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                            THE

                    LILY AND THE TOTEM,

                            OR,

                  THE HUGUENOTS IN FLORIDA.

   A SERIES OF SKETCHES, PICTURESQUE AND HISTORICAL, OF THE
           COLONIES OF COLIGNI, IN NORTH AMERICA.

                        1562-1570.

       BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE," "LIFE OF MARION,"
                    "LIFE OF BAYARD" ETC.


                         NEW YORK:
                    BAKER AND SCRIBNER,
            145 NASSAU STREET AND 36 PARK ROW.

                           1850.




  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by

                    W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ.

  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
           for the Southern District of New York.


                       C. W. BENEDICT,
                       _Stereotyper_,
                       201 William st.




                     EPISTLE DEDICATORY.

                           TO THE
                    HON. JAMES H. HAMMOND,
                             OF
                       SOUTH CAROLINA.


MY DEAR HAMMOND:

I very well know the deep interest which you take in all researches
which aim to develope the early history of our State and country, and
sympathize with you very sincerely in that local feeling which delights
to trace, on your own grounds, and in your own neighborhood, the
doubtful progresses of French and Spaniard, in their wild passion for
adventure or eager appetite for gold. I have no doubt that the clues are
in your hands which shall hereafter conduct you along a portion of the
route pursued by that famous cavalier, Hernando de Soto; and I am almost
satisfied that the region of Silver Bluff was that distinguished in the
adventures of the Spanish Adelantado, by the presence of that dusky but
lovely princess of Cofachiqui, who welcomed him with so much favor
and whom he treated with an ingratitude as unhandsome as unknightly.
But I must not dwell on a subject go seductive; particularly, as I
entertain the hope, in some future labor, to weave her legend into
an appropriate, and I trust not unworthy history. For the present,
inscribing these pages to you, as a memorial of a long and grateful
intimacy, and of inquiries and conjectures, musings and meditations,
enjoyed together, which, it is my hope, have resulted no less profitably
to you than to myself, I propose briefly to give you the plan of the
volume in your hands.

The design of the narrative which follows, contemplates, in nearly equal
degree, the picturesque and the historical. It belongs to a class of
writings with which the world has been long since made familiar, through
a collection of the greatest interest, the body of which continues to
expand, and which has been entitled the "Romance of History." This name
will justly apply to the present sketches, yet must not be construed to
signify any large or important departure, in the narrative, from the
absolute records of the Past. The romance here is not suffered to
supersede the history. On the contrary, the design of the writer has
been simply to supply the deficiencies of the record. Where the author,
in this species of writing, has employed history, usually, as a mere
loop, upon which to hang his lively fancies and audacious inventions,
embodying in his narrative as small a portion of the chronicle as
possible, I have been content to reverse the process, making the fiction
simply tributary, and always subordinate to the fact. I have been
studious to preserve all the vital details of the event, as embodied in
the record, and have only ventured my own "graffings" upon it in those
portions of the history which exhibited a certain baldness in their
details, and seemed to demand the helping agency of art. In thus
interweaving the history with the fiction, I have been solicitous always
of those proprieties and of that _vraisemblance_, in the introduction
of new details, which are essential to the chief characteristics of the
history; seeking equally to preserve the general integrity of the record
from which I draw my materials, and of that art which aims to present
them in a costume the most picturesque. My labor has been not to make,
but to perfect, a history; not to invent facts, but to trace them out
to seemingly inevitable results;--to take the premise and work out the
problem;--recognize the meagre record which affords simply a general
outline; and endeavor, by a severe induction, to supply its details and
processes. I have been at no such pains to disguise the chronicle,
as will prevent the reader from separating,--should he desire to do
so,--the _certain_ from the _conjectural_; and yet, I trust, that I have
succeeded in so linking the two together, as to prevent the lines of
junction from obtruding themselves offensively upon his consciousness.
Upon the successful prosecution of this object, apart from the native
interest which the subject itself possesses, depends all the merit of
the performance. It is by raising the tone of the history, warming it
with the hues of fancy, and making it dramatic by the continued exercise
of art, rather than by any actual violation of its recorded facts, that
I have endeavored to awaken interest. To bring out such portions of the
event as demand elevation--to suppress those which are only cumbrous,
and neither raise the imposing, nor relieve the unavoidable; and to
supply, from the _probable_, the apparent deficiencies of the _actual_,
have been the chief processes in the art which I have employed. What is
wholly fictitious will appear rather as episodical matter, than as a
part of the narrative; and a brief historical summary, even in regard
to the episode, shall occasionally be employed to determine, for the
reader, upon how much, or how little, he may properly rely as history.

The experiment of Coligny, in colonizing Florida, is one of those
remarkable instances in the early settlement of this country, which
deserve the particular attention of our people. Its wild and dark
events, its startling tragedies, its picturesque and exciting incidents,
long since impressed themselves upon my imagination, as offering
suitable materials for employment in romantic fiction. In the
preparation of the work which follows, I have rather yielded to the
requisitions of publishers and the public, than followed the suggestions
of my own taste and judgment. Originally, I commenced the treatment
of this material, in the form of poetry; but the stimulus to a
keen prosecution of the task was wanting: not so much, perhaps, in
consequence of my own diminished interest in the subject, as because of
the indifference of readers; who, in all periods have determined the
usual direction of the writer. Hereafter, I may prosecute the experiment
upon this history in still another fashion. I do not regard this work as
precluding me from trying the malleability of its subject, and from
seeking to force it into a mould more grateful to the dictates of my
imagination. In abandoning the design, however, of shaping it to the
form of narrative poetry, I may, at least, submit to the reader such
portions of the verse as are already written. My purpose, as will be
seen, by the fragmentary passages which follow (in the _Appendix_ at the
close of the volume) was to seize upon the strong points of the subject,
and exhibit the whole progress of the action, in so many successive
scenes; as in the plan adopted by Rogers in his "Columbus"--the one
scene naturally forming the introduction to the other, and the whole, a
complete and single history. To these fragments let me refer you. With
these, my original design found its limit; the spirit which had urged me
thus far, no longer quickening me with that impatient eagerness which
can alone justify poetic labors. The plan is one which I am no longer
likely to pursue. It will no doubt have a place of safe-keeping and
harborage in some one of Astolpho's mansions. It need not be deplored on
earth. I shall be but too happy if those who read the performance which
follows, shall forbear the wish that it had shared the same destiny. To
you, at least, I venture to commend it with a very different hope.

                                 Very truly yours, as ever,

                                                      THE AUTHOR.

  CHARLESTON, S. C., }
    _May 1, 1850_.   }




CONTENTS.


  I.
  The First Voyage of Ribault,                                   1

  II.
  The Colony under Albert,                                      29

  III.
  The Legend of Guernache, Chap. I.                             37

  IV.
  The Legend of Guernache, Chap. II.                            44

  V.
  The Legend of Guernache, Chap. III.                           59

  VI.
  The Legend of Guernache, Chap. IV.                            71

  VII.
  Lachane, the Deliverer,                                       81

  VIII.
  Flight, Famine, and the Bloody Feast of the Fugitives,       100

  IX.
  The Second Expedition of the Huguenots to Florida,           110

  X.
  Historical Summary,                                          123

  XI.
  The Conspiracy of Le Genré--Historical Summary,              131

  XII.
  The Conspiracy of Le Genré,                                  133

  XIII.
  Historical Summary,                                          164

  XIV.
  The Sedition at La Caroline,                                 166

  XV.
  The Mutineers at Sea,                                        185

  XVI.
  The Adventure of D'Erlach,                                   193

  XVII.
  The Narrative of Le Barbu,                                   218

  XVIII.
  Historical Summary,                                          251

  XIX.
  Captivity of the Great Paracoussi,                           263

  XX.
  Iracana,                                                     294

  XXI.
  Historical Summary,                                          310

  XXII.
  The Fate of La Caroline,                                     321

  XXIII.
  The Fortunes of Ribault,                                     364

  XXIV.
  Alphonse D'Erlach,                                           387

  XXV.
  Dominique de Gourgues,                                       414

  Appendix,                                                    463




THE LILY AND THE TOTEM.




I.

THE FIRST VOYAGE OF RIBAULT.

  Introduction--The Huguenots--Their Condition in France--First
    Expedition for the New World, under the auspices of the Admiral
    Coligny, Conducted by John Ribault--Colony Established in Florida,
    and confided to the charge of Captain Albert.


The Huguenots, in plain terms, were the Protestants of France. They were
a sect which rose very soon after the preaching of the Reformation had
passed from Germany into the neighboring countries. In France, they
first excited the apprehensions and provoked the hostility of the Roman
Catholic priesthood, during the reign of Francis the First. This prince,
unstable as water, and governed rather by his humors and caprices than
by any fixed principles of conduct--wanting, perhaps, equally in head
and heart--showed himself, in the outset of his career, rather friendly
to the reformers. But they were soon destined to suffer, with more
decided favorites, from the caprices of his despotism. He subsequently
became one of their most cruel persecutors. The Huguenots were not
originally known by this name. It does not appear to have been one of
their own choosing. It was the name which distinguished them in the days
of their persecution. Though frequently the subject of conjecture, its
origin is very doubtful. Montluc, the Marshal, whose position at the
time, and whose interests in the subject of religion were such as might
have enabled him to know quite as well as any other person, confesses
that the source and meaning of the appellation were unknown. It is
suggested that the name was taken from the tower of one Hugon, or Hugo,
at Tours, where the Protestants were in the habit of assembling secretly
for worship. This, by many, is assumed to be the true origin of the
word. But there are numerous etymologies besides, from which the reader
may make his selection,--all more or less plausibly contended for
by the commentators. The commencement of a petition to the Cardinal
Lorraine--"_Huc nos_ venimus, serenissime princeps, &c.," furnishes a
suggestion to one set of writers. Another finds in the words "_Heus
quenaus_," which, in the Swiss _patois_, signify "seditious fellows,"
conclusive evidence of the thing for which he seeks. Heghenen or
Huguenen, a Flemish word, which means Puritans, or Cathari, is
reasonably urged by Caseneuve, as the true authority; while Verdier
tells us that they were so called from their being the _apes_ or
followers of John Hus--"_les guenons de Hus_;"--_guenon_ being a young
ape. This is ingenious enough without being complimentary. The etymology
most generally received, according to Mr. Browning, (History of the
Huguenots,) is that which ascribes the origin of the name to "the word
_Eignot_, derived from the German _Eidegenossen_, q. e. federati. A
party thus designated existed at Geneva; and it is highly probable that
the French Protestants would adopt a term so applicable to themselves."
There are, however, sundry other etymologies, all of which seem
equally plausible; but these will suffice, at least, to increase the
difficulties of conjecture. Either will answer, since the name by which
the child is christened is never expected to foreshadow his future
character, or determine his career. The name of the Huguenots was
probably bestowed by the enemies of the sect. It is in all likelihood a
term of opprobrium or contempt. It will not materially concern us, in
the scheme of the present performance, that we should reach any definite
conclusion on this point. Their European history must be read in other
volumes. Ours is but the American episode in their sad and protracted
struggle with their foes and fortune. Unhappily, for present inquiry,
this portion of their history attracted but too little the attention of
the parent country. We are told of colonies in America, and of their
disastrous termination, but the details are meagre, touched by the
chronicler with a slight and careless hand; and, but for the striking
outline of the narrative,--the leading and prominent events which
compelled record,--it is one that we should pass without comment, and
with no awakening curiosity. But the few terrible particulars which
remain to us in the ancient summary, are of a kind to reward inquiry,
and command the most active sympathies; and the melancholy outline of
the Huguenots' progress, in the New World, exhibits features of trial,
strength and suffering, which render their career equally unique in both
countries;--a dark and bloody history, involving details of strife, of
enterprise, and sorrow, which denied them the securities of home in the
parent land, and even the most miserable refuge from persecution in
the wildernesses of a savage empire. Their European fortunes are amply
developed in all the European chronicles. Our narrative relates wholly
to those portions of their history which belong to America.

It is not so generally known that the colonies of the Huguenots, in
the new world, were almost coeval with those of the Spaniards. They
anticipated them in the northern portions of the continent. These
settlements were projected by the active genius of the justly-celebrated
French admiral, Gaspard de Coligny, one of the great leaders of the
Huguenots in France. His persevering energies, impelled by his sagacious
forethought, effected a beginning in the work of foreign colonization,
which, unhappily for himself and party, he was not permitted to
prosecute, with the proper vigor, to successful completion. His sagacity
led him to apprehend, from an early experience of the character of the
Queen-mother, in the bigoted and brutal reign of Charles the Ninth, that
there would, in little time, be no safety in France for the dissenters
from the established religion. The feebleness of the youthful
Prince, the jealous and malignant character of Catharine--her utter
faithlessness, and the hatred which she felt for the Protestants, which
no pact could bind, and no concession mollify,--to say nothing of the
controlling will of Pius the Fifth, who had ascended the Papal throne,
sworn to the extermination of all heresies,--all combined to assure the
Protestants of the dangers by which their cause was threatened. The
danger was one of life as well as religion. It was in the destruction of
the one, that the enemies of the Huguenots contemplated the overthrow
of the other. Coligny was not the man to be deceived by the hollow
compromises, the delusive promises, the false truces, which were all
employed in turn to beguile him and his associates into confidence,
and persuade them into the most treacherous snares. He combined a fair
proportion of the cunning of the serpent with the dove's purity, and,
maintaining strict watch upon his enemies, succeeded, for a long period,
in eluding the artifices by which he was overcome at last. Availing
himself of the influence of his position, and of a brief respite from
that open war which preceded the famous Edict of January, 1562, by which
the Huguenots were admitted, with some restrictions, to the exercise of
their religion, Coligny addressed himself to the task of establishing
a colony of Protestants in America. He readily divined the future
importance, to his sect, of such a place of refuge. The moment was
favorable to his objects. The policy of the Queen-mother was not yet
sufficiently matured, to render it proper that she should oppose herself
to his desires. Perhaps, she also conceived the plan a good one, which
should relieve the country of a race whom she equally loathed and
dreaded.[1] It is possible that she did not fully conjecture the
ultimate calculations of the admiral. The king, himself, was a minor,
entirely in her hands, who could add nothing to her counsels, or, for
the present, interfere with her authority; and, without seeking farther
to inquire by what motives she was governed in according to Coligny the
permission which he sought, it is enough that he obtained the necessary
sanction. Of this he readily availed himself. It was not, by the way,
his first attempt at colonization. Having in view the same objects by
which he was governed in the present instance, he had, in 1555, sent out
an expedition to Brazil under Villegagnon. This enterprise had failed
through the perfidy of that commander. Its failure did not discourage
the admiral. Though the full character of Catharine had not developed
itself, in all its cruel and heartless characteristics, it was yet
justly understood by him, and he never suffered himself to forget how
necessary to the sect which he represented was the desired haven of
security which he sought, in a region beyond her influence.

  [1] Charlevoix expressly says, speaking, however, of Charles IX.,
  "qu'il fut fort aise de voir que M. de Coligni n'employoit à cette
  expédition que des Calvinistes, parce que c'étoit autant d'ennemis,
  dont il purgeoit l'etat." Of Coligny's anxiety in regard to this
  expedition and his objects, the same writer says: "Coligny had the
  colony greatly at heart. It was, in fact, the first thing of which the
  admiral spoke to the king when he obtained permission to repair to the
  court."

From Brazil he turned his eyes on Florida. This _terra incognita_, at
the period of which we speak, was El Dorado to the European imagination.
It was the New Empire, richer than Peru or Mexico, in which adventurers
as daring as Cortes and Pizarro were to compass realms of as great
magnificence and wealth. Already had the Spaniard traversed it with his
iron-clad warriors, seeking vainly, and through numberless perils, for
the treasure which he worshipped. Still other treasures had won the
imagination of one of their noblest knights; and in exploring the wild
realm of the Floridian for the magical fountain which was to restore
youth to the heart of age, and a fresh bloom to its withered aspect,
Ponce de Leon pursued one of the loveliest phantoms that ever deluded
the fancy or the heart of man. To him had succeeded others; all seeking,
in turn, the realization of those unfruitful visions which, like
wandering lights of the swamp forest, only glitter to betray. Vasquez
d'Ayllon, John Verazzani, Pamphilo de Narvaez, and the more brilliant
cavalier than all, Hernando de Soto, had each penetrated this land of
hopes and fancies, to deplore in turn its disappointments and delusions.
With the wildest desires in their hearts, they had disdained the merely
possible within their reach. They had sought for possessions such as few
empires have been known to yield; and had failed to see, or had beheld
with scorn, the simple treasures of fruit and flower which the country
promised and proffered in abundance. This vast region, claimed equally
by Spain, France, and England, still lay derelict. "Death," as one of
our own writers very happily remarks, "seemed to guard the avenues of
the country." None of the great realms which claimed it as their domain,
regarded it in any light but as a territory which they might ravage.
Yet, well might its delicious climate, the beauty of its groves and
forests, the sweets of its flowers, which beguiled the senses of the
ocean pilgrim a score of leagues from land--to say nothing of the
supposed wealth of its mountains, and of the great cities hid among
their far recesses--have persuaded the enterprise, and implored the
prows of enterprise and adventure. To these attractions the previous
adventurers had not wholly shown themselves insensible. Ponce de Leon,
enraptured with its rich and exquisite vegetation, as seen in the spring
season of the year, first conferred upon it the name of beauty, which it
bears. Nor, had he not been distracted by baser objects, would he have
failed utterly to discover the salubrious fountains which he sought.
Here were met natives, who, quaffing at medicinal streams by which the
country was everywhere watered, grew to years which almost rival those
of the antediluvian fathers. Verazzani, the Florentine, unfolds a
golden chronicle of the innocence and delight which distinguished the
simple people by whom the territory was possessed, and whose character
was derived from the gentle influences of their climate, and the
exquisite delicacy, beauty, and variety of the productions of the soil.
He, too, had visited the country in the season of spring, when all
things in nature look lovely to the eye. But such verdure as blessed his
vision on this occasion, constituted a new era in his life, and seemed
to lift him to the crowning achievement of all his enterprises. The
region, as far his eye could reach, was covered with "faire fields and
plaines," "full of mightie great woodes," "replenished with divers
sort of trees, as pleasant and delectable to behold as is possible to
imagine;"--"Not," says the voyager, "like the woodes of Hercynia or the
wilde deserts of Tartary, and the northerne coasts full of fruitlesse
trees," but "trees of sortes unknowen in Europe, which yeeld most sweete
savours farre from the shoare." Nor did these constitute the only
attractions. The appearance of the forests and the land "argued drugs
and spicery," "and other riches of golde."

The woods were "full of many beastes, as stags, deere and hares, and
likewise of lakes and pooles of fresh water, with great plentie of
fowles, convenient for all kinde of pleasant game." The air was "goode
and wholesome, temperate between hot and colde;" "no vehement windes
doe blowe in these regions, and those that do commonly reigne are the
southwest and west windes in the summer season;" "the skye cleare and
faire, with very little raine; and if, at any time, the ayre be cloudie
and mistie with the southerne winde, immediately it is dissolved and
waxeth cleare and faire againe. The sea is calme, not boisterous,
and the waves gentle." And the people were like their climate. The
nature which yielded to their wants, without exacting the toil of
ever-straining sinews, left them unembittered by necessities which take
the heart from youth, and the spirit from play and exercise. No carking
cares interfered with their humanity to check hospitality in its first
impulse, and teach avarice to withhold the voluntary tribute which the
natural virtues would prompt, in obedience to a selfishness that finds
its justification in serious toils which know no remission, and a
forethought that is never permitted to forget the necessities of the
coming day. Verazzani found the people as mild and grateful as their
climate. They crowded to the shore as the stranger ships drew nigh,
"making divers synes of friendship." They showed themselves "very
courteous and gentle," and, in a single incident, won the hearts of the
Europeans, who seldom, at that period, in their intercourse with the
natives, were known to exhibit an instance so beautiful, of a humanity
so Christian. A young sailor, attempting to swim on shore, had overrated
his strength. Cast among the breakers, he was in danger of being
drowned. This, when the Indians saw, they dashed into the surf, and
dragged the fair-skinned voyager to land. Here, when he recovered from
his stupor, he exhibited signs of the greatest apprehension, finding
himself in the hands of the savages. But his lamentations, which were
piteously loud, only provoked theirs. Their tears flowed at his weeping.
In this way they strove to "cheere him, and to give him courage." Nor
were they neglectful of other means. "They set him on the ground, at the
foot of a little hill against the sunne, and began to behold him with
great admiration, marveiling at the whitenesse of his fleshe;" "Putting
off his clothes, they made him warme at a great fire, not without one
great feare, by what remayned in the boate, that they would have rosted
him at that fire and have eaten him." But the fear was idle. When they
had warmed and revived the stranger, they reclothed him, and as he
showed an anxiety to return to the ship, "they, with great love,
clapping him fast about with many embracings," accompanied him to the
shore, where they left him, retiring to a distance, whence they could
witness his departure without awakening the apprehensions of his
comrades. These people were of "middle stature, handsome visage and
delicate limmes; of very little strength, but of prompt wit."

We need not pursue the details of these earlier historians. They suffice
to direct attention to Florida, and to persuade adventure with fanciful
ideas of its charming superiority over all unknown regions. But the
adventurers, until Coligny's enterprise was conceived, meditated the
invasion of the country, and the gathering of its hidden treasures,
rather than the establishment of any European settlements in its
glorious retreats. It was not till the eighteenth day of February, in
the Year of Grace, one thousand five hundred and sixty-two, that the
plan of the Admiral of France was sufficiently matured for execution.
On that day he despatched two vessels from France, well manned and
furnished, under the command of one John Ribault,[2] for the express
purpose of making the first permanent European establishment in these
regions of romance. The narrative of this enterprise is chiefly drawn
from the writings of René Laudonniere, who himself went out as a
lieutenant in the expedition. Laudonniere, in his narrative of their
progress, says nothing of the secret objects of Coligny, of which he
probably knew nothing. He ascribes to the King--the Queen-mother,
rather--a nobler policy than either of them ever entertained. "My Lord
of Chastillon," (Coligny) thus he writes,--"A nobleman more desirous of
the publique than of his private benefits, understanding the pleasure
of the King, his Prince, which was to discover new and strange
countries, caused vessels for this purpose to be made ready with all
diligence, and men to be levied meet for such an enterprise."

  [2] Charlevoix describes Ribault as "un ancien officier de marine,"
  and speaks of him as a man of experience and "Zélé Huguenot." Of his
  vessels, on this expedition, he says that they belonged to the class
  called "Roberges, et qui differoient peu des Caravelles Espagnoles."

This is merely courtly language, wholly conventional, and which, spoken
of Charles the Ninth,--a boy not yet in his teens--savors rather of the
ridiculous. There is no question that the expedition originated wholly
with Coligny; as little is it questionable, though Laudonniere says
nothing on this subject, that it was designed in consequence of that
policy which showed him the ever present danger of the Huguenots. It
does not militate against this policy that he made use of a pretext
which was suggested by the passion for maritime discovery common in
those days. By the assertion of this pretext, he was the more easily
enabled to persuade the Queen-mother to a measure upon which she
otherwise would never have suffered the ships of the Huguenots to weigh
anchor.

But this question need not detain us. Laudonniere speaks of the armament
as ample for the purpose for which it was designed--"so well furnished
with gentlemen and with oulde souldiers that he (Ribault) had meanes to
achieve some notable thing, and worthie of eternall memorie." This
was an exaggeration, something Spanish in its tenor,--one of those
flourishes of rhetoric among the voyagers of that day, which had already
grown to be a sound without much signification. The vessels were small,
as was the compliment of men dispatched. The objects of the expedition
were limited, did not contemplate exploration but settlement, and,
consequently, were not likely to find opportunity for great enterprises.
The voyage occupied two months; the route pursued carefully avoided that
usually taken by the Spaniards, whom already our adventurers had cause
to fear. At the end of this period, land was made in the latitude of St.
Augustine, to the cape of which they gave the name of St. François. From
this point, coasting northwardly, they discovered "a very faire and
great river"--the San Matheo of the Spaniards, now the St. John's, to
which Ribault, as he discovered it on the first of May, gave the name
of that month. This river he penetrated in his boats. He was met on the
shore by many of the natives, men and women. These received him with
gentleness and peace. Their chief man made an oration, and honored
Ribault, at the close, with a present of "chamois skinnes." On the
ensuing day, he "caused a pillar of hard stone to be planted within the
sayde river, and not farre from the mouth of the same, upon a little
sandie knappe," on which the arms of France were engraved. Crossing to
the opposite shores of this river, a religious service was performed in
the presence of the Indians. There the red-men, perhaps for the first
time, beheld the pure and simple rites of the genuine Christian. Prayers
were said, and thanks given to the Deity, "for that, of his grace, hee
had conducted the French nation into these strange places." This service
being ended, the Indians conducted the strangers into the presence of
their king,[3] who received them in a sitting posture, upon a couch
made of bay leaves and palmetto. Speeches were made between the parties
which were understood by neither. But their tenor was amicable, the
savage chieftain giving to Ribault, at parting, a basket wrought very
ingeniously of palm leaves, "and a great skinne painted and drawen
throughout with the pictures of divers wilde beastes; so livly drawen
and portrayed that nothing lacked life." Fish were taken for the
Frenchmen by the hospitable natives, in weirs made of reeds, fashioned
like a maze or labyrinth--"troutes, great mullets, plaise, turbots, and
marvellous store of other sorts of fishes altogether different from
ours." Another chief upon this river received them with like favors.
Two of the sons of this chief are represented as "exceeding faire and
strong." They were followed by troops of the natives, "having their
bowes and arrowes, in marveilous good order."

  [3] Laudonniere, in Hakluyt, gives the regal title among the
  Floridians as Paracoussi. Charlevoix writes the word Paraousti, or
  Paracousti; "et ausquels les Castillans donnent le titre général de
  Caciques." Mico, in subsequent periods, seems to have been the more
  popular title among the Florida Indians, signifying the same thing,
  or its equivalents, Chief, Prince, or Head Warrior.

From this river, still pursuing a northwardly course, Ribault came to
another which he explored and named the Seine, (now the St. Mary's,)
because it appeared to resemble the river of that name in France.[4] We
pass over the minor details in this progress--how he communed with the
natives--who, everywhere seemed to have entertained our Huguenots with
equal grace and gentleness, and who are described as a goodly people, of
lively wit and great stature. Ribault continued to plant columns, and to
take possession of the country after the usual forms, conferring names
upon its several streams, which he borrowed for the purpose from similar
well-known rivers in France. Thus, for a time, the St. Mary's became the
Seine; the Satilla, the Somme; the Altamaha, the Loire; the Ogechee, the
Garonne; and the Savannah, the Gironde. The river to which his prows
were especially directed, was that to which the name of Jordan had
been given by Vasquez de Ayllon, some forty years before. This is our
present Combahee. In sailing north, in this search, other smaller rivers
were discovered, one of which was called the Belle-a-veoir. Separated by
a furious tempest from his pinnaces, which had been kept in advance for
the purpose of penetrating and exploring these streams, Ribault, with
his ships, was compelled to stand out to sea. When he regained the coast
and his pinnaces, he was advised of a "mightie river," in which they had
found safe harborage from the tempest, a river which, "in beautie and
bignesse" exceeded all the former. Delighted with this discovery, our
Huguenots made sail to reach this noble stream.

  [4] "A quatorze lienes de la Riviere de Mai, il en trouva une
  troisiéme qu'il nomma la Seine."--_Charlevoix's New France._ Liv. 1,
  p. 39.

The object of Ribault had been some safe and pleasant harborage, in
which his people could refresh themselves for a season. His desires were
soon gratified. He cast anchor at the mouth of a mighty river, to which,
"because of the fairnesse and largenesse thereoff," he gave the name of
Port Royale, the name which it still bears. The depth of this river is
such, that, according to Laudonniere, "when the sea beginneth to flowe,
the greatest shippes of France, yea, the argosies of Venice, may enter
there." Ribault, at the head of his soldiers, was the first to land.
Grateful, indeed, to the eye and fancy of our Frenchmen, was the scene
around them. They had already passed through a fairy-like region, of
islet upon islet, reposing upon the deep,--crowned with green forests,
and arresting, as it were, the wild assaults of ocean upon the shores of
which they appeared to keep watch and guard. And, passing between these
islets and the main, over stillest waters, with a luxuriant shrubbery on
either hand, and vines and flowers of starred luxuriance trailing about
them to the very lips of this ocean, they had arrived at an imperial
growth of forest. The mighty shafts that rose around them, heavy
with giant limbs, and massed in their luxuriant wealth of leaves,
particularly impressed the minds of our voyagers--"mightye high oakes
and infinite store of cedars," and pines fitted for the masts of "such
great ammirals" as had never yet floated in the European seas. Their
senses were assailed with fresh and novel delights at every footstep.
The superb magnolia, with its great and snow-white chalices; the
flowering dogwood with its myriad blossoms, thick and richly gleaming
as the starry host of heaven; the wandering jessamine, whose yellow
trophies, mingling with grey mosses of the oak, stooped to the upward
struggling billows of the deep, giving out odor at every rise and fall
of the ambitious wavelet,--these, by their unwonted treasures of
scent and beauty, compelled the silent but profound admiration of the
strangers. "Exceeding pleasant" did the "very fragrant odour" make the
place; while other novelties interposed to complete the fascinations of
a spot, the peculiarities of which were equally fresh and delightful.
Their farther acquaintance with the country only served to increase its
attractions. As they wandered through the woods, they "saw nothing but
turkey cocks flying in the forests, partridges, gray and red, little
different from ours, but chiefly in bignesse;"--"we heard also within
the woods the voices of stagges, of beares, of hyenas, of leopards, and
divers other sorts of beasts unknown to us. Being delighted with this
place, we set ourselves to fishing with nets, and caught such a number
of fish that it was wonderful."

The same region is still renowned for its fish and game, for the
monsters as well as the multitudes of the deep, and for the deer of
its spacious swamps and forests, which still exercise the skill and
enterprise of the angler and the hunter. This is the peculiar region
also, of the "Devil fish," the "Vampire of the Ocean," described by
naturalists as of the genus Ray, species Dio-don, a leviathan of
the deep, whose monstrous antennæ are thrown about the skiff of the
fisherman with an embrace as perilous as that wanton sweep of his mighty
extremities with which the whale flings abroad the crowding boats of his
hardy captors. Sea and land, in this lovely neighborhood, still gleam
freshly and wondrously upon the eye of the visitor as in the days of our
Huguenot adventurers; and still do its forests, in spite of the _cordon_
which civilization and society have everywhere drawn around them, harbor
colonies of the bear which occasionally cross the path of the sportsman,
and add to his various trophies of the chase.

With impressions of the scene and region such as realized to our
Frenchmen the summer glories of an Arabian tale, it was easy to
determine where to plant their colony. Modern conjecture, however,
is still unsatisfied as to the site which was probably chosen by our
voyagers. The language of Laudonniere is sufficiently vague and general
to make the matter doubtful; and, unhappily, there are no remains which
might tend to lessen the obscurity of the subject. The vessels had
cast anchor at the mouth of Port Royal River. The pilots subsequently
counselled that they should penetrate the stream, so as to secure a
sheltered roadstead. They ascended the river accordingly, some three
leagues from its mouth, when Ribault proceeded to make a closer
examination of the country. The Port Royal "is divided into two great
armes, whereof the one runneth toward the _west_, the other toward the
_north_." Our Huguenot captain chose the _western_ avenue, which he
ascended in his pinnace. For more than twelve leagues he continued this
progress, until he "found another arme of the river which ranne towards
the _east_, up which the captain determined to sail and leave the greate
current."

The red men whom they encounter on this progress are at first shy of
the strangers and take flight at their approach, but they are soon
encouraged by the gentleness and forbearance of the Frenchmen, who
persuade them finally to confidence. An amiable understanding soon
reconciles the parties, and the Floridian at length brings forward
his gifts of maize, his palm baskets with fruits and flowers, his
rudely-dressed skins of bear and beaver, and these are pledges of his
amity which he does not violate. He, in turn, persuades the voyagers to
draw near to the shore and finally to land. They are soon surrounded by
the delighted and simple natives, whose gifts are multiplied duly in
degree with the pleasure which they feel. Skins of the _chamois_--deer
rather--and baskets of pearls, are offered to the chief among the
whites, whom they proceed to entertain with shows of still greater
courtesy. A bower of forest leaves and shrubs is soon built to shelter
them "from the parching heate of the sunne," and our Frenchmen lingered
long enough among this artless and hospitable people to get tidings of
a "greate Indian Lorde which had pearles in great abundance and silver
also, all of which should be given them at the king's arrival." They
invited the strangers to their dwellings--proffering to show them a
thousand pleasures in shooting, and seeing the death of the stag.

Our Huguenots, excellent Christians though they were, were by no
means insensible to the tidings of pearl and gold. These glimpses of
treasures, already familiar to their imaginations, greatly increase, in
their sight, the natural beauties of the country. The narratives of the
red men, imperfectly understood, and construed by the desires of the
strangers, rather than their minds, were full of marvels of neighboring
lands and nations,--great empires of wealth and strength,--cities in
romantic solitudes,--high places among almost inaccessible mountains, in
which the treasures are equally precious and abundant. Listening to such
legends, our Frenchmen linger with the red men, until the approach of
night counsels them to seek the security of their ships.

But, with the dawning of the following day the explorations were
resumed. Before leaving his vessel, however, Ribault provides himself
with "a pillar of hard stone, fashioned like a column, whereon the armes
of France were graven," with the purpose of planting "the same in the
fairest place that he coulde finde." "This done, we embarked ourselves,
and sayled three leagues towards the west; where we discovered a little
river, up which wee sayled so long, that, in the ende, wee found it
returned into the great current, and in his return, to make a little
island separated from the firme lande, where wee went on shore, and by
commandment of the captain, because it was exceeding faire and pleasant,
there we planted the pillar upon a hillock open round about to the view
and environed with a lake halfe a fathom deepe, of very good and sweete
water."

We are particular in these details, in the hope that future explorers
may be thus assisted in the work of identifying the places marked by our
Huguenots. Everything which they see in the new world which surrounds
them, is imposing to the eye and grateful to the sense. They wander
among avenues of gigantic pines that remind them of the mighty
colonnades in the great cathedrals of the old world. They are at once
exhilarated by a sense of unwonted freshness and beauty in what they
behold, and by aspects of grandeur and vastness which solemnize all
their thoughts and fancies. With these feelings, when, in their
wanderings, they arouse from the shady covers where they browsed "two
stagges of exceeding bignesse, in respect of those which _they_ had
seene before," their captain forbids that they should shoot them, though
they might easily have done so. The anecdote speaks well for Ribault's
humanity. It was not wholly because he was "moved with the singular
fairenesse and bignesse of them," as Laudonniere imagines, but because
his soul was lifted with religious sentiment--filled with worship at
that wondrous temple of nature in which the great Jehovah seemed visibly
present, in love and mercy, as in the first sweet days of the creation.

To the little river which surrounded the islet, on which the pillar was
raised, they gave the name of "Liborne." The island itself is supposed
to be that which is now called Lemon Island. The matter is one which
still admits of doubt, though scarcely beyond the reach of certainty, in
a close examination from the guide posts which we still possess. It is a
question which may well provoke the diligence of the local antiquary.
"Another isle, not far distant from" that of the pillar, next claimed
the attention of the voyagers. Here they "found nothing but tall cedars,
the fairest that were seene in this country. For this cause wee called
it the Isle of Cedars."

This ended their exploration for the day. A few days were consumed in
farther researches, without leading to any new discoveries. In the
meantime, Ribault prepared to execute the commands of his sovereign,
in the performance of one of the tasks which civilization but too
frequently sanctions at the expense of humanity. He was commanded by
the Queen-mother to capture and carry home to France a couple of the
natives. These, as we have seen, were a mild race, maintaining among
themselves a gentle intercourse, and exercising towards strangers
a grateful hospitality. It was with a doubtful propriety that our
Frenchman determined to separate any of them from their homes and
people. But it was not for Ribault to question the decrees of that
sovereign whom it was the policy of the Huguenots, at present, to
conciliate. Having selected a special and sufficient complement of
soldiers, he determined "to returne once againe toward the Indians which
inhabiteth that arme of the river which runneth toward the West." The
pinnace was prepared for this purpose. The object of the voyage was
successful. The Indians were again found where they had been at first
encountered. The Frenchmen were received with hospitality. Ribault made
his desires known to the king or chief of the tribe, who graciously
gave his permission. Two of the Indians, who fancied that they were more
favored than the rest of their brethren, by the choice of the Frenchmen,
yielded very readily to the entreaties which beguiled them on board
one of the vessels. They probably misunderstood the tenor of the
application; or, in their savage simplicity, concluded that a voyage to
the land of the pale-faces was only some such brief journey as they were
wont to make, in their cypress canoes, from shore to shore along their
rivers--or possibly as far down as the great frith in which their
streams were lost. But it was not long before our savage voyagers
were satisfied with the experiment. They soon ceased to be pleased or
flattered with the novelty of their situation. The very attentions
bestowed upon them only provoked their apprehensions. The cruise wearied
them; and, when they found that the vessels continued to keep away from
the land, they became seriously uneasy. Born swimmers, they had no fear
about making the shore when once in the water: and it required the
utmost vigilance of the Frenchmen to keep them from darting overboard.
It was in vain, for a long time, that they strove to appease and to
soothe the unhappy captives. Their detention, against their desires, now
made them indignant. Gifts were pressed upon them, such as they were
known to crave and to esteem above all other possessions. But these they
rejected with scorn. They would receive nothing in exchange for their
liberty. The simple language in which the old chronicler describes the
scene and their sorrows, has in it much that is highly touching, because
of its very simplicity. They felt their captivity, and were not to be
beguiled from this humiliating conviction by any trappings or soothings.
Their freedom--the privilege of eager movements through billow and
forest--sporting as wantonly as bird and fish in both--was too precious
for any compensation. They sank down upon the deck, with clasped hands,
sitting together apart from the crew, gazing upon the shores with
mournful eyes, and chaunting a melancholy ditty, which seemed
to the watchful and listening Frenchmen a strain of exile and
lamentation--"agreeing so sweetly together, that, in hearing their
song, it seemed that they lamented the absence of their friendes."
And thus they continued all night to sing without ceasing.

The pinnace, meanwhile, lay at anchor, the tide being against them; with
the dawn of day the voyage was resumed, and the ships were reached in
safety where they lay in the roadstead. Transferred to these, the two
captives continued to deplore their fate. Every effort was made to
reconcile them to their situation, and nothing was withheld which
experience had shown to be especially grateful to the savage fancy. But
they rejected everything; even the food which had now become necessary
to their condition. They held out till nearly sunset, in their rejection
of the courtesies, which, with a show of kindness, deprived them of the
most precious enjoyment and passion of their lives. But the inferior
nature at length insisted upon its rights. "In the end they were
constrained to forget their superstitions," and to eat the meat which
was set before them. They even received the gifts which they had
formerly rejected; and, as if reconciled to a condition from which they
found it impossible to escape, they put on a more cheerful countenance.
"They became, therefore, more jocunde; every houre made us a thousand
discourses, being marveillous sorry that we could not understand them."
Laudonniere set himself to work to acquire their language. He strove
still more to conciliate their favor; engaged them in frequent
conversation; and, by showing them the objects for which he sought their
names, picked up numerous words which he carefully put on paper. In a
few days he was enabled to make himself understood by them, in ordinary
matters, and to comprehend much that they said to him. They flattered
him in turn. They told him of their feats and sports, and what pleasures
they could give him in the chase. They would take food from no hands but
his; and succeeded in blinding the vigilance of the Frenchmen. They were
not more reconciled to their prison-bonds than before. They had simply
changed their policy; and, when, after several days' detention, they
had succeeded in lulling to sleep the suspicions of their captors, they
stole away at midnight from the ship, leaving behind them all the gifts
which had been forced upon them, as if, to have retained them, would
have established, in the pale-faces, a right to their liberties--thus
showing, according to Laudonniere, "that they were not void of reason."

