St. Augustine is old. Really old. When you walk down St. George Street with a waffle cone in your hand, you’re literally steps away from thousands of people buried right under your feet. It’s kinda heavy if you think about it too long. Most people visit the Fountain of Youth or the Castillo de San Marcos and call it a day, but the real soul of this city—the grit, the plague, the segregation, and the weird Spanish colonial history—is etched into the coquina headstones of cemeteries in St. Augustine FL.
If you're looking for manicured lawns and perfect marble statues, you're in the wrong city. These graveyards are cramped. They’re weathered by salt air. Honestly, some of them look like they’re barely holding on against the Florida humidity. But that’s exactly why they matter.
The Tolomato Cemetery and the Layered Dead
You’ve probably driven past a high brick wall on Cordova Street without even glancing at it. That’s Tolomato. It’s arguably the most significant historical plot in the state, sitting on the site of a former Guale Indian mission. It’s tiny. You can’t even go in most of the time unless the Tolomato Christian Cemetery Preservation Association is running a guided tour, usually on the third Saturday of the month.
People were buried here from the 18th century until 1884.
Think about that timeline. You have Spanish settlers, Minorcans, Africans, and even a Greek or two. One of the most famous residents is Father Felix Varela. He’s a big deal in Cuba—a candidate for sainthood. He was buried here in a small chapel before his remains were moved to Havana, though the chapel still stands as a memorial.
Then there’s Elizabeth Maria de’Benavides. She died in 1752. Her headstone is the oldest one still in its original spot in Florida. It’s made of coquina, that rough shell-stone the Spanish used for the fort. Over centuries, the rain and salt have softened the edges until the words are barely legible. It’s a reminder that in Florida, nature tries to reclaim everything.
Walking past the gates, you’ll notice the ground is uneven. It’s bumpy. That’s because the cemetery is packed three or four layers deep. Space was a luxury in a walled city. When someone new died, they often just added more dirt or shifted things around. It’s a bit claustrophobic when you realize the sheer density of humans in such a small corner of downtown.
Why the Huguenot Cemetery Isn't Actually Huguenot
This is the one everyone sees. It’s right across from the City Gate. If you’ve taken a ghost tour, you’ve stood outside these iron bars at 9:00 PM while someone in a tricorn hat waved a lantern at you.
✨ Don't miss: Why Kempegowda International Airport photos look nothing like a typical terminal
Here’s the thing: No actual Huguenots are buried there.
The name is a bit of a historical "whoops." Huguenots were French Protestants who were famously slaughtered by Menéndez de Avilés back in 1565 at Matanzas. This cemetery didn't even open until 1821. It was actually created for the "public"—specifically non-Catholics—after Florida became a U.S. territory. Before 1821, if you weren't Catholic in St. Augustine, you basically didn't have a place to go.
Yellow Fever changed that.
The 1821 outbreak was brutal. People were dying faster than graves could be dug. The Huguenot Cemetery became a necessity for the influx of Americans moving into the newly acquired territory. You can see the shift in the headstones here. While Tolomato feels Spanish and ancient, Huguenot feels American and Victorian. The stones are taller, more ornate, and often tell more of a story.
But it’s also a site of tragedy. There are mass graves here. When the fever hit, the niceties of individual plots went out the window. They needed bodies in the ground to stop the spread. Today, it’s a beautiful, oak-shaded spot, but the history is essentially a record of a pandemic that nearly wiped out the city's growth before it started.
The Forgotten History of Pinehurst and San Sebastian
If you want to understand the real St. Augustine, you have to leave the historic district. Head west. Most tourists never make it to West King Street, but that’s where the narrative of the city’s Black community is written in stone.
Pinehurst and San Sebastian are side-by-side. For a long time, they were overgrown. Nature did a number on them. Vines, palms, and the Florida scrub basically swallowed the headstones.
