It is remarkable. In every adventure I undertake, I find a coin story. It’s always there; you just need to know where to look.
Pursuit of the hobby was not on the agenda when my wife, Mary Ann, and I signed on with Captain Anne Baxter for a half-day cruise aboard her small, outboard speedboat. With our sole shelter from the Florida sun being a navy-blue canvas canopy (I think they’re called “Bimini tops”), our mission was to explore the waters of the Florida Keys.
With a camera in hand, we set off in search of manatee and dolphins and to visit the shallow bays along the Keys. Our objective was to indulge in a brief interlude of snorkeling, a sport that always brings to mind pirate treasure, no matter how shallow the water. We crisscrossed the Intracoastal Highway, cruising both the Atlantic Ocean and the outreaches of the Florida Everglades along the Gulf of Mexico.
Captain Anne turned out to be a former Everglades National Park ranger and marine ecology instructor. She also knew her local history. As the sun began to set, we turned northeast to return to port at Islamorada. On the horizon, some 2.5 miles offshore, a tall structure came into view. It looked very much like an oil rig. Captain Anne seemed to read our thoughts and corrected us.
“That,” she said authoritatively, “is Alligator Reef Lighthouse.” She explained that it had been standing sentinel there since 1873.
In the decade between 1848 and 1858, more than 600 vessels were wrecked on the reefs along the Florida coast. Not all the losses were accidental. Many a nefarious wrecker led ships onto the reefs for bounty and salvage. In 1857 Congress authorized the building and maintenance of a lighthouse on Alligator Reef; however, the Civil War delayed construction until 1870.
The lighthouse was initially built in Cold Spring, New York, disassembled, and shipped down the Atlantic Coast to Alligator Reef. A huge, steam-powered pile driver anchored the structure in the coral. Rising 136 feet above sea level, the tower had living quarters built high in its upper reaches. The lighthouse was manned until it was automated in 1963.
Alligator Reef
“Why call it Alligator Reef’?” I asked. “Surely no such creature would venture this far out in saltwater.”
Captain Anne responded with her own question: “Did you ever hear of the USS Alligator?”
“Yes,” I replied, and in an instant. I was reminded of a great numismatic story, thanks to the coins the Pobjoy Mint produces for the Republic of Liberia. The USS Alligator is pictured in the Liberian coat of arms displayed on the reverse of most of this African nation’s modern coins. The Alligator was no small ship. Weighing 175 tons, it was 86 feet long and schooner-rigged. It was built at the Boston Navy Yard and launched in 1820.
In the early 1800s, no ship was safe sailing the waters around the Keys and southward to the West Indies. The United States government ordered the USS Alligator into action to put an end to the booming business of slave trading and piracy.
Captain Anne and I swapped stories about the ship’s history. One yarn was as intriguing as the next. My story had a numismatic connection. The Alligator made two trips to the coast of Africa, one of which figures into why the vessel is portrayed on Liberian coinage today. Liberia was Africa’s first republic, founded in 1822 through the American Colonization Society’s efforts to find a home for freed slaves. The Alligator brought the first settlers to the colony (then called “Monrovia”). For 40 years, nearly 12,000 former slaves volunteered for relocation. The colony officially became the Republic of Liberia in 1847.
Captain Anne’s story focused on the Alligator’s demise. Late one evening in the early winter of 1822, the ship ran aground on what was then known as “Carysford Reef.” Her crew labored for three days to free her. When all efforts failed, the captain ordered all hands to abandon the ship, moving what could be saved to a sister ship (the Ann Maria) and blowing up the Alligator to keep any salvage from pirates.
Today, two sections of the Alligator’s hull lie on the shallow ocean floor, including some rigging, cannon balls, and gun carriages. Nature has wrapped them in the very coral responsible for destroying the ship. The Alligator’s story is so intriguing that I plan a return visit soon. We all need a little adventure now and then.
A version of this article (from Edward C. Rochette’s “The Other Side of the Coin” column) appeared in the May 2000 issue of The Numismatist (money.org).