Ribault was not dissatisfied with this result of his endeavor to comply
with the commands of the Queen-mother. His sense of justice probably
revolted at the proceeding; and the escape of the Indians, who would
report only the kindness of their treatment, would, in all likelihood,
have an effect favorable to his main enterprise,--the establishment of
a colony. This design he now broached to his people in an elaborate
speech. He enlarged upon the importance of the object, drawing numerous
examples from ancient and modern history, in favor of those virtues in
the individual which such enterprise must develope. There is but one
passage in this speech which deserves our special attention. It is
that in which he speaks to his followers of their inferior birth and
condition. He speaks to them as "known neither to the king nor to the
princes of the realme, and, besides, descending from so poore a stock,
that few or none of your parents, _having ever made profession of
armes_, have beene knowne unto the great estates." This is in seeming
conflict with what Laudonniere has already told us touching the
character and condition in society of the persons employed in the
expedition. He has been careful to say, at the opening of the narrative,
that the two ships were "_well furnished with gentlemen_ (of whose
number I was one) and old soldiers."[5] The apparent contradiction may
be reconciled by a reference to the distinction, which, until a late
period, was made in France, between the noblesse and mere gentlemen. The
word gentleman had no such signification, in France, at that period, as
it bears to-day. To apply it to a nobleman, indeed, would have been, at
one time, to have given a mortal affront, and a curious anecdote is on
record, to this effect in the case of the Princess de la Roche Sur Yon,
who, using the epithet "gentilhomme" to a nobleman, was insulted by him;
and, on demanding redress of the monarch, was told that she deserved the
indignity, having been guilty of the first offence.

  [5] Charlevoix seems to afford a sufficient sanction for the claim
  of Laudonniere, in behalf of the gentle blood among the followers
  of Ribault. He says "Il avoit des esquipages choisis, et plusieurs
  volontaires, parmi lesquels il y avoit _quelques gentilshommes_." And
  yet Ribault should have known better than anybody else the quality of
  his armament. Certainly, the good leaven, as the result showed, was in
  too small a proportion to leaven the whole colony.

But Ribault's speech suggested to his followers that their inferior
condition made nothing against their heroism. He, himself, though a
soldier by profession, from his tenderest years, had never yet been
able to compass the favor of the nobility. Yet he had applied himself
with all industry, and hazarded his life in many dangers. It was his
misfortune that "more regard is had to birth than virtue." But this
need not discourage _them_, as it has never discouraged him from the
performance of his duties. The great examples of history are in _his_
eyes, and should be in _theirs_.

"Howe much then ought so many worthy examples move you to plant here?
Considering, also, that hereby you shall be registered forever as the
first that inhabited this strange country. I pray you, therefore, all
to advise yourselves thereof, and to declare your mindes freely unto
me, protesting that I will so well imprint your names in the King's
eares, and the other princes, that your renowne shall hereafter shine
unquenchable through our realm of France."

Ribault was evidently not insensible to fame. Had his thoughts been
those of his sovereign, also, how different would have been the history!
His soldiers responded in the proper spirit, and declared their
readiness to establish a colony in the wild empire, the grandeur and
beauty of which had already commended it to their affections. Delighted
with the readiness and enthusiasm of his men, he weighed anchor the very
next day, in order to seek out the place most fit and convenient for
his settlement. "_Having sayled up the great river on the north side, in
coasting an isle which ended with a sharpe point toward the mouth of the
river;--having sailed awhile he discovered a small river which entered
into the islande, which hee would not faile to search out, which done,
he found the same deep enough to harbour therein gallies and galliots
in good number. Proceeding farther, he found an open place joyning upon
the brinke thereof, where he went on land, and seeing the place fit to
build a fortresse in, and commodious for them that were willing to
plant there, he resolved incontinently to cause the bignesse of the
fortification to be measured out._" The colony was to be a small one.
Twenty-six persons had volunteered to establish it; as many, perhaps, as
had been called for. The dimensions of the fort were small accordingly.
They were taken by Laudonniere, and one Captain Salles, under Ribault's
directions. The fort was at once begun. Its length was sixteen fathoms,
its breadth thirteen, "with flanks according to the proportion thereof."
Then, for the first time, the European axe was laid to the great shafts
of the forest trees of America, waking sounds, at every stroke, whose
echoes have been heard for three hundred years, sounding, and destined
to resound, from the Atlantic to the Pacific seas; leaving no waste of
wood and wild, unawakened by this first music of civilization.

The site thus chosen by Ribault for his colony, though no traces have
been left of the labor of his hands, is scarcely doubtful to the present
possessors of the country. All the proofs concur in placing Fort Charles
somewhere between North Edisto and Broad River, and circumstances
determine this situation to be that of the beautiful little town of
Beaufort, in South Carolina. The _Grande Riviere_ of the French is our
Broad River.[6] It was at the mouth of this river, in an island with a
safe and commodious port, that the fort was established; and of the
numerous islands which rise everywhere along the coast in this region,
as a fortress to defend the verdant shores from the assaults of ocean,
there is none which answers so well as this all the requisitions of this
description. Besides, it is actually in the very latitude of the site,
as given by Laudonniere; and the tradition of the Indians, as preserved
by our own people, seems to confirm and to conclude the conjectures on
this subject. They state that the first place in which they saw the pale
faces of the Europeans was at Coosawhatchie, in South Carolina. Now, the
Coosawhatchie is the principal stream that forms the _Grande Riviere_ of
the Frenchmen; and was, questionless, the first of the streams that was
penetrated by the pinnace of Ribault. It is highly probable that it bore
the name of Coosawhatchie through its entire course, until it emptied
itself into the ocean. The testimony of the Indians, based simply upon
their tradition, is of quite as much value as that of any other people.
It is well known with what tenacity they preserve the recollection
of important events, and with what singular adherence to general
truthfulness. The island upon which Beaufort now stands was most
probably that which yielded the first American asylum to the Huguenots
of France!

  [6] Charlevoix, in his "Fastes Chronologiques," preparatory to his
  work on New France, locates Charles Fort, under Ribault, near to the
  site of the present city of Charleston. In his "Histoire Generale,"
  and in the map which illustrates this narrative, however, he concurs
  in the statement of the text. He also names the North Edisto the St.
  Croix.

Our Frenchmen travailed so diligently that, in a short space, the
fortress was in some sort prepared for the colonists. It was soon in a
defensible condition. "Victuals and warlike munition" were transferred
from the shipping to the shore, and the garrison were furnished with all
things necessary for the maintenance of their fortress and themselves.
The fort was christened by the name of Charles, the King of France;
while the small river upon which it was built received the name of
Chenonceau. All things being provided, the colonists marched into their
little and lovely place of refuge. They were confided to the charge of
one Captain Albert, to whom, and to whose followers, Ribault made a
speech at parting. His injunctions were of a parental and salutary
character. He exhorted their Captain to justice, firmness and moderation
in his rule, and his people to obedience; promising to return with
supplies from France, and reinforcements before their present resources
should fail them. But these exhortations do not seem to have been much
regarded by either party. It will be for us, in future chapters, to
pursue their fortunes, and to pluck, if possible, from the unwritten
history, the detailed events of their melancholy destiny. Sad enough
will it have been, even if no positive evil shall befall them,--that
severance from their ancient comrades--that separation from the old
homes of their fathers in _La Belle France_--that lonesome abode, on the
verge of "ocean's gray and melancholy waste," on the one hand, and the
dense, dark, repelling forests of Apalachia on the other;--doubtful
of all they see,--in spite of all that is fresh and charming in
their sight;--apprehensive of every sound that reaches them from the
wilderness,--and filled with no better hope than that which springs up
in the human bosom when assured that all hope is cut off--that one
hope excepted, which is born of necessity, and which blossoms amid the
nettles of despair. The isolation was the more oppressive and likely to
be grievous, as we have reason to doubt that, though founding a colony
for the refuge of a religious and persecuted people, they brought any
becoming sense of religion with them. Our progress thus far with the
adventurers has shown us but few proofs of the presence among them of
any feelings of devotion. Ribault himself was but a soldier, and his
ambition was of an earthly complexion. Had they been elevated duly
by religion, they would have been counselled and strengthened in the
solitude by God. Unhappily, they were men only, rude, untaught, and full
of selfish passions,--badly ruled and often ill-treated, and probably
giving frequent provocation to the pride and passions of those who had
them under rule. But they began their career in the New World with
sufficient cheerfulness. Its climate was delicious, like that of their
own country. Its woods and forests were of a majesty and splendor beyond
any of which their wildest fancies had ever dreamed; and the security
which the remoteness of the region promised them, and the novelty which
invested every object in their eyes made the parting from their comrades
a tolerably easy one. They heard with lively spirits the farewell shouts
of their companions, and answered them with cheers of confidence and
pride. The simple paragraph which records the leave-taking of the
parties, is at once pleasing and full of pathos. "Having ended his
(Ribault's) exhortations, we took our leaves of _each_ of them, and
sayled toward our shippes. We hoysed our sayles about ten of the
clocke in the morning. After wee were ready to depart, Captain Ribault
commanded to shoote off our ordnance, to give a farewell unto our
Frenchmen; which fayled not to do the like on their part. This being
done, wee sayled toward the north." That last shout, that last sullen
roar of their mutual cannon, and the great waves of the Atlantic rolled,
unbroken by a sail, between our colonists and _La Belle France_.




II.

THE COLONY UNDER ALBERT.


The Colonists, thus abandoned by their countrymen, proceeded to make
themselves secure in their forest habitations. Day and night did they
address themselves to the completion of their fortress. They have seen
none of the natives in the immediate neighborhood of the spot in which
they had pitched their tents; but, aware of the wandering habits of the
red-men, they might naturally look for them at any moment. Their toils,
quickened by their caution, enabled them to make rapid progress. While
they labored, they felt nothing of their loneliness. The employments
which accompanied their situation, and flowed from its necessities,
might be said to exercise their fancies, and to subdue the tendency to
melancholy which might naturally grow out of their isolation. Besides,
the very novelty of the circumstances in which they found themselves had
its attractions, particularly to a people so lively as the French. Our
Huguenots, at the outset, were very sensible to the picturesque beauties
of their forest habitation. For a season, bird, and beast, and tree,
and flower, presented themselves to their delighted eyes, in guises of
constantly varying attraction. The solitude, itself, possessed its
charm, most fascinating of all,--until it became monotonous--to
those who had been little favored of fortune in the crowded world of
civilization; and, with the feeling of a first freshness in their
hearts, and, while in the performance of duties which were equally
necessary to their safety, and new to their experience, the whole
prospect before them was beheld through that rose-colored atmosphere
which the fancy so readily flings before the mind, beguiling the soberer
thought into forgetfulness. During this period they toiled successfully
upon their fortifications. They raised the parapet, they mounted the
cannon for defence; built rude dwellings within the walls, and in their
boundless contiguity of shade, with the feeling that they were in some
sort "monarchs of all they beheld;" they felt neither loneliness nor
fear.

Their homes built, their fortifications complete, they proceeded, in
small detachments to explore the neighboring streams and woods. They
had, so far, finished all their tasks without meeting with the natives.
They did not shrink from this meeting. They now desired it from motives
of policy. They had no reason to believe, from the specimens of the
red-men whom they had already encountered, that they should have any
difficulty in soothing any of the tribes; and they were justified in
supposing that the impression already made upon those whom they met,
would operate favorably upon their future intercourse. Boldly, then, our
Frenchmen darted into the adjacent forests, gathering their game and
provisions in the same grounds with the proprietors. But the latter were
never to be seen. They were shy of the strangers, or they had not yet
discovered their settlement. One day, however, a fortunate chance
enabled a party of the Huguenots to discover, and to circumvent an
Indian hunter, upon whom they came suddenly in the forests. At first the
poor fellow was exceedingly dismayed at the encounter; but, subduing his
fears, he submitted with a good grace to the wishes of his captors, and
was conducted to the fortress. Here he was treated with consideration,
and made happy by several trifles which were given him. His confidence
was finally won, and his mouth was opened. He became communicative,
and described his people and their territories. He avowed himself the
subject of a great monarch, whom he called Audusta,[7]--a name, in
which, under the corruptions of a French pronunciation, we recognize the
well-known modern name of Edisto. He described the boundaries of empire
belonging to this forest chieftain; and gave a general and not incorrect
idea of the whole surrounding country.

  [7] The name in Charlevoix is written A_n_dusta, but this is most
  probably an error of the press. Laudonniere in Hackluyt uniformly uses
  the orthography which we adopt, and which furnishes a coincidence so
  really striking in the preservation of a name so nearly the same in
  sound, to this very day, in the same region.

Captain Albert was exceedingly delighted with his acquisition. It was
important that he should open an intercourse with the natives, to whose
maize-fields and supplies of venison his necessities required he should
look. He treated the hunter with liberality and courtesy, dismissing him
at night-fall with many presents, of a kind most grateful to the savage
taste. These hospitalities and gifts, it was not doubted, would pave
the way for an intercourse equally profitable and pleasant to both the
parties. Suffering a few days to elapse after the departure of the
hunter, Albert prepared to follow his directions, and explore the
settlements of King Audusta. He did so, and was received with great
kindness by the stately savage. The Indian hunter had made a favorable
report of the Frenchmen, and Audusta adopted them as his friends and
allies. He promised them provisions and assistance, and the friendship
of four other chiefs or princes, his tributaries, whose names are given
as Mayou, Hoya, Touppa, and Stalamè.[8] These were all, in turn,--except
the last,--visited by Albert, who found a frank and generous welcome
wherever he came. He consumed several days in these visits; and the
intercourse, in a little while, between the French and red-men, grew so
great, "that, in a manner, all things were soon common between them."
Returning to Audusta, Albert prepared to visit Stalamè, whose country
lay north of Fort Charles some fifteen leagues. This would make his
abode somewhere on the Edisto, near Givham's, perhaps; or, inclining
still north, to the head of Ashley River. Sailing up the river, (the
Edisto probably,) they encountered a great current, which they followed,
to reach the abode of Stalamè. He, too, received the strangers with
hospitality and friendship. The intercourse thus established between
the party soon assumed the most endearing aspect. The Indian kings took
counsel of Albert in all matters of importance. The Frenchmen were
called to the conference in the round-house of the tribe, quite as
frequently as their own recognized counsellors. In other words, the
leaders of the Huguenots were adopted into the tribe, that being the
usual mode of indicating trust and confidence. Albert was present at all
the assemblages of state in the realm of Audusta; at all ceremonials,
whether of business or pleasure; at his great hunts; and at the singular
feasts of his religion. One of these feasts, that of TOYA,[9] which
succeeded the visit of Albert to the territories of Audusta and the four
tributary kings, will call for an elaborate description hereafter, when
we narrate the legend of Guernache, upon whose fate that of the colony
seems to have depended.

  [8] A remark of Charlevoix, which accords with the experience of all
  early travellers and explorers among the American Indians, is worthy
  to be kept in remembrance, as enabling us to account for that frequent
  contradiction which occurs in the naming of places and persons among
  the savages. He records distinctly that each canton or province of
  Florida bore, among the red-men, the name of the ruling chief. Now, as
  a matter of course where the tribes are nomadic, the names of places
  continually underwent change, according to that of the tribe by which
  the spot was temporarily occupied.

  [9] According to Charlevoix, Toya was the name of the Floridian god,
  and not that of the ceremonies simply. "Elle se célébroit en l'honneur
  d'une Divinité nommée _Toya_."

The intercourse of our Huguenots with Audusta was of vital importance to
the former. In the form of gifts, he yielded them a regular tribute of
maize and beans, (corn and peas, in modern parlance,) and was easily
persuaded to do so by the simple trifles, of little value, which the
colonists proffered in return. It is not difficult to win the affections
of an inferior people, where the superior is indulgent. Kindness will
disarm the hostility of the savage, and justice will finally subdue the
jealousy of conscious ignorance. Sympathy in sports and amusements,
above all things, will do much towards bringing together tribes who
differ in their laws and language, and will make them forgetful of all
their differences. The French have been usually much more successful
than any other people in overcoming the prejudices of the red-men of
America. The moral of their nation is much more flexible than that of
the Englishman and Spaniard;--the former of whom has always subdued, and
the latter usually debased or destroyed, the races with which they came
in conflict.

The policy of Albert did not vary from that which usually distinguished
his countrymen in like situations. The French Protestant was, by no
means, of the faith and temper of the English Puritan. In simplifying
his religion, he did not clothe his exterior in gloom; he did not deny
that there should be sunshine and blossoms in the land. Our colonists at
Fort Charles did not perplex the Indians with doctrinal questions. It is
greatly to be feared, indeed, that religion did not, in any way, disturb
them in their solitudes. At all events, it was not of such a freezing
temper as to deny them the indulgence of an intercourse with the
natives, which, for a season, was very agreeable and very inspiriting
to both the parties.

But smiles and sunshine cannot last forever. The granaries of the
Indians began to fail under their own profligacy and the demands of
the Frenchmen. The resources of the former, never abundant, were soon
exhausted in providing for the additional hungry mouths which had come
among them. Shrinking from labor, they addressed as little of it as they
well could, to the cultivation of their petty maize fields. They
planted them, as we do now, a couple of grains of corn to each hill,
at intervals of three or four square feet, and as the corn grew to a
sufficient height, peas were distributed among the roots, to twine
about the stalks when the vines could no longer impair its growth. They
cropped the same land twice in each summer. The supplies, thus procured,
would have been totally inadequate to their wants, but for the abundant
game, the masts of the forest, and such harsh but wholesome roots as
they could pulverize and convert into breadstuffs. Their store was thus
limited always, and adapted to their own wants simply. Any additional
demand, however small, produced a scarcity in their granaries. The
improvidence of Audusta, or his liberality, prevented him from
considering this danger, until it began to be felt. He had supplied
the Frenchmen until his stock was exhausted; no more being left in his
possession than would suffice to sow his fields.

"For this reason,"--such was the language of the savage monarch--"we
must retire to the forests, and live upon its mast and roots, until
harvest time. We are sorry that we can supply you no longer; you must
now seek the granaries of our neighbors. There is a king called COUEXIS,
a prince of great might and renown in this country, whose province lies
toward the south. His lands are very fertile. His stores are ample at
all seasons. He alone can furnish you with food for a long time. Before
you approach the territories of Couexis, there is his brother, king
Ouade, who is scarcely less wealthy. He is a generous chief, who will
be very joyful if he may but once behold you. Seek out these, and your
wants shall be supplied."

The advice was taken. The Frenchmen had no alternative. They addressed
themselves first to Ouade. His territories lay along the river Belle,
some twenty-five leagues south of Port Royal. He received them with
the greatest favor and filled their pinnace with maize and beans. He
welcomed them to his abode with equal state and hospitality. His house
is described as being hung with a tapestry richly wrought of feathers.
The couch upon which he slept, was dressed with "white coverlettes,
embroidered with devises of very wittie and fine workmanship, and
fringed round about with a fringe dyed in the colour of scarlet." His
gifts to our Frenchmen were not limited to the commodities they craved.
He gave them six coverlets, and tapestry such as decorated his couch and
dwelling; specimens of a domestic manufacture which declare for tastes
and a degree of art which seems, in some degree, to prove their intimacy
with the more polished and powerful nations of the south. In regard to
food hereafter, king Ouade promised that his new acquaintance should
never want.

Thus was the first intercourse maintained by our Huguenots with their
savage neighbors. It was during this intimacy, and while all things
seemed to promise fair in regard to the colony, that the tragical events
took place which furnish the materials for the legend which follows, the
narrative of which requires that we should mingle events together, those
which occurred in the periods already noted, and those which belong to
our future chapters. Let it suffice, here, that, with his pinnace stored
with abundance, the mil (meal), corn and peas, of Ouade, Albert returned
in safety to Fort Charles.




III.

THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. I.

  Showing how Guernache, the Musician, a great favorite with our
    Frenchmen, lost the favor of Captain Albert, and how cruelly he
    was punished by the latter.


Guernache, the drummer, was one of the finest fellows, and the
handsomest of our little colony of Frenchmen. Though sprung of very
humble origin, Guernache, with a little better education, might have
been deemed to have had his training among the highest circles of the
Court. He was of tall and erect figure, and of a carriage so noble and
graceful that, even among his associates, he continued to be an object
of admiration. Besides, he was a fellow of the happiest humor. His
kindness of heart was proverbial. His merriment was contagious. His eye
flashed out in gayety, and his spirit was ever on the alert to seize
upon the passing pleasure, and subject it to the enjoyment of his
companions. Never was fellow so fortunate in finding occasion for
merriment; and happy, indeed, was the Frenchman who could procure
Guernache as a comrade in the performance of his daily tasks. The toil
was unfelt in which he shared--the weight of the task was dissipated,
and, where it wore heavily, he came to the succor of his drooping
companion, and his superior expertness soon succeeded in doing that
which his pleasantry had failed to effect. He was the best fisherman
and hunter--was as brave as he was light-hearted--was, altogether, so
perfect a character, in the estimation of the little band of Albert,
that he found no enemy among his equals, and could always choose his
companion for himself. His successes were not confined to his own
countrymen. He found equal favor in the sight of the Indians. Among his
other accomplishments, he possessed the most wonderful agility--had
belonged, at one time, to a company of strolling players, and his skill
on tight and slack rope--if we are to credit old stories--would put to
the blush the modern performances of the Ravels and Herr Cline. It was
through his means, and partly by his ingenuity, that the Indian hunter
was entrapped and brought into the fort,--through whose agency the
intimacy had been effected with the people of Audusta and the other
chiefs; and, during this intimacy, Guernache had proved, in various
ways, one of the principal instruments for confirming the favorable
impressions which the Indian had received in his intercourse with the
Frenchmen. He was everywhere popular with the red men. Nothing, indeed,
could be done without him. Ignorant of his inferior social position
among the whites, the simple savages sent for him to their feasts and
frolics, without caring for the claims of any other person. He had but
to carry his violin--for, among his other accomplishments, that of
fiddling was not the smallest--to secure the smiles of the men and the
favors of the women; and it was not long before he had formed, among the
savages, a class for dancing, after the European fashion, upon the banks
of the Edisto. Think of the red men of Apalachia, figuring under a
Parisian teacher, by night, by torch-light, beneath the great oaks
of the original forest! Such uncouth antics might well offend, with
never-lessening wonder, the courtly nymphs of the Seine and the Loire.
But the Indians suffered from no conventional apprehensions. They were
not made to feel their deficiencies under the indulgent training of
Guernache, and footed it away as merrily, as if each of their damsels
sported on a toe as light and exquisite as that of Ellsler or Taglioni.
King Audusta, himself, though well stricken in years, was yet seduced
into the capricious mazes which he beheld with so much pleasure, and,
for a season, the triumph of Guernache among the palms and pines of
_Grande Riviere_, was sufficiently complete, to make him wonder at times
how his countrymen ever suffered his departure from the shores of La
Belle France!

At first, and when it was doubtful to what extent the favor of the
red-men might be secured for the colony, Captain Albert readily
countenanced the growing popularity of his fiddler among them. His
permission was frequently given to Guernache, when king Audusta
solicited his presence. His policy prompted him to regard it as highly
fortunate that so excellent an agent for his purposes was to be found
among his followers; and, for some months, it needed only a suggestion
of Guernache, himself, to procure for him leave of absence. The worthy
fellow never abused his privileges--never was unfaithful to his
trust--never grew insolent upon indulgence. But Captain Albert, though
claiming to be the cadet of a noble house, was yet a person of a mean
and ignoble nature. Small and unimposing of person, effeminate of habit,
and accustomed to low indulgences, he was not only deficient in the
higher resources of intellect, but he was exceedingly querulous and
tyrannical of temper. His aristocratical connexions alone had secured
him the charge of the colony, for which nature and education had equally
unfitted him. His mind was contracted and full of bitter prejudices;
and, as is the case commonly with very small persons, he was always
tenacious, to the very letter, of the nicest observances of etiquette.
After a little while, and when he no longer had reason to question the
fidelity of the red men, he began to exhibit some share of dislike
towards Guernache; and to withhold the privileges which he had hitherto
permitted him to enjoy. He had become jealous of the degree of favor in
which his musician was held among the savages, and betrayed this change
in his temper, by instances of occasional severity and denial, the
secret of which the companions of Guernache divined much sooner than
himself. Though not prepared, absolutely, to withhold his consent, when
king Audusta entreated that the fiddler might be spared him, he yet
accorded it ungraciously; and Guernache was made to suffer, in some way,
for these concessions, as if they had been so many favors granted to
himself.

They were, indeed, favors to the musician, though, to what extent,
Albert entertained no suspicion. It so happened that among his other
conquests, Guernache had made that of a very lovely dark-eyed damsel, a
niece of Audusta, and a resident of the king's own village. After the
informal fashion of the country, into which our Frenchmen were apt
readily to fall, he had made the damsel his wife. She was a beautiful
creature, scarcely more than sixteen; tall and slender, and so naturally
agile and graceful, that it needed but a moderate degree of instruction
to make her a dancer whose airy movements would not greatly have
misbeseemed the most courtly theatres of Paris. Monaletta,--for such was
the sweet name of the Indian damsel,--was an apt pupil, because she was
a loving one. She heartily responded to that sentiment of wonder--common
among the savages--that the Frenchmen should place themselves under the
command of a chief, so mean of person as Albert, and so inferior in
gifts, when they had among them a fellow of such noble presence as
Guernache, whose qualities were so irresistible. The opinions of her
head were but echoes from the feelings in her heart. Her preference for
our musician was soon apparent and avowed; but, in taking her to wife,
Guernache kept his secret from his best friend. No one in Fort Charles
ever suspected that he had been wived in the depth of the great
forests, through pagan ceremonies, by an Indian Iawa,[10] to the lovely
Monaletta. Whatever may have been his motive for keeping the secret,
whether he feared the ridicule of his comrades, or the hostility of his
superior, or apprehended a difficulty with rivals among the red men, by
a discovery of the fact, it is yet very certain that he succeeded in
persuading Monaletta, herself, and those who were present at his wild
betrothal, to keep the secret also. It did not lessen, perhaps, the
pleasure of his visits to the settlements of Audusta, that the peculiar
joys which he desired had all the relish of a stolen fruit. It was now,
only in this manner that Monaletta could be seen. Captain Albert, with
a rigid austerity, which contributed also to his evil odor among his
people, had interdicted the visits of all Indian women at the fort. This
interdict was one, however, which gave little annoyance to Guernache.
A peculiar, but not unnatural jealousy, had already prompted him
repeatedly to deny this privilege to Monaletta. The simple savage had
frequently expressed her desire to see the fortress of the white man, to
behold his foreign curiosities, and, in particular, to hearken to the
roar of that mimic thunder which he had always at command, and which,
when heard, had so frequently shaken the very hearts of the men of her
people.

  [10] Iawa was the title of the priest or prophet of the Floridian.
  The word is thus written by Laudonniere in Hakluyt. It is probably a
  misprint only which, in Charlevoix, writes it "Iona."

In this relation stood the several parties, when, one day, a messenger
came to Fort Charles from King Audusta, bearing a special invitation to
Captain Albert to attend, with the savage tribes, the celebration of the
great religious "feast of _Toya_." He was invited to bring as many of
his men as he thought proper, but, in particular, not to forget their
favorite Guernache. The feast of Toya, seems to have constituted the
great religious ceremonial of the nation. It took place about the
middle, or the close of summer, and seems to have been a sort of annual
thanksgiving, after the laws of a natural religion, for the maturing
of their little crops. Much of the solemnities were obvious and
ostentatious in their character. Much more, however, was involved and
mysterious, and held particularly sacred by the priesthood. The occasion
was one, at all events, to which the Indians attached the greatest
importance; and, naturally anxious to acquire as great a knowledge as
possible of their laws, customs and sentiments, Captain Albert very
readily acceded to the invitation,--preparing, with some state, to
attend the rustic revels of Audusta. He took with him a fair proportion
of his little garrison, and did not omit the inimitable Guernache.
Ascending the river in his pinnace, he soon reached the territories
of the Indian monarch. Audusta, with equal hospitality and dignity,
anticipated his approach, and met him, with his followers, at the river
landing. With a hearty welcome, he conducted him to his habitations, and
gave him, at entrance, a draught of the cassina beverage, the famous tea
of the country. Then came damsels who washed their hands in vessels of
water over which floated the leaves of the odorous bay, and flowers of
rare perfume; drying them after with branches of plumes, scarlet and
white, which were made of the feathers of native birds of the most
glorious variety of hue. Mats of reed, woven ingeniously together by
delicate wythes of all colors, orange and green, and vermillion, dyed
with roots of the forest, were then spread upon the rush-strewn floor of
the royal wigwam; and, with a grace not unbecoming a sovereign born in
the purple, Audusta invited our Frenchmen to place themselves at ease,
each according to his rank and station. The king took his place among
them, neither above the first, nor below the last, but like a friend
within a favorite circle, in which some might stand more nearly than
others to his affections. They were then attended with the profoundest
deference, and served with the rarest delicacies of the Indian
_cuisine_. As night came on, fresh rushes were strewed upon the floor,
and they slept with the cheerful music of songs and laughter, which
reached them at intervals, through the night, from the merry makers in
the contiguous forests. With the dawning of the next day, preparations
for the great festival were begun.




IV.

THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. II.

THE FESTIVAL OF TOYA.

  Being a continuation of the legend of Guernache; showing the
    superstitions of the Red-Men; how Guernache offended Captain
    Albert, and what followed from the secret efforts of the Frenchmen
    to penetrate the mysteries of Toya!


It would be difficult to say, from the imperfect narratives afforded
us by the chroniclers, what were the precise objects of the present
ceremonials;--what gods were to be invoked;--what evil beings
implored;--what wrath and anger to be deprecated and diverted from the
devoted tribes. As the Frenchmen received no explanation of their mystic
preparations, so are we left unenlightened by their revelations. They do
not even amuse us by their conjectures, and Laudonniere stops short in
his narrative of what did happen, apologizing for having said so much
on so trifling a matter. We certainly owe him no gratitude for his
forbearance. What he tells us affords but little clue to the motive of
their fantastic proceedings. The difficulty, which is at present ours,
was not less that of Albert and his Frenchmen. They were compelled to
behold the outlines of a foreign ritual whose mysteries they were not
permitted to explore, and had their curiosity provoked by shows of a
most exciting character, which only mocked their desires, and tantalized
their appetites. On the first arrival of Albert, and after he had been
rested and refreshed, Audusta himself had conducted him, with his
followers, to the spot which had been selected for the ceremonies of the
morrow. "This was a great circuit of ground with open prospect and round
in figure." Here they saw "many women roundabout, which labored by all
means to make the place cleane and neate." The ceremonies began early
on the morning of the ensuing day. Hither they repaired in season, and
found "all they which were chosen to celebrate the feast," already
"painted and trimmed with rich feathers of divers colours." These led
the way in a procession from the dwelling of Audusta to the "place of
Toya." Here, when they had come, they set themselves in new order under
the guidance of three Indians, who were distinguished by plumes, paint,
and a costume entirely superior to the rest. Each of them carried a
tabret, to the plaintive and lamenting music of which they sang in
wild, strange, melancholy accents; and, in slow measures, dancing the
while, they passed gradually into the very centre of the sacred circle.
They were followed by successive groups, which answered to their
strains, and to whose songs they, in turn, responded with like echoes.
This continued for awhile, the music gradually rising and swelling from
the slow to the swift, from the sad to the passionate, while the moods
of the actors and the spectators, also varying, the character of
the scene changed to one of the wildest excitement. Suddenly, the
characters--those who were chief officiators in this apparent hymn of
fate--broke from the enchanted circle--darted through the ranks of the
spectators, and dashed, headlong, with frantic cries, into the depths of
the neighboring thickets. Then followed another class of actors. As if
a sudden and terrible doom overhung the nation, the Indian women set up
cries of grief and lamentation. Their passion grew to madness. In their
rage, the mothers seized upon the young virgins of the tribe, and, with
the sharp edges of muscle shells, they lanced their arms, till the blood
gushed forth in free streams, which they eagerly flung into the air,
crying aloud at every moment, "He-to-yah! He-to-yah! He-to-yah!"[11]

  [11] Adair likens the cry of the Southern Indians to the sacred
  name among the Jews--"Je-ho-vah." He writes the Indian syllables
  thus--"Yo-he-wah," and it constitutes one of his favorite arguments
  for deducing the origin of the North American red-men from the ancient
  Hebrews.

These ceremonies, though not more meaningless, perhaps, in the eyes of
the Christian, than would be our most solemn religious proceedings in
those of the Indian, provoked the laughter of Albert and some of
his Frenchmen. This circumstance awakened the indignation of their
excellent friend, Audusta. His displeasure was now still farther
increased by a proceeding of Captain Albert. It was an attempt upon
their mysteries. That portion of the officiating priesthood--their
Iawas--who fled from the sacred enclosure to deep recesses of the woods,
sought there for the prosecution, in secret, of rites too holy for the
vulgar eye. Here they maintained their _sanctum sanctorum_. This was
the place consecrated to the communion of the god with his immediate
servants--the holy of holies, which it was death to penetrate or pass.
Albert suffered his curiosity to get the better of his discretion.
Offended by the laughter of the Frenchmen, at what they had already
beheld, and fearing lest their audacity should lead them farther, the
king, Audusta, had gathered them again within the royal wigwam, where he
sought, by marked kindness and distinction, to make them forgetful
of what had been denied. They had seen, as he told them, the more
impressive portions of the ceremonial. There were others, but not of a
kind to interest them. But the fact that there was something to conceal,
stimulated the curiosity of Albert. In due degree with the king's
anxiety to keep his secret, was that of the French captain's to fathom
it. Holding a brief consultation with his men, accordingly, he declared
his desire to this effect; and proposed, that one of their number should
contrive to steal forth, and, finding his way to the forbidden spot,
should place himself in such a position as would enable him to survey
all the mysterious proceedings. To this course, Guernache frankly
opposed his opinions. His greater intimacy with the red-men led him
properly to conceive the danger which might ensue, from their discovery
of the intrusion. He had been well taught by Monaletta, the degree of
importance which they attached to the security of their mystic rites.
Arguing with the honesty of his character, he warned his captain of
the risk which such unbecoming curiosity would incur--the peril to the
offender, himself, if detected; and the hazards to the colony from
the loss of that friendship to which they had been already so largely
indebted. But the counsels of Guernache were rejected with indignity.
Prepared, already, to regard him with dislike and suspicion, Albert
heard his suggestions only as so much impertinence; and rudely commanded
him not to forget himself and place, nor to thrust his undesired
opinions upon the consideration of gentlemen. The poor fellow was
effectually silenced by this rebuke. He sank out of sight, and presumed
no farther to advise. But the counsel was not wholly thrown away.
Disregarded by Albert, it was caught up, and insisted on, by others, who
had better conventional claims to be heard, and the proposition might
have been defeated but for the ready interposition of one Pierre Renaud,
a young fellow, who, perceiving the captain's strong desire to seek out
the mystery, and anxious to ingratiate himself with that person, boldly
laughed at the fears of the objectors, and volunteered, himself, to
defy the danger, in his own person, in order to gratify his chief. This
silenced the controversy. Albert readily availed himself of the offer,
and Pierre Renaud was commanded to try his fortune. This he did, and,
notwithstanding the surveillance maintained over them by Audusta and his
attendants, "he made such shift, that, by subtle meanes, he gotte out of
the house of Audusta, and secretly went and hid himselfe behinde a
very thick bush, where, at his pleasure, he might easily descry the
ceremonies of the feaste."

We will leave Renaud thus busy in his espionage, while we rehearse the
manner in which the venerable Audusta proceeded to treat his company.
A substantial feast was provided for them, consisting of venison, wild
fowl, and fruits. Their breadstuffs were maize, batatas, and certain
roots sodden first in water, and then prepared in the sun. A drink was
prepared from certain other roots, which, though bitter, was refreshing
and slightly stimulant. Our Frenchmen, in the absence of the beverages
of Italy and France, did not find it unpalatable. They ate and drank
with a hearty relish, which gratified the red-men, who lavished on them
a thousand caresses. The feast was followed by the dance. In a spacious
area, surrounded by great ranks of oaks, cedars, pines, and other trees,
they assembled, men and women, in their gayest caparison. The men were
tatooed and painted, from head to foot, and not inartistically, in the
most glowing colors. Birds and beasts were figured upon their breasts,
and huge, strange reptiles were made to coil up and around their legs
and arms. From their waists depended light garments of white cotton, the
skirts being trimmed with a thick fringe of red or scarlet. Some of them
wore head-dresses consisting of the skins of snakes, or eagles, the
panther or the wild cat, which, stuffed ingeniously, were made to sit
erect above the forehead, and to look abroad, from their novel place of
perch, in a manner equally natural and frightful. The women were habited
in a similarly wild but less offensive manner. The taste which presided
in their decorations, was of a purer and a gentler fashion. Their cheeks
were painted red, their arms, occasionally but slightly tattooed, and
sometimes the figure of a bird, a flower or a star, might be seen
engrained upon the breast. A rather scanty robe of white cotton
concealed, in some degree, the bosom, and extended somewhat below the
knees. Around the necks of several, were hung thick strands of native
pearls, partially discolored by the action of fire which had been
employed to extricate them from the shells. Pearls were also mingled
ingeniously with the long tresses of their straight, black hair;
trailing with it, in not unfrequent instances, even to the ground.
Others, in place of this more valuable ornament, wore necklaces, anklets
and tiaras, formed wholly of one or other of the numerous varieties
of little sea shells, by which, after heavy storms, the low and sandy
shores of the country were literally covered. Strings of the same shell
encircled the legs, which were sometimes of a shape to gratify the
nicest exactions of the civilized standard. The forms of our Indian
damsels were generally symmetrical and erect, their movements at once
agile and graceful--their foreheads high, their lips thin, and, with a
soft, persuasive expression, inclining to melancholy; while their eyes,
black and bright, always shone with a peculiar forest fire that seemed
happily to consort with their dark, but not unpleasing complexions.
Well, indeed, with a pardonable vanity, might their people call them the
"Daughters of the Sun." He had made them his, by his warmest and fondest
glances. These were the women, whose descendants, in after days, as
Yemassees and Muscoghees and Seminoles, became the scourge of so large
a portion of the Anglo-American race.

When the Frenchmen beheld this rude, but really brilliant assemblage,
and saw what an attractive show the young damsels made, they were
delighted beyond measure. Visions of the rout and revel, as enjoyed in
_La Belle France_, glanced before their fancies; and the lively capering
that followed among the young Huguenots, informed Captain Albert of the
desire which was felt by all. In stern, compelling accents, he bade
Guernache take his violin, and provide the music, while the rest
prepared to dance. But Guernache excused himself, alleging the want of
strings for his instrument. These were shown, in a broken state, to
his commander. He had broken them, we may state _en passant_, for the
occasion. His pride had been hurt by the treatment of his captain.
He felt that the purpose of the latter was to degrade him. Such a
performance as that required at his hands, was properly no part of his
duty; and his proud spirit revolted at the idea of contributing, in any
way, to the wishes of his superior, when the object of the latter was
evidently his own degradation. Albert spoke to him testily, and with
brows that did not seek to subdue or conceal their frowns. But Guernache
was firm, and though he studiously forebore, by word or look, to
increase the provocation which he had already given, he yet made no
effort to pacify the imperious nature which he had offended. The excuse
was such as could not but be taken. There was the violin, indeed, but
there, also, were the broken strings. Albert turned from the musician
with undisguised loathing; and the poor fellow sunk back with a secret
presentiment of evil. He but too well knew the character of his
superior.