These are African American cemeteries established when segregation followed you even to the grave. While the city spent money maintaining the "white" cemeteries downtown, these were often left to the families. In recent years, local volunteers and historians like those from the St. Augustine Historical Society have worked to clear the brush.
🔗 Read more: Is Naples Florida in the Evacuation Zone? What You Need to Know Before the Next Storm
What they found was incredible.
There are Buffalo Soldiers buried here. Veterans of the Civil War. Civil Rights leaders who stood alongside Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. during the 1864 St. Augustine movement. The stones here aren't always professional marble; many are hand-cast concrete with names etched by a finger or a stick while the cement was still wet.
It’s raw. It’s personal.
One grave in San Sebastian belongs to a man named Reverend Thomas Wright. He was a powerhouse in the local community during the 1960s. Seeing his name in the quiet, sun-dappled shade of a West Side cemetery feels different than seeing a plaque on a downtown building. It feels more honest.
The National Cemetery and the Pyramid Mystery
At the southern end of town, near the State Arsenal, is the St. Augustine National Cemetery. It’s pristine. White markers, perfectly aligned, cut against the green grass. It looks like a miniature Arlington.
But the main draw here is the pyramids.
🔗 Read more: A is for Athens Rooftop Bar: Why You Should Probably Skip the Other Monastiraki Spots
They aren't Egyptian, obviously. They’re coquina pyramids covered in white stucco. Underneath them lie the remains of 1,468 soldiers who died during the Seminole Wars. Most of them didn't die in battle; they died of disease in the Florida swamps.
The story goes that the remains were brought back from various battlefields and outposts in the 1840s. Because identification was nearly impossible for many, they were buried in mass pits, and these three pyramids were built over them. It’s one of the few places in the country where you’ll see this specific type of funerary architecture.
It’s a quiet, sobering place. The contrast between the rigid military order here and the chaotic, crumbling walls of the Tolomato is a perfect metaphor for the transition of St. Augustine from a Spanish colonial outpost to an American military hub.
How to Visit Without Being "That" Tourist
Look, these are active historical sites and, in some cases, sacred ground. People still visit their ancestors at San Sebastian. Don't be the person sitting on a headstone for an Instagram photo.
- Check the Gate: Many of these are locked. Tolomato is rarely open to the public. Don't jump the fence; wait for the monthly tours.
- Rubbings are a No-Go: People used to do charcoal rubbings of old stones. Don't. The coquina and old limestone are incredibly fragile. You’ll literally rub the history right off the stone.
- The Weather Factor: If it rained yesterday, these places will be muddy. Florida mud is no joke. Wear boots.
- Respect the Neighborhood: Cemeteries like Pinehurst are in residential areas. Be cool. Park legally.
Beyond the Ghost Tours
St. Augustine loves a good ghost story. Every night, dozens of tours stop at the Huguenot or Tolomato gates. And sure, the "Lady in White" or the "Ghost of the Little Boy" stories are fun for a thrill.
But the real ghosts are the people whose names are fading off the rocks.
The Minorcan indentured servants who walked from New Smyrna after being abandoned. The Spanish soldiers who spent twenty years in a swamp only to die of a mosquito bite. The freedmen who built the churches that still stand on the North Side.
When you look at cemeteries in St. Augustine FL, you aren't just looking at graves. You're looking at a map of how Florida became Florida. You see the collision of Catholic Spain, Protestant America, and the African diaspora.
If you want to see the "real" city, skip the wax museum. Go to the West Side and find the hand-carved concrete headstones. Go to Cordova Street and peer through the bars at the Spanish chapel. That’s where the city's actual secrets are kept.
To get the most out of a historical visit, start at the St. Augustine Historical Society Research Library. They have the plot maps and the family records that put names to the weathered faces of the stones. Then, head to the Tolomato Cemetery on an open-gate day to see the Spanish influence firsthand. Finally, drive out to Pinehurst to pay respects to the men and women who shaped the city’s 20th-century history. This path gives you the full, unvarnished timeline of the oldest city in the U.S.