him up where he died in hopes that they would prevent the infection from spreading. So, brick by brick, mortar and stone, the disease was locked into the walls of the fort itself.
An alternate version of this story suggests that victim was buried not in the walls, which would have presented a challenging and time-consuming effort, but instead say that he was taken to the top of the fort, where, through military neglect, an artificial and elevated island was growing atop the unfinished 3rd story. (The 3rd floor was already filling with sand and island scrub.) There, atop the fort, in place of cannon, the Yellow Fever victim was buried in soft wind-carried sand.
History tells us this action did not prevent the outbreak. The disease had already spread to the men who hastily buried their comrade, and it would spread to many more on the island: After all, it was mosquitoes which carry Yellow Fever, and not simply diseased air. But that is a tale for another day.
Is this rumor true? There is no record I could find. Just whispers and stories.
However, this did not prevent me, when I was young from investigating every arch, looking for signs of patchy brickwork, places where more bricks had been added or the fort’s structure had been changed. More frightening, indeed, was the idea that the man might had been buried in roof of the fort. After all, a brick fort is a porous structure, as evidenced by the stalagmites and stalactites now growing on the second floor. These have formed from years of rain seeping through mortar, carrying minerals and anything else from the roof of the structure. What added mineral might these formations hold?
Stalactites, Stalagmites, and what about that crack in the wall. What’s on the other side? (this was the section of the fort I thought most likely to contain the Yellow Fever Victim)
Truth be told. This is a story to doubt. There are written records of every Yellow Fever outbreak in the Dry Tortugas, recorded by the U.S. military which oversaw the islands. They wrote about the illness, the deaths, and of a quarantine set up on another island. Researchers have been able to trace those records deep enough to learn even when Yellow Fever arrived on the island, and the ship which brought it.
The records account for the the tireless work of many to save lives on the island, and yet there there is no mention of a man bricked into the walls. Still, if you walk through the dark halls of the fort at night, when shadows make it impossible to see your hand in front of your face, or when you tread over the ground filled in on the unfinished 3rd floor, remember that a lot of care went into the construction of Fort Jefferson, care, bricks, mortar, fossil coral, and perhaps—something or someone more.