Meanwhile, the red men had resort to their own primitive music. Their
instruments consisted of simple reeds, which, bound together, were
passed, to and fro, beneath the lips and discoursed very tolerable
harmonies;--and a rude drum formed by stretching a raw deer skin over
the mouth of a monstrous calabash, enabled them, when the skin had been
contracted in the sun, to extort from it a very tolerable substitute for
the music of the tambourine. There were other instruments, susceptible
of sound if not of sweetness. Numerous damsels, none over fifteen, lithe
and graceful, carried in their hands little gourds, which were filled
with shells and pebbles, and tied over with skins, dried also in the
sun. With these, as they danced, they kept time so admirably as might
have charmed the most practised European master. Thus, all provided,
some with the drum, and others with flute-like reeds and hollow,
tinkling gourds, they only awaited the summons of their partners to
the area. Shaking their tinkling gourds, as if in pretty impatience
at the delay, the girls each waited, with anxious looks, the signal
from her favorite.

The Frenchmen were not slow in seeking out their partners. At the word
and signal of their captain, they dashed in among the laughing group of
dusky maidens, each seeking for the girl whose beauties had been most
grateful to his tastes. Nor was Captain Albert, himself, with all his
pride and asceticism, unwilling to forget his dignity for a season, and
partake of the rude festivities of the occasion. When, indeed, did
mirth and music fail to usurp dominion in the Frenchman's heart? Albert
greedily cast his eyes about, seeking a partner, upon whom he might
bestow his smiles. He was not slow in the selection. It so happened,
that Monaletta, the spouse of Guernache, was not only one of the
loveliest damsels present, but she was well known as the niece of King
Audusta. Her beauty and royal blood, equally commended her to the favor
of our captain. She stood apart from all the rest, stately and graceful
as the cedar, not seeming to care for the merriment in which all were
now engaged. There was a dash of sadness in her countenance. Her
thoughts were elsewhere--her eyes scarcely with the assembly, when the
approach of Albert startled her from her reverie. He came as Cæsar did,
to certain conquest; and was about to take her hand, as a matter of
course, when he was equally astounded and enraged to find her draw it
away from his grasp.

"You will not dance with _me_, Monaletta?"

"No," she answered him in broken French--"No dance with you--dance with
_him_!" pointing to Guernache.

Speaking these words, she crossed the floor, with all the bold
imprudence of a truly loving heart, to the place where stood our
sorrowful and unhappy violinist. He had followed the movements of
Albert, with looks of most serious apprehension, and his heart had sunk,
with a sudden terror, when he saw that he approached Monaletta. The
scene which followed, however grateful to his affections, was seriously
calculated to arouse his fears. He feared for Monaletta, as he feared
for himself. Nothing escaped him in the brief interview, and he saw, in
the vindictive glances of Albert, the most evil auguries for the future.
Yet how precious was her fondness to his heart! He half forgot his
apprehensions as he felt her hand upon his shoulder, and beheld her eyes
looking with appealing fondness up into his own. That glance was full of
the sweetest consolation,--and said everything that was grateful to his
terrified affections. She, too, had seen the look of hate and anger in
the face of Albert, and she joyed in the opportunity of rebuking the one
with her disdain, and of consoling the other with her sympathies. It was
an unhappy error. Bitter, indeed, was the look with which the aroused
and mortified Albert regarded the couple as they stood apart from all
the rest. Guernache beheld this look. He knew the meaning of that
answering glance of his superior which encountered his own. His looks
were those of entreaty, of deprecation. They seemed to say, "I feel that
you are offended, but I had no purpose or part in the offence." His
glance of humility met with no answering indulgence. It seemed, indeed,
still farther to provoke his tyrant, who, advancing midway across the
room, addressed him in stern, hissing accents, through his closed and
almost gnashing teeth.

"Away, sirrah, to the pinnace! See that you remain in her until I summon
you! Away!"

The poor fellow turned off from Monaletta. He shook himself free from
the grasp which she had taken of his hand. He prepared to obey the
wanton and cruel order, but he could not forbear saying reproachfully
as he retired--

"You push me too hard, Captain Albert."

"No words, sir! Away!" was the stern response. The submissive fellow
instantly disappeared. With his disappearance, Albert again approached
Monaletta, and renewed his application. But this time he met with a
rejection even more decided than before. He looked to King Audusta; but
an Indian princess, while she remains unmarried, enjoys a degree of
social liberty which the same class of persons in Europe would sigh for
and supplicate in vain. There were no answering sympathies in the king's
face, to encourage Albert in the prosecution of his suit. Nay, he had
the mortification to perceive, from the expression of his countenance,
that his proceedings towards Guernache--who was a general favorite--had
afforded not more satisfaction to him, than they had done to Monaletta.
It was, therefore, in no very pleasant mood with himself and those
around him, that our captain consoled himself in the dance with
the hand of an inferior beauty. Jealous of temper and frivolous of
mind--characteristics which are frequently found together--Albert was
very fond of dancing, and enjoyed the sport quite as greatly as any
of his companions. But, even while he capered, his soul, stung and
dissatisfied, was brooding vexatiously over its petty hurts. His
thoughts were busied in devising ways to revenge himself upon the humble
offender by whom his mortification originally grew. Upon this sweet and
bitter cud did he chew while the merry music sounded in his ears,
and the gaily twinkling feet of the dusky maidens were whirling in
promiscuous mazes beneath his eye. But these festivities, and his own
evil meditations, were destined to have an interruption as startling
as unexpected.

While the mirth was at its highest, and the merriment most contagious,
the ears of the assembly were startled by screams, the most terrible, of
fright and anguish. The Frenchmen felt a nameless terror seizing upon
them. The cries and shrieks were from an European throat. Wild was the
discord which accompanied them,--whoops of wrath and vengeance, which,
as evidently issued only from the throats of most infuriated savages.
The music ceased in an instant. The dance was arrested. The Frenchmen
rushed to their arms, fully believing that they were surrounded by
treachery--that they had been beguiled to the feast only to become its
victims. With desperate decision, they prepared themselves for the
worst. While their suspense and fear were at their highest, the cause
of the alarm and uproar soon became apparent to their eyes. Bursting,
like a wounded deer, suddenly, from the woods by which the dwelling of
Audusta was surrounded, a bloody figure, ghastly and spotted, appeared
before the crowd. In another moment the Frenchmen recognized the spy,
Pierre Renaud, who had volunteered to get at the heart of the Indian
mysteries--to follow the priesthood to their sacred haunts, and gather
all the secrets of their ceremonials.

We have already seen that he reached his place of watch in safety. But
here his good fortune failed him: his place of espionage was not one
of concealment. In the wild orgies of their religion,--for they seem
to have practised rites not dissimilar to, and not less violent and
terrible than those of the British Druids,--the priests darted over the
crouching spy. Detected in the very act, where he lay, "squat like a
toad," the Iawas fell upon him with the sharp instruments of flint
with which they had been lancing and lacerating their own bodies. With
these they contrived, in spite of all his struggles and entreaties, to
inflict upon him some very severe wounds. Their rage was unmeasured, and
the will to slay him was not wanting. But Renaud was a fellow equally
vigorous and active. He baffled their blows as well as he could, and at
length breaking from their folds, he took fairly to his heels. Howling
with rage and fury, they darted upon his track, their wild shrieks
ringing through the wood like those of so many demons suffering in
mortal agony. They cried to all whom they saw, to stay and slay the
offender. Others joined in the chase, as they heard this summons. But
fortune favored the fugitive. His terror added wings to his flight.
He was not, it seems, destined to such a death as they designed him.
He outran his pursuers, and, dodging those whom he accidentally
encountered, he made his way into the thick of the area, where his
comrades, half bewildered by the uproar, were breaking up the dance. He
sank down in the midst of them, exhausted by loss of blood and fatigue,
only a moment before the appearance of his pursuers.

The French instantly closed around their companion. They had not put
aside their weapons, and they now prepared themselves to encounter the
worst. The aspect of the danger was threatening in the last degree. The
Iawas were boiling with sacred fury. They were the true rulers of their
people. Their will was sovereign over the popular moods. They demanded,
with violent outcry, the blood of the individual by whom their sacred
retreats had been violated, and their shekinah polluted by vulgar and
profane presence. They demanded the blood of _all_ the Frenchmen, as
participating in the crime. They called upon Audusta to assert his
own privileges and theirs. They appealed to the people in a style of
phrenzied eloquence, the effects of which were soon visible in the
inflamed features and wild action of the more youthful warriors.
Already were these to be seen slapping their sides, tossing their hands
in air, and, with loud shrieks, lashing themselves into a fury like
that which enflamed their prophets. King Audusta looked confounded.
The Frenchmen were his guests. He had invited them to partake of his
hospitality, and to enjoy the rites of his religion. He was in some sort
pledged for their safety, though one of them had violated the conditions
of their coming. His own feelings revolted at giving any sanction for
the assault, yet he appeared unable or unwilling to resist the clamors
of the priesthood. But _he_ also demanded, though with evident
reluctance, the blood of the offender. He was not violent, though
urgent, in this demand. He showed indignation rather than hostility;
and he gave Albert to understand that in no way could the people or the
priesthood be appeased, unless by the sacrifice of the guilty person.

But Albert could not yield the victim. The French were prepared to
perish to a man before complying with any such demand. They were firm.
They fenced him in with their weapons, and declared their readiness to
brave every peril ere they would abandon their comrade. This resolution
was the more honorable, as Pierre Renaud was no favorite among them.
Though seriously disquieted by the event, and apprehensive of the issue,
Albert was man enough to second their spirit. Besides, Renaud had been
his own emissary in the adventure which threatened to terminate so
fatally. His denial was inferred from his deportment; and the clamor of
the Indians was increased. The rage of the Iawas was renewed with the
conviction that no redress was to be given them. Already had the young
warriors of Audusta procured their weapons. More than an hundred of
them surrounded our little band of Frenchmen, who were only thirteen
in number. Bows were bent, lances were set in rest, javelins were seen
lifted, and ready to be thrown; and the drum which had been just made to
sound, in lively tones, for the dance, now gave forth the most dismal
din, significant of massacre and war. Already were to be seen, in the
hands of some more daring Indian than the rest, the heavy war-club,
or the many-teethed macana, waving aloft and threatening momently to
descend upon the victim; and nothing was wanting but a first blow to
bring on a general massacre. Suddenly, at this perilous moment, the
fiddle of Guernache was heard without; followed, in a moment after,
by the appearance of the brave fellow himself. Darting in between the
opposing ranks, attended by the faithful Monaletta, with a grand crash
upon his instrument, now newly-strung, followed by a rapid gush of the
merriest music, he took both parties by the happiest surprise, and
instantly produced a revulsion of feeling among the savages as complete
as it was sudden.

"Ami! ami! ami!" was the only cry from an hundred voices, at the
reappearance of Guernache among them. They had acquired this friendly
epithet among the first words which they had learned at their coming,
from the French; and their affection for our fiddler had made its
application to himself, in particular, a thing of general usage. He
_was_ their friend. He had shown himself their friend, and they had a
faith in _him_ which they accorded to no other of his people. The people
were with him, and the priesthood not unfriendly. Time was gained
by this diversion; and, in such an outbreak as that which has been
described, time is all that is needful, perhaps, to stay the arm of
slaughter. Guernache played out his tune, and cut a few pleasant
antics, in which the now happy Monaletta, though of the blood royal,
readily joined him. The musician had probably saved the party
from massacre. The subsequent work of treaty and pacification was
comparatively easy. Pierre Renaud was permitted to depart for the
pinnace, under the immediate care of Guernache and Monaletta. The Iawas
received some presents of gaudy costume, bells, and other gew-gaws,
while a liberal gift of knives and beads gratified their warriors and
their women. The old ties of friendship were happily reunited, and
the calumet went round, from mouth to mouth, in token of restored
confidence and renewed faith. Before nightfall, happily relieved from
his apprehensions, Albert, with his detachment, was rapidly making his
way with his pinnace, down the waters of the swiftly-rolling Edisto.




V.

THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. III.

  The Legend of Guernache is continued, showing how the Fortress of the
    Huguenots was destroyed, and what happened thereafter to Guernache
    the Musician.


The fidelity which Guernache had shown in the recent difficulty with
the Indians, did not appear to lessen in any degree the unfavorable
impressions which Capt. Albert had received of that worthy fellow.
Indeed, the recent and remarkable service which he had rendered, by
which, in all probability, the whole party had been preserved from
massacre, rather increased, if any thing, the hostile temper of his
superior. The evil spirit still raged within the bosom of Capt. Albert,
utterly baffling a judgment at no period of particular excellence, and
blinding every honorable sentiment which might have distinguished him
under other influences. He was now doubly mortified, that he should
be supposed to owe his present safety to the person he had wronged--a
mortification which found due increase as he remembered how much greater
had been the respect and deference of the savages for his drummer than
for himself. This recollection was a perpetual goad to that working
malice in his heart, which was already busied in devising schemes of
revenge, which were to salve his hurts of pride and vanity, by the
sufferings as well as humiliation of his subordinate. It will scarcely
be believed that, when fairly out of sight of the village of Audusta, he
rebuked Guernache sharply, for leaving the pinnace against his orders,
and even spoke of punishing him for this disobedience.[12] But the
murmurs of some of his officers, and, perhaps, a little lurking
sentiment of shame in his own bosom, prevented him from attempting any
such disgraceful proceeding. But the feeling of hostility only rankled
the more because of its suppression, and he soon contrived to show
Guernache and, indeed, everybody besides, that from that hour he was his
most bitter and unforgiving enemy, with a little and malignant spirit,
he employed various petty arts, which a superior of a base nature may
readily command on all occasions, by which to make the poor fellow feel
how completely he was at his mercy; and each day exposed him to
some little snare, or some stern caprice, by which Guernache became
involuntarily an offender. His tyrant subjected him to duties the most
troublesome and humiliating, while denying, or stinting him of all
those privileges which were yet commonly accorded to his comrades. But
all this would have been as nothing to Guernache, if he had not been
denied permission to visit, as before, the hamlet of Audusta, where his
princess dwelt. On the miserable pretext that the priesthood might
revenge upon him the misconduct of Renaud, Albert insisted upon his
abstaining wholly from the Indian territories. But this pretence
deceived nobody, and nobody less than Guernache. Little did the petty
tyrant of Fort Charles imagine that the object of his malice enjoyed a
peculiar source of consolation for all these privations. His comrades
were his friends. They treated him with a warmth and kindness,
studiously proportioned to the ill-treatment of his superior.
They assisted him in the severer tasks which were allotted him to
fulfil--gave him their company whenever this was possible, while he was
engaged in the execution of his most cheerless duties, and soothed his
sorrows by the expression of their almost unanimous sympathies. Nor
did they always withhold their bitter denunciations of the miserable
despotism under which he suffered, and which they feared. Dark hints of
remedy were spoken, brows frowned at the mention of the wrongs of their
companion, and the head shaken ominously, when words of threatening
significance were uttered--appealed gratefully to certain bitter desires
which had taken root in the mind of the victim. But these sympathies,
though grateful, were of small amount in comparison with another
source of consolation, which contributed to sustain Guernache in his
tribulation. This was found in the secret companionship of his young and
beautiful Indian wife. Denied to see him at the village of Audusta, the
fond and fearless woman determined to seek him at all hazards in his own
domain. She stole away secretly to the fortress of the Huguenots. Long
and earnest was the watch which she maintained upon its portals, from
the thickets of the neighboring wood. Here, vigilant as the sentinel
that momently expects his foe, she harbored close, in waiting for the
beloved one. Her quick instincts had already taught her the true cause
of his denial, and of her disappointment; and her Indian lessons had
made that concealment, which she now believed to be necessary to her
purpose, a part of the habitual policy of her people. She showed herself
to none of the people of the fortress. She suspected them all; she
had no faith but in the single one. And he, at length, came forth,
unaccompanied, in the prosecution of an occasional labor--that of
cutting and procuring wood. She suffered him to make his way into the
forests--to lose sight of the fortress, and, with a weary spirit and
a wounded soul, to begin his lonely labors with the axe. Then did she
steal behind him, and beside him; and when he moaned aloud--supposing
that he had no auditor--how startling fell upon his ear the sweet, soft
whisper of that precious voice which he had so lovingly learned to
distinguish from all others. He turned with a gush of rapturous delight,
and, weeping, she rushed into his arms, pouring forth, in a wild cry,
upon his breast, the whole full volume of her warm, devoted heart!

  [12] Charlevoix thus describes Captain Albert: "Le Commandant
  de Charles-Fort étoit un homme de main, et qui ne manquoit pas
  absolument de conduite, mais il étoit brutal jusqu'à la férocité, et
  ne sçavoit pas meme garder les bienséances........ Il punissoit les
  moindres fautes, and toujours avec excès, &c."--N. France, Liv. 1, p.
  51.

That moment, in spite of all his fears, was amply compensative to
Guernache for all his troubles. He forgot them all in the intensity of
his new delights. And when Monaletta led him off from his tasks to
the umbrageous retreat in the deeper woods where her nights had been
recently passed,--when she conducted him to the spot where her own hands
had built a mystic bower for her own shelter--when she declared her
purpose still to occupy this retreat, in the solitude alone,--that she
might be ever near him, to behold him at a distance, herself unseen,
when he came forth accompanied by others--to join him, to feel his
embrace, hear his words of love, and assist him in his labors when he
came forth unattended--when, speaking and promising thus, she lay upon
the poor fellow's bosom, looking up with tearful and bright eyes in his
wan and apprehensive countenance--then it was that he could forget
his tyrant--could lose his fears and sorrows in his love, and in the
enjoyment of moments the most precious to his heart, forget all the
accompanying influences which might endanger his safety.

But necessity arose sternly between the two, and pointed to the
exactions of duty. The tasks of Guernache were to be completed. His
axe was required to sound among the trees of the forest, and a certain
number of pieces of timber were required by sunset at his hands. It was
surprising as it was sweet to behold the Indian woman as she assisted
him in his tasks. Her strength did not suffice for the severer toils of
the wood-cutter, but she contrived a thousand modes for contributing to
his performances. Love lightens every labor, and invents a thousand arts
by which to do so. Monaletta anticipated the wants of Guernache. She
removed the branches as he smote them, she threw the impediments from
his way,--helped him to lift and turn the logs as each successive side
was to be hewn. She brought him water, when he thirsted, from the
spring. She spoke and sung to him in the most encouraging voice when
he was weary. He was never weary when with her.

Guernache combatted her determination to remain in the neighborhood
of the fortress; but his objections were feebly urged, and she soon
overcame them. He had not the courage to insist upon his argument, as
he had not the strength to resist the consolations which her presence
brought him. She soon succeeded in assuring him that there was little or
no danger of detection by their enemy. She laughed at the idea of the
Frenchmen discovering her place of concealment, surprising her in her
progress through the woods, or overtaking her in flight; and Guernache
knew enough of Indian subtlety readily to believe that the white was no
match for the dusky race in the exercise of all those arts which are
taught by forest life. "But her loneliness and privation, exposed to
the season's changes, and growing melancholy in the absence from old
associates?" But how could she be lonely, was her argument, when near
the spot where he dwelt--when she could see and hear and speak with him
occasionally? She wished no other communion. As for the exposure of her
present abode, was it greater than that to which the wandering life of
the red-man subjects his people at all seasons? The Indian woman is
quite as much at home in the forest as the Indian warrior. She acquires
her resources of strength and dexterity in his company, and by the
endurance of similar necessities and the employment of like exercises.
She learns even in childhood to build her own green bower at night,
to gather her own fuel, light her own fire, dress her own meat--nay,
provide it; and, weaponed with bow, and javelin and arrow, bring down
buck or doe bounding at full speed through the wildest forests. Her
skill and spirit are only not equal to those of the master by whom
she is taught, but she acquires his arts to a degree which makes her
sometimes worthy to be lifted by the tribe from her own rank into his.
Monaletta reminded Guernache of all these things. She had the most
conclusive and convincing methods of argument. She reassured him on all
his doubts, and, in truth, it was but too easy to do so. It was unhappy
for them both, as we shall see hereafter, that the selfish passion of
the poor musician too readily reconciled him to a self-devotion on the
part of his wife, which subjected her to his own perils, and greatly
tended to their increase. With the evil eye of Albert upon him, he
should have known that safety was impossible for him in the event of
error. And error was inevitable now, with the pleasant tempter so near
his place of coventry. We must not wonder to discover now that Guernache
seldom sleeps within the limits of the fortress. At midnight, when all
is dark and quiet, he leaps over the walls, those nights excepted when
it is his turn of duty to watch within. His secret is known to some of
his comrades; but they are too entirely his friends to betray him to a
despot who had, by this time, outraged the feelings of most of those who
remained under his command. Guernache was now enabled to bear up more
firmly than ever against the tyranny of Albert. His, indeed, were
nights of happiness. How sweetly sped the weeks, in which, despite his
persecutions, he felt that he enjoyed a life of luxurious pleasures,
such as few enjoy in any situation. His were the honest excitements
of a genuine passion, which, nourished by privation and solitude, and
indulged in secresy, was of an intensity corresponding with the apparent
denial, and the real embarrassments of such a condition. His pleasures
were at once stolen and legitimate; the apprehension which attends their
pursuit giving a wild zest to their enjoyment; though, in the case of
Guernache, unlike that of most of those who indulge in stolen joys,
they were honest, and left no cruel memories behind them.

It was the subject of a curious study and surprise to Captain Albert,
that our musician was enabled to bear up against his tyranny with so
much equal firmness and forbearance. He watched the countenance of
Guernache, whenever they met, with a curious interest. By what secret
resource of fortitude and hope was it that he could command so much
elasticity, exhibit so much cheerfulness, bear with so much meekness,
and utter no complaint. He wondered that the irksome duties which he
studiously thrust upon him, and the frequently brutal language with
which his performances were acknowledged, seemed to produce none of the
cruel effects which he desired. His victim grew neither sad nor sullen.
His violin still was heard resounding merrily at the instance of his
comrades; and still his hearty, whole-souled laughter rang over the
encampment, smiting ungraciously upon the senses of his basely-minded
chief. In vain did this despot study how to increase and frame new
annoyances for his subordinate. His tyranny contrived daily some new
method to make the poor fellow unhappy. But, consoled by the peculiar
secret which he possessed, of sympathy and comfort, the worthy drummer
bore up cheerfully under his afflictions. He was resolved to wait
patiently the return of Ribault with the promised supplies for the
colony, and meanwhile to submit to his evil destiny without a murmur. It
was always with a secret sense of triumph that he reminded himself of
the near neighborhood of his joys, and he exulted in the success with
which he could baffle nightly the malice of his superior. But, however
docile, the patience and forbearance of Guernache availed him little.
They did not tend to mitigate the annoyances which he was constantly
compelled to endure. We are now to recall a portion of the preceding
narrative, and to remind our reader of the visit which Captain Albert
paid to the territories of Ouade, and the generous hospitalities of the
King thereof. Guernache had been one of the party, and the absence
of several days had been a serious loss to him in the delightful
intercourse with his dusky bride. He might naturally hope, after his
return from a journey so fatiguing, to be permitted a brief respite from
his regular duties. But this was not according to the policy of his
malignant superior. Some hours were consumed after arriving at the fort,
in disposing of the provisions which had been obtained. In this labor
Guernache had been compelled to partake with others of his companions.
Whether it was that he betrayed an unusual degree of eagerness in
getting through his task--showing an impatience to escape which his
enemy detected and resolved to baffle, cannot now be said; but to his
great annoyance and indignation, he was burdened with a portion of the
watch for the night--a duty which was clearly incumbent only upon those
who had not shared in the fatigues of the expedition. But to expostulate
or repine was alike useless, and Guernache submitted to his destiny with
the best possible grace. The provisions were stored, the gates closed,
the watches set, and the garrison sunk to sleep, leaving our unhappy
musician to pace, for several hours, the weary watch along the ramparts.
How he looked forth into the dense forests which harbored his Monaletta!
How he thought of the weary watch she kept! What were her fears, her
anxieties? Did she know of his return? Did she look for his coming?
The garrison slept--the woods were mysteriously silent! How delightful
it would be to surprise her in the midst of her dreams, and answer
to her murmurs of reproach--uttered in the sweetest fragmentary
Gallic--"Monaletta! I am here! Here is your own Guernache!"

The temptation was perilously sweet! The suggestion was irresistible;
and, in a moment of excited fancy and passion, Guernache laid down his
piece, and leaped the walls of the fortress. He committed an unhappy
error to enjoy a great happiness, for which the penalties were not slow
to come. In the dead of midnight, the garrison, still in a deep sleep,
they were suddenly aroused in terror by the appalling cry of "fire!" The
fort, the tenements in which they slept, the granary, which had just
been stored with their provisions, were all ablaze, and our Frenchmen
woke in confusion and terror, unknowing where to turn, how to work, or
what to apprehend. Their military stores were saved--their powder and
munitions of war--but the "mils and beanes," so recently acquired from
the granaries of King Ouade, with the building that contained them, were
swept in ashes to the ground.

This disaster, full of evil in itself, was productive of others, as it
led to the partial discovery of the secret of our drummer. Guernache was
not within the fort when the alarm was given. It is not improbable that,
had he not left his post, the conflagration would have been arrested in
time to save the fort and its provisions. His absence was noted, and he
was discovered, approaching from the forests, by those who bore forth
the goods as they were rescued from the flames. These were mostly
friends of Guernache, who would have maintained a generous silence; but,
unhappily, Pierre Renaud was also one of the discoverers. This person
not only bore him no good will,--though gratitude for the service
rendered him at the feast of Toya should have bound him forever to the
cause of Guernache,--but he was one who had become a gross sycophant and
the mere creature of the governor. He knew the hatred which the latter
bore to Guernache, and a sympathizing nature led him promptly to divine
the cause. Overjoyed with the discovery which he had made, the base
fellow immediately carried the secret to his master, and when the first
confusion was over, which followed the disaster, Guernache was taken
into custody, and a day assigned for his trial as a criminal. To him was
ascribed the fire as well as desertion from his post. The latter fact
was unquestionable--the former was inferred. It might naturally be
assumed, indeed, that, if the watch had not been abandoned, the flames
could not have made such fearful headway. It was fortunate for our
Frenchmen that the intercourse maintained with the Indians had been of
such friendly character. With the first intimation of their misfortune,
the kings, Audusta and Maccou, bringing with them a numerous train of
followers, came to assist them in the labor of restoration and repair.
"They uttered unto their subjects the speedy diligence which they were
to use in building another house, showing unto them that the Frenchmen
were their loving friends and that they had made it evident unto them
by the gifts and presents which they had received;--protesting that he
whosoever put not his helping hand to the worke with all his might,
should be esteemed as unprofitable." The entreaties and commands of the
two kings were irresistible. But for this, our Huguenots, "being farre
from all succours, and in such extremitie," would have been, in the
language of their own chronicler, "quite and cleane out of all hope."
The Indians went with such hearty good will to the work, and in such
numbers, that, in less than twelve hours, the losses of the colonists
were nearly all repaired. New houses were built; new granaries erected;
and, among the fabrics of this busy period, it was not forgotten to
construct a keep--a close, dark, heavy den of logs, designed as a
prison, into which, as soon as his Indian friends had departed, our
poor fiddler, Guernache, was thrust, neck and heels! The former were
rewarded and went away well satisfied with what they had seen and done.
They little conjectured the troubles which awaited their favorite. He
was soon brought to trial under a number of charges--disobedience of
orders, neglect of duty, desertion of his post, and treason! To all of
these, the poor fellow pleaded "_not guilty_;" and, with one exception,
with a good conscience. But he had not the courage to confess the truth,
and to declare where he had been, and on what mission, when he left the
fort, on the night of the fire. He had committed a great fault, the
consequences of which were serious, and might have been still more
so; and the pleas of invariable good conduct, in his behalf, and the
assertion of his innocence of all evil intention, did not avail. His
judges were not his friends; he was found guilty and remanded to his
dungeon, to await the farther caprices and the judgment of his enemy.




VI.

THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. IV.

THE DUNGEON AND THE SCOURGE.

Being the continuation of the melancholy Legend of Guernache.


The absence of Guernache from his usual place of meeting with
Monaletta, brought the most impatient apprehension to the heart of
the devoted woman. As the time wore away--as night after night passed
without his coming, she found the suspense unendurable, and gradually
drew nigh to the fortress of the Huguenots. More than once had he
cautioned her against incurring a peril equally great to them both. But
her heart was already too full of fears to be restrained by such dangers
as he alone could have foreseen; and she now lurked about the fort at
nightfall, and continued to hover around long after dawn, keeping watch
upon its walls and portal. So close and careful, however, was this
watch, that she herself remained undetected. One day, however, to her
great satisfaction, one of the inmates came forth whom she knew to be a
friend and associate of Guernache. This was one Lachane, affectionately
called _La Chere_[13] by the soldiery, by whom he was very much beloved.
Lachane was a sergeant, a good soldier, brave as a lion, but with as
tender a heart, when the case required it, as ever beat in human bosom.
He had long since learned to sympathize with the fate of Guernache,
and had made frequent attempts to mollify the hostile feelings of his
captain, in behalf of his friend. To the latter he had given much good
counsel; and, but for _his_ earnest entreaties and injunctions, he would
have revealed to Albert the true reason for the absence of Guernache
from his post. But Guernache dreaded, as well he might, that the
revelation would only increase the hate and rage of his superior, and,
perhaps, draw down a portion of his vengeance upon the head of the
unoffending woman. Lachane acquiesced in his reasoning, and was silent.
But he was not the less active in bringing consolation, whenever he
could, to the respective parties. He afforded to Monaletta, whose
approach to the fort he suspected, an opportunity of meeting with him;
and their interviews, once begun, were regularly continued. Day by day
he contrived to convey to her the messages, and to inform her of the
condition of the prisoner; to whom, in turn, he bore all necessary
intelligence, and every fond avowal which was sent by Monaletta. But
the loving and devoted wife was not satisfied with so frigid a mode of
intercourse; and, in an evil hour, Lachane, whose own heart was too
tender to resist the entreaties of one so fond, was persuaded to admit
her within the fort, and into the dungeon of Guernache. We may censure
his prudence and hers, but who shall venture to condemn either? The
first visit led to a second, the second to a third, and, at length,
the meetings between the lovers took place nightly. Lachane, often
entreating, often exhorting, was yet always complying. Monaletta was
admitted at midnight, and conducted forth by the dawn in safety; and
thus meeting, Guernache soon forgot his own danger, and was readily
persuaded by Monaletta to believe that she stood in none. The hours
passed with them as with any other children, who, sitting on the shores
of the sea, in the bright sunset, see not the rising of the waters, and
feel not the falling of the night, until they are wholly overwhelmed.
They were happy, and in their happiness but too easily forgot that there
was such a person as Captain Albert in their little paradise.

  [13] The names are thus written by Laudonniere in Hakluyt. But in
  Charlevoix there is only one given to this personage, and that is
  "Lachau."

But the pitcher which goes often to the well, is at last broken. They
were soon destined to realize the proverb in their own experience.
Something in the movements of Lachane, awakened the suspicions of Pierre
Renaud, whose active hostility to Guernache has been shown already.
This man now bore within the fortress the unenviable reputation of
being the captain's spy upon the people. This miserable creature, his
suspicion's once awakened, soon addressed all his abilities to the task
of detecting the connection of Lachane with his prisoner; and it was not
long before he had the malignant satisfaction of seeing him accompany
another into the dungeon of Guernache. Though it was after midnight when
the discovery was made, it was of a kind too precious to suffer delay
in revealing it, and he hurried at once to the captain's quarters,
well aware that, with such intelligence as he brought, he might safely
venture to disturb him at any hour. But his eagerness did not lessen his
caution, and every step was taken with the greatest deliberation and
care. Albert was immediately aroused; but, unwilling, by a premature
alarm, to afford the offenders an opportunity to escape, or to place
themselves in any situation to defy scrutiny, some time was lost in
making arrangements. The progress of Albert, and his satellites, going
the rounds, was circuitous. The sentries were doubled with singular
secrecy and skill. Such soldiers as were conceived to be most
particularly bound to him, were awakened, and placed in positions most
convenient for action and observation;--for Albert and Renaud, alike,
conscious as it would seem of their own demerits, had come to suspect
many of the soldiers of treachery and insurrection. These, perhaps, are
always the fears most natural to a tyranny. Accordingly, with everything
prepared for an explosion of the worst description, Captain Albert, in
complete armor, made his appearance upon the scene.

Meantime, however, the proceedings of Renaud had not been carried on
without, at length, commanding the attention and awakening the fears of
so good a soldier as Lachane. Having discovered, on his rounds, that the
guards were doubled, and that the sentinel at the sally-port had not
only received a companion, but that the individual by whom Monaletta had
been admitted was now removed to make way for another, he hurried
away to the dungeon of Guernache. Here, whispering hurriedly his
apprehensions, he endeavored to hasten the departure of the Indian
woman. But his efforts were made too late. He was arrested, even while
thus busied, by the Commandant himself, who, followed by Renaud and two
other soldiers, suddenly came upon him from the rear of the building,
where they had been harboring in ambush. Lachane was taken into
immediate custody. An uproar followed, the alarm was given to the
garrison, torches were brought, and Guernache, with the devoted
Monaletta, were dragged forth together from the dungeon. She was wrapped
up closely in the cloak of Lachane, but when Renaud waved a torch before
her eyes, in order to discover who she was, she boldly threw aside the
disguise, and stood revealed to the malignant scrutiny of the astonished
but delighted despot. Upon beholding her, the fury of Albert knew no
bounds. The secret of Guernache was now apparent; and the man whose
vanity she had outraged, by preferring another in the dance, was now in
full possession of the power to revenge himself upon both offenders. In
that very moment, remembering his mortification, he formed a resolution
of vengeance, which declared all the venom of a mean and malignant
nature. He needed no art beyond his own to devise an ingenious torture
for his victim. A few words sufficed to instruct the willing Renaud in
the duty of the executioner. He commanded that the Indian woman should
be scourged from the fort in the presence of the garrison. Then it was
that the sullen soul of Guernache shuddered and succumbed beneath his
tortures. With husky and trembling accents, he appealed to his tyrant
in behalf of the woman of his heart.

"Oh! Captain Albert, as you are a man, do not this cruel thing.
Monaletta is innocent of any crime but that of loving one so worthless
as Guernache. She is my wife! Do with me as you will, but spare
her--have mercy on the innocent woman!"

"Ah! you can humble yourself now, insolent. I have found the way, at
last, to make you feel. You shall feel yet more. I will crush you to the
dust. What, ho! there, Pierre Renaud! Have I not said? the lash! the
lash! Wherefore do ye linger?"

"Do not, Captain Albert! I implore you, for your own sake, do not lay
the accursed lash upon this young and innocent creature. Remember!
She is a woman--a princess--a blood relation of our good friend,
King Audusta. Upon me--upon my back bestow the punishment, but spare
her--spare her, in mercy!"

But the prayers and supplications of the wretched man were met only by
denunciation and scorn. The base nature of Albert felt only his own
mortification. His appetite for revenge darkened his vision wholly. He
saw neither his policy nor humanity; and the creatures of his will were
not permitted to hesitate in carrying out his brutal resolution. Armed
with little hickories from the neighboring woods, they awaited but his
command, and with its repeated utterance, the lash descended heavily
upon the uncovered shoulders of the unhappy woman. With the first
stroke, she bounded from the earth with a piercing shriek, at once of
entreaty, of agony, and horror. Up to this moment, neither she, nor,
indeed, any of the spectators, except Renaud, and possibly Guernache
himself, had imagined that Albert would put in execution a purpose so
equally impolitic and cruel. But when the blow fell upon the almost
fair and naked shoulders of the woman--when her wild, girlish, almost
childlike shriek rent the air, then the long suppressed agonies of
Guernache broke forth in a passion of fury that looked more like the
excess of the madman than the mere ebullition, however intense, of a
simply desperate man. He had struggled long at endurance. He had borne,
hitherto, without flinching, everything in the shape of penalty which
his petty tyrant could fasten upon him--much more, indeed, than the
ordinary nature, vexed with frequent injustice, is willing to endure.
But, in the fury and agony of that humiliating moment, all restraints
of prudence or fear were forgotten, or trampled under foot. He flung
himself loose from the men who held him, and darting upon the individual
by whom the merciless blow had been struck, he felled him to the earth
by a single blow of his Herculean fist. But he was permitted to do no
more. In another instant, grappled by a dozen powerful arms, he was
borne to the earth, and secured with cords which not only bound his
limbs but were drawn so tightly as to cut remorselessly into the flesh.
Here he lay, and his agony may be far more easily conceived than
described, thus compelled to behold the further tortures of the woman of
his heart, without being able to struggle and to die in her defence. His
own tortures were forgotten, as he witnessed hers. In vain would his
ears have rejected the terrible sound, stroke upon stroke, which
testified the continuance of this brutal outrage upon humanity. Without
mercy was the punishment bestowed; and, bleeding at every blow from the
biting scourge, the wretched innocent was at length tortured out of the
garrison. But with that first shriek to which she gave utterance, and
which declared rather the mental horror than the bodily pain which
she suffered from such a cruel degradation, she ceased any longer to
acknowledge her suffering. Oh! very powerful for endurance is the
strength of a loving heart! The rest of the punishment she bore with the
silence of one who suffers martyrdom in the approving eye of heaven; as
if, beholding the insane agonies of Guernache, she had steeled herself
to bear with any degree of torture rather than increase his sufferings
by her complaints. In this manner, and thus silent under her own pains,
she was expelled from the fortress. She was driven to the margin of the
cleared space by which it was surrounded. She heard the shouts which
drove her thence, and heard nothing farther. She had barely strength to
totter forward, like the deer with a mortal hurt, to the secret cover of
the forest, when she sank down in exhaustion;--nature kindly interposing
with insensibility, to save her from those physical sufferings which she
could no longer feel and live!

With the morning of the next day, Guernache was brought before the
judgment-seat of Albert. The charges were sufficiently serious under
which he was arraigned. He had neglected his duty--had permitted, if
not caused, the destruction of the fort by fire--had violated the laws,
resisted their execution, and used violence against the officer of
justice! In this last proven offence all of these which had been alleged
were assumed against him. He was convicted by the rapid action of
his superior, as a traitor and a mutineer; and, to the horror of his
friends, and the surprise of all his comrades, was condemned to
expiate his faults by death upon the gallows. Few of the garrison had
anticipated so sharp a judgment. They knew that Guernache had been
faulty, but they also knew what had been his provocations. They felt
that his faults had been the fruit of the injustice under which he
suffered. But they dared not interpose. The prompt severity with which
Captain Albert carried out his decisions--the merciless character of his
vindictiveness--discouraged even remonstrance. Guernache, as we have
shown, was greatly beloved, and had many true friends among his people;
but they were taken by surprise; and, so much stunned and confounded by
the rapidity with which events had taken place, that they could only
look on the terrible proceedings with a mute and self-reproachful
horror. The transition from the seat of judgment to the place of
execution was instantaneous. Guernache appealed in vain to the justice
of Ribault, whose coming from France was momently expected. This denied,
he implored the less ignoble doom of the sword or the shot, in place of
that upon the scaffold. But it did not suit the mean malice of Albert to
omit any of his tortures. Short was the shrift allowed the victim;--ten
minutes for prayer--and sure the cord which stifled it forever. In deep
horror, in a hushed terror, which itself was full of horror, his gloomy
comrades gathered at the place of execution, by the commands of their
petty despot. There was no concert among them, by which the incipient
indignation and fury in their bosoms might have declared itself in
rescue and commotion. One groan, the involuntary expression of a terror
that had almost ceased to breathe, answered the convulsive motion which
indicated the last struggle of their beloved comrade.[14] Then it was
that they began to feel that they could have died for him, and might
have saved him. But it was now too late; and prudence timely interposed
to prevent a rash explosion. The armed myrmidons of Albert were about
them. He, himself, in complete armor, with his satellite, Pierre Renaud,
also fully armed, standing beside him; and it was evident that every
preparation had been made to quell insubordination, and punish the
refractory with as sharp and sudden a judgment as that which had just
descended upon their comrade.

