When Biscayne National Monument was expanded to 181,500 acres and designated a national park in 1980, the objective was to "protect a rare combination of terrestrial and undersea life…and to provide an outstanding spot for recreation and relaxation." To this day, Biscayne remains a vast harbor of clear blue waters, multi-textured coral, and a dazzling array of fish. But as the majority of the park (96%) is underwater, so too is a large part of the story of Biscayne hidden from plain sight. Omitted, lost, or forgotten amid the effusive tributes naturalists, historians, and interpreters, have paid to the beauty of the reefs and keys, are the people of Biscayne, many of African descent, who populated the region and formed a rudimentary, hardscrabble existence for themselves in spite of a less-than-welcoming environment.

As with so much of American history, the story of Biscayne's early residents begins with the European conquest of the Americas, the displacement of indigenous peoples, and the enslavement and transport of Africans to the western hemisphere. Between 1565 and 1763, Florida was one province in Spain's vast "new world" empire. Although free Africans, such as the explorer Juan Garrido, accompanied early Spanish Conquistadors, the hard work of hacking a colony out of the swamps and woodlands of Florida called for the importation of large numbers of enslaved Africans. Contrary to popular belief, most of the Africans brought to Florida were skilled laborers and artisans, as adept at shipbuilding as they were at throwing up fortifications or growing crops.

At first, enslaved Africans were brought to Florida directly from Spain. As the need for slave labor increased, however, Africans were imported from Cuba or other Spanish slave-holding possessions in the Caribbean. The Florida Keys and Biscayne Bay were located astride the major route for Spanish slave ships.

Not surprisingly, some of the first Africans to inhabit the keys were those who had survived the wreck of slave ships passing through the area. Men and women escaping from slavery on the mainland also made their way to the keys. Some settled in the area, while others used the keys as a staging point on their way to non-slave holding islands such Andros, in the Bahamas or Haiti. As harsh an environment as the keys offered, the remote location ensured its early African residents minimal contact with Europeans, thereby reducing the likelihood of recapture or other interference.

But not all blacks who made their homes in the Biscayne region passively eked out an existence in eternal fear of slave catchers. The legend of Black Caesar describes an African leader who, after being tricked into the hold of a slave ship and transported to the Caribbean, escaped and became a pirate. Black Caesar is said to have roamed the keys, raiding and marauding at will. Caesar Creek (located just to the southeast of the present-day Adams Key Information Center) is thought to have been the location of Black Caesar's headquarters.

Despite the "legendary" status of Africans such as Black Caesar, the keys did play host to bona-fide black settlers. Parson Jones and his family lived on Elliott Key, where they grew limes and pineapples. In an even more dramatic turn of events than Black Caesar's high sea adventures, Jones and his family spent several years hacking out a channel in the coral reefs around Elliot Key, in order to create a way of transporting their produce to markets on the mainland. The cut, although no longer used, remains visible to the careful eye to this day. The last descendant of the family, Lancelot Jones, remained on Elliott Key until Hurricane Andrew forced his evacuation and eventually destroyed his home.

The legend of Black Caesar and the limited historical record on Parson Jones hint at the wealth of information that potentially waits to be uncovered about Biscayne's "other history." Long regarded as a nature lover's paradise and a prime vacation/recreation destination, Biscayne had a very different appeal to the Africans, Afro-Caribbeans, and African Americans who made the keys their home. Isolated from the mainland, Biscayne offered a haven for those men and women seeking refuge from slavery and separation from governments bent upon constricting personal liberty and freedom.

Historian George Santayana once wrote "all history is written wrong… and is therefore in need of rewriting." Fleshing out the stories of Black Caesar and the Jones clan are not present-day efforts to "color" history to the liking of a politically correct elite. Rather, uncovering these stories is a perfect way to make Biscayne National Park (and by extension, the entire park system) more relevant to people of color and more fully reflective of this nation's long and often troubling history.

Until Biscayne's historical texts and interpretive brochures tell as much about Black Caesar as they do about the French angelfish, we cannot hope to comprehend the true diversity of our history, our people, and our parks.