  [14] Says Charlevoix:--"Il pendit lui-même un soldat, qui n'avoit
  point merité la mort, il en dégrada un autre des armes avec aussi peu
  de justice, puis il l'exila, et l'on crut que son dessein étoit de le
  laisser mourir de faim et de misere, etc." But we must not anticipate
  the revelations of the text.

The poor Monaletta, crouching in the cover of the woods, recovered from
her stupor in the cool air of the morning, but it was sunset before she
could regain the necessary strength to move. Then it was, that, with the
natural tendency of a loving heart, curious only about the fate of him
for whom alone her heart desired life, she bent her steps towards that
cruel fortress which had been the source of so much misery to both. Very
feeble and slow was her progress, but it was still too rapid; it brought
her too soon to a knowledge of that final blow which fell, with worse
terrors than the scourge, upon the soul. She arrived in season to behold
the form of the unfortunate Guernache, abandoned by all, and totally
lifeless, waving in the wind from the branches of a perished oak,
directly in front of the fortress. The deepest sorrows of the heart are
those which are born dumb. There are some woes which the lip can never
speak, nor the pen describe. There are some agonies over which we draw
the veil without daring to look upon them, lest we freeze to stone in
the terrible inspection. There is no record of that grief which seized
upon the heart of the poor Indian woman, Monaletta, as she gazed upon
the beloved but unconscious form of her husband. She approached it not,
though watching it from sunset till the gray twilight lapsed away into
the denser shadows of the night. But, with the dawn of day, when the
Frenchmen looked forth from the fortress for the body of their comrade,
it had disappeared. They searched for it in vain. From that day
Monaletta disappeared also. She was neither to be found in the
neighboring woods, nor among the people of her kindred. But, long
afterwards they told, with shuddering and apprehension, of a voice
upon the midnight air, which resembled that of their murdered comrade,
followed always by the piercing shriek of a woman, which reminded them
of the dreadful utterance of the Indian woman, when first smitten upon
the shoulders by the lash of the ruffian. Thus endeth the legend of
Guernache, and the Princess Monaletta.




VII.

LACHANE, THE DELIVERER.


But the sacrifice of Guernache brought no peace to the colony. Our
Huguenots were scarcely Christians. They were of a rude, wild temper,
to which the constant civil wars prevailing in France had brought
a prejudicial training. Our chronicler tells us nothing of their
devotions. We hear sometimes that they prayed, but rather for the
benefit of the savages than their own. Their public religious services
were ostentatious ceremonials, designed to impress the red-men with an
idea of their superior faith and worship. Laudonniere, who writes
for them, and was one of their number, seldom deals in a religious
phraseology, which he might reasonably be expected to have done as one
of a people leaving their homes for the sake of conscience. But there is
good reason to suppose that, with our Huguenots, as in the case of the
New England Puritans, the idea of religion was more properly the idea of
party. It was a struggle for political power that moved the Dissenters,
as well in France as England, quite as much as any feeling of denial
or privation on the score of their religion. This pretext was made
to justify a cause which might have well found its sanction in its
intrinsic merits; but which it was deemed politic to urge on the higher
grounds of conscience and duty to God. Certain it is that we do not
anywhere see, in the history of the colony established by Coligny, any
proofs of that strong devotional sentiment which has been urged as the
motive to its establishment. Doubtless, this was a prevailing motive,
along with others, for Coligny himself; but the adventurers chosen
to begin the settlement for the reception of the persecuted sect in
Florida, were evidently not very deeply imbued with religion of any
kind. They were a wild and reckless body of men, whose deeds were wholly
in conflict with the pure and lovely profession of sentiment which has
been made in their behalf. How far their deeds are to be justified by
the provocations which they received, and the tyrannies which they
endured, may be a question; but there can be no question with regard to
the general temper which they exhibited--the tone of their minds--the
feelings of their hearts--by all of which they are shown as stubborn,
insubordinate and selfish. It is not denied that they had great
provocation to violence; but Laudonniere himself admits that they were,
in all probability, "not so obedient to their captain as they should
have been." "Misfortune," he adds, "or rather the just judgment of God
would have it that those which could not bee overcome by fire nor water,
should be undone by their ownselves. This is the common fashion of
men, which cannot continue in one state, and had rather to overthrow
themselves, than not to attempt some new thing dayly."

Not only was no peace in the colony after the execution of Guernache,
but the evil spirit, in the mood of Captain Albert, was very far from
being laid. "His madness," in the language of the chronicler, "seemed to
increase from day to day." He was not content to punish Guernache; he
determined to extend his severities to the friends and associates of
the unhappy victim. Some of these he only frowned upon and threatened;
but his threats were apt to be fulfilled. Others he brought up for
punishment;--sympathy with his enemy, being a prime offence against the
dignity and safety of our petty sovereign. Among those who had thus
rendered themselves obnoxious, Lachane was necessarily a conspicuous
object. In the same unwise and violent spirit in which he had pursued
Guernache, Captain Albert was determined to proceed against this man,
who was really equally inoffensive with Guernache, and quite as much
beloved among the people. But the aspect of the two cases was not
precisely the same. The friends of Lachane, warned by the fate of
Guernache, were somewhat more upon their guard,--more watchful and
suspicious,--and inclined to make the support and maintenance of the
one, a tribute to the manes of the other. Besides, Pierre Renaud, who
had some how been the deadly enemy of Guernache, had no hostility to
Lachane. The latter, too, had not so singularly offended the _amour
propre_ of Captain Albert, by his successful rivalry among the damsels
of Audusta. They had not so decidedly shown the preference for him as
they had for the fiddler, over his superior. No doubt he was preferred,
for he, too, like Guernache, was a person very superior in form and
physiognomy to Albert. But, if they felt any preference for the former,
they had not so offensively declared it, as the indiscreet Monaletta had
done; and, with these qualifying circumstances, in his favor, Lachane
was brought up for judgment. His offence, such as it was, did not admit
of denial. Some palliation was attempted by a reference to the claims
of Guernache, the excellence of his character, his usefulness, and the
general favor he had found equally among the red-men and his own people.
These suggestions were unwisely made. They censured equally the justice
and the policy of the tyrant, and thus irritated anew his self-esteem.
He thought himself exceedingly merciful, accordingly, in banishing the
offender, whom it was just as easy and quite as agreeable to him, to
hang. Lachane was accordingly sentenced to perpetual exile to a desert
island along the sea. To this point he was conducted in melancholy
state, by the trusted creatures of the despot.

It is not known to us at the present day, though the matter is still,
probably, within the province of the antiquarian, to which of the
numerous sea islands of the neighborhood the unhappy man was banished.
It was one divided from the colony, and from the main, by an arm of
the sea of such breadth, and so open to the most violent action of the
waves, that any return of the exile by swimming, or without assistance
from his comrades, was not apprehended or hoped for. His little desolate
domain is described as about three leagues from Fort Charles, as almost
entirely barren, a mere realm of sand, treeless and herbless, without
foliage sufficient to shelter from sun and storm, or to provide against
famine by its fruits. Should this island ever be identified with that of
Lachane's place of exile, it should receive his name to the exclusion of
every other.

Here, then, hopeless and companionless, was the unhappy victim destined
to remain, until death should bring him that escape which the mercy of
his fellows had denied. Yet he was not to be abandoned wholly; a certain
pittance of provisions was allowed him that he might not absolutely
die of famine. This allowance was calculated nicely against his merest
necessities. It was to be brought him on the return of every eighth day,
and this period was that, accordingly, on which, alone, could he be
permitted to gaze upon the face of a fellow being and a countryman.

Certainly, a more cruel punishment, adopted in a mere wanton exercise
of despotic power, could not have been devised for any victim by the
ingenuity of any superior. Death, even the death by which Guernache had
perished, had been a doom more merciful; for if, as was the case, the
colonists at Fort Charles themselves had already begun to find their
condition of solitude almost beyond endurance--if they, living as they
did together, cheered by the exercise of old sports and homely converse,
the ties and assurances of support and friendship, the consciousness
of strength--duties which were necessary and not irksome, and the
interchange of thoughts which enliven the desponding temper;--if,
with all these resources in their favor, they had sunk into gloomy
discontent, eager for change, and anxious for the returning vessels of
Ribault, that they might abandon for their old, the new home which they
found so desolate; what must have been the sufferings and agonies of him
whom they had thus banished, even from such solace as they themselves
possessed--uncheered even by the familiar faces and the well-known
voices of his fellows, and deprived of all the resources whereby
ingenuity might devise some methods of relief, and totally unblessed by
any of those exercises which might furnish a substitute for habitual
employments. No sentence, more than this, could have shown to our
Frenchmen so completely the utter absence of sympathy between themselves
and their commander; could have shown how slight was the value which he
put upon their lives, and with what utter contempt he regarded their
feelings and affections. Albert little dreamed how actively he was at
work, while thus feeding his morbid passions, in arousing the avenging
spirit by which they were to be scourged and punished.

These rash and cruel proceedings of their chief produced a great and
active sensation among the colonists--a sensation not the less deep and
active, because a sense of their own danger kept them from its open
expression. Had Albert pardoned Lachane, or let him off with some slight
punishment, it is not improbable that the matter would have ended there;
and the cruel proceedings against Guernache might have been forgiven if
not forgotten. But these were kept alive by those which followed against
their other favorite; and some of the boldest, feeling how desperate
their condition threatened to become, now ventured to expostulate with
their superior upon his wanton and unwise severities. But they were
confounded to find that they themselves incurred the danger of Lachane,
in the attempt to plead against it. It was one of the miserable
weaknesses in the character of Captain Albert, to suppose his authority
in danger whenever he was approached with the language of expostulation.
To question his justice seemed to him to defy his power--to entreat for
mercy, such a showing of hostility as to demand punishment also. He
resented, as an impertinence to himself, all such approaches; and his
answer to the prayers of his people was couched in the language of
contumely and threat. They retired from his presence accordingly, with
feelings of increased dislike and disgust, and with a discontent which
was the more dangerous as they succeeded most effectually in controlling
its exhibition.

But if such was the state of the relations between Albert and his
people, how much worse did they become, when, at the close of the first
eighth day after the banishment of Lachane, it was discovered that the
orders for providing him with the allowance of food had been suspended,
or countermanded. The captain was silent; and no one, unless at his
bidding, could venture to carry the poor exile his allotted pittance.
The eighth day passed. The men murmured among themselves, and their
murmurs soon encouraged the utterance of a bolder voice. Nicholas Barré,
a man of great firmness and intelligence, one of their number, at length
presented himself before the captain. He boldly reminded him of the
condition of Lachane, and urged him to hasten his supplies of food
before he perished. But the self-esteem and consequence of Albert, under
provocation, became a sort of madness. He answered the suggestion with
indignity and insult.

"Begone!" he exclaimed, "and trouble me no more with your complaints.
What is it to me if the scoundrel does perish? I mean that he shall
perish! He deserves his fate! I shall be glad when ye can tell me that
he no longer needs his allowance. Away! you deserve a like punishment.
Let me hear another word on this subject, and the offender shall share
his fate!"

The insulting answer was accompanied by all the tokens of brute anger
and severity. The most furious oaths sufficed equally to show his
insanity and earnestness. His, indeed, was now an insanity such as
seizes usually upon those whom God is preparing for destruction. Barré
deemed it only prudent to retire from the presence of a rage which it
was no longer politic to provoke; but, in his soul, the purpose was
already taking form and strength, which contemplated resistance to a
tyranny so wild and reckless. He was not alone in this purpose. The
sentiment of resistance and disaffection was growing all around him, and
it only needed one who should embody it for successful exercise. But,
for this, time was requisite. To decide for action, on the part of a
conspiracy, it is first required that what is the common sentiment shall
become the common necessity.

"Meanwhile," said Barré, "our poor comrade must not starve!"

This was said to certain of his associates when they met that night
in secret. When two or three get together to complain of a tyranny,
resistance is already begun. They echoed his sentiments, and
arrangements were at once made for transmitting provisions to the
exile. A canoe was procured for this purpose, and Barré, with one other
comrade, set forth secretly at midnight on their generous and perilous
mission.

The night was calm and beautiful--the sea, unruffled by a breeze, lay
smooth as a mirror between the lonely island and the main. Though
barren, and without shrub or tree, the island looked lovely also--a
very realm of faery, in the silver smiling of the moon. With active and
sinewy limbs, cheered by the sight, our adventurous comrades pulled
towards it, reaching it with little effort, the current favoring their
course. What, however, was their surprise and consternation, when, on
reaching the islet, there was no answer to their summons. Drawing their
boat upon the shore, they soon compassed the little empire with hasty
footsteps; but they found nothing of the exile. The islet lay bare and
bright in the unshadowed moonlight, so that, whether asleep or dead,
his prostrate form must still have been perceptible. What bewildering
imaginations seized upon the seekers? What had become of their comrade?
Had he been carried off by the savages, by a foreign vessel, or, in
his desperation, had he cast himself into the devouring sea? What more
probable? Yet, as there was no answer to their questioning, there was no
solution of their doubts. Hopeless of his fate, after a frequent and a
weary search, and dreading the worst, they re-entered their canoe, and
re-crossed the bay in safety--their hearts more than ever filled with
disgust and indignation at the cruelty and malice of their commander.

But their quest was not wholly hopeless. When they had reached the main,
and while approaching the garrison, they were greatly surprised by the
sudden appearance of a human form between the fortress and the river.
They remembered the poor Guernache, and, for a moment, a fearful
superstition fastened upon their hearts. At first, the fugitive seemed
to be approaching them; but, in an instant, wheeling about, as if in
panic, he darted into the woods, and sought concealment in the thicket.
This re-inspired them. They gave chase instantly. The efforts of the
pursued were feebly made, and they soon overtook him. To their great
relief and surprise, they found him to be the person they had been
seeking--the banished and half-starved Lachane!

His story was soon told. He was nearly perished of hunger. Beyond the
crude berries and bitter roots which he had gathered in the woods, he
had not eaten for three days. The food which had been furnished him from
the garrison had been partly carried from him by birds or beasts--he
knew not which--while he slept; and, in the failure of his promised
supplies, he had become desperate.

"For that matter," said the wretched exile, "I had become desperate
before. Food was not my only or my chief want. I wanted shade from the
desolating sun. I wanted rescue from the heavy hand of fire upon my
brain; and, by day, I could scarcely keep from quenching the furnace
that seemed boiling in my blood, by plunging deep down into the bowels
of the sea. By night, when the fiery feeling passed away, then I
yearned, above all, for the face and voice of man. It was this craving
which made me resolve to brave the death which threatened me which-ever
way I turned--that, if I perished, it should still be in the struggle
once more to behold the people of my love."

How closely did they press the poor fellow to their hearts!

"You should not have perished," said Nicholas Barré, boldly. "I, for
one, have become tired of this tyranny, under which we no longer breathe
in safety. I am resolved to bear it no longer than I can. There are
others who have resolved like me. But of this hereafter. Tell us,
Lachane, how you contrived to swim across this great stretch of sea?"

"By the mercy of God which made me desperate--which made the seas
calm--which gave me a favoring current, and which threw yon fragment
of a ship's spar within my reach. But I nearly sunk. Twice did I feel
the waters going over me; but I thought of France, and all, and the
strength came back to me. I can say no more. I am weak--very weak. Give
me to eat."

A flask of generous wine with which they had provided themselves,
cheered and inspirited the sufferer. They laid him down at the foot of a
broad palmetto, while one of them brought food from the canoe. Much it
rejoiced them to see him eat. Ere he had satisfied his hunger, Lachane
spoke again as follows:

"I rejoice to hear that you, and others, have resolved to submit no
longer to this tyranny. It was not the desire of food, or friendship,
only, that strengthened me to throw myself into the sea, in the
desperate desire to see the garrison once more. But while my head flamed
beneath the sun's downward blaze upon that waste of sand, while mine
eyes burned like living coals fresh from the furnace, and my blood
leaped and bounded like a mad thing about my temples and in all my
veins, I saw all the terrible sufferings of our poor Guernache anew. I
heard his voice--his bitter reproaches--and then the terrible scream of
the poor Indian woman when the heavy rods descended upon her shoulder.
Then I felt that I had not done what my soul commanded!--that I had
abandoned my innocent comrade like a lamb to the butcher. I swore to do
myself justice--to seek the garrison at Fort Charles, if, for no other
purpose, to have revenge upon Albert. I verily believe, _mes amis_, that
it was that oath that strengthened me in the sea--that lifted me when
the waves went over me, and my heart was sinking with my body. I thought
of the blows which might yet be struck for vengeance and freedom. I
thought of Guernache and his murderer,--and I rose,--I struck out. I had
no fear! I got a strength which I had not at the beginning; and I am
here; the merciful God be praised forever more--ready to strike a fair
blow at the tyrant, though I die the moment after!"

"That blow must now be struck very soon," said Nicholas Barré. "We are
no longer safe. Albert rules us just as it pleases him, by his mere
humor, and not according to the laws or usages of France. Every day
witnesses against him. Some new tyranny--some new cruelty--adds hourly
to our afflictions, and makes life, on such terms, endurable no longer.
We are not men if we submit to it."

"Hear me," said Lachane; "you have not laid the plan for his overthrow?"

"Not yet! But we are ready for it. All's ripe. The proper spirit is at
work."

"Let it work! All right; but look you, comrades, it is for this hand to
strike the blow. I demand the right, because Guernache was my closest
friend. I demand it in compensation for my own sufferings."

"It is yours, Lachane! You have the right!"

"Thanks, _mes amis_! And now for the plan. You have resolved on none
yourselves. Hearken to mine."

They lent willing ears, and Lachane continued. His counsel was that
Captain Albert should be advised of an unusual multitude of deer on
one of the "hunting islands" in the neighborhood. These islands are
remarkable--some of them--for the luxuriance and beauty of their
forests. Here, the deer were accustomed to assemble in great numbers,
particularly when pressed by clouds of Indian hunters along the main;
nor were they loth to visit them at other seasons, when the tides were
low and the seas smooth. Swimming across the dividing rivers, and arms
of the sea, at such periods, in little groups of five or ten, they found
here an almost certain refuge and favorite browsing patches. To one of
these islands, Barré, or some other less objectionable person, was to
beguile Captain Albert. His fondness for the chase was known, and was
gratified on all convenient occasions. He was to be advised of numerous
herds upon the island, which passed to it the night before. They had
been seen crossing in the moonlight from the main. Lachane, meanwhile,
possessing himself of the canoe which his friends had just employed,
armed with weapons which they were to provide, was to place himself in
a convenient shelter upon the island, and take such a position as would
enable him to seize upon the first safe opportunity for striking the
blow. Numerous details, not necessary for our purpose, but essential to
that of the conspirators, were suggested, discussed, and finally agreed
upon, or rejected. Lachane simply concluded with repeating his demand
for the privilege of the first blow--a claim farther insisted upon,
as, in the event of failure, he who had already incurred the doom
of outlawry, and had offended against hope, might thus save others
harmless, who occupied a position of greater security. We need not
follow the arrangement of the parties. Enough, that, when they were
discussed fully, the three separated--Barré and his companion to regain
the fort, and Lachane to embark in the canoe, ere day should dawn, for
the destined islet where he was equally to find security and vengeance.

Everything succeeded to the wishes of the conspirators. Albert, who
was passionately fond of the chase, was easily persuaded by the
representations of Barré and his comrades. The pinnace was fitted out
at an early hour, and, attended by the two conspirators, and some half
dozen other persons, the greater number of whom were supposed to be
as hostile to the tyrant as themselves, the Captain set forth, little
dreaming that he should be the hunted instead of the hunter. Pierre
Renaud, by whom he was also accompanied, was the only person of the
party upon whom he could rely. But neither his creature nor himself had
the slightest apprehension of the danger. The jealousies of the despot
seemed for the moment entirely at rest, and, as if in the exercise of a
pleasant novelty, Albert threw aside all the terrors of his authority.
He could jest when the fit was on him. He, too, had his moments of play;
a sort of feline faculty, in the exercise of which the cat and the tiger
seem positively amiable. His jests were echoed by his men, and their
laughter gratified him. But there was one exception to the general
mirth, which arrested his attention. Nicholas Barré alone preserved a
stern, unbroken composure, which the gay humor of his superior failed
entirely to overcome. Nothing so much vexes superiority as that it
should condescend in vain; and the silence and coldness of Barré, and
the utter insensibility with which he heard the good things of his
captain, and which occasioned the ready laughter of all the rest,
finally extorted a comment from Albert, which gave full utterance to
his spleen.

"By my life, Lieutenant Barré,"--such was the rank of this
conspirator--"but that I know thee better, I should hold thee to be one
of those unhappy wretches to whom all merriment is a hateful thing--to
whom a clever jest gives offence only, and whom a cheerful laugh sends
off sullenly to bed. Pray, if it be not too serious a humor, tell us the
cause of thy present dullness."

"Verily, Captain Albert," replied the person addressed, fixing his eyes
steadily upon him, and speaking in the most deliberate accents, "I was
thinking of the deer that we shall strike to-day. Doubtless, he is even
now making as merry as thyself among his comrades--little dreaming that
the hunter hath his thoughts already fixed upon the choice morsels of
his flanks, which, a few hours hence, shall be smoking above the fire.
Truly, are we but little wiser than the thoughtless deer. The merriest
of us may be struck as soon. The man hath as few securities from the
morrow as the beast that runs."

Captain Albert was not the most sagacious tyrant in the world, or the
moral reflections of our conspirator might have tended to his disquiet.
He saw no peculiar significance in the remark, though the matter of it
was all well remembered, when the subsequent events came to be known.
Little, indeed, did the victim then dream of the fate which lay in wait
for him. He laughed at the shallow reflection of Barré, which seemed so
equally mistimed and unmeaning, and his merriment increased with every
stroke of the oar which sent the pinnace towards the scene chosen for
the tragedy. All his severities were thrown aside; never had he shown
himself more gracious; and, though his good humor was rather the
condescension of one who is secure in his authority, and can resume
his functions at any moment, than the proof of any sympathy with his
comrades, yet he seemed willing for once that it should not lose any of
its pleasant quality by any frequent exhibition of his usual caprice.
But for an occasional sarcasm in which he sometimes indulged, and by
which he continued to keep alive the antipathies of the conspirators,
the gentler mood in which he now suffered them to behold him, might have
rendered them reluctant to prosecute their purpose. They might have
relented, even at the last moment, had they been prepared to believe
that his present good humor was the fruit of any sincere relentings
in him. But he did not succeed to this extent, and, with a single
significant look to his comrades, the stern Nicholas Barré showed to
them that he, at least, was firm in the secret purpose which they
had in view. His silence and gravity for a time served to amuse his
superior, who exercised his wit at the expense of the sullen soldier,
little dreaming, all the while, at what a price he should be required to
pay for his temporary indulgence. But as Barré continued in his mood,
the pride of the haughty superior was at length hurt; and, when they
reached the shore, the insolence of Albert had resumed much of its old
ascendancy.

Albert was the first to spring to land. He was impatient to begin the
chase, of which he was passionately fond. The sport, as conducted in
that day and region, was after a very simple fashion. It consisted
rather in a judicious distribution of the hunters, at various places of
watch, than in the possession of any particular skill of weapon or speed
of foot. The island was small--the woods not very dense or intricate,
and the only outlet of escape was across the little arm of the sea which
separated the island from the main. The hunters were required to watch
this passage, with a few other avenues from the forest. We need not
observe their order or arrangement. It will be enough to note that Barré
chose as the sentinel left in charge of the boat one of the firmest of
the conspirators. This was a person named Lamotte--a small but fiery
spirit--a man of equal passion and vindictiveness, who had suffered
frequent indignities from Albert, which his own inferior position as a
common soldier had compelled him to endure without complaint. But he was
not the less sensible of his hurts, because not suffered to complain
of them; and his hatred only assumed a more intense and unforgiving
character, because it seemed cut off from all the outlets to revenge.

The arrangements of the hunters all completed, they began to skirt
slowly the woody region by which the centre of the island was chiefly
occupied. Gradually separating as they advanced, they finally, one by
one, found their way into its recesses. A single dog which they carried
with them, was now unleashed, and his eager tongue very soon gave notice
to the hunters that their victim was afoot. As the bay of the hound
became more frequent, the blood of Albert became more and more excited,
and, pressing forward, in advance of all his companions, the sinuosities
of the route pursued soon scattered the whole party. But this he did
not heed. The one consciousness,--that which appealed to his love of
sport,--led to a forgetfulness of all others; and it was no disquiet to
our captain to find himself alone in forests where he had never trod
before, particularly when his eager eye caught a glimpse of a fine herd
of the sleek-skinned foresters, well-limbed, and nobly-headed, darting
suddenly from cover into the occasional openings before him. A good shot
was Captain Albert. He fired, and had the joy to see tumbled, headlong,
sprawling, in his tracks, one of the largest bucks of the herd. He
shouted his delight aloud;--shouted twice and clapped his hands!

His shouts were echoed, near at hand, by a voice at once strange and
familiar! His instinct divined a sudden danger in this strange echo.
He stopped short, even as he was about to bound forward to the spot
in which the deer had fallen. Another shout!--but this was to his
companions! He was now confounded at the new echo and the fearful vision
which this summons conjured up. At his side, and in his very ears,
rose another shout--a shriek rather--much louder than his own--a wild,
indescribable yell,--which sent a thrill of horror through his soul.
At the same instant, a gaunt, wild man--a half-naked, half-famished
form--darted from the thicket and stood directly before him in his path!

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" howled the stranger.

"Guernache!" was the single word, forced from the guilty soul of the
criminal!

"Guernache! Yes! Guernache, in his friend Lachane! Both are here! See
you not? Look! Ho! Captain Albert,--look and see, and make yourself
ready. Your time is short. You will hang and banish no longer!"

Wild with exulting fury was the face of the speaker--terrible the
language of his eyes--threatening the action of the uplifted arm. A keen
blade flashed in his grasp, and the discovery which Albert made, that,
in the wild man before him, he saw the person whom he had so wantonly
and cruelly decreed to perish, sufficed to make him nerveless. The
surprise deprived him of resource, while his guilty conscience enfeebled
his arm, and took all courage from his soul. His match-lock was already
discharged. The _couteau de chasse_ was at his side; but, before this
could be drawn, he must be hewn down by the already uplifted weapon of
his foe. Besides, even if drawn, what could he hope, by its employment,
against the superior muscle and vigor of Lachane? These thoughts passed
with a lightning-like rapidity through the brain of Albert. He felt that
he had met his fate! He shrunk back from its encounter, and sent up a
feeble but a painful cry for his creature,--"Pierre Renaud!"

"Ha! ha! you cry for him in vain!" was the mocking answer of Lachane.
"Renaud, that miserable villain--that wretch after thy own heart and
fashion--hath quite as much need of thee as thou of him! Ye will serve
each other never more to the prejudice of better men. Hark! hear you
not? Even now they are dealing with him!"

And, sure enough, even as he spoke, the screams of one in mortal terror,
interrupted by several heavy blows in quick succession, seemed to
confirm the truth of what Lachane had spoken. In that fearful moment
Albert remembered the words, now full of meaning, which Nicholas Barré
had spoken while they set forth. The hunter had indeed become the
hunted. Lachane gave him little time for meditation.

"They have done with him! Prepare! To your knees, Captain Albert! I give
you time to make your peace with God--such time as you gave my poor
Guernache! Prepare!"

But, though Albert had not courage for combat, he yet found strength
enough for flight. He was slight of form, small, and tolerably swift
of foot. Flinging his now useless firelock to the ground, he suddenly
darted off through the forests, with a degree of energy and spirit
which it tasked all the efforts of the less wieldy frame of Lachane to
approach. Life and death were on the event, and Albert succeeded in
gaining the beach where the boat had been left before he was overtaken.
But Lamotte, to whom the boat had been given in charge, pushed off, with
a mocking yell of laughter, at his approach! His cries for succor were
unheeded. Lamotte himself would have slain the fugitive but that he
knew Lachane had claimed for himself this privilege. His spear had
been uplifted as Albert drew nigh the water, but the shout of Lachane,
emerging from the woods, warned him to desist. He used the weapon to
push the pinnace into deep water, leaving Albert to his fate!

"Save me, Lamotte!" was the prayer, of the tyrant in his desperation,
urged with every promise that he fancied might prove potent with the
soldier. But few moments were allowed him for entreaty, and they were
unavailing. Lamotte contented himself with looking on the event, ready
to finish with his spear what Lachane might leave undone. Albert gazed
around him, and as Lachane came, with one shriek of terror, darted into
the sea. The avenger was close behind him. The water rose to the waist
and finally to the neck of the fugitive. He turned in supplication, only
to receive the stroke. The steel entered his shoulder, just below the
neck. He staggered and fell forwards upon the slayer. The blade snapped
in the fall, and the wounded man sunk down irretrievably beneath the
waters. Lachane raised the fragment of his sword to Heaven, while, with
something of a Roman fervor, he ejaculated--

"Guernache! dear friend, behold! the hand of Lachane hath avenged thee
upon thy murderer!"




VIII.

FLIGHT, FAMINE, AND THE BLOODY FEAST OF THE FUGITIVES.


The assassination of Captain Albert restored peace, at least, to the
little colony of Fort Charles. He had been the chief danger to the
garrison, by reason of his vexatious tyranny, fomented ever by the
miserable malice and espionage of Pierre Renaud. Both of these had
perished, and a sense of new security filled the hearts of the
survivors. They had also gratified all revenges. The sequel of the
narrative may be told, almost in the very words of the simple chronicle
from which our facts are mostly drawn.

"When they (the conspirators) were come home againe, they assembled
themselves together to choose one to be Governor over them." In this
selection there was no difficulty. Jealousies and dissensions had ceased
to exist, and the choice naturally fell upon Nicholas Barré,[15] whose
former position, as Lieutenant under Albert, and whose recent connection
with the party by which he was slain, had naturally given him a large
influence among the colonists. He was equal to his new duties. He "knewe
so well to quite himself of this charge that all rancour and dissention
ceased among them, and they lived peaceably one with another." But,
though harmony was restored among them, it was a harmony without hope.
They had been abandoned by their countrymen. The supplies which Ribault
had promised them had utterly failed. They had never, indeed, been
levied. Ribault returned to France only to find it convulsed with a
renewal of the civil war, under the auspices of that incarnate mischief,
Catherine de Medicis, and her fatherless and cruel son, in whose name
she swayed the country to its ruin. Coligny, the father of the colony,
had enough to do in fighting the battles of the Huguenots at home.
He could do nothing for those whom he had sent abroad. The peace of
Longjumean had been of short duration, and there had been really no
remission of hostilities on the part of the Catholics. In the space of
three months more than two thousand of the former fell victims to the
rage of the populace; and, though reluctantly, the Prince of Condé and
Coligny were forced into a resumption of arms for the safety of their
own persons. The immediate necessities of their situation were such
as to defeat their efforts in behalf of the remote settlement at Fort
Charles. They needed all their soldiers and Huguenots in France. Feeling
themselves abandoned--they knew not why--the colonists in Florida ceased
to behold a charm or solace in their solitary realm of refuge. Its
securities were no longer sufficient to compensate for its loneliness.
Better the strife, perhaps, than this unmeaning and unbroken silence.
They were too few for adventure, and the discouragements resulting from
their domestic grievances were enough to paralyze any such spirit. But
for this there had been no lack of the necessary inducements. In their
second voyage to King Ouade, seeking "mil and beans," they had learned
some of the secrets of the country which made their eyes brighten. They
had discovered that there was gold in the land, and that the gold of the
land was good. This prince had freely given them of his treasure. He had
bestowed on them pearls of the native waters, stones of finest chrystal,
and certain specimens of silver ore, which he described, in reply to
their eager inquiries, as having been gathered at the foot of certain
high mountains, the bowels of which contained it in greatest quantity.
These were the mountains of Apalachia, and the truth of Ouade's
revelations have been confirmed by subsequent discovery. The
intelligence had greatly gladdened the hearts of our Frenchmen, and
nothing but the feebleness of the garrison prevented Albert from
prosecuting a search which promised so largely to gratify the lusts of
avarice. His subsequent errors and fate put an end to the desire among
his followers. They longed for nothing now so much as home. They had
been temporarily abandoned by the Indians whose granaries they had
emptied, and who had been compelled to wander off to remote forests
in search of their own supplies. The gloom of the Frenchmen naturally
increased in the absence of their allies, who had furnished them equally
with food and recreation. Their provisions again began to fail them.
Their resources in corn and peas were quite exhausted; and no more
could be procured from the red-men, who had preserved a supply barely
sufficient for the planting of their little fields. In this condition of
want, with this feeling of destitution and abandonment, it was resolved
among the Huguenots, to depart the colony. With a fond hope once more of
recovering the shores of that country, still most beloved, which had
so unkindly cast them forth, they began to build themselves a vessel
sufficiently large to bear their little company. "And though there
were no men among them," says the chronicle, "that had any skill,
notwithstanding, necessitye, which is the maistresse of all sciences,
taught them the way to build it." But how were they to provide the
sails, the tackle and the cordage? "Having no meanes to recover these
things they were in worse case than at the first, and almost ready to
fall into despayre." They were succored, when most desponding, by the
help of Providence. "That good God, which never forsaketh the afflicted,
did favor them in their necessitie." The Indians, who had been for
some time absent, seeking, by the chase, in distant forests, to supply
themselves with provisions in place of those which they had yielded
to the white men, now began to reappear; and, in the midst of their
perplexities, they were visited by the Caciques, Audusta and Maccou,
with more than two hundred of their followers. These, our Frenchmen
went forth to meet, with great show of satisfaction; and had they been
sufficiently re-assured by the return of their red friends--had they not
been too much the victims of _nostalgia_, or homesickness, the cloud
might have passed from their fortunes, and the little colony might have
been re-established under favoring auspices. But their only thought
was of their native land. They declared their wishes to the Indian
chieftains, and, showing in what need of cordage they stood, they
were told that this would be provided in the space of a few days. The
Caciques kept their word, and, in little time, brought an abundance of
cordage. But other things were wanted, and "our men sought all meanes
to recover rosen in the woodes, wherein they cut the pine trees round
about, out of which they drew sufficient reasonable quantitie to bray
the vessel. Also they gathered a kind of mosse, which groweth on the
trees of this countrie, to serve to caulke the same withall. There now
wanted nothing but sayles, which they made of their own shirtes and of
their sheetes." Thus provided with the things requisite, our Frenchmen
hastened to finish their brigantine, and "used so speedie diligence,"
that they were soon ready to launch forth upon the great deep. They gave
to their Indian friends all their surplus goods and chattels, leaving to
them all the merchandise of the fort which they could not take away;--a
liberality which gave the red-men the "greatest contentation in the
worlde." But they re-embarked their forge, their artillery and other
munitions of war. Unhappily, they were too impatient to begin their
journey. In the too sanguine hope of reaching France, with a speed
proportioned to their eager desires, they laid in no adequate provision
for a long voyage. "In the meane season the wind came so fit for their
purpose, that it seemed to invite them to put to sea. Being drunken with
the too excessive joy which they had conceived for their returning into
France, or rather deprived of all foresight and consideration:--without
regarding the inconsistencie of the winds which change in a moment, they
put themselves to sea, and, with so slender victuals, that the end of
their enterprise became unlucky and unfortunate."

  [15] "Il fallut songer ensuite à lui donner un successeur, et le choix
  que l'on fit, fut plus sage, qu'on ne devoit l'attendre de gens, dont
  les mains fumoient encore du sang de leur Chef. Ils mirent à leur tête
  un fort honnête homme, nommé Nicholas Barré, lequel par son adresse et
  sa prudence rétablit en peu de tems la paix et le bon ordre dans la
  colonie."--_Charlevoix_, _N. Fran._, Liv. 1.

They had not sailed a third part of the distance, when they were
surprised with calms, which so much hindered their progress that, during
the space of three weeks, they had not advanced twenty-five leagues. In
this period their provisions underwent daily diminution. In a short time
their stock had sunk so low that it was necessary to limit the allowance
to each man. We may conceive their destitution from this allowance.
"Twelve grains of mill by the day, which may be in value as much as
twelve peason!" But even this poor quantity was not long continued. It
was "a felicity," in the language of the chronicle, which was of brief
duration. Soon the "mill" failed them entirely--all at once--and they
"had nothing for their more assured refuge, but their shoes and leather
jerkins, which they did eate." But their misfortune was not confined to
their food. Their supplies of fresh water failed them also. Never had
adventurers set forth upon the seas with such wretched provision. Their
beverage finally became the water of the ocean--the thirst-provoking
brine. Such beverage as this increased their miseries--atrophy and
madness followed--and death stretched himself out among them on every
side. Nor were they suffered to escape from the most painful toils while
thus contending against thirst and famine. Their wretched vessel sprang
a-leak. The water grew upon them. Day and night were they kept busy in
casting it forth, without cessation or repose. Each day added to their
griefs and dangers. Their shoes and jerkins they had already devoured
in their desperation, and where to look for other material to supply the
materiel of distension, puzzled their thoughts. While thus distressed
by their anxieties, with their comrades dying about them, a new danger
assailed them, as if fortune was resolved to crush them at a blow, and
thus conclude their miseries. The winds rose, the seas were lashed into
fury by the storm. Their vessel, no longer buoyant, "in the turning of a
hand" shipped a fearful sea, and was nearly swamped--"filled halfe full
of water, and bruised in upon the one side." This was the last drop in
the cup of misfortune which finally makes it overflow. Then it was that
the hearts of our Frenchmen sunk utterly within them. They no longer
cared to contend for life. They gave themselves up to despair. "Being
now more out of hope than ever to escape out of this extreme peril, they
cared not for casting out of the water which now was almost ready to
drown them; and as men resolved to die, everie one fell downe backwarde,
and gave themselves over, altogether unto the will of the waves."

It was at this moment of extreme despondency, that Lachane tried to
cheer them with new hope, and to new exertions. He encouraged them by
various assurance, to hold out against fate, and struggle manfully to
the last. He told them "how little way they had to sayle, assuring them
that if the winde helde, they should see land within three dayes." "At
worst," he added, "we can die when we can do no better. It will be
always time enough for that. But this necessity is not now. We can
surely put it off for some time longer. At present, let us live!"

Speaking thus, in the most cheerful manner, the brave fellow set them a
proper example by which to dissipate their fears and to provide against
them. He began to bail and cast out the water in which, in their extreme
indifference to their fate, they either sat or lay. They took heart
as they beheld him, and joined in the labor with new vigor, and that
elastic spirit which is so characteristic of Frenchmen. But, when the
three days had gone by, and still their eyes were unblessed with the
sight of the promised land--when they had consumed every remnant of shoe
and jerkin, and nothing more was left them to consume, they turned their
eyes in bitter reproach upon the man who had persuaded them to live.
He met their reproachful glances with a smile, and instantly devised a
remedy for their fears and weaknesses, through one of those terrible
thoughts which, at any other period, would revolt, with extremest
loathing, the humanity of the man, however little human.

"My comrades!" said the noble fellow, "you hunger--you starve! You will
perish unless you can get some food. I see it in your eyes. They have
no lustre, and the courage seems to have gone out entirely from your
hearts. You must not die! You must not lose your courage. You _shall_
not. You shall drink life and courage out of my breast. I have enough
there for all who thirst and faint. You shall feed upon my heart--you
shall drink the blood of a brave man, and live for your friends and
country. I have few friends, and my country can spare me. Better that
one of us should die than that all should perish. I am ready to die for
you! What! You shake your heads--you would not have it so--but it shall
be so! You have loved me--you have suffered for me. Well, Lachane loves
you in return--he will die for you. You shall remember him hereafter,
when our own dear France receives you again in safety. You will bless
his memory!"

A groan was the only reply of those around him. Lachane threw open his
breast.

"There!" he cried; "Look! I am ready! I fear not death. Strike! See you
not, my bosom is open to the knife. My hand is down--there!"--grasping
the seat upon which he sate,--"There! it shall not be lifted to arrest
the blow!"

The famished wretches looked with wolfish yearnings upon the white
breast of the offered sacrifice; but there was still a human revolting
in their hearts that kept them moveless and silent. They longed for
the horrible banquet, but still turned from it with a lingering human
loathing. But Lachane was resolute.

"Ah!" said he, reproachfully; "you fear--you would not that I should die
in this manner; but, _mes amis_, you know me not. You know not how it
will glad my heart to know that its dying pulse shall add new life to
yours. Here, Lafourche, Genet--you are both beside me. You are the
feeblest. You are dying fast. You thirst; another day and you perish!
You have a mother, Genet--a dear sister, Lafourche--why will you not
live for them? Lo! you, now,--when I strike the blow,--do you both clap
your mouths upon the wound. Drink freely--drink deep--that you may have
strength--and let the rest drink after you. There!--my braves!--there."

With each of these last words, the brave fellow--thence called "Lachane,
the Deliverer"--struck two fatal blows, one upon his heart, and one upon
his throat. He leaned back between the two famished persons whom he had
especially addressed, and, while the consciousness was yet in the eyes
of the dying man, they sprang like thirsting tigers, and fastened their
mouths upon each streaming orifice. The victim, smarting and conscious
to the last, sunk in a few seconds, into the sacred slumber of death.
This heroism saved the rest. He had struck with a firm hand and a
resolute spirit. In his death they lived. Slow to accept his proffered
sacrifice, he was scarcely cold, ere the survivors fastened upon his
body; and, ere the last morsel of the victim was consumed, they had
assurances of safety.[16]

  [16] Lest we should be suspected of exaggeration we quote a single
  sentence from the condensed account in Charlevoix:--"Lachau, celui là
  même, que la Capitaine Albert avoit exilé, après l'avoir dégradé des
  armes, déclara qu'il vouloit bien avancer sa mort, qu'il croyoit
  inévitable, pour reculer de quelques jours celle de ses compagnons.
  Il fut pris au mot, et on l'égorgea sur le champ, sans qu'il fît la
  moindre résistance. _Il ne fut pas perdu une goute de son sang, tous
  en bûrent avec avidité, le corps fut mis en piéces, et chacun en eut
  sa part._"

It seemed as if expiation had been done; as if the sacrifice had purged
their offences and made them acceptable to heaven. The land rose upon
their vision,--a glimpse like that of salvation to the doomed one,--a
sight "whereof they were so exceeding glad, that the pleasure caused
them to remain a long time as men without sense; whereby they let the
pinnesse floate this and that way without holding any right way or
course." While thus wandering, in sight of France, but still at the
mercy of the winds and waves, they were boarded by an English vessel.
Here they were recognized by a Frenchman who happened to be one of the
crew that had accompanied Ribault in his voyage. The most feeble were
put upon the coast of France; the rest were taken to England, with the
design that Queen Elizabeth, who meditated sending an expedition to
Florida, might have the benefit of their report.




IX.

THE SECOND EXPEDITION OF THE HUGUENOTS TO FLORIDA.

The Fortress of La Caroline and the Colony of Laudonniere.


Thus, unhappily, as we have seen, ended the first experiment of Coligny
for the establishment of a Huguenot colony in the territory of the
Floridian. The disasters which had attended the fortunes of the garrison
at Fort Charles, were due, in some degree, to its seeming abandonment
by their founder. But Coligny was blameless in this abandonment. When
Ribault returned to France, from his first voyage, the civil wars had
again begun, depriving the admiral of the means for succoring the
colony, as had been promised. Nearly two years had now elapsed from that
period, before he could recover the power which would enable him to send
supplies or recruits for its maintenance. In all this time, with the
exception of the small domain occupied by Fort Charles, the country lay
wholly derelict, and in the keeping of the savages. But Coligny was now
in a condition to resume his endeavors in behalf of his colony. He was
again in possession of authority. The assassination of the Duke of Guise
had restored to France the blessings of peace; and Coligny seized upon
this interval of repose, to inquire after the settlement which had been
made by Ribault. Three ships, and a considerable amount of money, were
accorded to his application; and the new armament was assigned to the
command of René Laudonniere--a man of intelligence, a good seaman
rather than a soldier, and one who had accompanied Ribault on his first
expedition, though he had not remained with the colony.[17] Laudonniere
found it easy enough to procure his men, not only for the voyage but
the colony. The civil wars had produced vast numbers of restless and
destitute spirits, who longed for nothing so much as employment and
excitement. Besides, there was a vague attraction for the imagination,
in the tales which had reached the European world, of the wondrous
sweetness and beauty of the region to which they were invited. Florida
still continued, even at this period, to be the country beyond all
others in the new world, which appealed to the fancies and the appetites
of the romantic, the selfish, and the merely adventurous. Ribault's own
account of it had described the wondrous sweetness of its climate, and
the exquisite richness and variety of its fruits and flowers. Then,
there were the old dreams which had beguiled the Spanish cavalier,
Hernando de Soto, and had filled with the desires and the hopes of
youth, the aged heart of Juan Ponce de Leon. It did not matter if death
did keep the portals of the country. This guardianship only seemed the
more certainly to denote the precious treasures which were concealed
within. In the absence of any certain knowledge, men dreamed of spoils
within its bowels, such as had been yielded to Cortes and Pizarro, by
the great cities and teeming mountains of Tenochtitlan and Peru. They
had heard true stories of its fruits and flowers; of its bland airs, so
friendly to the invalid; of its delicious fountains, in which healing
and joy lay together in sweet communion. It was the region in which,
according to tradition, life enjoyed not only an exquisite, but an
extended tenure, almost equalling that of the antediluvian ages. Its
genial atmosphere was supposed to possess properties particularly
favorable to the prolongation of human life. Laudonniere himself tells
us of natives whom he had seen who were certainly more than two hundred
and fifty years old, and yet, who entertained a reasonable hope
of living fifty or a hundred years longer. These may have been
exaggerations, but they are such as the human imagination loves to
indulge in. But there was comparative truth in the assertion. Portions
of the Floridian territory are, to this day, known to be favorable to
health and longevity in a far greater degree than regions in other
respects more favored; and, in the temperate habits, the hardy
exercises, the simple lives of the red-men, unvexed by cares and
anxieties, and unsubdued by toils, they probably realized many of the
alleged blessings of a golden age. But the attractions of this region
were not estimated only with respect to attractions such as these.
The fountains of the marvellous which had been opened by the great
discoverers, Columbus and Cortes, Balboa and Pizarro, were not to be
quickly closed. The passion for adventure, in the exploration of new
countries, made men easy of belief; and any number of emigrants were
prepared to accompany our second Huguenot expedition. The armament of
Laudonniere was ready for sea, and sailed from France on the 22d April,
1564.[18] A voyage of two months brought the voyagers to the shores of
New France, which they reached the 25th of June, 1564. The land made was
very nearly in the same latitude as in the former expedition. It was a
favorable period for seeing the country in all its natural loveliness;
and the delight of the voyagers may be imagined, when, at May River,
they found themselves welcomed by the Indians, such of the whites
particularly as were recognized to have been of the squadron of Ribault.
The savages hailed them as personal friends and old acquaintances. When
they landed, they were eagerly surrounded by the simple and delighted
natives, men and women, and conducted, with great ceremonials, to the
spot where Ribault had set up a stone column, with the arms of France,
"upon a little sandie knappe, not far from the mouth of the said river."
It was with a pleased surprise that Laudonniere found the pillar
encircled and crowned with wreaths of bay and laurel, with which the
affectionate red-men had dressed the stone, in proof of the interest
which they had taken in this imposing memorial of their intercourse
with the white strangers. The foot of the pillar was surrounded by
little baskets of maize and beans; and these were brought in abundance,
in token of their welcome, and yielded by these generous sons of the
forest to their new visitors, at the foot of the pillar which they had
thus consecrated to their former friendship. They kissed the column,
and made the French do likewise. Their _Paracoussy_, or king, was named
Satouriova, the oldest of whose sons, named Athore, is described by
Laudonniere as "perfect in beautie." Satouriova presented Laudonniere
with a "wedge of silver"--one of those gifts which by no means lessened
the importance of the giver, or of his country, in the eyes of our
voyager. His natural inquiry was whence the silver came.

  [17] Charlevoix describes Laudonniere as "un gentilhomme de
  mérite--bon officier de marine, et qui avoit même servi sur terre
  avec distinction."

  [18] It was much superior to that originally sent out with Ribault.
  "On lui donna des ouvriers habiles dans tous les arts, &c. que utilité
  dans une colonie naissante. Quantité de jeune gens de famille, et
  plusiers gentilshommes voulurent faire ce voyage _à leurs dépens_, et
  on y joinit des détachemens de soldats choisis dans de vieux corps.
  _L'Admiral eut soin surtout qu'il n'y eût aucun catholique dans cet
  armement._"

"Then he showed me by evident signes that all of it came from a place
more within the river, by certain days journeyes from this place, and
declared unto us that all that which they had thereof, they gat it
by force of armes of the inhabitants of this place, named by them
_Thimogoa_, their most ancient and natural enemies, as hee largely
declared. Whereupon, when I saw with what affection and passion hee
spake when hee pronounced _Thimogoa_, I understood what he would say;
and to bring myself more into his favour, I promised him to accompany
him with all my force, if hee would fight against them: which thing
pleased him in such sorte, that, from thenceforth, hee promised himselfe
the victorie of them, and assured mee that hee would make a voyage
thither within a short space, and would commaund his men to make ready
their bowes and furnish themselves with such store of arrows, that
nothing should bee wanting to give battaile to Thimogoa. In fine, he
prayed me very earnestly not to faile of my promise, and, in so doing,
he hoped to procure me golde and silver, in such good quantitie, that
mine affaires should take effect according to mine owne and his desire."

Here then we see cupidity beginning to plant in place of religion. Our
Huguenot tells us of no prayers which he made, of no religious services
which he ordered, in presence of the savages, for their benefit and his
own. But his sole curiosity is to know where the gold grows, and to
prompt the evil passions of the red-men to violence and strife with one
another, in order that he may procure the object of his avarice.

With night, the parties separated, the French retiring to their ships
and the Indians to the cover of their forests. But Laudonniere had
something more to learn. The next day, "being allured with this good
entertainment," the visit was renewed. "We found him, (the Paracoussy)
under shadow of an arbor, accompanied with four-score Indians at the
least, and apparelled, at that time, after the Indian fashion; to wit,
with a great hart's skin dressed like chamois, and painted with divers
colours, but of so lively a portraiture, and representing antiquity,
with rules so justly compassed, that there is no painter so exquisite
that coulde finde fault therewith. The natural disposition of this
strange people is so perfect and well guided, that, without any ayd and
favour of artes, they are able, by the help of nature onely, to content
the eye of artizans; yea, even of those which, by their industry, are
able to aspire unto things most absolute."

What Laudonniere means by the paintings of the Indians, "representing
antiquity," is not so clear. But it may be well, in this place, to
mention that we do not rely here on the opinions of a mere sailor
or soldier. In this expedition, Coligny had sent out a painter of
considerable merit, named James Le Moyne, otherwise _de Morgues_, who
was commissioned to execute colored drawings of all the objects which
might be supposed likely to interest the European eye. To this painter
are we indebted for numerous pictures of the people and the region,
their modes of life, costume and exercises, which are now invaluable.

The Huguenots left their Indian friends with reluctance. As the ships
coasted along the shores, pursuing their way up the river, the word
"_ami_," one of the few French words which the simple red-men had
retained, resounded, in varied accents, from men and women, who followed
the progress of the strangers, running along the margin of the river, as
long as the ships continued in sight. The French have not often abused
the hospitality of the aborigines. In this respect, they rank much more
humanly and honorably than either the English or the Spanish people.
With a greater moral flexibility, which yields something to acquire
more, they accommodated themselves to the race which they discovered,
and, readily conforming to some of the habits of the red-men, acquired
an influence over them which the people of no other nation have ever
been able to obtain. It was with tears that the simple hunters along May
River beheld the vessels of the Frenchmen gradually sinking from their
eyes.

The vessels of Laudonniere passed up the river, himself and parties
of his people landing occasionally, to examine particular spots of
country. They are everywhere received with kindness. Two of the Indian
words--"Antipola Bonassou,"--meaning "Friend and Brother,"--the French
made use of to secure a favorable welcome everywhere.

Monsieur de Ottigny, a lieutenant of Laudonniere, with a small party,
is conducted into the presence of a Cassique, whose great apparent age
prompts him to inquire concerning it. "Whereunto he made answer, shewing
that he was the first living originall from whence five generations were
descended, as he shewed unto them by another olde man that sate directly
over against him, which farre exceeded him in age. And this man was his
father, which seemed to be rather a dead carkiss than a living body;
for his sinewes, his veines, his arteries, his bones and other partes
appeared so cleerely thorow his skinne, that a man might easily tell
them and discerne them one from one another. Also his age was so great
that the goode man had lost his sight, and could not speake one onely
word but with exceeding great paine. Monsieur de Ottigni, having seene
so strange a thing, turned to the younger of these two olde men, praying
him to vouchsafe to answer to him that which he demanded touching his
age. Then the olde man called a company of Indians, and striking twise
upon his thigh, and laying his hand upon two of them, he shewed him by
synes that these two were his sonnes; again smiting upon their thighes,
he shewed him others not so olde which were the children of the two
first, which he continued in the same manner until the fifth generation.
But, though this olde man had his father alive, more olde than himselfe,
and that bothe of them did weare their haire very long and as white as
was possible, yet it was tolde them that they might yet live thirtie or
fortie yeeres more by the course of nature: although the younger of them
both was not lesse than two hundred and fiftie yeeres olde. After he had
ended his communication he commanded two young eagles to be given to
our men, which hee had bred up for his pleasure in his house."

A fitting gift at the close of such a narrative! Certainly, a
patriarchal family; and, though we may doubt the correctness of this
primitive mode of computing the progress of the sun, there can be no
question that the Floridians were distinguished by a longevity wholly
unparalleled in modern experience. It is claimed that the anglo-American
races who have since occupied the same region, have shared, in some
degree, in this prolonged duration of human life.

While the lieutenant of Laudonniere was thus held in discourse by the
aged Indians, his commander was enjoying himself in more luxurious
fashion. A particular eminence in the neighborhood of the river had
fixed his eye, which he explored. Here he reposed himself for several
hours. It is pleasant to hear our Frenchman's discourse of the beauty
of the spot where his siesta was enjoyed.

"Upon the top thereof, we found nothing else but cedars, palms, and bay
trees, of so sovereign odor, that balm smelleth nothing in comparison.
The trees were environed round with vines, bearing grapes in such
quantity that the number would suffice to make the place habitable.
Touching the pleasure of the place, the sea may be seen plain and open
from it; and more than five leagues off, near the river Belle, a man may
behold the meadowes, divided asunder into isles and islets, interlacing
one another. Briefly, the place is so pleasant, that those who are
melancholie would be forced to change their humour."

There is no exaggeration in this. Such is the odor of the shrubs--such
is the picturesqueness of the prospect.

Laudonniere departed with great reluctance from a region so favorable
to health, so beautiful to the eye, and which promised so abundantly of
fruits and mineral treasures. His course lay northwardly, in search of
the colony of Captain Albert. He passes the river of Seine, four leagues
distant from the May, and continues to the mouth of the Somme, some
six leagues further. Here he casts anchor, lands, and is received with
friendly welcome by the Paracoussy, or king of the place, whom he
describes as "one of the tallest and best-proportioned men that may
be found. His wife sate by him, which, besides her Indian beautie,
wherewith she was greatly endued, had so virtuous a countenance and
modest gravitie, that there was not one amongst us but did greatly
commend her. She had in her traine five of her daughters, of so good
grace and so well brought up, that I easily persuaded myself that their
mother was their mistresse."

Here Laudonniere is again presented with specimens of the precious
metals, and here we find him already in consultation with his men,
touching the propriety of abandoning the settlement of Fort Charles, the
fate of which he has heard in his progress from the Indians, for the
more attractive regions of the river May. His arguments for this
preference, may be given in his own language.

"If we passed farther to the north to seeke out Port Royall, it would be
neither very profitable nor convenient,.... although the haven were one
of the fairest of the West Indies: but that, in this case, the question
was not so much of the beautie of the place as of things necessary to
sustaine life. And that for our inhabiting, it was much more needful
for us to plant in places plentiful of victuall, than in goodly havens,
faire, deepe and pleasante to the view. In consideration whereof, I was
of opinion, if it seemed goode unto them, to seate ourselves about the
river of May: seeing also, that, in our first voyage, wee found the same
onely, among all the rest, to abounde in maize and corn; _besides the
golde and silver that was found there; a thing that put me in hope of
some happie discoverie in time to come_."

Doubtless the last was the conclusive suggestion. The views of
Laudonniere were promptly agreed to by his followers; and, sailing back
to the river of May, they reached it at daybreak on the 29th June.
"Having cast anchor, I embarked all my stuffe and the souldiers of my
company, (in the pinnace we may suppose,) to sayle right towards the
opening of the river: wherein we entered a good way up, and found a
creeke of a reasonable bignisse which invited us to refresh ourselves a
little, while wee reposed ourselves there. Afterward, wee went on shore
to seeke out a place, plaine, without trees, which wee perceived from
the creeke."

But this spot, upon examination, does not prove commodious, and it was
determined to return to a point they had before discovered when sailing
up the river. "This place is joyning to a mountaine (hill), and it
seemed unto us more fit and commodious to build a fortresse;.....
therefore we took our way towards the forests..... Afterwards, we found
a large plaine, covered with high pine trees, distant a little from the
other; under which we perceived an infinite number of stagges, which
brayed amidst the plaine, athwart the which we passed: then we
discovered a little hill adjoyning unto a great vale, very greene and in
forme flat: wherein were the fairest meadows of the worlde, and grasse
to feede cattel. Moreover, it is environed with a great number of
brookes of fresh water, and high woodes which make the vale most
delectable to the eye."

Laudonniere names this pleasant region after himself, the "_vale of
Laudonniere_." They pass through it, and, at length, after temporary
exhaustion from fatigue and heat, they recover their spirits, and,
penetrating a high wood, reach the brink of the river, and the spot
which they have chosen for the settlement.

We have preferred, at the risk of being tedious, to quote these details,
in order that the modern antiquarian may, if he pleases, seek for the
traces of this ancient settlement. The foundation was not laid without
due solemnity. Laudonniere remembers that his people are Christians;
and, at the break of day, on the 30th June, 1564, the trumpets were
sounded, and our Huguenots were called to prayer. The banks of the May,
otherwise the St. Johns,[19] then echoed, for the first time, with a
hymn of lofty cheer from European voices.

  [19] "The evidence," says Johnson, however, in an appendix to his life
  of Greene, "is in favor of the St. Mary's, and would point to the
  first bluff on the south side of that river." But this is certainly a
  mistake. The general conviction now is, that our St. John's was the
  May River of the French.

"There we sang a psalme of thanksgiving unto God." Prayer was made, and,
gathering courage from the exercise of their devotions, our Huguenots
applied themselves to the duty of building themselves a fortress. In
this work they were assisted by the Indians.[20] A few days sufficed,
with this help, to give their fabric form. It was built in the shape of
a triangle. "The side towarde the west, which was towarde the lande, was
enclosed with a little trench and raised with towers made in forme of
a battlement of nine foote high: the other side, which was towarde the
river, was inclosed with a palisado of plankes of timber, after the
manner that gabions are made. On the south side, there was a kinde of
bastion, within which I caused an house for the munition to be built. It
was all builded of fagots and sand, saving about two or three foote high
with turfes, whereof the battlements were made. In the middest I caused
a great court to be made of eighteen paces long and broad; in the
middest whereof, on the one side, drawing toward the south, I builded a
_corps de garde_, and an house, on the other side, towarde the north."
* * * "One of the sides that enclosed my court, which I made very faire
and large, reached unto the grange of my munitions: and, on the other
side, towarde the river, was mine owne lodgings, round which were
galleries all covered. The principal doore of my lodging was in the
middest of the great place, and the other was towarde the river. A good
distance from the fort, I built an oven."

  [20] Jacques de Moyne de Morgues represents the Indian Chief or
  Paracoussi of the neighborhood, Satouriova by name, as taking great
  umbrage at the erection of the fortress La Caroline within his
  dominions; thus differing from Laudonniere, who describes him and
  his subjects as cheerfully assisting in its erection. Charlevoix
  undertakes to reconcile the difference between them; but in a manner
  which would soon leave the chronicle and the historian at the mercy of
  the merest conjecture. The matter is scarcely of importance.

It will be an employment of curious interest, whenever the people of
Florida shall happen upon the true site of the settlement and structure
of Laudonniere, to trace out, in detail, these several localities, and
fix them for the benefit of posterity. The work is scarcely beyond the
hammer and chisel of some Old Mortality, who has learned to place his
affections, and fix his sympathies, upon the achievements of the Past.




X.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.


Thus, then, was founded the second European settlement on the Continent
of America. The fortress was named LA CAROLINE, in honor of the French
monarch, whom it was still the policy of the Huguenots to conciliate.
The houses were of frail structure, and thatched with leaves of the
palmetto. The domain was a narrow one, but it was probably sufficiently
wide for the genius of Laudonniere. He soon shows himself sensible of
all his dignities as the sole representative of his master in the New
World. From his own account, he does not appear to have been the proper
person for the conduct of so difficult, if not so great, an enterprise.
There is no doubt that he was sufficiently brave; but bravery,
unsustained by judgment, is at best a doubtful virtue, and, in a
situation of great responsibility, is apt to show itself at the expense
of all discretion. The object of the colony of La Caroline was a
permanent establishment--a place of refuge from persecution--where the
seeds of a new empire might be planted on a basis which should ensure
civil liberty to the citizen. The proper aim of such a settlement should
have been security, self-maintenance, and peace with all men. These
could only have been found in the economizing of their resources, in the
application of all their skill and industry to the cultivation of the
soil, and in the preservation of the most friendly relations among the
Indians. These, unhappily, were not objects sufficiently appreciated
by Laudonniere. His first error was that which arose from the
universal passion of his time. He had seen the precious metals of
the country--wedges of silver and scraps of gold--which declared the
abundance of its treasures, and aroused all his passions for its
acquisition. His whole energies were accordingly directed to the most
delusive researches. He had scarcely built his fortress before he sent
off his exploring expeditions. "I would not lose a minute of an hour,"
is his language, "without imploying the same in some _vertuous_
exercise," and therefore he despatches his Lieutenant, Ottigny, in
seeking for Thimogoa; that king, hostile to the Paracoussi Satouriova,
whom he has pledged himself to the latter to make war upon. Satouriova
gives the lieutenant a couple of warriors as guides, who were delighted
at the mission,--"seeming to goe as unto a wedding, so desirous they
were to fight with their enemies."

But Ottigny, whose real purpose is to obtain the gold of the people of
Thimogoa, does not indulge his warlike guides in their desires. They
encounter some of the people whom they seek, and make inquiries after
the treasure. This is promised them hereafter. With the report of a king
named Mayrra, who lives farther up the river, and abounds in gold and
silver, Ottigny returns to La Caroline. Other adventurers follow, other
kings and chiefs are brought to the knowledge of our Frenchmen. Plates
of gold and silver are procured; large bars of the latter metal; and the
lures are quite sufficient to keep the colonists employed in the one
pursuit to the complete neglect of every other. Instead of planting,
they rely for their provisions wholly upon the Indians; and, for
eighteen months, the lieutenants of Laudonniere penetrated the forests
in every possible direction. They appear not only to have explored the
interior of Florida, Georgia and South Carolina, but to have prosecuted
their insane search even to the Apalachian mountains. It is not
improbable that our antiquarians frequently stumble upon the proofs of
their progress, which they fondly ascribe to a much earlier period. We
preserve, as subjects of proper comparison with aboriginal words still
in use, and by which localities may yet be identified, the names of many
of the chiefs with whom our Frenchmen maintained communion. From the
Indians of King Mollova, Captain Vasseur obtains five or six pounds of
silver. Mollova is the subject of a greater prince, named Olata Ovae
Utina. The tributaries of this great chief are numerous;--Cadecha,
Chilili, Eclavou, Enacappe, Calany, Anacharaqua, Omittaqua, Acquera,
Moquoso, and many others. Satouriova is the chief sovereign along the
waters of the May. He too hath numerous tributaries. He is the great
rival monarch of Olata Utina. Potanou is one of his chiefs, "a manne
cruel in warre, but pitiful in the execution of his furie." He usually
took his prisoners to mercy, branding them upon the arm, and setting
them free. Onatheaqua and Hostaqua are great chiefs, abounding in
riches, that dwell near the mountains. According to the tales of the
Indians of May River, the warriors of Olata Utina "armed their breasts,
armes, thighes, legs and foreheads with large plates of gold and
silver." Molona is a chief of the river of May, near the Frenchmen, and
hostile also to the Thimogoans. Malicá is another of these chiefs of
Satouriova, eager, like all the rest, to shed the blood of the hostile
people whom the Frenchmen have unwisely promised to destroy. In order to
win the favor of Molona, while that Paracoussi is entertaining them
at his dwelling, Capt. Vasseur, returning from an expedition to the
territories of Thimogoa, reports that nothing but their flight prevented
him from utterly destroying that people. Improving upon his superior,
one Francis La Caille, a sergeant, insisted that, with his sword, he has
run two of the Thimogoans through the body. But this falsehood demands
another for its security. The suspicious Indian insists upon handling
the sword, "which the sergeant would not denie him, thinking that hee
would have beheld the fashion of his weapon; but hee soon perceived that
it was to another ende; for the old man, holding it in his hand, behelde
it a long while on every place, to see if he could find any blood upon
it which might show that any of their enemies had beene killed. Hee was
on the point to say that he had killed none of the men of Thimogoa; when
La Vasseur preventing that which hee might object, showing, that, by
reason of the two Indians which he had slain, his sword was so bloody,
he was enforced to wash and make it cleane a long while in the river."

Another of the chiefs, dwelling near the Frenchmen, is Omoloa, an ally
of Satouriova. These two summon Laudonniere to the expedition for which
they have prepared themselves against the Thimogoans, and are offended
that he now excuses himself. He was too busy with his explorations for
any other object. But he sent to request two of his prisoners from
Satouriova, which were denied him; the old savage properly saying that
he owed him no service, as he had taken no part in the expedition. This
irritated the Frenchman, who, with twenty soldiers, suddenly appeared
in the dwelling of the Paracoussi, and demanded and carried off the
prisoners. His policy was, by freeing these prisoners, and sending them
home to their sovereign, to conciliate his favor; but, in the meantime,
he made an enemy of Satouriova. An expedition was prepared to carry back
the prisoners to Olata Utina. It was confided to Monsieur D'Erlach,
one of Laudonniere's lieutenants, and consisted of ten soldiers. Their
course lay up the river of May, more than fourscore leagues. They were
received by the great Paracoussi Utina, with much favor, and were easily
persuaded by him to take part in a war which he was even then waging
with his hereditary enemy, Potanou. A surprise is attempted, and a
battle ensues, in which the fire-arms of the French confound Potanou,
and subject him to a sore defeat. One of his towns is captured, and all
its men, women, and children, are made prisoners. Monsieur D'Erlach
returns to _La Caroline_, with no inconsiderable spoil of gold and
silver, skins painted, and other commodities of the Indians.

While thus engaged in the avaricious search for the precious metals,
Laudonniere began to receive some intimations of the error into which
he had fallen. The mistakes of his policy were beginning to appear in
their consequences. His ships had long since departed for France. He had
no present hope but in himself and his neighbors; and his garrison were
about to suffer from the want of necessaries such as they should have
relied upon their own industry to secure. The provisions furnished by
the Indians were rapidly failing them. They had offended Satouriova, and
thus forfeited the supplies which his favor might have furnished. In the
always limited stores of the natives, there was a natural limit, beyond
which they could neither sell nor give; since, to do so, would be to
lose the grain necessary for sowing their fields at the approaching
season. The exigencies of the colonies finally compelled them to seize
upon the stores which the providence of the Indians compelled them to
retain. These thus despoiled, withdrew promptly from the dangerous
neighborhood, and, but for a fortunate, and seemingly providential
circumstance, which afforded them succor for awhile, the distress of
the garrison might have realized anew the misfortunes of the people of
Fort Charles. We must let Laudonniere himself record the event, which
had such beneficial consequences, in his own language:

"Thus," said he, "things passed on in this manner, and the hatred of
Paracoussi Satouriova against mee did still continue, untill that, on
the nine and twentieth of August, a lightning from heaven fell within
halfe a league of our fort, more worthy, I believe, to be wondered at,
and to be put in writing, than all the strange signes which have beene
scene in times past. For, although the meadows were at that season all
greene, and halfe covered over with water, neverthelesse the lightning,
in one instant, consumed above five hundred acres thereof, and burned,
with the ardent heate thereof, all the foules which took their pastime
in the meadowes--which thus continued for three dayes space--which
caused us not a little to muse, not being able to judge whence this fire
proceeded. One while we thought that the Indians had burnt their houses
and abandoned their places for feare of us. Another while we thought
that they had discovered some shippes in the sea, and that, according
to their custome, they had kindled many fires here and there. * * * I
determined to sende to Paracoussi Serranay to knowe the truth. But, even
as I was about to sende one by boate, sixe Indians came unto me from
Paracoussi Allimicany, which, at their first entrie, made unto mee a
long discourse, and a very large and ample oration (after they had
presented mee with certain baskets full of maiz, of pompions, and of
grapes), of the loving amity which Allimicany desired to continue with
mee, and that he looked, from day to day, when it would please mee
to employ him in my service. Therefore, considering the serviceable
affection that hee bare unto mee, he found it very strange that I thus
_discharged mine ordnance against his dwelling_, which had burnt up an
infinite sight of greene meadowes, and consumed even downe unto the
bottom of the water."

The simple message of the Paracoussi, suggested some advantages to
Laudonniere, who did not now scruple to admit that all the mischief had
been done by his wanton ordnance. He had shot, not really to injure his
neighbor, but to let him form a proper idea of what he might do, in the
way of mischief, should he have the provocation at any time. Since,
however, the Paracoussi had come to the recollection of his duties,
he, Laudonniere, would protect him hereafter. The red-man had only to
continue faithful, and the white man would stifle his ordnance.

The sequel of this strange fire from heaven, may be given in few words.
For three days it remained unextinguished, and, for two more days, the
heat in the atmosphere was insupportable. The river suffered from a
sympathetic heat, and seemed ready to seethe. The fish in it died in
such abundance, of all sorts, _that enough were founde to have laden
fiftie carts_. The air became putrid with the effluvia; the greater
number of the garrison fell sick, and suffered nearly to death; while
the poor savages removed to a distance from the region, which, since the
settlement of the colonists, had been productive of little but mischief
unto them. The distress of Laudonniere, under these events, was
increased by discontents and mutinies among his people. They were not of
a class so docile as their predecessors under Albert. These, certainly,
would not have borne so patiently with such a sway. The government of
Laudonniere, if not a wise, was not a brutal or despotic one. But
they threatened equally his peace and safety. They had cause for
apprehension, if not for commotion. The promised supplies from France,
which were to be brought by Ribault, had failed to arrive, and the
discontent in the colony was beginning to assume an aspect the most
serious. At this point, our narrative must enter somewhat more into
details, and, for the sake of compactness, we must somewhat anticipate
events.




XI.

CONSPIRACY OF LE GENRÉ.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.


The necessities of the colony now began to open the eyes of Laudonniere
in respect to the errors of which he had been guilty. He found it
important to discontinue his explorations among the Indian tribes, and
to employ his garrison in domestic labors. They must either work or
starve. Their tasks in the fields were assigned accordingly. This
produced discontent among those who, having for some time, in Europe as
well as recently in the new world, been chiefly employed as soldiers,
regarded labor as degrading, and still flattered themselves with the
more agreeable hope of achieving their fortunes by shorter processes.
Their appetite for the precious metals had been sufficiently enlivened
by the glimpses which had been given them, during their intercourse with
the natives, of the unquestionable treasures of the country. It was
still farther whetted by the influence of two persons of the garrison.
One of these was named La Roquette, of the country of Perigort;
the other was known as Le Genré, a lieutenant, and somewhat in the
confidence of Laudonniere. Le Genré was the bold conspirator. La
Roquette was perhaps quite as potential, though from art rather than
audacity. He pretended to be a great magician, and acquired large
influence over the more ignorant soldiers on the score of his supposed
capacity to read the book of fate. Among his professed discoveries
through this medium, were certain mines of gold and silver, far in the
interior, the wealth of which was such--and he pledged his life upon
it--that, upon a fair division, after awarding the king's portion, each
soldier would receive not less than ten thousand crowns. The arguments
and assurances of La Roquette persuaded Le Genré, among the rest. He
was exceedingly covetous, and sought eagerly all royal roads for the
acquisition of fortune. He was more easily beguiled into conspiracy, in
consequence of the refusal of Laudonniere to give him the command of a
packet returning into France. It was determined to depose and destroy
the latter. Several schemes were tried for this purpose; by poison, by
gunpowder, all of which failed, and resulted in the ruin only of the
conspirators. With this introduction we introduce the reader more
particularly to the parties of our history.




XII.

THE CONSPIRACY OF LE GENRÉ.--Chap. I.


Le Genré, one of the lieutenants of Laudonniere, was of fierce and
intractable temper. His passions had been thwarted by his superior,
whose preferences were clearly with another of his lieutenants, named
D'Erlach.[21] This preference was quite sufficient to provoke the envy
and enmity of Le Genré. His dislike was fully retorted, and with equal
spirit by his brother officer. But the feelings of D'Erlach, who was the
more noble and manly of the two, were restrained by his prudence and
sense of duty. It had been the task of Laudonniere more than once to
interfere between these persons, and prevent those outrages which he had
every reason to apprehend from their mutual excitability; and it was
partly with the view to keep the parties separate, that he had so
frequently despatched D'Erlach upon his exploring expeditions. One of
these appointments, however, which Le Genré had desired for himself, had
given him no little mortification when he found that, as usual, D'Erlach
had received the preference from his superior. It was no proper
disparagement of the claims of others that D'Erlach had been thus
preferred. That he was a favorite, was, perhaps, quite as much due to
his own merits as to the blind partiality of his superior. In choosing
him for the command of his most important expeditions, Laudonniere was,
in fact, doing simple justice to the superior endowments of caution,
prudence, moderation, and firmness, which the young officer confessedly
possessed in very eminent degree. But Le Genré was not the person to
recognize these arguments, or to acknowledge the superior fitness of
his colleague. His discontents, fanned by the arts of others, and daily
receiving provocation from new causes, finally wrought his blood into
such a state of feverish irritation, as left but little wanting to goad
him to actual insubordination and mutiny.

  [21] Laudonniere, in Hakluyt, spells this name improperly. It is
  properly written D'Erlach. "Ce Gentilhomme," says Charlevoix, "étoit
  Suisse, et il n'y a point de maison de Suisse plus connuë que celle
  d'Erlach."

Laudonniere was not ignorant of the factious spirit of his discontented
lieutenant. He had been warned by D'Erlach that he was a person to
be watched, and his own observations had led him equally to this
conviction. His eye, accordingly, was fixed keenly and suspiciously upon
the offender, but cautiously, however, so as to avoid giving unnecessary
pain or provocation. But Laudonniere's vigilance was partial only;
and his suspicions were by no means so intense as those of D'Erlach.
Besides, his attention was divided among his discontents. He had
become painfully conscious that Le Genré was not alone in his factious
feelings. He felt that the spirit of this officer was widely spreading
in the garrison. The moods of others, sullen, peevish, and doubtful, had
already startled his fears; and he too well knew the character of his
_personnel_, and from what sources they had been drawn, not to be
apprehensive of their tempers. Signs of insubordination had been shown
already, on various occasions; and had not Laudonniere been of that
character which more easily frets with its doubts than provides against
them, he might have legitimately employed a salutary punishment in
anticipating worse offences. The looks of many had become habitually
sullen, their words few and abrupt when addressed to their commander,
while their tasks were performed coldly and with evident reluctance.
Without exhibiting any positive or very decided conduct, by which to
leave themselves open to rebuke, their deportment was such as to betray
the impatience of bitter and resentful moods, which only forbore open
utterance by reason of their fears. Laudonniere, without having absolute
cause to punish, was equally wanting in the nice tact which can,
adroitly, and without a fall from dignity, conciliate the inferior.
Angry at the appearances which he could neither restrain nor chastise,
he was not sufficiently the commander to descend happily to soothe. In
this distracted condition of mind, he prepared to despatch his third
and last vessel to France, to implore the long-expected supplies and
assistance.

It was a fine evening, at the close of September, such an evening as
we frequently experience during that month in the South, when a cool
breeze, arising from the ocean, ascends to the shores and the forests,
and compensates, by its exquisite and soothing freshness, for the
burning heat and suffocating atmosphere of the day. Our Frenchmen at La
Caroline were prepared to enjoy the embraces of this soothing minister.
Some walked upon the parapets of the fortress, others lay at length
along the bluff of the river, while others again, in the shade of trees
farther inland, grouped together in pleasant communion, enjoyed the song
or the story, with as much gaiety as if all their cares were about to be
buried with the sun that now hung, shorn of his fiery locks, just above
the horizon. Laudonniere passed among these groups with the look of one
who did not sympathize with their enjoyments. He was feeble, dull, and
only just recovering from a sickness which had nigh been fatal. His eye
rested upon the river where lay the vessel, the last remaining to his
command, which, in two days more, was to be despatched for France. He
had just left her, and his course now lay for the deep woods, a mile
or more inland. He was followed, or rather accompanied, by a youth,
apparently about nineteen or twenty years of age--a younger brother of
D'Erlach, his favorite lieutenant. This young man shared in the odium of
his brother, as he also was supposed to enjoy too largely the favors of
Laudonniere. The truth was, that he was much more the favorite than his
brother. He was a youth of great intelligence and sagacity, observing
mind, quick wit, and shrewd, capacious remark. The slower thought of his
commander was quickened by his intelligence, and relied, much more than
the latter would have been willing to allow, upon the insinuated, rather
than expressed, suggestions of the youth. Alphonse D'Erlach, but for
his breadth of shoulders and activity of muscle, would have seemed
delicately made. He was certainly effeminately habited. He had a boyish
love of ornament which was perhaps natural at his age, but it had
been observed that his brother Achille, though thirty-five, displayed
something of a like passion. Our youth wore his dagger and his pistols,
the former hung about his neck by a scarf, and the latter were stuck in
the belt about his waist. The dagger was richly hilted, and the pistols,
though of excellent structure, were rather more remarkable for the
beauty of their ornaments than for their size and seeming usefulness as
weapons for conflict.

"And you think, Alphonse," said Laudonniere, when they had entered
the wood, "that Le Genré is really anxious to return to France in the
Sylph."

"I say nothing about his return to France, but that he will apply to you
for the command of the Sylph, I am very certain."

"Well! And you?----"

"Would let him have her."

"Indeed! I am sorry, Alphonse, to hear you say so. Le Genré is not fit
for such a trust. He has no judgment, no discretion. It would be a
hundred to one that he never reached France."

"That is just my opinion," said the youth, coolly.

"Well! And with this opinion, you would have me risk the vessel in his
hands?"

"Yes, I would! The simple question is, not so much the safety of the
vessel as our own. He is a dangerous person. His presence here is
dangerous to us. If he stays, unless our force is increased, in another
month he will have the fortress in his hands; he will be master here.
You have no power even now to prevent him. You know not whom to trust.
The very parties that you arm and send out for provisions, might,
if they pleased, turn upon and rend us. If _he_ were not the most
suspicious person in the world--doubtful of the very men that serve
him--he would soon bring the affair to an issue. Fortunately, he doubts
rather more than we confide. He knows not his own strength, and your
seeming composure leads him to overrate ours. But he is getting wiser.
The conspiracy grows every day. I am clear that you should let him go,
take his vessel, pick his crew, and disappear. He will not go to France,
that I am certain. He will shape his course for the West Indies as soon
as he is out of our sight, and be a famous picaroon before the year is
over."

"Alphonse, you are an enemy of Le Genré."

"That is certain," replied the youth; "but if I am his enemy, that is no
good reason why I should be the enemy of truth."

"True, but you suspect much of this. You know nothing."

"I _know_ all that I have told you," replied the young man, warmly.

"Indeed! How?"

"That I cannot tell. Enough that I am free to swear upon the Holy
Evangel, that all I say is true. Le Genré is at the head of a faction
which is conspiring against you."

"Can you give me proof of this?"

"Yes, whenever you dare issue the order for his arrest and that of
others. But this you cannot do. You must not. They are too strong for
you. If Achille were here now!"

"Ay! Would he were!"

They now paused, as if the end of their walk had been reached.
Laudonniere wheeled about, with the purpose of returning. They had not
begun well to retrace their steps before the figure of a person was seen
approaching them.

"Speak of the devil," said Alphonse, "and he thinks himself called; here
comes Le Genré."

"Indeed!" said Laudonniere.

"See now if I am not right--he comes to solicit the command of the
Sylph."

They were joined by the person of whom they had been speaking. His
approach was respectful--his manner civil--his tones subdued. There was
certainly a change for the better in his deportment. A slight smile
might have been seen to turn the corner of the lips of young D'Erlach,
as he heard the address of the new comer. Le Genré began by requesting
a private interview with his commander. Upon the words, D'Erlach went
aside and was soon out of hearing. His prediction was true. Le Genré
respectfully, but earnestly, solicited the command of the vessel about
to sail for France. He was civilly but positively denied. Laudonniere
had not been impressed by the suggestion of his youthful counsellor; or,
if he were, he was not prepared to yield a vessel of the king, with all
its men and munitions, to the control of one who might abuse them to the
worst purposes. The face of Le Genré changed upon this refusal.

"You deny me all trust, Monsieur," he said. "You refused me the command
when my claim was at least equal to that of Ottigny. You denied me
that which you gave to D'Erlach, and now--Monsieur, do you hold me
incompetent to this command?"

"Nay," said Laudonniere, "but I better prefer your services here--I
cannot so well dispense with them."

A bitter smile crossed the lips of the applicant.

"I cannot complain of a refusal founded upon so gracious a compliment.
But, enough, Monsieur, you refuse me! May I ask, who will be honored
with this command?"

"Lenoir!"

"I thought so--another favorite! Well!--Monsieur, I wish you a good
evening."

"You have refused him, I see," said Alphonse, returning as the other
disappeared.

"Yes, I could do no less. The very suggestion that he might convert the
vessel to piratical purposes, was enough to make me resolve against
him."

And, still discussing that and other kindred subjects, Laudonniere
and his young companion followed in the steps of La Genré towards the
fortress.




CHAPTER II.


That night the young Alphonse D'Erlach might have been seen stealing
cautiously from the quarters of Laudonniere, and winding along under
cover of the palisades to one of the entrances of the fortress. He
was wrapped in a huge and heavy cloak which effectually disguised his
person. Here he was joined by another, whom he immediately addressed:

"Bon Pre?"

"The same: all's ready."

"Have they gone?"

"Yes!"

"Let us go."

They went together to the entrance. The person whom Alphonse called
Bon Pre, was a short, thick-set person, fully fifty years of age. They
approached the sentry at the gate.

"Let us out, my son," said Bon Pre; "we are late."

When they were without the walls, they stole along through the ditch,
concealed in the deep shade of the place, cautiously avoiding all
exposure to the star-light. On reaching a certain point, they ascended,
and, taking the cover of bush and tree, made their way to the river,
and getting into a boat which lay beneath the banks, pushed off, and
suffered her to drop down the stream, the old man simply using the
paddle to shape her course. A brief conversation, in whispers, followed
between them.

"You told him all?" asked Bon Pre.

"No; but just enough for our purpose. As I told you, he believes
nothing. He is too good a man himself to believe any body thoroughly
bad."

"He will grow wiser before he is done. You did not suffer him to know
where you got your information?"

"No--surely not. He would have been for having a court, and a trial, and
all that sort of thing. You would have sworn to the truth in vain, and
they would assassinate you. We must only do what we can to prevent, and
leave the punishment for another season. If time is allowed us----"

"Ay, but that 'if!'" said the old man. "Time will not be allowed. Le
Genré will be rather slow--but there are some persons not disposed to
wait for the return of the parties under Ottigny and your brother."

"Enough!" said D'Erlach--"Here is the cypress."

With these words, the course of the canoe was arrested, the prow turned
in towards the shore, and adroitly impelled, by the stroke of Bon Pre's
paddle, directly into the cavernous opening of an ancient cypress which
stood in the water, but close to the banks. This ancient tree stood,
as it were, upon two massive abutments. The cavern into which the boat
passed was open in like manner on the opposite side. The prow of the
canoe ran in upon the land, while the stern rested within the body of
the tree. Alphonse cautiously stepped ashore, and was followed by his
older companion. They were now upon the same side of the river with the
fortress. The course which they had taken had two objects. To avoid
fatigue and detection in a progress by land, and to reach a given point
in advance of the conspirators, who had taken that route. Of course, our
two companions had timed their movements with reference to the previous
progress of the former. They advanced in the direction of the fort,
which lay some three miles distant, but at the distance of fifty or
sixty yards from the place where they landed, came to a knoll thickly
overgrown with trees and shrubbery. A creek ran at its foot, in the
bed of which stood numerous cypresses--amongst these Alphonse D'Erlach
disappeared, while Bon Pre ascended the knoll, and seated himself in
waiting upon a fallen cypress.

He had not long to wait. In less than twenty minutes, a whistle was
heard--to which Bon Pre responded, in the notes of an owl. The sound of
voices followed, and, after a little interval, one by one, seven persons
ascended the knoll, and entered the area which was already partially
occupied by Bon Pre. There were few preliminaries, and Le Genré opened
the business. Bon Pre, it is seen, was one of the conspirators and in
their fullest confidence. He had left the fort before them, or had
pretended to do so. They had each left at different periods. We have
seen his route. It is only necessary to add, that they had come together
but a little while before their junction at the knoll. Of course, their
several revelations had yet to be made. Le Genré commenced by relating
his ill success in regard to the vessel.

"We must have it, at all hazards," said Stephen Le Genevois, "we can do
nothing without it."

"I do not see that;" was the reply of Jean La Roquette. This person,
it may be well to say, was one possessing large influence among the
conspirators. He claimed to be a magician, dealt much in predictions,
consulted the stars, and other signs, as well of earth as of heaven;
and, among other things, pretended, by reason of his art, to know where,
at no great distance, was a mine of silver, the richest in the world.
Almost his sole reason for linking himself with the conspirators,
was the contempt with which his pretensions had been treated by his
commander, in regard to the search after this mine.

"I do not see," he replied, "that this vessel is so necessary to us. A
few canoes will serve us better."

"Canoes--for what?" was the demand of Le Genevois.

"Why, for ascending the rivers, for avoiding the fatigue of land travel,
for bringing down our bullion."

"Pshaw! You are at your silver mine again; but that is slow work. I
prefer that which the Spaniard has already gathered; which he has run
into solid bars and made ready for the king's face. I prefer fighting
for my silver, to digging for it."

"Ay! fighting--no digging;" said Le Genré and he was echoed by other
voices. But La Roquette was not to be silenced. His opinions were
re-stated and insisted upon with no small vehemence, and the controversy
grew warm as to the future course of the party--whether they should
explore the land for silver ore, or the Spanish seas for bullion.

"_Messieurs_," said one named Fourneaux, "permit me to say that you are
counting your chickens before they are out of the shell. Why cumber our
discussion with unnecessary difficulties? The first thing to consider
is how to get our freedom. We can determine hereafter what use we shall
make of it. There are men enough, or will be enough, when we have got
rid of Laudonniere, to undertake both objects. Some may take the seas,
and some the land; some to digging. Each man to his taste. All may
be satisfied--there need be no restraint. The only matter now to be
adjusted, is to be able to choose at all. Let us not turn aside from
the subject."

These sensible suggestions quieted the parties, and each proceeded to
report progress. One made a return of the men he had got over, another
of the arms in possession, and a third of ammunition. But the question
finally settled down upon the fate of Laudonniere, and a few of his
particular friends, the young D'Erlach being the first among them. On
this subject, the conspirators not only all spoke, but they all spoke
together. They were vehement enough, willing to destroy their enemy, but
their words rather declared their anger, than any particular mode of
effecting their object. At length Fourneaux again spoke.

"_Messieurs_," said he, "you all seem agreed upon two things; the first
is, that, before we can do anything, Laudonniere and that young devil,
D'Erlach, must be disposed of; the second, that this is rather a
difficult matter. It is understood that they may rally a sufficient
force to defeat us--that we are not in the majority yet, though we hope
to be so; and that a great number who are now slow to join us, will be
ready enough, if the blow were once struck successfully. In this, I
think, you all perfectly agree."

"Ay--ay! There you are right--that's it;" was the response of Le Genré
and Stephen Le Genevois.

"Very well; now, as it is doubtful who are certainly the friends of
Laudonniere, it is agreed that we must move against him secretly. Is
there any difficulty in this? There are several ways of getting rid of
an enemy without lifting dagger or pistol. Is not the magician here--the
chemist, La Roquette?--has he no knowledge of certain poisons, which,
once mingled in the drink of a captain, can shut his eyes as effectually
as if it were done with bullet or steel? And if this fails, are there
not other modes of contriving an accident? I have a plan now, which,
with your leave, I think the very thing for our purpose. Laudonniere's
quarters, as you all know, stand apart from all the rest, with the
exception of the little building occupied by the division of Le Genré,
with which it is connected by the old bath-room. This bath-room is
abandoned since Laudonniere has taken to the river. Suppose Le Genré
here should, for safe-keeping, put a keg of gunpowder under the
captain's quarters? and suppose farther, that, by the merest mischance,
he should suffer a train of powder to follow his footsteps, as he
crawls from one apartment to the other; and suppose again, that, while
Laudonniere sleeps, some careless person should suffer a coal of fire to
rest, only for a moment, upon the train in the bath-house. By my life,
I think such an accident would spare us the necessity of attempting
the life of our beloved captain. It would be a sort of providential
interposition."

"Say no more! It shall be done!" said Le Genré. "I will do it!"

"Ay, should the other measure fail; but I am for trying the poison
first;" said Fourneaux, "for such an explosion would send a few
fragments of timber about other ears than those of the captain. He takes
his coffee at sunrise. Can we not drug it?"

"Let that be my task;" said old Bon Pre, who had hitherto taken little
part in this conference.

"You are the very man," said Fourneaux. "He takes his coffee from your
hands. La Roquette will provide the poison."

"When shall this be done?" demanded Le Genré. "We can do nothing
to-night. It will require time to-morrow to prepare the train."

"Ay, that is your part; but may not Bon Pre do his to-morrow? and should
he fail----"

"Why should he fail?" demanded La Roquette. "Let him but dress his
coffee with my spices, and he cannot fail."

"Yes," replied Bon Pre, "but it is not always that Laudonniere drinks
his coffee. If he happens to be asleep when I bring it, I do not wake
him, but put it on the table by his bedside, and, very frequently, if it
is cold when he wakes, he leaves it untasted."

"Umph! but at all events, there is the other accident. That can be made
to take effect at mid-night to-morrow--eh! what say you, Le Genré?"

"Without fail! It is sworn!"

Their plans being adjusted, the meeting was dissolved, and the parties
separately dispersed, each to make his way back, as he best might, so
as to avoid suspicion or detection, to Fort Caroline. They had scarcely
disappeared when Alphonse D'Erlach emerged from the hollow of a cypress
which stood upon the edge of the knoll where their conference had taken
place.




CHAPTER III.


Alphonse D'Erlach was one of those remarkable persons who seem, in
periods of great excitement, to be entirely superior to its influence.
He appeared to be entirely without emotions. Though a mere youth,
not yet firm in physical manhood, he was, in morals, endowed with a
strength, a hardihood and maturity, which do not often fall to the lot
of middle age. In times of difficulty, he possessed a coolness which
enabled him to contemplate deliberately the approach of danger, and
he was utterly beyond surprises. His conference with old Bon Pre,
when they met again that night was remarkably illustrative of these
characteristics.

"What shall we do?" demanded the old man.

"Your part is easily done," was the reply--"you are simply to do
nothing--to forbear doing. I understand your purpose in volunteering to
do the poisoning. I will see Laudonniere in an hour. You will prepare
the coffee--nay, let Fourneaux, or that fool of a magician himself,
introduce the poison. Laudonniere will sleep, you understand."

"But, Le Genré--the gunpowder!"

"I will see to that."

"What will you do?"

"Nay, time must find the answer. I am not resolved; but, at all events,
for the present, Laudonniere must know nothing. He must remain in
ignorance."

"Why?"

"For the best reason in the world. Did he guess what we know, he would
be for arming himself and all around him--creating a confusion under
the name of law--attempting arrests, and so proceeding as to give
opportunities to the conspirators to do that boldly, which they are
now content to do basely. I think we shall thwart them with their own
weapons. Let us separate now. I will see Laudonniere but a few moments
before I sleep."

"_Can_ you sleep to-night? I cannot! I shall hardly be able to sleep
till the affair is over. I do not think, honestly speaking, that I have
slept a good hour for the last week. I am certainly not conscious of
having done so."

"Nature provides for all such cases. For my part I never want sleep--I
always have it. I can sleep in a storm and enjoy it just as well. The
uproar of winds and seas never troubles me. If it does, it is only to
lull me into sleep again. I am a philosopher without knowing it, and by
accident. But come--we must part."

The chamber of D'Erlach was in the same building with that of
Laudonniere. They slept in adjoining apartments. D'Erlach purposely
made some noise in approaching his, and Laudonniere cried out,

"Who is there?--Alphonse?"

"The same, sir."

"Come in--where have you been at this hour; is it not very late?"

"Almost time for waking--an hour probably from dawn, though I know not
exactly. But, suffer me to extinguish this light. We can talk as well in
the dark."

"What have you to say?" demanded Laudonniere, half rising at this
preliminary.

"I have been getting some new lessons in chess from old Marchand."

"Ah! what new lesson?" asked Laudonniere, whose passion for the game had
prompted D'Erlach with the suggestion he made use of.

"Marchand, sir, is a most wonderful player. I have seen a great many
persons skilled at the game, not to speak of yourself, and I am sure
there is no one who can stand him. He absolutely laughs at my
opposition. I wish you could play with him, sir."

"I should like it, Alphonse," replied the other, "but you know my
position. This man, Marchand, is a turbulent person; scarcely respectful
to me, and, if there be, as you think, a conspiracy on foot against me,
he is at the head of it, be sure."

"Not so;" said the other, quietly, but decisively; "not so. His
bluntness is that of an honest man. His turbulence is that of
self-esteem. He is above a base action, and, secure in his own
character, he defies the scrutiny of superiority. I think you mistake
him; at all events it is necessary that you should know him in chess. I
am anxious to see you and him in conflict; and, if you will permit me,
he shall bring his own men--for he will play with no other--he has his
notions on the point--here, to-morrow night, when you will discover that
he is not only a great player but a good fellow."

"You are a singular person, Alphonse;" said Laudonniere, smiling. "What
should put chess into your head at such a time, particularly when you
say there is such danger?"

"The man who can play chess when danger threatens is the very man to
discover it; and the conspirator is never more likely to become resolved
in his purpose than when he finds his destined victim in a state of
anxiety. I should rather my enemy see me at chess--provided I can see
him--than that he should find me putting my arms in readiness. They may
be conveniently under the table, while the chess-board is upon it; and
while I am moving my pawn with one hand, I can prepare my pistol with
the other. But, sir, with your further permission, I will bring Challus
and Le Moyne to see the match. They are both passionately fond of the
game, and Le Moyne plays well, though nothing to compare either with
yourself or Marchand."

"By the way, Alphonse, how is Le Moyne getting on with his pictures? It
certainly was a strange idea of the Admiral, that of sending out, with
such an expedition, painters of pictures and such persons. I can see the
use of a mineralogist and botanist, but--these painters!"

"Le Moyne has made some very lovely pictures of the country. His
landscapes are to the life, and he has that rare knowledge of the
painter, which enables him to choose his point of view happily, and
tells him how much to take in, and how much to leave out. The Admiral
will be able to form a better idea of the country from the pictures of
Le Moyne, than he will from the pebbles of Delille or the dried flowers
and leaves of Serrier. Le Moyne shows him the rivers and the trees, the
valleys and the hills; and, if his pictures get safely to France, the
people there will envy us the paradise here which we are so little able
to enjoy."

Laudonniere heard the youth with half-shut eyes, and the dialogue
languished on the part of the former; but D'Erlach seemed resolute
to keep him wakeful, and suggested continually new provocatives to
conversation, until his superior, absolutely worn out with exhaustion,
bade him go to sleep himself or suffer him to do so. Alphonse smiled,
and left the room perfectly satisfied, as he beheld the faint streakings
of daylight gliding through the interstices between the logs of which
the building was composed. In less than an hour, hearing a sound as of
one entering, he hastily went out of his chamber, for he had neither
undressed himself nor slept, and met Bon Pre, with the salver of coffee,
about to go into the chamber of Laudonniere.

"Well, is it spiced? Has La Roquette furnished the drug?"

"His own hands put it in."

"Very well; let us in together. Laudonniere is not likely to awaken
soon, and I will remain with him 'till he does. If the coffee cools, and
he offers not to drink, well. I will say nothing. It is best that he
should know nothing 'till all's over."

"But the rest!" said Bon Pre, in a whisper.

"We must manage that, also, quite as well as this."

"If you should want help?"

"We must find it. But the thing must go forward to the end. Remember
_that_! This scoundrel must be suffered to burn his fingers."

"Can you contrive it--_you, alone_?"

"I think so; but, Bon Pre, you are here, and Challus, and Le Moyne, and
Beauvais and Marchand, and, perhaps, one or two more--true men upon whom
we can rely--and these, mark me, must be in readiness. Of this you shall
learn hereafter."

They entered the chamber of Laudonniere. He still slept. Bon Pre placed
the vessel of coffee beside him and disappeared. D'Erlach seated himself
at a little distance from the couch. When Laudonniere wakened the
liquor was cold. He laid it down again.

"What! you here, Alphonse; but you have been to bed?"

"I do not sleep as soundly as you. I left my chamber as old Bon Pre
brought your coffee, and entered with him. You do not drink?"

"The coffee is cold."

"It spoils your breakfast, too, I imagine. You do not eat heartily at
breakfast."

"No; dinner is my meal. But, Alphonse--did I dream, or did we not have
some conversation about Marchand and chess-playing last night?"

"We did! This morning rather."

"Is he the great player you describe him?"

"He is. I can think of none better."

"Well--saucy as he is, I must meet him."

"You permitted me to arrange for it, to-night. I had your consent to
bring some amateurs."

"Yes, I _do_ recollect something of it--Le Moyne and--"

"Challus."

"Very well--let them come; but they must be patient. If Marchand is such
a player, I must be cool and cautious. I must beat him."

"You will, but you will work for it. Marchand will keep you busy. And
now, sir, there is another matter which I beg leave to bring to your
remembrance. You remember the cypress canoe that lies upon the river
banks, three miles or more above. It was claimed by the old chief
Satouriova. We shall want it here for various, and, perhaps, important
uses, when the ship sails. She will take most of your boats with her.
Let me recommend that you send a detachment for this boat to-day. It
should be an armed detachment, for the old chief is most certainly our
enemy, and may be in the neighborhood. I would send Lieutenant Le Genré,
as he lacks employment. I would give him his choice of six or eight
companions, as, if he does not choose his own men, he might be apt to
tyrannize over those who are friendly to you. Perhaps it would be better
to give your orders early, that he should start at noon, as, at mid-day,
the tide will serve for bringing the boat up without toil."

"Why, Alphonse, you are very nice in your details. But, you are right,
and the arrangement is a good one."

"The sooner Le Genré receives his orders the more time for
preparations;" said the youth indifferently.

"He shall have them as soon as I go below."

By this time Laudonniere was dressed and they descended the court
together.

"Has he drunk," asked Le Genré anxiously, with Forneaux and La Roquette
on each side, as they beheld Bon Pre descending from the chamber of
Laudonniere with the vessel in his hand. The old man raised the silver
lid of the coffee-pot, and showed the contents.

"Diable!" was the half-suppressed exclamation of La Roquette.

"Enough, comrade!" said Le Genré, in a whisper--"it remains for me."

They separated, and entered, from different points, the area where
Laudonniere stood.

"Lieutenant;" said the latter, as Le Genré appeared in sight--"Take six
men at noon and go up to the bluff of the old chief Satouriova and bring
away the cypress canoe of which we took possession some time since.
Launch her and bring her up. The tide will serve at that hour. Let your
men be armed to the teeth, and keep on your guard, for you may meet the
old savage on your way."

Le Genré touched his hat and retired.

"It is well," said he to Fourneaux, whom he had chosen as one of his
companions, "that the commission did not send me off at once. I must
make my preparation quickly and before I go."

Unseen and unsuspected, Alphonse D'Erlach was conscious all the while
that the enemy was busy. But Laudonniere saw nothing to suspect, either
in his countenance, or in the proceedings of the conspirator. At noon,
Le Genré commenced his march, the only toils of which were over, when
once the canoe was in their possession. The vessel was amply large to
carry twenty soldiers as well as six, and the tide alone would bring
them to the fortress in an hour or two.

The labors of Alphonse began as soon as Le Genré had disappeared
with his party. The six men whom he had taken with him, were his
confederates. The object of the youth was to operate in security, free
from their _surveillance_. Still, his proceedings were conducted with
great caution. Laudonniere neither suspected his industry nor its
object. Arms and ammunition were accumulated in his chamber. Beauvais,
and one or two brave and trusty friends, were placed there without the
privity of any one, and the chess-party, including Marchand, Le Moyne
and Challus, were properly apprized of the arrangements for the game
between the former and Laudonniere. They were all amateurs, and there
was good wine to be had on such occasions. They did not refuse. Alphonse
took pains to noise about the expected meeting, and its object, and
showed his own interest by betting freely upon his captain. He soon
found those who were willing to risk their gold upon Marchand; and
the lively Frenchmen of La Caroline, were very soon all agog for the
approaching contest. But the labors of the youth did not cease here. He
explored the cellar of the building in which he and Laudonniere slept,
and there, as he expected, the arrangements had been already made for
sending the Chief and himself by the shortest possible road to heaven.
A keg of powder had been wedged in beneath the beams, with a train,
following which, on hands and knees, Alphonse was conducted under the
old bath-house, till he found himself beneath that of Le Genré. He did
not disturb the train. He simply withdrew the keg of powder, carefully
putting back, in the manner he found them, the old boxes and piles of
wood, with which the incendiary had wedged it between the beams. This
done, he rolled the keg before him over the path, by which it had
evidently come, beneath the bath-house, and to that of Le Genré. Here
he left it, still connected with the train of powder, but rather less
distant from the match than Le Genré had ever contemplated. Perhaps, he
sprinkled the train anew with fresh powder--it is certain that he went
away secure and satisfied, long before Le Genré returned from his
expedition, with the canoe of Satouriova.




CHAPTER IV.


At the hour appointed that night, for the contest between the chess
players, Marchand, accompanied by Le Moyne and Challus, made his
appearance in the apartments of René Laudonniere. Those of Alphonse
D'Erlach were already occupied by four or five trusty fellows; and the
arms which filled the apartment were ample for the defence of the party,
while in the building, against any number assailing from without. The
foresight of Alphonse had made all the necessary preparations, to
encounter any foe, who might, after the explosion, attempt to carry
their object in a bold way. He had no fear of this, but his habitual
forethought led to the precautions. Meanwhile, of the designs against
him and of the means taken for his safety, Laudonniere had not the
slightest suspicion. His thoughts were occupied with one danger
only--that of being beaten by Marchand. He valued himself upon his
play--was one of those persons who never suffer themselves to be beaten
when they can possibly help it--even by a lady. If our captain made
any preparations, that day, it was for the supper that night, and the
contest which was to follow it. His instruction, on the first matter,
given to his cook, he retired to his chamber and exercised himself
throughout the day in a series of studies in the game--planning new
combinations to be brought into play, if possible, in the contest which
was to follow. His welcome to Marchand declared the opinion which he
himself entertained of his studies.

"I shall beat you, Marchand."

"You can't--you shan't," was the ready answer; "you're not my match,
captain."

This answer piqued Laudonniere.

"We shall see--we shall see; not your match! Well! we shall see."

We need not waste time upon the preliminaries of the contest. Enough
that, about ten o'clock at night, we find the rival players placed at
the table; the opposing pieces arrayed in proper order of battle, with
Le Moyne and Challus, looking on with faces filled with expectation and
curiosity. The face of Alphonse D'Erlach might also be perceptible, in a
momentary glance over the shoulders of one or other of the parties; but
his movements were capricious, and, passing frequently between his own
and the chamber of Laudonniere, he only looked at intervals upon the
progress of the game. Unhappily, the details of this great match, the
several moves, and the final position of the remaining pieces, at the
end of the contest, have not been preserved to us, though it is not
improbable that the painter Le Moyne, as well as Challus, took notes of
it. Enough, that Laudonniere put forth all his skill, exercised all his
caution, played as slowly and heedfully as possible, and was----but we
anticipate. Marchand, on the contrary, seemed never more indifferent. He
scarcely seemed to look at the board--played promptly, even rapidly, and
wore one of those cool, almost contemptuous, countenances which seemed
to say, "I know myself and my enemy, and feel sure that I have no
cause of fear." That his opinions were of this character is beyond all
question; but, though his countenance expressed as much, Laudonniere
reassured himself with the reflection that Marchand was well understood
to be one of those fortunate persons who know admirably how to disguise
their real emotions, however deeply they may be excited or anxious.
Laudonniere's self-esteem was not deficient, in the absence of better
virtues. He had his vanity at chess, and the game was so played, that
the issue continued doubtful, except possibly to one of the spectators,
almost to the last moment. Leaving the parties at the board, silent and
studious, let us turn to the counsels of the conspirators, whom we must
not suppose to be idle all this time.

They had assembled--half a dozen of them at least--and were in close
conference at the quarters of La Roquette, at the opposite extremity of
the fortress. They were all excited to the highest pitch of expectation.
The hour was drawing nigh for the attempt, and all eyes were turned upon
Le Genré.

"It is half past eleven," he exclaimed, "and the thing is to be done.
But what is to be done, if those men whom we hold doubtful should take
courage, and, in the moment of uproar take arms against us? We have
made no preparations for this event. Now, this firing the train from my
lodgings is but the work of a boy. It may be done by any body. It is
more fitting that, with six or eight select men, well armed, I should be
in reserve, ready to encounter resistance should there be any after the
explosion."

Villemain, a youth of twenty-two, a dark, sinister-looking person,
slight and short, promptly volunteered to fire the train. His offer was
at once accepted.

"It is half-past eleven, you say? I will go at once," said Villemain.

"We will go with you," cried La Roquette and Stephen Le Genevois in the
same breath.

"No! no! not so!" said Le Genré. "You have each duties to perform. You
must scatter yourselves as much as possible, so as to increase the alarm
at the proper moment. There will be little danger, I grant you, with
Laudonniere, and that imp of the devil, D'Erlach, out of the way; but it
must be prepared for. Once show the rest that these are done for, and we
shall do as we think proper."

"What a fortunate thing for us is this game of chess. It disposes of
the only persons we could not so easily have managed;" said Fourneaux.
"Boxes them up, as one may say, so that they only need a mark upon them
to be ready for shipment."

"And yet, somehow, I could wish," said Le Genevois, "that Marchand were
not among them. I like that fellow. He is so bold, so blunt, and plays
his game just as if it were his religion."

"I could wish to save the painter, if any," remarked La Roquette; "but
at all events, we shall inherit his pictures."

"Bah! let the devil take him and them together! Why bother about such
stuff; what's his pictures of the country to us, when the country itself
is our own, to keep or to quit just as it pleases us? We are wasting
time. Where's Villemain?"

"Here--ready!"

"Depart, then," said Le Genré; "the sooner you light the match after you
reach my quarters, the better. We shall be ready for the blast."

"He is gone!" said Fourneaux.

"Let us follow, and each to his task;" cried Le Genré. "Each of you
take care of the flying timbers; find you covers as you may. My men are
mustered behind the old granary. _Adieu, my friends_,--the time has
come!"

With these words, the company dispersed, each seeking his several
position and duty. Let us adjourn our progress to the chamber of
Laudonniere, where that meditative gamester still sits deliberate, with
knotted brow, watching the movements of Marchand.




CHAPTER V.


The game was still unfinished. The repeater of Alphonse D'Erlach was in
his hand, as he entered from his own chamber, and threw a hasty glance
across the chess-board. There Laudonniere sate, seeing nothing but the
pieces before him. He was in the brownest of studies. His thoughts were
wholly with the game, which had the power of contracting his forehead
with a more serious anxiety than possibly all the cares of his colony
had done. His opponent was the very personification of well-satisfied
indifference. He leaned back in his seat, smiling grimly, and with a
wink, now and then, to those who watched and waited upon the movements
of Laudonniere. Alphonse D'Erlach smiled also. The slightest shade of
anxiety might be observed upon his brow, and his lips were more rigidly
compressed than usual. He leaned quietly towards the board, and remarked
indifferently--

"I see you are nearly at the close of your game."

"Indeed!" said Laudonniere, with some sharpness in his accents,--"and
pray Monsieur Alphonse, how do you see that?"

"You will finish by twelve," was the reply. "I see that it now lacks but
a few minutes of that hour."

"Pshaw, Monsieur!" exclaimed Laudonniere--"you talk illogically, you
know nothing about it. Chess is one of those games----"

And he proceeded to expatiate upon the latent resources of the game, and
how a good player might retrieve a bad situation in the last perilous
extremity, by a lucky diversion.

"But there is no such extremity now," he continued to say, "and it is
not improbable that we shall keep up the struggle till morning. The game
cannot finish under an hour, let him do his best, even if he conquers in
the end, which is very far from certain, though I confess he has some
advantages."

"We shall see," was the reply, as Alphonse left the room, and returned
in a few moments after. It was not observed by the parties, so intent
were they on the game, that he now made his appearance in complete
armor, nor did they hear the bustle in the adjoining apartment. Alphonse
still held his watch in his grasp.

"The game is nearly finished. According to my notion, you have but two
minutes for it."

"Two! how!" said Laudonniere, not lifting his head.

"But one!"

"There!" said Laudonniere, making the move that Marchand had
anticipated. Marchand bent forward with extended finger to the white
queen, when a shade of uneasiness might be traced by a nice observer
in the countenance of D'Erlach. His lips were suddenly and closely
compressed. The hand of the timepiece was upon the fatal minute. On a
sudden, a hissing sound was heard, and, in the next instant, the
house reeled and quivered as if torn from its foundation. A deep roar
followed, as if the thunderbolt had just broke at their feet, and the
whole was succeeded by a deafening ringing sound in all their ears.

"Jesus--mercy!" exclaimed Laudonniere--"The magazine!"

"Checkmate!" cried Marchand, as he set down the white queen in the final
position which secured the game.

"Ay! it is checkmate to more games than one! Gentlemen, to arms, and
follow me!" exclaimed Alphonse. "We are safe now!"




CHAPTER VI.


They rushed out, and were immediately joined by the select party from
the chamber of D'Erlach, all armed to the teeth. Another party, under
Bon Pre, of which none knew but the same person, encountered them
when they emerged into the _Place D'Armes_. Alphonse led the way with
confidence, and, while all was uproar and confusion below--while men
were seen scattered throughout the area, uncertain where to turn, the
sharp, stern voice of command was heard in their midst, in tones that
forbade the idea of surprise. The drums rolled. The faithful were soon
brought together, and presented such an orderly and strong array, that
conspiracy would have been confounded by their appearance, even was
there nothing else in the event to palsy their enterprise. But their
engine had exploded in their own house. The dwelling of Laudonniere
was only shaken by the explosion. It was that of Le Genré which was
overthrown, and was now in flames. Its blazing timbers were soon
scattered, and the flames extinguished, when the body of the conspirator
was drawn forth, blackened and mangled, from the place where he had met
his death; still grasping between his fingers the fragment of match with
which he had lighted the train to his own destruction. The conspirators,
in an instant, felt all their feebleness. Already were the trusted
soldiers of Laudonniere approaching them. Baffled in the scheme from
which they had promised themselves so much, and apprehending worse
dangers, they lost all confidence in themselves and one another; and
Le Genré, apprehending everything, seizing the moment of greatest
confusion, leaped the walls of the fortress, and succeeded in escaping
to the woods. The other leading conspirators, Le Genevois, La Fourneaux,
and La Roquette, at first determined not to fly, not yet dreaming that
they were the objects of suspicion; but when they beheld Bon Pre, late
one of their associates, marshalling one of the squads of Laudonniere,
they at once conjectured the mode and the extent of the discovery. They
saw that they had been betrayed, and soon followed the example of Le
Genré. In regard to the inferior persons concerned in the conspiracy,
D'Erlach said nothing to Laudonniere, and counselled Bon Pre to silence
also. He was better pleased that they should wholly escape than that the
colony should lose their services, and easily persuaded himself that
in driving Le Genré and his three associates from the field, he had
effectually paralyzed the spirit of faction within the fortress. He
had made one mistake, however, but for which he might not have been
so easily content. Not anticipating the change in the plan of the
conspirators, by which it had been confided to Villemain to fire the
train instead of Le Genré, he had naturally come to the conclusion that
the only victim was the chief conspirator. He was soon undeceived, and
his chagrin and disappointment were great accordingly.

"Whose carcass is this?" demanded Laudonniere, as they threw out the
mangled remains of the incendiary from the scene of ruin.

"That of your lieutenant, Le Genré," was the answer of D'Erlach, given
without looking at the object.

"Not so!" was the immediate reply of more than one of the persons
present. "This is quite too slight and short a person for Le Genré."

"Who can it be, then?" said D'Erlach, looking closely at the body, which
was torn and blackened almost beyond identification. The face of the
corpse was washed, and with some difficulty it was recognized as that
of Philip Villemain, a thoughtless youth, whom levity rather than evil
nature had thrown into the meshes of conspiracy.

"But what does it all mean, Alphonse?" demanded the bewildered
Laudonniere, not yet recovered from his astonishment and alarm.

"Treason! as I told you!" was the reply. "There lies one of the
traitors--the poor tool of a cunning which escapes. I had looked to
make his principal perish by his own petard. But we must look to this
hereafter. We must stir the woods to-morrow. They will shelter the arch
traitor for a season only. Enough now, captain, that we are safe. Let us
in to our fish. Those trout were of the finest, and I somehow have a
monstrous appetite for supper."




XIII.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.


The policy of Laudonniere, influenced by the judgment of Alphonse
D'Erlach suffered the proceedings of the conspiracy to pass without
farther scrutiny. His chief care was to provide against future attempts
of the same character. He had been for some time past engaged, among
other labors, in putting the fortress in the best possible order, and
he now strenuously addressed all his efforts to the completion of this
work. A portion of his force was employed in sawing plank, and getting
out timber; others were engaged in making brick for buildings, at or
near an Indian village called Saravahi, which stood about a league and a
half from the fort, upon an arm of the same river; others were employed
in gathering food, and still other parties in exploring the Indian
settlements for traffic. Le Genré, meanwhile, wrote to Laudonniere, in
repentant language, from the neighboring forests. He had taken shelter
among the red-men,--probably of the tribes of Satouriova, at present the
enemy of the Frenchmen. He admitted that he deserved death, but declared
his sorrow for his crime and entreated mercy. But his professions did
not soothe or deceive his superior. About this time, a vessel with
supplies arrived from France which enabled Laudonniere to send
despatches home, containing a full narrative of the events which had
passed. It was the misfortune of the garrison to have received an
addition by the arrival of this vessel. Six or seven of the most
refractory of the soldiers of the garrison were put on board ship, and
others left in their place with our captain. These proved in the end,
quite as mischievous as those which he had dismissed. They leagued with
the old discontents of the colony. They stole the barks and boats of the
garrison, ran away to sea, and became picaroons, seizing, among others,
upon a Spanish vessel of the Island of Cuba, from which they gathered a
quantity of gold and silver. Laudonniere proceeded to build other boats;
which were seized when finished by the leaders of a new conspiracy,
among whom were La Fourneaux, Stephen le Genevois, and others who were
distinguished in this manner before. They finally seized Laudonniere in
person, and extorted from him a privateer's commission. Then, compelling
him to yield up artillery, guns, and the usual munitions of war,
together with Trenchant, his most faithful pilot, they hurried away to
sea under the command of one of his sergeants, Bertrand Conferrant,
while La Croix became their ensign. Thus was the commandant of La
Caroline stripped of every vessel of whatever sort, his stores
plundered, and his garrison greatly lessened by desertions, while select
detachments of his men, under favorite lieutenants, were engaged in new
explorations among the red-men of the country. Our detailed narrative of
these proceedings will employ the following chapters.




XIV.

THE SEDITION AT LA CAROLINE.--Chap. I.

MOUVEMENT.


There was bustle of no common sort in the fortress of La Caroline. The
breezes of September had purged and relieved of its evil influences the
stagnant atmosphere of summer. The sick of the garrison had crawled
forth beneath the pleasant shadows of the palms, that grew between
the fortress and the river banks, and there were signs of life and
animation in the scene and among its occupants, which testified to the
favorable change which healthier breezes and more encouraging moral
influences, were about to produce among the sluggish inhabitants of our
little colony. There were particular occasions for movement apart from
the cheering aspects of the season. Enterprise was afoot with all its
eagerness and hope. Men were to be seen, in armor, hurrying to and fro,
busy in the work of preparation, while Monsieur Laudonniere himself,
just recovered from a severe illness, conspicuous in the scene, appeared
to have cast aside no small portion of his wonted apathy and inactivity.
He was in the full enjoyment of his authority. He had baffled the
disease which preyed upon him, and had defeated the conspiracy by which
his life and power had been threatened. He was now disposed to think
lightly of the dangers he had passed, though his having passed them, in
safety, had tended greatly to encourage his hope and to stimulate his
adventure. He now stood, in full uniform, at the great gate of the
fortress, reading at intervals from a paper in his grasp, while
extending his orders to his lieutenants. He was evidently preparing to
make considerable use of his authority. It is, perhaps, permitted to a
Gascon to do so, at all seasons, even when he owes his security to
better wits than his own, and has achieved his successes in his own
despite. Our worthy captain of the Huguenot garrison upon the river of
May, was not the less disposed to insist upon his authority, because it
had been saved to him without his own participation. It might have
been difficult, under any circumstances, to persuade him of that, and
certainly, the conviction, even if he had entertained it, would, at this
juncture, have done nothing to dissipate or lessen the confident hope
which prompted his present purposes. The present was no ordinary
occasion. It was as an ally of sovereigns that Laudonniere was
extending his orders. He had, already, on several occasions, permitted
his lieutenants to take part in the warfare between the domestic
chieftains, and he was now preparing to engage in a contest which
threatened to be of more than common magnitude and duration. A warfare
that seldom knew remission had been long waged between the rival
warriors, whose several dominions embraced the western line of the great
Apalachian chain. Already had the Huguenots fought on the side of the
great potentate Olata Utina, commonly called Utina, against another
formidable prince called Potanou. He was now preparing to second with
arms the ambition of Kings Hostaqua and Onathaqua, who were preparing
for the utter annihilation of the power of the formidable Potanou. Of
the two former kings, such had been the account brought to Laudonniere,
that he at first imagined them to be Spaniards. They were described as
going to battle in complete armor, with their breasts, arms and thighs
covered with plates of gold, and with a helmet or headpiece of the same
metal. Their armor defied the arrows of the savages, and proved the
possession of a degree of civilization very far superior to anything
in the experience or customs of the red-men. Subsequently it was
ascertained that they were Indians like the rest, differing from the
rest, however, in this other remarkable trait, that, while all the other
tribes painted their faces red, these warriors of Hostaqua and Onathaqua
employed black only to increase the formidable appearance which they
made in battle. The golden armor used by this people, and the excess
of the precious metals which this habit implied, were sufficient
inducements for our Huguenot leader to attempt his present enterprise.
It had furnished the argument of the conspirators against him, that he
done so little towards the discovery of the precious metals; having
provoked that cupidity, which his necessities alone compelled him to
refuse to gratify. His error, at the present moment was, in employing
other than the discontents of his colony in making the discovery. But of
this hereafter.

Laudonniere had not been wholly neglectful, even while he seemed to
sleep upon his arms, of the reported treasures of the country. He had
sent two of his men, La Roche Ferrière a clever young ensign, and
another, to dwell in the dominions of King Utina, and these two had been
absent all the summer, engaged in rambling about the country. Others,
as we have seen, were sent in other directions. Lieutenant Achille
D'Erlach, the brother of the favorite Alphonse, had been absent in
this way, during all the period when Laudonniere was threatened by
conspiracy; and it was now decreed that, even while his brother
continued absent, Alphonse should depart also. The eagerness of
Laudonniere would admit of no delay. His curiosity had just received
a new impulse from a present which had been sent him by Hostaqua,
consisting of a "Luzerne's skinne full of arrows, a couple of bowes,
foure or five skinnes painted after their manner, and a chaine of silver
weighing about a pounde weight." These came with overtures of friendship
and alliance, which the Huguenot chief did not deem it polite to
disregard. He sent to the savage king, "two whole sutes of apparell,
with certain cutting hookes or hatchets," and prepared to follow up his
gifts, by sending a small detachment of picked soldiers, under Alphonse
D'Erlach, still more thoroughly to fathom the secrets of the country,
but ostensibly to unite with Hostaqua and his ally against the potent
savage Potanou, who was described as a man of boundless treasures, also.

The bearer of these presents from Hostaqua was an inferior chieftain
named Oolenoe. This cunning savage, of whom we shall know more
hereafter, did not fail to perceive that the ruling passion of our
Huguenots was gold. It was only, therefore, to mumble the precious word
in imperfect Gallic--to extend his hand vaguely in the direction of the
Apalachian summits, and cry "gold--gold!" and the adroit orator of the
Lower Cherokees, on behalf of his tribe or nation, readily commanded
the attention of his gluttonous auditors. His arguments and entreaties
proved irresistible, and the present earnestness of Laudonniere, at La
Caroline, was in preparing for this expedition. To conquer Potanou, and
to obtain from Hostaqua the clues to the precious region where the gold
was reputed to grow, with almost a vegetable nature, was the motive for
arming his European warriors. It was also his policy, borrowed from that
of the Spaniards, to set the native tribes upon one another;--a fatal
policy in the end, since they must invariably, having first destroyed
the inferior, turn upon the superior, through the irresistible force of
habit. But, even with the former object, we do not perceive that there
was any necessity to take any undue pains in its attainment. Tribes that
live by hunting only, must unavoidably come into constant collision. No
doubt the natural tendency of the savage might be stimulated and made
more inveterate and active, by European arts; and Laudonniere, however
Huguenot, was too little the Christian to forbear them. With this policy
he proposed to justify himself to those who were averse to the present
enterprise. One of these was his favorite, Alphonse D'Erlach, the youth
to whom he owed his life. This young man, on the present occasion,
approached him where he stood, eager and excited with the business
of draughting the proper officers and men for the present hopeful
expedition. At a little distance, stood the stern old savage, Oolenoe,
grimly looking on with a satisfaction at his heart, which was not
suffered to appear on his immovable features. The artist of the
_statuesque_ might have found in his attitude and appearance, an
admirable model. While his eye caught and noted every look and movement,
and his ear every known and unknown sound and accent, the calm unvarying
expression of his glance and muscles was that of the most perfect and
cool indifference. They only did not sleep. He leaned against a sapling
that stood some twenty paces removed from the entrance of the fort, a
loose cotton tunic about his loins, and his bow and quiver suspended
from his shoulders, in a richly-stained and shell-woven belt, the ground
work of which was cotton also. A knife, the gift of Laudonniere, was the
only other weapon which he bore; but this was one of those very precious
acquisitions which the Indian had already purposed to bury with him.

As Alphonse D'Erlach approached his commander, a close observer might
have seen in the eyes of Oolenoe, an increased brilliancy of expression.
The sentiment which it conveyed was not that of love. It is with quick,
intelligent natures to comprehend, as by an instinct of their own, in
what quarter to find sympathies, and whence their antipathies are to
follow. Oolenoe had soon discovered that D'Erlach was not friendly to
his objects. With this conviction there arose another feeling, that of
contempt, with which the extreme youth, and general effeminacy of
the young man's appearance, had inspired him. He did not _seem_ the
warrior,--and the Indian is not apt to esteem the person of whose
conduct in battle he has doubts. Besides, the costume of D'Erlach was
that of dandyism; and, though the North American savage was no humble
proficient in the arts of the toilet, yet these are never ventured upon
until the reputation of the hunter and warrior have been acquired. Of
the abilities of D'Erlach, in these respects, Oolenoe had no knowledge;
and his doubts, therefore, and disrespects, were the natural result
of his conviction that the youth was suspicious of, and hostile to,
himself. Of these feelings, D'Erlach knew nothing, and perhaps cared as
little. His features, as he drew nigh to Laudonniere, were marked with
more gravity and earnestness than they usually expressed; and, touching
the wrist of his commander, as he approached him, he beckoned him
somewhat farther from his followers:

"It is not too late," said he, "to escape this arrangement."

"And why seek to escape it, Alphonse?" replied the other, with something
like impatience in his tones.

"For the best of reasons. You can have no faith in this savage. If there
be this abundance of gold in the country, why brings he so little. Where
are his proofs? But this is not all. But lately our enemy, jealous of
our presence, and only respectful because of his fears, we can have no
confidence in him, as an ally. He will lead the men whom you give him,
into ambuscade--into remote lands, where provision will be found with
difficulty,--require to be fought for at every step, and where the best
valor in the world, and the best conduct will be unavailing for their
extrication."

"To prevent this danger, Alphonse, you shall have command of the
detachment," said Laudonniere, with a dry accent, and a satirical glance
of the eye.

"I thank you, sir, for this proof of confidence," replied the other, no
ways disquieted, "and shall do my best to avoid or prevent the evils
that I apprehend from it; but----"

"I have every confidence in your ability to do so, Alphonse," said the
other, interrupting him in a tone which still betrayed the annoyance
which he felt from the expostulations of his favorite. The latter
proceeded, after a slight but respectful inclination of the head.

"But there is another consideration of still greater importance. Your
security in La Caroline is still a matter of uncertainty. You know not
the extent of the late conspiracy. You know not who are sound, and who
doubtful, among your men. Le Genré, Fourneaux, Le Genevois, and La
Roquette, are still in the woods. You are weakening yourself, lessening
the resources of the fortress, and may, at any moment----"

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Laudonniere, with renewed impatience. "You are only
too suspicious, Alphonse. You make too much of this conspiracy. It does
not seem to me that it was ever so dangerous. At all events, the danger
is over, the ringleaders banished and in the woods, and will rot there,
if the wolves do not devour them. They, at least, shall not be made
wolves of for me."

D'Erlach bowed in silence. His mouth was sealed against all further
expostulation. He saw that it was hopeless--that his captain had got a
fixed idea, and men of few ideas, making one of them a favorite,
are generally as immovable as death. Besides, Alphonse saw that the
obligations which he had so lately conferred upon his commander, in
baffling the conspiracy of Le Genré, by his vigilance, had somewhat
wounded his _amour propre_. It is a misfortune, sometimes, to have been
too useful. The consciousness of a benefit received, is apt to be very
burdensome to the feeble nature. The quick instinct of Alphonse D'Erlach
readily perceived the condition of his captain's heart. A momentary
pause ensued. Lifting his cap, he again addressed him, but with
different suggestions.

"Am I to hope, sir, that you really design to honor me with this
command?"

"Certainly, if you wish it, Alphonse."

"I certainly wish it, sir, if the expedition be resolved on."

"It is resolved on," said Laudonniere, with grave emphasis.

"I shall then feel myself honored with the command."

"Be it yours, lieutenant. In one hour be ready to receive your orders."

"One minute, sir, will suffice for all personal preparation;" and, with
the formal customs of military etiquette, the two officers bowed, as the
younger of them withdrew to his quarters. In one hour, he was on the
march with twenty men, accompanied by Oolenoe and his dusky warriors.




CHAPTER II.--THE OUTLAWS.


The little battalion of Alphonse D'Erlach marched along the edge of
a wood which skirted a pleasantly rising ground--one of those gentle
undulations which serve to relieve the monotonous levels of the lower
regions of Florida. Deep was the umbrage--dense in its depth of green,
and dark in its voluminous foliage, the thicket which overlooked their
march. Their eyes might not penetrate the enclosure, from which eyes of
hate were yet looking forth upon them. The wood concealed the outlaws
who had lately made their escape from La Caroline, after the exposure
of their conspiracy. They had not ceased to be conspirators. Bold, bad
men--sleepless discontents, yearning for plunder and power--the defeat
of their schemes, and the necessity of their sudden flight from the
scene of their operations, had not lessened the bitterness of their
feelings, nor their propensity to evil. Fierce were the glances which
they shot forth upon the small troop which D'Erlach conducted before
their eyes on his purposes of doubtful policy. Little did he dream what
eyes were looking upon him. Could they have blasted with a glance or
curse, he had been transformed with all his followers where he passed.
But the three conspirators had no power for more than curses. These,
though "not loud, were deep." With clenched fists extended towards him
on his progress, they devoted him to the wrath of a power which they
did not themselves possess; and, watching his course through the parted
foliage, until he was fairly out of sight, they delivered themselves, in
muttered execrations, of the hate with which his very sight had inspired
them. Stephen Le Genevois was the first to speak. He was a stalwart
savage, of broad chest, black beard, and most dauntless expression.

"Death of my soul!" was his exclamation; "but that we have lost so much
by the game, it were almost merry to laugh at the way in which that brat
of a boy has outwitted us. We have been children in his hands."

"He is now in ours," said La Roquette, gloomily.

"Aye, if the Indian keeps his faith," was the desponding comment of
Fourneaux.

"And why should he not keep faith," said Le Genevois. "He has good
reason for it. When did the hope of plunder fail to secure the savage?"

"You must give him blood with it," responded Fourneaux.

"Aye, it must be seasoned. He must have blood," echoed La Roquette.

"Well, and why not? Do we not give him blood? will he not have this imp
of Satan in his power? may he not feed on him if he will? Aye, and upon
all his twenty!" exclaimed Le Genevois, fiercely.

"True--but----"

"But, but, but--ever with your buts! You lack confidence, courage,
heart, Fourneaux--you despair too easily! I wonder how you ever became
a conspirator!"

"I sometimes wonder myself. Ask La Roquette, there. He can tell you. I
owe it all to his magic."

"What says your magic now, Roquette--have you any signs for us?"

"Aye, good ones! We shall have what we desire. I have seen--I have said!
Be satisfied." This was spoken with due solemnity by the person in whom
the credulity of his companions had found sources of power unknown to
their experience.

"But why not show us what you have seen? Speak plainly, man. Out with
it, and leave that mysterious shaking of the head, which has really
nothing in it."

Such was the language of the more manly and impetuous Le Genevois. It
provoked only a fierce glance from the magician.

"All in good time," said the latter. "Be patient. We shall soon hear
from Oolenoe."

"Good! and you have seen that we shall be successful?" demanded
Fourneaux.

"We shall be successful."

"That will depend upon ourselves, rather than upon your visions, I'm
thinking," said Le Genevois. "We must have courage, my friends. The
signs are not good when we call for signs. If we despond, we are
undone."

"Stay--hark!" said Fourneaux, interrupting him eagerly. "I hear sounds."

"The wind only."

"No!--hist."

They bent forward in the attitude of listeners, but heard nothing. They
had begun again to speak, when an Indian, covered with leaves artfully
glued upon his person, stood suddenly among them. They started to their
feet and grasped their weapons.

"_Ami!_" was the single word of the intruder, at he stretched out his
arms in signification of friendship.

"Said I not?" demanded the magician, confidently. "This is our man."

His assurance was confirmed by the savage, who spoke the French
sufficiently to make himself understood. He came from Oolenoe, and a few
sentences sufficed to place both parties in possession of their mutual
plans. The outlaws were not without friends in La Caroline. They were to
find their way once more into that fortress. They had no fears from the
sagacity of Laudonniere, during the absence of the youthful but vigilant
D'Erlach; and, for the latter, he was to be disposed of by Oolenoe. And
now the question arose, who should venture to "bell the cat?" who should
venture himself within the walls of La Caroline?

"Ah!" said one of the conspirators, "if we could only bring Le Genré to
his senses. He would be the man."

"Speak nothing of him," cried Le Genevois, quickly; "he is no longer a
man. He is a priest. That defeat has killed his courage. He repents, and
is constantly writing to Laudonniere for mercy and pity, and all that
sort of thing. He must not know what we design."

"Who has seen him lately?"

"I know not. He was crossed to the other side of the river by Captain
Bourdet in his boats. He crossed to seek refuge with the people of
Mollova."

"He is not far, be sure. He will linger close to the fort, in the hope
to get back to it, and, finally, to France. He is not to be thought of
in this expedition."

"Who then?" was the demand of Le Genevois. "Somebody must muzzle the
cannon. Who? Who will take the peril and the glory of the enterprise,
and in the character of an Indian will put his head in the jaws of the
danger?"

The question remained unanswered. Fourneaux excused himself on a variety
of pleas, not one of which would be satisfactory with a brave man. La
Roquette declared that his magical powers were always valueless when
any restraint was set upon his person; in other words, he could better
perform his incantations when the danger threatened everybody but
himself. He certainly would not think of risking them within La
Caroline, while Laudonniere was in power. Besides "he had no arts of
imitation. He had no abilities as an actor." Stephen Le Genevois smiled
as he listened to their pleas and excuses.

"My friends!" he exclaimed. "Did you think that I would suffer a good
scheme to be spoiled by such as you? I but waited that you should
speak. This adventure is mine, and I claim it. I will return to La
Caroline. I will play the spy, and take the danger. Mark ye, now,
comrade!"--addressing the Indian,--"prepare me for the business. Clothe
me in copper, and make me what you please. I have no beauty that you
need fear to spoil."

Thus saying, he threw off, with an air of scornful recklessness, the
costume which he wore. Wild was the toilet, and wilder still the guise
of our buoyant Frenchman. In an open space within the thicket, beneath
a great moss-covered oak, which wore the beard of three centuries upon
his breast, the chief conspirator yielded himself to the hands of the
Indian. A keen knife shore from his head the thick black hair with which
it was covered. A thin ridge alone was suffered to remain upon the
coronal region, significant of the war-lock of that tribe of Apalachia,
to which Oolenoe belonged. The small golden droplets which hung from the
Frenchman's ears, were made to give way to a more massive ornament of
shells, cunningly strung upon a hoop of copper wire. His body, stripped
to the buff, was then stained with the brown juices of a native plant,
which, with other dye-stuffs, the Indian produced from his wallet. His
brow was then dyed with deeper hues of red--his cheeks tinged with spots
of the darkest crimson, while a heavy circlet of black, about his eyes,
gave to his countenance the aspect of a demon rather than that of a man.
This done, the savage displayed a small pocket mirror before the eyes
of the metamorphosed outlaw. With an oath of no measured emphasis, the
Frenchman bounded to his feet, his eyes flashing with a strange delight.

"It will do!" he shouted. "It likes me well! Were I now in France, there
would be no wonder beside myself. I should stir the envy of the men--I
should win the hearts of the women. I should be the loveliest monster.
Ho! Ho! Would that my voice would suit my visage!"

A cotton tunic with which the Indian had provided himself, was wrapped
round the loins of our new-made savage, his feet were cased with
moccasins, and his legs with leggins made of deerskin--a bow and quiver
at his shoulder--a knife in his girdle--a string of peäg or shells about
his neck;--and his toilet was complete. That very night, accompanied
by his Indian comrade, Stephen Le Genevois entered the walls of La
Caroline, bearing messages from Oolenoe and Alphonse D'Erlach--the
latter of which, we need scarcely say, were wholly fraudulent. The
credulous Laudonniere, delighted with assurances of success on the part
of his lieutenant, was not particularly heedful of the nature of the
evidence thus afforded him, and laid his head on an easy pillow, around
which danger hovered in almost visible forms, while he, unconsciously,
dreamed only of golden conquests, and discoveries which were equally
to result in fame and fortune. His guardian angel was withdrawn.
His mortified vanity had driven from his side the only person whose
vigilance might have saved him. His own unregulated will had yielded
him, bound, hand and foot, into the power of a relentless enemy.




CHAPTER III.--THE MIDNIGHT ARREST.


Sweet were the slumbers of Monsieur Laudonniere, commandant of the
fortress of La Caroline. Anxious was the wakening of Stephen Le
Genevois, the conspirator, who, in garbing himself after the fashion of
the Indian, had not succeeded in clothing his mind in the stolid and
stoic nature of his savage companion. The conspirators watched together
in one of the inner chambers of the fortress. They had not restricted
themselves to watching merely. Already had Le Genevois made his purpose
known to one of his ancient comrades. The name of this person was
La Croix. He was one of the trusted followers of Laudonniere, whose
superior cunning alone had saved him from suspicion, even that of
D'Erlach, at the detection of the former conspiracy. La Croix, in the
absence of the latter, was prepared for more decisive measures. He was
one of those whose insane craving for gold had surrendered him, against
all good policy, to the purposes of the conspirators. He was now
in charge of the watch. As captain of the night, he led the way to
the gates, which, at midnight, he cautiously threw open to the two
companions of Le Genevois. Fourneaux and Roquette had been waiting for
this moment. They were admitted promptly and in silence. Darkness was
around them. The fortress slept,--none more soundly than its commander.
In silence the outlaws led by La Croix, all armed to the teeth, made
their way to his chamber. The sentinel who watched before it, joined
himself to their number. They entered without obstruction and without
noise; and, ere the eyes of the sleeper could unclose to his danger, or
his lips cry aloud for succor, his voice was stifled in his throat by
thick bandagings of silk, and his limbs fastened with cords which, at
every movement of his writhing frame, cut into the springing flesh. He
was a prisoner in the very fortress, where, but that day, he exulted in
the consciousness of complete command. A light, held above his eyes,
revealed to him the persons of his assailants;--the supposed Indians, in
the outlaws whom he had banished, and others, whom, for the first time,
he knew as enemies. When his eyes were suffered to take in the aspects
of the whole group, he was addressed, in his own tongue, by the leading
conspirator.

"René Laudonniere," said Stephen Le Genevois, in his bitter tones, "you
are in our power. What prevents that we put you to death as you merit,
and thus revenge our disgrace and banishment?"

The wretched man, thus addressed, had no power to answer. The big tears
gathered in his eyes and rolled silently down his cheeks. He felt the
pang of utter feebleness upon him.

"We will take the gag from your jaws, if you promise to make no outcry.
Nod your head in token that you promise."

The prisoner had no alternative but to submit. He nodded, and the
kerchief was taken from his jaws.

"You know us, René Laudonniere?" demanded the conspirator.

"Stephen Le Genevois, I know you!" was the answer.

"'Tis well! You see to what you have reduced me. You have held a trial
upon me in my absence. You have sentenced me and my companions to
banishment. You have made us outlaws, and we are here! You see around
you none but those on whom you have exercised your tyranny. What hope
have you at their hands and mine? Savage as you have made me in aspect,
what should prevent that I show myself equally savage in performance.
The knife is at your throat, and there is not one of us who is not
willing to execute justice upon you. Are you prepared to do what we
demand?"

"What is it?"

"Read this paper."

A light was held close to the eyes of the prisoner, and the paper placed
near enough for perusal. The instrument was a commission of piracy--a
sort of half-legal authority, common enough in that day, to the marine
of all European countries, under maxims of morality such as made the
deeds of Drake, and Hawkins, and other British admirals, worthy of
all honor, which, in our less chivalric era, would consign them very
generally to the gallows.

As Laudonniere perused the document, he strove to raise himself, as
with a strong movement of aversion;--but the prompt grasp of Genevois
fastened him down to the pillow.

"No movement, or this!"--showing the dagger. "Have you read?"

"I will not sign that paper!" said the prisoner, hoarsely.

"Will you not?"

"Never!"

"You have heard the alternative!"

Laudonniere was silent.

"You do not speak! Beware, René Laudonniere. We have no tender mercies!
We are no children! We are ready for any crime. We have already incurred
the worst penalties, and have nothing to fear. But you can serve us,
living, quite as effectually as if dead. We do not want your miserable
fortress. We are not for founding colonies. It is your ships that we
will take, and your commission. We will spare your life for these.
Beware! Let your answer square with your necessities."

"Genevois!" said the prisoner, "even this shall be pardoned--you shall
all be pardoned--if you will forego your present purpose."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed the person addressed. "This to me! I scorn your
pardon as I do your person! Speak to what concerns you, and what is left
for you to do. Speak, and quickly, too, for the dawn must not find us
here."

"I will not sign!" said the prisoner, doggedly.

"Then you die!" and the dagger was uplifted.

"Strike--why do you stop?" exclaimed Fourneaux; "we can slay him, and
forge the paper."

His threatening looks and attitude, with the stern air which overspread
the visage of Genevois, and, indeed, of all around him contributed to
overcome the resolution of the wretched commander. Besides, a moment's
reflection served to satisfy him, that the conspirators, having gone
too far to recede, would not scruple at the further crime which they
threatened.

"Will my life be spared if I sign? Have I _your_ oath, Stephen Le
Genevois? I trust none other."

"By G--d and the Blessed Saviour! as I hope to be saved, René
Laudonniere, you shall have your life and freedom!"

"Undo my hands and give me the paper."

"The right hand only," said Fourneaux, with his accustomed timidity.

"Pshaw, unbind him!" exclaimed Genevois; "unbind him, wholly. There,
René Laudonniere, you are free!"

"I cannot forgive you, Genevois; you have disgraced me forever," said
the miserable man, as he dashed his signature upon the paper.

"You will survive it, _mon ami_," replied the other, with something like
contempt upon his features. "You are not the man to fret yourself into
fever, because of your hurts of honor. And now must you go with us to
the ships. We will muffle your jaws once more."

"You will not carry me with you," demanded the commander, with something
like trepidation in his accents.

"No! You were but an incumbrance. We will only take you to the ships,
and keep you safe until we are ready to cast off. To your feet, men, and
get your weapons ready. Softly, softly--we need rouse no other sleepers.
Onward,--the night goes!--away!"




XV.

THE MUTINEERS AT SEA.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.


For fifteen days was Laudonniere kept a close prisoner by the
conspirators on board of one of his own vessels, attended by one of
their own number, and denied all intercourse with his friends and
people. One of the objects of this rigid _duresse_, was the coercion of
the garrison. With its captain in their power, even were his followers
better prepared, with the proper spirit and energy, to give them
annoyance, they were thus able to put them at defiance; since any show
of hostility on the part of the garrison might be visited upon the head
of their prisoner. By this means they got possession of the armory, the
magazines, the granaries; and, when ready to put to sea, and not before,
did they release the unhappy commandant from his degrading durance.

It was at dawn on the morning of the 8th of December, that the two
barks which the conspirators had prepared for sea, might have been
seen dropping down the waters of May River, their white sails gleaming
through the distant foliage. At the same moment, with head bowed upon
his bosom, the unhappy Laudonniere, for the first time fully conscious
of his weakness and his misfortune,--deeply sensible now to all his
shame as he reflected upon the roving commission which had been extorted
from him by the mutineers,--turned his footsteps from the banks of the
river, and made his way slowly towards the fortress;--confident no
longer in his strength--suspicious of the faith of all around him--and
half tempted to sink his shame forever, with his dishonored person,
in the waters of the river which had witnessed his disgrace. But he
gathered courage to live when he thought of the revenge which fortune
might yet proffer to his embrace.

We must now follow the progress of our maritime adventurers. They had,
as we have seen, succeeded in fitting out two barks; one on which was
confided to Bertrand Conferrant, one of Laudonniere's sergeants; the
other to a soldier named D'Orange. La Croix was named the ensign to the
former; Trenchant, the pilot of Laudonniere, was compelled, against
his will, to assume this station on board the vessel of D'Orange. The
original plan of the rovers was to pursue a common route, and mutually
to support each other: but the plans of those who have given themselves
up to excess, are always marked by caprices, and the two parties
quarrelled before they had left the mouth of the river. They had
arranged to descend together upon one of the Spanish islands of the
Antilles, and on Christmas night, while the inhabitants were assembled
at the midnight mass, at their church, to set upon and murder the
inmates and sack the building and the town. Their dissentions affected
this purpose; and when they emerged from the river May, they parted
company;--one of the vessels keeping along the coast, in order the more
easily to double the cape and make for Cuba;--the other boldly standing
out to sea and making for the Lucayos. Both vessels proceeded with
criminal celerity to the performance of those acts of piracy which had
seduced them from their duties. The bark which took her way along the
coast, was that of D'Orange. Near a place called Archaha, he took a
brigantine laden with _cassavi_, the Indian breadstuff, and a small
quantity of wine. Two men were slain, two taken in a sharp encounter
with the people of Archaha. Transferring themselves and stores to the
brigantine which they had captured, on account of its superiority, the
pirates made sail for the cape of Santa Maria; and from thence, after
repairing a leak in their vessel, to Baracou, a village of the island of
Jamaica. Here they found an empty caravel which they preferred to their
brigantine; and after a frolic among the people of Baracou, which lasted
five days, they made a second transfer of their persons and material to
the caravel. Dividing their force between their own and this vessel,
which was of fifty or sixty tons burthen, they made for the Cape of
Tiburon, where they met with a _patach_, to which chase was immediately
given. A sharp encounter followed. The _patach_ was well manned and
provided, for her size. She had particular reasons for giving battle
and for fighting bravely. Her cargo was very precious. It consisted of
a large supply of gold and silver plate and bullion, merchandise, wines,
provisions, and much besides to tempt the rovers, and quite as much to
move the crew to a vigorous defence. But, over all, it had a-board the
Governor of Jamaica himself, with two of his sons. This nobleman was
equally fearless and skilful. He directed the resistance of his people,
and gave them efficient example. But the force of our rovers was quite
too great to be successfully resisted by one so small as that of the
Governor, and he directed his people to yield the combat, as soon as he
saw its hopelessness.

Greatly, indeed, were our free companions delighted with their
successes. The treasure they had acquired was large, but they were not
the persons to be content with it. They were apprised of another caravel
laden with greater wealth and a more valuable merchandise, and they
followed eagerly after this prey. But she escaped them, getting in
safety into the port of Jamaica. The governor was a subtle politician.
He soon discovered the character of the men with whom he had to deal,
and he wrought successfully upon their cupidity. He proposed to ransom
himself at an enormous price; and, with this object, they stood towards
the mouth of the harbor in which the caravel had taken shelter. Blinded
by their avarice, our rovers were persuaded to suffer the governor to
despatch his two boys to their mother, his wife, in a boat which his
captors were to furnish. The boys were to procure his ransom, and
supplies were to be sent to the vessel also. But the secret counsel
of the Governor to his sons, contemplated no such ransom as the free
companions desired. They knew not that, in one of the contiguous havens,
there lay two or more vessels, superior in burthen to their own, and
manned and equipped for war. The Governor, with but a look and a word,
beheld his sons depart. The lads knew the meaning of that look, and that
single word; they felt all the ignominy of their father's position, and
they knew their duty. A noble and courageous dame was the mother of
those boys. With tears and tremors did she clasp her children to her
breast; with horror did she hear of her lord's captivity; but she
yielded to no feminine weaknesses which could retard her in the
performance of her duty. Her movements were prompt and resolute. The
Governor concealed his anxieties, and spoke fairly to his captors.
Quite secure in their strength and position, eager with expectations
of further gain, rioting in the rich wines they had already won, they
entertained no apprehensions of defeat or disappointment. They lay at
the mouth of the haven, which stretched away for two leagues into the
mainland. Here, suddenly, about the break of day, they saw emerging
through a heavy fog, a couple of vessels of greater size than their own.
Apprehending no danger, the pirates were taken by surprise. The enemy
was upon them before they could prepare for action, and they had
scarcely an opportunity to attempt their flight. A volley of Spanish
shot soon rang against their sides, and as the trumpets of D'Orange,
from his brigantine, blew to announce their danger to those in charge of
the captured vessels, he cut his cables and stood off for sea, closely
pressed by his swift-footed enemies. Then it was that, watching his
moment, the Governor of Jamaica seized upon the enemy nearest him and
plunged him into the sea. His example was followed by his people, and
the Spaniards coming up with the captured _patach_ at the fortunate
moment, the Frenchmen, with whom it was left in charge, threw down
their arms, and yielded themselves at discretion to their enemies. Both
vessels were recovered, while the brigantine of D'Orange, well navigated
by Trenchant, succeeded in showing a clean pair of heels to her
pursuers. The chase continued for several leagues without success; and
the brigantine, passing Cape des Aigrettes, and the Cape of St. Anthony,
swept on to the Havanna. This was the desired destination of D'Orange;
but his people were not wholly with him. Several of them, like
Trenchant, the pilot, had been forced to accompany the expedition. These
were anxious to escape from a connection which was not only against
their desires, but was likely, by the crimes of their superiors, to
result in the destruction of the innocent. Accordingly, under the
guidance of Trenchant, a conspiracy was conceived against the
conspirators. The wind serving, while D'Orange slept, Trenchant passed
the channel of the Bahamas, and made over for the settlement on May
River. The route taken was unsuspected, until the morning of the 25th
of March, when they found themselves upon the coast of Florida. By this
time, it was too late to prevent the determination of those who had
resolved upon their return to La Caroline. The latter had grown strong
by consultation together, and the true men urged the less guilty of the
conspirators with promises of pardon at the hands of Laudonniere. This
hope gradually extended to some of the most guilty; but the discussion
which led to this conclusion, was productive of a scene which strikingly
illustrates the profligacy of the human heart, particularly when it once
throws off the restraints of social authority. The unhappy criminals, in
nominal command of the roving brigantine were prepared to dance upon the
brink of the precipice,--to sport with the dangers immediately before
them, and convert into a farce the very tragedy whose denouêment they
had every reason to dread. Well charged with wine, and quaffing full
beakers to fortune, they suddenly conceived the idea of a mock court
of justice, for the trial of their own offences. The idea was scarcely
suggested than it was fastened upon by the wanton imaginations of this
besotted crew. The court was convened, on the deck of the vessel, as
it would have been at La Caroline. One of the parties personated the
character of the judge: another counterfeited the costume and manner
of Laudonniere, and appeared as the accuser. Counsel was heard on both
sides. There were officers to wait upon and obey the decrees of the
court. The cases were elaborately argued. Heavy accusations were made;
ingenious pleas put in; and in the very excess of their recklessness,
their ingenuity became triumphant. They showed themselves excellent
actors, if not excellent men; and caught from their own art, a momentary
respite from the oppressive doubts which hung upon their destinies. It
was somewhat ominous, however, that their judge--himself one of the most
guilty--should say to them, when summing up for judgment--"Make your
case as clear as you please--exert your ingenuity as you may, in finding
excuses, yet, take my word for it, that, when you reach La Caroline, if
Laudonniere causes you not to swing for it, then I will never take him
for an honest man again."

This may have been intended as a mere jocularity. But fate frequently
shapes our own words, as she does those of the oracle, in that double
sense, which confounds the judgment while it ensures the doom. The
counterfeit judge spoke prophetically. It was only when the offenders
were fairly in the hands of Laudonniere, beyond escape or remedy, that
they were taught to apprehend that they had too greatly exaggerated
their sense of his mercy. He detached immediately from the rest four of
the leading criminals, who were put in fetters. That was the judgment
that prefigured their doom. They were sentenced to be hanged. They
strove to question this judgment. The pleasant jest which they had
enjoyed on ship-board was quite too recent, to suffer them to forego the
hope that this summary decision upon their fate would turn out a jest
also. But when they could doubt no longer, three of them took to their
prayers with an appearance of much real contrition. The fourth,--a
sturdy villain,--still had his faith in human agency. He appealed for
protection to his friends and comrades.

"What," said he, "brethren and companions, will you suffer us to die so
shamefully?"

"These are none of your companions," said Laudonniere;--"they are no
authors of seditions--no rebels unto the king's service. Ye appeal to
them in vain."

A corps of thirty soldiers with their matchlocks ready, and under
the command of Alphonse D'Erlach, who had returned from his Indian
expedition, and who now stood ready and prompt to execute the orders of
the chief, were, perhaps, more potent in silencing the appeal of the
mutineer, and quieting the active sympathies of those to whom he prayed,
than all the words of Laudonniere. But, at the entreaty of his people,
the form of punishment was changed, and the criminals, instead of
perishing by the rope, met their death from the matchlock. Among
the victims of this necessary justice, were three of the original
conspirators, and the ringleader, Stephen le Genevois. Thus ends the
history of one of our roving vessels. The other, commanded by Bertrand
Conferrent, which we parted with, on her progress towards the Lucayos,
was never heard of after, and probably perished in the deeps, with all
her besotted crew. Let us now leave the ocean, and follow, for a
season, the progress of Alphonse D'Erlach upon the land, and into the
territories of Paracoussi Hostaqua.




XVI.

THE ADVENTURE OF D'ERLACH.


It was in sullen and half resentful mood that Alphonse D'Erlach parted
from his superior at the gates of _La Caroline_. Not that he felt any
chagrin because of an outraged self-esteem, on account of his rejected
counsels. His mortification and annoyance arose from his vexation at
leaving a man in the hands of his enemies, whom he could not persuade of
his danger, and who was, by this very proceeding, depriving himself of
the only means with which he may have safely combated their hostility.
It was probably with a justifiable sense of his own efficiency, that
D'Erlach felt how necessary was his presence in the garrison at this
juncture. He was quite familiar with the vanity of Laudonniere, his
several weaknesses of character, and the facility with which he might
be deluded by the selfish and the artful. But he had counselled him in
vain; and it was with a feeling somewhat allied to scorn, that he was
taught to see that his superior, having hitherto regarded him with
something more than friendship--as a favorite indeed--had now, in
consequence of the most important services, begun to look upon him
somewhat in the light of a rival. We have witnessed the last interview
between them. We are already in possession of the events which followed
the absence of the lieutenant; events which positively would not have
taken place, had not the scheme proved successful for procuring his
absence from the fortress. Laudonniere's conscience smote him with a
sense of his ingratitude, as the flowing plumes of D'Erlach disappeared
amidst the distant umbrage; but he had no misgivings of that danger
which the prescient thought of his lieutenant had described as already
threatening. He had sufficient time allowed him to meditate equally upon
his own blindness and the foresight of the youth, while his mutineers,
for fifteen days kept him a close prisoner on board his own brigantine!

During this period, his young lieutenant, with his twenty Frenchmen,
was making his way from forest to forest, under the somewhat capricious
guidance of the subtle savage, Oolenoe. D'Erlach was more than once
dissatisfied with this progress. He found himself frequently doubling,
as it were, upon his own ground; not steadily ascending the country
in the supposed direction of the Apatahhian Mountains, but rather
inclining to the southwest, and scarcely seeming to leave those lower
_steppes_ which belonged wholly to the province of the sea. Without
absolutely suspecting his dusky guide, D'Erlach was eminently watchful
of him, and frequently pressed his inquiries in regard to the route they
were pursuing,--when--noting the course of the sun, he found himself
still turning away from those distant mountain summits which were said
to await them in the north, with all their world of treasure. The plea
of Oolenoe, while acknowledging a temporary departure from the proper
path, alleged the difficulties of the country, the spread of extensive
morasses, or the presence of nations of hostile Indians, which cut off
all direct communication with the province which they sought.

To all this D'Erlach had nothing to oppose. The pretences seemed
sufficiently specious, and he continued to advance deep and deeper into
the internal intricacies of the unbroken wild, making a progress, day
by day, into regions which the European had never penetrated before. On
this progress, each soldier had been provided with a certain allowance
of food of a portable nature, which was calculated to last many days.
The adoption of the Indian customs, in several respects, had made it
easy to provide. The maize and beans of the country constituted the
chief supply. The former, and sometimes both, crushed or ground,
separately or together, and browned slightly before the fire, furnished
a wholesome and literally palatable provision for such a journey. They
were also to receive supplies from the contributions of Indian tribes
through whose settlements they were to pass, and to traffic with other
nations whom as yet they did not know. With this latter object the party
was provided with a small stock of European trifles--knives, reaphooks,
small mirrors, and things of this description.

Thus provided, they pressed forward for several days, on a journey which
brought them no nearer to the province which they sought. Still the
country through which they travelled was unbroken by a mountain. Gentle
eminences saluted their eyes, and they sometimes toiled over hills
which, even their exhaustion, which rendered irksome the ascent, did
not venture to compare with those mighty ranges, scaling the clouds,
of which the swelling narratives of the savage chiefs, and their own
adventurers, had given such extravagant ideas. In this march they
probably reached the Savannah, and crossed its waters to the rivers
of Carolina. The scenery improved in loveliness, and to those who are
accessible to the influences of mere external beauty, the progress at
every step was productive of its own charm. Gentle valleys spread away
before them in the embrace of guardian ranges of hill, and clear streams
gushed out through banks that seemed to gladden in perpetual green.
Enormous trees spread over them a grateful cover from the sun, and
luscious berries of the wood, and unknown fruits, green and purple, were
to be found lying in their path, which was everywhere traversed by the
trailing vines which produced them. Birds of unknown plumage, and of
wild and startling song, darted out from the brake to cheer them as they
passed; and as they reached the steeps of sudden hills, they could catch
glimpses of herds of sleek deer, that sped away with arrowy fleetness
from the green valleys where they browsed, to the cover of umbrageous
thickets where they lodged in safety.

The mind of the soldier, however, particularly the adventurer whom one
passionate thirst alone impels, is scarcely ever sensible to the charms
and attractions of the visible nature. Where they appeal simply to his
sense of the beautiful, they are but wasted treasures, like gems that
pave the great bed of ocean, and have no value to the finny tribes that
glide below--each seeking the selfish object which marks his nature. The
passion for the beautiful, with but few exceptions, is a passion that
belongs to training and education; and even these seldom suffice, in the
presence of more morbid desires, to wean the attention to the things
of taste, unless these are recognized as accessories of the object
of a more intense appetite. Even Alphonse D'Erlach, the _éleve_ of a
superior class--one who had been benefitted by society and the schools,
appreciated but imperfectly the loveliness of the landscape, and
the fresh luxuriance of a vegetable life in a region that seemed so
immediately from the hands of its Creator. His thoughts were of another
nature. His anxieties were elsewhere. His eye was fixed upon his Indian
guide, of whom his doubts had now become suspicions. Nightly had Oolenoe
disappeared from the encampment. It was in vain that our lieutenant set
spies upon his movements. He would disappear without giving the alarm,
and re-appear, when least expected, before the dawning. D'Erlach's
vigilance was increased. He did not suffer his men to straggle; marching
with care by day, his watches were equally divided by night, and his own
eyes were kept open by intense anxiety, through hours when most were
sleeping. Occasionally, glimpses of Indians were caught on distant
hills, or on the edge of suddenly glancing waters. But any attempt to
approach sent them into their canoes, or over the hill side--increasing
the suspicions of D'Erlach, and awakening the apprehensions of his men.
A something of insolence in the tone and manner of Oolenoe led our young
lieutenant to suppose that the moment of trial was at hand; and he
already began to meditate the seizure of his guide, as a security
for the conduct of the Indians, when an incident occurred which the
foresight of our lieutenant, great as it was, had never led him to
anticipate.

It was at the close of a lovely evening in September, when the little
detachment of Frenchmen were rounding a ravine. Oolenoe was advanced
with D'Erlach some few paces before the rest. Both of them were silent;
but they pressed forward stoutly, through a simple forest trail, over
which the Frenchmen followed in Indian file. Suddenly, their march was
arrested by a cry from the foot of the ravine, in the rear of the party,
and along the path which they had recently traversed. The cry was human.
It was that of a voice very familiar to the ears of the party. It was
evidently meant to compel attention and arrest their progress. At
the instant, D'Erlach wheeled about and made for the rear. A similar
movement changed in like manner the faces of his followers; and, in a
moment after, a strange, but human form darted out of the forest and
made towards them.

The appearance of the stranger was wild beyond description. He had
evidently once been white; but his face, hands, breast, and legs, for
these were all uncovered, had been blackened by smoke, bronzed by the
sun, and so affected by the weather, that it was with the greatest
difficulty that his true complexion was discernible. But sure instincts
and certain features soon enabled our Huguenots to see that he was
a brother Frenchman. Of his original garments, nothing but tatters
remained; but these tatters sufficed to declare his nation. His beard
and hair, both black, long, and massive, were matted together, and hung
upon neck and shoulders in flakes and bunches, rather than in shreds
or tresses. His head was without covering, and the only weapon which
he carried was a _couteau de chasse_, which, as it was of peculiar
dimensions, silver-hilted, and altogether of curious shape, was probably
the only means by which the Frenchmen identified the stranger.

The keen, quick eye of Alphonse D'Erlach seemed first, of the whites, to
have discovered him. It is probable, from what took place at the moment,
that Oolenoe had made him out in the same moment. The stranger was
no other than Le Genré--the banished man who had headed the first
conspiracy against Laudonniere. As he approached, rushing wildly
forward, with his _couteau de chasse_ grasped firmly in uplifted hand,
D'Erlach raised his sword, prepared to cut him down as he drew nigh;
when the words of his voice, shouted at the utmost of his strength,
caused them to cast their eyes in another direction.

"Seize upon Oolenoe. Suffer him not to escape you."

At that moment, the keen, quick glance of the lieutenant beheld the
rapid bounds of the savage, as he made for the cover of the neighboring
thicket. His orders were instantly given. A dozen bodies instantly
sprang forward in pursuit--a dozen matchlocks were lifted in deadly aim,
but the lithe savage doubling like a hare, bounding forward, now squat,
and seeming to fly along the surface of the ground like a lapwing,
stealthy in every movement as a cat, as swift and agile,--succeeded in
gaining the woods, though the carbines rang with their volley, and,
throwing down their weapons, a score of the light-limbed Frenchmen
started in the chase. A wild warwhoop followed the discharge of the
pieces, declaring equally the defiance and disdain of the savage. The
pursuit was idle, as a few seconds enabled him to find shelter in a
morass, which the inexperienced Europeans knew not how to penetrate.
Alphonse D'Erlach recalled his men from pursuit, fearing lest they
might fall into an ambush, in which, wasting their ammunition against
invisible enemies, they would only incur the risk of total destruction.
He prepared to confront the stranger, whose first appearance had been
productive of such a startling occurrence. Le Genré, meanwhile, had
paused in his progress. He no longer rushed forward like a maniac; but
satisfied with having given the impulse to the pursuit of Oolenoe, and
apparently conscious of how much was startling in his appearance, he now
stood beside a pine which overhung the path, one hand resting against
the mighty shaft, as if from fatigue, while from the other his _couteau
de chasse_ now drooped, its sharp extremity pointing to the ground.

His appearance thus indicated a pacific disposition; but remembering his
ancient treacheries only, and suspicious of his relations with Oolenoe,
D'Erlach approached him with caution, as if to the encounter with an
enemy. As he drew nigh, followed by his band, Le Genré addressed them
with mournful accents.

"Is there no faith for me hereafter, _mes amis_? Am I forever cut off
from the communion with my comrades? Shall there be no fellowship
between us, D'Erlach? Shall we not forget the past--shall I not be
forgiven for my crime, even when I repent it in bitterness and bloody
tears. Behold, my brother--I proffer you the last assurance."

These words were accompanied by a sign, that of the mystic
brotherhood--the ancient masons--which none but a few of the party
beheld or comprehended. The weapon of Alphonse D'Erlach was dropped
instantly, and his hand extended. He, too, belonged to the ancient
order, and the security which was guaranteed by the exhibition of its
token, on the part of the offender, served, when all other pleas would
have failed, to secure him sympathy and protection.

"I have sinned, Alphonse--I know it--beyond forgiveness--sinned like a
madman; but I have borne the penalty. Seldom has human sinner suffered
from mental penalty, as I from mine. Behold me! look I longer human? I
have taken up my covert with the wild beasts of the desert, and they fly
from my presence as from a savage more fearful than any they know. In
my own desperation I have had no fears. I have herded with beast and
reptile, and longed for their hostility. I have lived through all,
though I craved not to live, and the food which would have choked or
poisoned the man not an outcast from communion with his fellows, has
kept me strong, with a cruel vitality that has increased by suffering.
The crude berries of the wood, the indigestible roots of the earth, I
have devoured with a hideous craving; and, in the griefs and privations
of my body, my mind has been purged of its impurities. I have seen my
sin in its true colors--my folly, my vicious passions, the wretch that I
was--the miserable outlaw and destitute that I am! That I repent of the
crimes that I have done and sought to do, is the good fruit of this
bitter on which I have rather preyed than fed. I wrote to Laudonniere of
my sorrow and repentance, but he refused to hear me. Bourdet I sought,
that he might take me once more to France; but he too dreaded communion
with me; and when I rushed into his boat, he only bore me to the
opposite shore of the river, and set me down to the exploration of new
forests, and the endurance of new tortures. I blame them not, that they
would not believe me--that they refused faith in one who had violated
all faith before--that, equally due to his God and to his sovereign. Oh!
brother, do not _you_ drive me from you also!"

And the miserable outlaw clasped his hands passionately together in
entreaty, with a face wild with woe and despair, and would have fallen
prostrate in humiliation before his comrades, if the arm of Alphonse
D'Erlach had not sustained him.

"But what of this savage, Oolenoe!" demanded the lieutenant, when the
first burst of grief had subsided from the lips of Le Genré.

"Ah! you know that I have been the prisoner to this savage, and to the
very comrades of my sin. For this I have pursued you hither. While you
march onward to snares such as the savages of Potanou have provided for
you by means of this Oolenoe, treachery is busy and successful at La
Caroline."

"Successful?"

"Ay! successful! But hear me. When I fled to the forest, I took shelter
first with the people of Satouriova. I was found out and followed by
Fourneaux, Stephen Le Genevois, and La Roquette. To them, at times, came
La Croix, whom Laudonniere still trusted, and whom even you did not
suspect. They came to me with new plans. They were to contrive pretexts
for sending you off to a distance, with the best men of the garrison.
Oolenoe was a ready agent at once of Potanou, Satouriova, and the
conspirators. In your absence, they were to get possession of the
garrison and secure the person of Laudonniere."

"You mean not to say, Le Genré, that they have succeeded in this?"

"Ay, do I--the garrison is in their hands--the shipping; and Laudonniere
is himself a close prisoner on board the unfinished brigantine."

"God of heaven! and I am here!"

"When the conspirators found that I no longer agreed to second them in
their machinations, and when I threatened to expose them to Laudonniere,
they employed Oolenoe to secure my person. Five of his people beset me
at the same moment, and held me fast in one of their wigwams until their
scheme had been carried into execution. With Laudonniere in their hands,
I was abandoned by my keepers, and suffered to go forth. From them I
learned the history of all that had taken place in the colony. I saw
the danger, and felt that the only hope for Laudonniere lay in you.
Fortunately, I had only to follow those who had held me captive, in
order to find the route that you had taken. The people of Oolenoe were
soon upon his tracks. I compassed theirs. It is one profit in the
outlawed life which I have been doomed to endure, that it has taught
me the arts of the savage--taught me the instincts of the beast,--his
stealth, his endurance, his far-sight, and his eager and appreciating
scent. Hark! dost hear! Put thy men in order. The subtle savage is about
to gird thee in."

Scarcely had he spoken, when the forest was alive with cries of warfare.
Wild whoops rang through the great avenues of wood, and sudden glimpses
of the red-men, followed by flights of arrows, warned the Frenchmen
still more emphatically to prepare against the danger. But the arrows,
though discharged with skill and muscle, were sent from far;--the dread
of the European fire-arms prompting a decent caution, which, in a great
degree, lessened the superiority which the savages possessed in numbers.
The woods were now filled with enemies. Tribe after tribe had collected,
along their route, as the Frenchmen had advanced, and every forward step
had served only to increase the great impediments in the way of their
return. It was due wholly to the excellence of the watch nightly kept by
D'Erlach, that they had not been butchered while they slept. It was
in consequence of his admirable caution, and provision against attack
while they marched, that they had not fallen into frequent ambush, as
they moved by noonday. Nightly had the subtle chief, Oolenoe, stolen
away to his comrades, arraying his numbers, and counselling their
pursuit and progress. His schemes detected, the mask was thrown aside as
no longer of use, and open warfare was the cry through the forests.
The necessity was before our Frenchmen of fighting their way back.
The effort of the red-men was to cut them off in detail, by frequent
surprises, by incessant assaults and annoyances, and by straitening them
in the search after water and provisions.

It would be a weary task to pursue, day by day, and hour by hour, the
thousand details, by which each party endeavored to attain its object.
The events of such a conflict must necessarily be monotonous. Enough to
say, that the whole genius of Alphonse D'Erlach was brought forth during
the constant emergencies of his march and proved equal to them all.
His first object was to pursue a new route on his return. This greatly
shortened the distance, and increased the chances of food, since it was
only from the route along which he came that Oolenoe had contrived the
removal of all the provisions. The progress was thus varied on their
return. It was enlivened by incessant attacks of the savages. Their
arrows were continually showered upon our Frenchmen from every thicket
that could afford an ambush; but, habited as they were with the
_escaupil_, or stuffed cotton doublets, which the Spaniards had invented
for protection in their warfare with the Indians, the damage from this
source was comparatively small. Some few of the Frenchmen were galled by
slight wounds, one or two were seriously hurt, and one of them suffered
the loss of an eye. In all these conflicts, Le Genré fought with the
greatest bravery--with a valor, indeed, that seemed to set at scorn
every thought of danger or disaster. He was always the first to rush
forward to the assault, and always the last to leave the pursuit,
when the trumpets sounded the recal. He proved an admirable second to
Alphonse D'Erlach, and materially contributed to the success of the
various plans adopted by the latter for the safety of his people.

It was the ninth day from that on which they left La Caroline, when Le
Genré made his appearance, and Oolenoe fled to the forests. Six days had
they been engaged in their backward journey. In this route, diverging
greatly from that which they had pursued before, and following the
course indicated by the sun with a remarkable judgment, which tended
still more to raise the reputation of Alphonse D'Erlach in the eyes of
his followers, they suddenly struck into a path with which Le Genré
himself was familiar. It proved to be one of those which he had pursued
on a previous occasion, when, in the possession of the confidence of his
chief, he had been permitted to lead forth a party for exploration.
Our Frenchmen now knew where they were, and thirty-six hours of steady
travelling would, they felt assured, bring them within sight of the
fortress of La Caroline. But, as if the inveterate chieftain, Oolenoe,
had made a like discovery at the same moment, his assaults became more
desperate, and were urged with a singular increase of skill and fury.
Now it was that the barbarian tribes of Florida seemed to gather into
a host--such a host as encountered the famous Ponce de Leon and other
Spanish chieftains when they sought to overrun the land. They no longer
sped their arrows from a distance, which, in giving themselves security
from the fire-arms of the Frenchmen, rendered their own shafts in great
degree innocuous. But it was observed that, when they had succeeded
in drawing the fire of the Frenchmen by two successive assaults, they
usually grew bolder at a third, and came forward with an audacity which
seemed to put at defiance equally the weapons and the spirit of their
enemies. The inequality of numbers between the respective parties,
made this subtle policy of Oolenoe particularly dangerous to the
weaker. Alphonse D'Erlach felt his danger, and the openly-expressed
apprehensions of Le Genré declared it. The subject was one of great
anxiety. The whole day had been spent in conflicts,--conflicts which
were interrupted, it is true, by frequent intervals of rest, but which
continued to increase in their violence as evening approached. Several
of the Frenchmen were now wounded, two of them dangerously, and all of
them were greatly wearied. Le Genré urged D'Erlach to a night movement,
in which they might leave their enemies behind them, and perhaps cause
them to give up the pursuit, particularly as they would then be almost
within striking distance of La Caroline; but the coolness and judgment
of D'Erlach had not deserted him, or been impaired by his increase of
difficulties.

"And how," said he, "am I to know whether we shall find friends or foes
in possession of La Caroline? This is not the least of my dangers.
I must preserve my force against that doubt; but keep them fresh,
certainly, and if possible without diminution, so that I may rescue
Laudonniere or sustain myself. Besides, to attempt the night march I
must leave these poor fellows, Mercoeur and Dumain, to be scalped by the
savages, or force them forward only that they may drop by the way. No!
we must take rest ourselves, and give them all the rest we can. We must
encamp as soon as possible, and the shelter of yon little bay, to which
we are approaching, seems to offer an excellent cover. We will make for
that."

He did as he said. His camp was formed on the edge of one of those
basins which, in the southern country is usually termed a bay--so called
in consequence of the dense forests of the shrub laurel that covers the
region with the most glistening green, and fills the languid atmosphere
with a most rich but oppressive perfume. Here he disposed his little
command, so that the approaches were few and such as could be easily
guarded. Here he was secure from those wild flights of arrows which, in
a spot less thickly wooded, might have been made to annoy a company,
discharged even in the darkness of the night. But Alphonse D'Erlach had
another reason for selecting this as his present place of shelter. As
soon as he had taken care of his wounded men, he examined the munitions
of all. He had been sparing his powder, and he was now rejoiced to find
that the quantity was quite sufficient, according to the exigencies of
the warfare of that day, to suffice for two or more days longer. This
enabled him to devise a project by which to ensnare the savages to their
ruin. Hitherto he had classed his men in three divisions. The first of
these encountered the first onslaught of the enemy, and the second
were prepared for its renewal, while the third was a reserve for a
continuance of the struggle, giving time to the two first divisions to
reload. But it had been seen, during the day, that the savages had made
a corresponding division of their force;--that successive attacks,
followed up with great rapidity, drew the fires of his several squads,
and so well aware did the assailants now appear to be of this practice,
that, after the third fire, they boldly rushed almost within striking
distance of the Frenchmen, hurling their stone hatchets with wonderful
dexterity and precision. To provide for this contingency--to convert it
to profitable results--was the study of D'Erlach. He felt that, but for
some stratagem, it was not improbable that the whole party would lose
their scalps before the closing of another day. He had observed that
the bay in which he harbored his men contained, interspersed with its
laurels, a perfect wilderness of _canes_, the fluted reeds of the swamp
and morass, common to the country, some of which grew to be nearly
twenty feet in height. These were still green in September, their
feathery tops waving to and fro in every breeze, while, under the
pressure of the sudden gust, their shafts, in seeming solid phalanx,
laid themselves almost to the earth, to recover, like an artful and
plumed warrior, when the danger had overblown. Without declaring his
plans, D'Erlach had a number of these canes cut down in secresy, and
divided into sections of four or five feet. The extreme barrel of
each of these sections was filled tightly with gunpowder, and a fuse
introduced at the orifice which received the powder. Strips from the
shirts of his people were employed to bind the portion of the reed thus
filled, and two of these shafts were lashed tightly to each matchlock,
the charged portion protruding near the muzzle. He needed no words
to explain his policy to his people. They understood the object in
beholding the process, and admired the ingenuity which promised them
hereafter the most signal advantages.

Rigid was the watch maintained that night in the camp of our Frenchmen.
Fortunately, they had obtained that day a fresh supply of food while
passing through a miserable hamlet, from which the occupants had fled
at their approach. Their supper was eaten in silence and anxiety. The
watches throughout the night were two, Le Genré taking the first, while
D'Erlach, from twelve till daylight, maintained the last. There were no
alarms. The Indians had retired, as was conjectured, to place themselves
in some favorite place of ambush against the coming of the Frenchmen
the next day. One of the two men who had been most severely wounded
among the Frenchmen, died that night in great agony. The arrow of the
savage had penetrated to his lungs. He had imprudently thrown off his
coat of escaupil, in consequence of the great heat of the noonday, and
a skirmish took place before he could reclothe himself, in which he
received his hurt. D'Erlach had the body laid in the deepest portion
of the bay, its only covering being a forest of canes, which were cut
down and thrown over the corpse.

With the first rosy blush of the dawn, the little troop was in motion.
At setting off D'Erlach gave ample directions for the anticipated
conflict. His command was divided into three companies. From the first
of these, three men were commissioned to deliver the fire of their
pieces on the appearance of the Indians. The rest were to discharge
one of the two loaded sections of cane attached to the matchlocks. The
second and third were to do likewise. The effect of this arrangement
would be to leave ten out of nineteen pieces undischarged, and ready
for fatal use on the more daring approach of the savages. Their
preparations, and the proposed _ruse_ were soon put to proof. It was
about nine o'clock in the morning, when the company was about to enter
a defile which led to an extensive tract of pines. At the entrance, on
each hand, stretched a morass that seemed interminable. The opening to
the pine forest seemed a narrow gorge, the jaws of which were densely
occupied with a tangled thicket that seemed to baffle approach. D'Erlach
saw the dangers which awaited him in such a defile. His three bands
were made to march separately as they approached it, and very slowly. A
moderate interval lay between them, which would enable them, while an
enemy could only attack them singly, in turn to support each other. The
judgment of our young lieutenant did not deceive him. On each side of
this gorge, Oolenoe had posted his warriors. They occupied the shelter
of the thicket on both hands. Their eagerness and impatience, increased
by the slow progress of the Frenchmen, whom they regarded as only
marching to the slaughter, lost them some of the advantages of this
position. They showed themselves too soon. With a horrid howl the young
warriors discharged their arrows from the covert, and then boldly
dashed out among the pines. The Frenchmen were nerved for the struggle.
Forewarned, they had been forearmed. There was no surprise. Coolly, the
three select men delivered the fire of their pieces, and each with fatal
effect. In the same moment the charged barrels of the cane were ignited
and torn asunder by an explosion which was sufficiently gun-like to
deceive the unpractised ear of the Indian. The savages answered this
fire by a cloud of arrows, and began to advance. It was now that the
remaining section of the division, which had retained their fire,
delivered it with great precision and an effect similar to the former;
those who had emptied their pieces on the previous occasion, contenting
themselves with discharging a cane. By this time, the two other
divisions, under D'Erlach, had pushed through the gorge, and were
spreading themselves right and left, among the pines, in a situation
to practice the same game with their assailants, which had been played
so well by the foremost party. We must not follow the caprices of the
battle. It is enough to say that, deceived by the apparent discharge of
all the pieces of the Frenchmen, the Indians, headed by Oolenoe himself,
dashed desperately upon their enemies, and were received by the fatal
fire from more than a dozen guns, which sent their foremost men headlong
to the ground, the subtle chief, Oolenoe himself, among them. At this
sight, the savages set up a howl of dismay, and fled in all directions;
while Oolenoe, thrice staggering to his feet, at length sunk back upon
the ground, writhing in an agony which did not, however, prevent him, on
the approach of D'Erlach, from making a desperate effort to smite him
with his stone hatchet. His whole form collapsed with the effort, and
wrenching the rude but heavy implement from the dying savage, the
lieutenant drove it into his brain and ended his agonies with a single
stroke.

With this adventure, the difficulties of the party ceased. That night
they reached the fortress, in season to confirm the authority of
Laudonniere; and, as we have seen, to assist in the execution of the
mutineers by whom he had been temporarily overthrown.




XVI.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.


Sustained and reassured by the return of his lieutenant, Laudonniere,
released from his bonds, proceeded to re-organize his garrison. He
promoted those who had proved faithful when all threatened to be false,
and deprived the doubtful, or the dangerous, of all their previous
trusts. To improve and strengthen his forts, to build vessels, which
were to supply the places of those which the mutineers had taken, and
others of smaller burthen for the express navigation of the river, were
his immediate cares, in all of which his progress was considerable.
During this period he lived on relations of tolerable amity with his
Indian neighbors. Their little crops had, by this time, been harvested,
and they were not unwilling to exchange their surplus productions for
the objects of European manufacture which they coveted. The supplies
brought by the red-men were "fish, deere, turki-cocks, leopards, little
beares, and other things, according to the place of their habitation,"
for which they were recompensed with "certaine hatchets, knives, beades
of glasse, combs, and looking-glasses." The "leopards and little
beares" were probably wild cats and raccoons, or opossums, all of which
furnished excellent feeding to our hungry Frenchmen in September. The
wild-cat is usually a fat beast, differing very considerably from the
more savage tribes to whom we liken him, the wolf and the panther; while
the opossum is probably the fattest of all animals at seasons when the
forest mast is abundant. Of the quality of the meat we will say nothing.
To those with whom the appetite has been made properly subservient to
the taste, and who suffer from no necessities, his flavor is scarcely
such as legitimates his admission into the kitchen. But the case is far
otherwise with those inferior tribes with whom the appetites are coarse
and eager. The negro is seldom so well satisfied as when he feeds on
'possum. "'Possum," is the common remark among this people, "'possum
heap better than pig!" To those who know how high is the estimate which
the negro sets upon the pig family--an estimate which is the occasion of
an epidemic under which a fat pig, straying into the woods in June and
July, is sure to perish--the compliment is inappreciable.

Thus, feeding well, with his health and self-esteem gradually
recovering, Laudonniere began to resume his explorations, and to cast
his eyes about him with his old desire for precious discoveries. It was
about this time that he was visited by a couple of savages from the
dominions of King Maracou. This potentate dwelt some forty leagues to
the south of La Caroline. The Indians, among other matters, related
to Laudonniere that, in the service of another native monarch named
Onathaqua, there was a man whom they called "Barbu, or the bearded man,"
who was not of the people of the country. Another foreigner, whose name
they knew not, was said to inhabit the house of King Mathiaca, a
forest chieftain, whose tribes occupied a contiguous region. From the
descriptions thus given him, Laudonniere readily conceived that these
strange men were Christians. He accordingly opened a communication with
the tribes by which the intermediate country was occupied, and under the
stimulus of a liberal recompense, promised them in European goods, the
two strangers were brought in safety to La Caroline. The conjecture
of Laudonniere proved rightly founded. They were white men and
Christians--Spaniards who had suffered shipwreck some fifteen years
before, upon the flats called "The Martyrs," and over and against that
region of the country, which at this period was called Calos--from a
great native prince of that name.[22] This savage repaired to the wreck,
and carried off into captivity its crew and passengers. Many of these
were women, who became the wives of their conquerors. The king of Calos,
whom a Spaniard described as the "goodliest and the tallest Indian of
the country, a mighty man, a warrior, and having many subjects under
his obedience," not only saved the Europeans from their wreck, but, by
diligent and indefatigable perseverance, rescued most of the treasure
that was in the vessel; the wealth which had been gleaned with
unsparing cruelties from the bowels of the earth in Peru and Mexico. The
treasures thus obtained by King Calos, were represented to be of almost
limitless value. "He had great store of golde and silver, so farre forth
that, in a certaine village, he had a pit full thereof, which was at
the least as high as a man, and as large as a tunne." According to our
Spaniards, it might be easy, "with an hundred shot," to obtain all this
spoil; to say nothing of the scattered treasures which might be gleaned
from the common people of the country. That the extent of their
resources might not be under-valued, the captive Christians farther
informed him, that the young women of the country, when engaged in their
primitive dances, assembled to their festivities in a glorious costume,
such as would be an irresistible charm in any European assembly. They
were not only lovely in themselves, with their dark beauties partially
unfolded to the gaze, and the tawny hues enlivened by the warm lustre of
the sun, shining in crimson flushes through the prevailing hue of the
complexion, but they wore, suspended from their girdles, plates of gold,
large as a saucer, the number and weight of which would have totally
impeded the action as well as agility of any but a people so exquisitely
and vigorously proportioned. The men wore similar decorations, though
not perhaps in such great profusion. This gold, according to their
account, was derived chiefly from vessels cast away--the coasts of
the territory of King Calos being particularly treacherous, and their
secret, lurking shoals frequently rising up suddenly to rob the king
of Spain of his hardly-won ingots. The residue of his wealth in the
precious metals, King Calos derived from the kings and chiefs of the
interior. Perhaps more of it was obtained in this way than our Spaniards
knew. There can be no doubt but that the mines of the great Apalachian
ranges were explored, however imperfectly, by the red-men of the
country, following, in all probability, some superior races, who
first taught them where to look, and of whom we have now but the most
imperfect vestiges.

  [22] "Ces Calos ou Carlos, sont anthropophages, et fort cruels, ils
  demeurent dans une Baye, qui porte également leur nom, et celui de
  Ponce de Leon."--CHARLEVOIX.

Among the articles of traffic, which the people of Calos sold to
the interior tribes, was a domestic root, constituting a favorite
bread-stuff which was particularly grateful to the palates of their
people. This is described as forming a fine flour, than which it it is
impossible to find better, and as supplying the wants of an immense
tract of country. It was undoubtedly the breadstuff known as _coonti_ in
modern periods. This, and a species of date, taken from a sort of palm
tree--the persimmon probably--were commodities in which they dealt
to great extent. Of the root from which they made their favorite
breadstuff, it is written, that the proprietors were very slow to part
with, unless well paid for it. The people of King Calos are probably
to be traced through a thousand fluctuations of place, character and
fortune, to the Seminoles of recent periods--a like people, living in
the same region, and rejoicing in the same fruits and freedom.

Of this King Calos, the narrative of our Spaniards goes farther, passing
finally into the province of the miraculous. He is described as a prince
held in special reverence by his subjects;--not simply for his valor
as a soldier, or his wisdom as a ruler, but his wondrous powers as a
magician. He seems to have combined the civil and the religious powers
of the nation--to have been priest and prophet as well as Governor. The
government of his country, like that of simple nations generally, was
theocratic and patriarchal. His people were taught to believe that it
was through his spells and incantations, that the earth brought forth
her fruits. He resorted to various arts to perpetuate this faith, and
various cruelties to subdue and punish that spirit of inquiry which
might test too closely the propriety of his spiritual claims. Twice a
year he retired from the sight of all his subjects, two or three of his
friends alone excepted, and was supposed, at this season, to be busy
with his mighty sorceries. Woe to the unlucky wretch who, whether
purposely or by accident, intruded upon his mysteries. The dwelling to
which he had resort was tabooed on every hand; and death, with the most
fearful penalties, stood warningly at all the avenues by which it was
approached. Each year a prisoner was sacrificed to the savage god he
served; and this prisoner, so long as Barbu had been a captive, had been
a Spaniard always--the supply being sufficient, from the frequency of
wrecks upon the coast, by which an adequate number of captives was
always to be had. The dominions of Calos are described as lying along a
river, beyond the cape of Florida, forty or fifty leagues towards the
southwest; while those of Onathaqua were nearer to La Caroline, on the
northern side of the cape, "in a place which we call in the chart,
Cannaverel, which is in 28 degrees."

When the two Spaniards were brought before Laudonniere they were
entirely naked. Their hair hung below their loins, as did that of the
savages; and so completely had they become accustomed to the habits of
the red-men, that the resumption of the costume of civilization was not
only strange but irksome. But Laudonniere was not disposed to permit
their acquired habits to supersede those of their origin. He caused the
hair of his newly-found Christians to be shorn, as heedless of the loss
of strength which might follow as ever was Dalilah while docking the
long locks of her giant lover. It was with great reluctance that the
wild men submitted to this shearing. When the hair was finally taken off
they insisted upon preserving it, and rolling it in linen put it away
carefully, to be shown in Europe as a proof of their wild and cruel
experience. In removing the shock from one of them, a little treasure
of gold was found hidden in its masses, to the value of five-and-twenty
crowns, by which the Spaniard conclusively proved that one portion of
his Spanish education had never deserted him. What a commentary upon the
wisdom of civilization, that, in such a state, with such bonds,
after such losses, of freedom, position, and the society of all the
well-beloved and equal, his heart should still yearn for the keeping of
a treasure which must, at every moment, have only served to mock the
possessor with the dearer treasures of home, country, friends, religion,
of which his fortunes had made utter forfeit. But let us pass to the
narrative of Barbu, himself--one of the recovered Spaniards--which we
owe, in some degree to history, but mostly to tradition.




XVII.

THE NARRATIVE OF LE BARBU:

THE BEARDED MAN OF CALOS.


Now when Barbu, the bearded man, who had been dwelling among the people
of Calos, had been shorn of the long and matted hair and beard, which
had made him much more fearful to the eye than any among the savages
themselves,--and when our right worthy captain had commanded that we
should bathe and cleanse him, and had given him shirts of fine linen
and clothes from his own wardrobe, so that he should once more appear
like a Christian man among his kindred,--albeit he seemed to be greatly
disquieted, and exceedingly awkward therein,--then did he conduct him
into the _corps de garde_, where our people were all bidden to assemble.
There, being seated all, Barbu, the Spaniard, being entreated thereto by
our right worthy captain, proceeded to unfold the full relation of the
grievous strait and peril by which he had fallen into the power of King
Calos, and of what happened to him thereafter. And it was curious to see
how that he, a Spaniard born, and not ill-educated in one of the goodly
towns of old Spain, in all gentle learning, should, in the space of
fifteen years sojourn among the savages, have so greatly suffered the
loss of his native tongue. Slow was he of speech, and greatly minded to
piece out with the Indian language the many words in which the memory
of his own had failed him. Well was it for our understanding of what he
delivered, that so many of us had been dwelling among the red-men at
other times,--to speak nothing of Monsieur D'Erlach, Monsieur Ottigny,
both lieutenants in the garrison, and Monsieur La Roche Ferriere, who,
with another, by special commandment of our captain, had dwelt for a
matter of several months among the people of King Olata Utina. By means
of the help brought by these, we were enabled to find the meaning of
those words in which Barbu failed in his Spanish. So it was that we
followed the fortunes of the bearded man, according to the narrative as
here set down.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, at the repeated entreaty of Monsieur Laudonniere, Barbu arose and
spoke:

"First, Señor Captain, I have to declare how much I thank you for the
protection you have given me, the kindness which has clad me once more
in Christian garments, and the cost and travail with which you have
recovered me from my bonds among the heathen. Albeit, that I feel
strangely in these new habits, and that my native tongue comes back to
me slowly when I would speak from a full and overflowing heart, yet will
I strive to make you sensible of all the facts in my sad history, and of
the great gratitude which I feel for those by whose benevolence I may
fondly hope that my troubles are about to end. I know not now the day or
season when we left the port of Nombre de Dios, in an excellent ship,
well filled with treasures of the mine, and a goodly company, on our
return to the land of our fathers beyond the sea. My own share in the
wealth of this vessel was considerable, and I had other treasures in the
person of a dear brother, and a sister who accompanied us. Our sister
was married to one who was with us also, and the united wealth of the
three, such was our fond expectations, would enable us to retire to our
native town of Burgos, and commend us to the favor of our people. But it
was written that we should not realize these blessed expectations, and
that I alone, of the four, should be again permitted to dwell among a
Christian people. Yet I give not up the hope that I shall yet see my
brother, who was carried away among the Indians of the far west, when we
were scattered among the tribes, in the grand division of our captives.
But this part of my story comes properly hereafter.

"We put to sea from the port of Nombre de Dios with very favoring winds;
but these lasted us not long, ere they came out from all quarters of
the heavens, and we ran before the storm under a rag of sail, without
knowing in what course we sped. Thus, for three days, we were driven
before the baffling winds; and when the storm lulled, the clouds still
hung about us, and our pilot wot nothing of that part of the sea in
which we went. Two days more followed, and still we were saddened by the
clouds that kept evermore coming down from heaven, and brooding upon the
deep like great fogs that gather in the morn among the mountains. Thus
we sped, weary and desponding as we were, without any certainty as to
the course we kept, or the region of space or country round about us.
Meanwhile, the seams of our vessel began to yawn, and great was the
labor which followed, to all hands, to keep her clear of water. This
we did not wholly; and it was in vain that our carpenter sought for,
in order to stop, the leak. Thus, weary and sad, we continued still
sweeping forward slowly, looking anxiously, with many prayers, for the
sun by day and the moon and stars by night. But the Blessed Virgin was
implored in vain. We had offended. There was treasure on board the
vessel, but it was stained with blood. You have not heard in your
histories of the bloody Juan de Mores y Silva, who tortured the unhappy
Mexicans by fire, even in the caverns where they resided, seeking
the gold, which they gained not sufficiently soon, or in sufficient
quantity, to satisfy his cruel lust for wealth. He was one of our
companions on this voyage, bound homewards with an immense subsidy in
ingots--huge chests of gold and silver--with which he aimed to swell
into grandeur with new titles, when he arrived in Spain. But the just
Providence willed it otherwise. He was, doubtless, the Jonah in our
vessel, who fought against the prayers for mercy and protection which
the true believers addressed to the Holy Virgin in our behalf."

Here our captain, Laudonniere, interrupted Barbu, and said--

"Verily, Señor Spaniard, had thy prayer been addressed to God himself,
the Father, through the intervention and the mediation of the Blessed
Saviour, his Son, whose blood was shed for sinners, it might have better
profited thy case. Thy prayers to the Virgin were an unseemly elevation
of a mortal woman over the divinity of the Godhead. But I will not
vex thee with disputation. Thou art a Christian, though it is after a
fashion which, to me seems scarcely more becoming than that of these
poor savages of Calos, who yield faith, as thou tellest me, to the
spells and enchantments of their bloody sovereign. But, proceed with
thy story, which I shall be slow to break in upon again until thou art
well ended."

With the permission thus vouchsafed him, Barbu, the bearded man, thus
resumed his discourse:

"We plead for the interposition of the Virgin, Monsieur le Capitaine,
not as we deem her the source of power and of mercy, but as we hold it
irreverent to rush even with our prayers to the feet of the awful Father
himself; and rejoice to believe that she who was specially chosen, as
one who should bear the burden of the Saviour-child, was of a spirit
properly sanctified and pure for such purposes of interposition. But, as
thou sayest, we will leave this matter. If we offend in our rites and
offices, it is because we err in judgment, and not that our hearts wish
to afflict the feelings or the thoughts of those who see with other eyes
the truth. Besides, my long and outlandish abode among the red-men,
might well excuse me many errors."

"And so, indeed, it might, Señor Spaniard," said Laudonniere graciously;
then, as the latter remained silent, Barbu continued:

"Doubtless, Señor, as I said before, the bloody Juan de Mores y Silva,
was the Jonah of our vessel, on whose account the Blessed Providence
turned a deaf ear to our prayers and entreaties. It was not decreed that
he should escape to rejoice in his ill-gotten treasure; and his fortunes
were so mixed up with ours, that the overthrow of one was necessarily at
the grievous loss and peril of us all. How many days we lay tossing on
the tumultuous waves, or swept to and fro, beaten and sore distressed by
the violent and changeful winds, I do not now remember, but it was in
very sickness and hopelessness of heart, that we lay down at night as
one lies down and submits to a power with which he feels himself wholly
powerless to contend. Thus did we cast ourselves down--as the dreary
shades of night came over us, with a deeper and drearier cloud than
ever,--not seeking sleep, but seized upon by it, as it were, to save us
from the suffering, akin to madness, which must haply follow upon our
fearful waking thoughts. While we slept, our vessel struck upon the low
flats of the Martyrs--those shoals which have laid bare the ribs of so
many goodly and gold-laden ships of my countrymen, sucking down their
brave hearts and all their treasures in the deep. We were lifted high by
the surges, and rested, beyond recovery, upon the shoals, from which the
remorseless seas refused again to lift us off. Our vessel lay upon one
side, and the greedy waves rushed into her hold. We were stunned rather
than awakened by the shock. We strove not for safety or repair. How many
perished in the moment when the ship fell over I know not, but one of
these was the husband of my sister. He was drowned in the first rush of
the billows into the ship, though, as it was night, we knew it not. My
sister had thrown herself beside my brother, and was sleeping upon his
arm. She was the first to learn her misfortune, awaking, as she averred,
to hear the faint cries of her lord for succor, though she knew not
whence the sounds arose. When our eyes opened upon the scene, strange to
say, the clouds had disappeared. The dark waves of the tempest had sped
away to other regions. A gentle breeze from the land had arisen, full
of sweet fragrance and a healing freshness, and, bright over head, in
the blessed heavens, blossomed fresh the eternal host of the stars. Oh!
the life and soothing in that smile of God. But we were not strong for
the blessing, nor sufficiently grateful that life was still vouchsafed
us. The day dawned upon us to increase our wretchedness. It left us
without hope. Our food was ruined by the waves that filled the vessel,
and though the land was spread before us in a lengthened stripe, bearing
forests which were surely full of fragrance, we beheld not the means
by which we should gain its pleasant shores with safety. Our boats had
perished in the surf; one of them stove to pieces, and the other swept
away. In our despondency and our sleep we had yielded our courage and
our providence, and we lay now in the sight of heaven, amidst the equal
realm of sea and sky, with the land spreading lovelily before us, yet
could we do nothing for ourselves. We lay without food or drink all day,
seeing nothing but the bare skies, the sea, and the shore, which only
mocked our eyes. My sister sorrowed and sickened in my arms. She cried
for water as one cries in the delirious agonies of fever. She would
drink of the water of the deep, but this we denied her; and the day sunk
again, and with it her hope and strength. With the increase of the winds
that night, she grew delirious; and, when we knew not--and this was
strange, for I cannot believe that I closed mine eyes that night--she
disappeared. Once, it seemed that I heard her voice, in a wild scream,
calling me by name, and I started forward to feel that she was gone. She
left my arms while I lay insensible. It was not sleep. It was stupor. My
consciousness was drowned in my great grief, and in the exhaustion of
all my strength for lack of food.

"My brother and myself alone survived of all our family. With the
knowledge that our sister was really gone--swallowed up, doubtless, in
the remorseless deep, into which she had darted in her delirium--we came
to a full consciousness. Then, when it was only misery to know, we were
permitted to know all, and to feel the whole terrible truth pressing
upon us, that we were alone in that dreary world of sea. Not alone of
our company; only of our people. Many there were who still kept in life,
watchful but hopeless. We could see their dusky forms by the faint light
of the stars, crouching along the slanting plane of the vessel, upon
which, by cord, and sail, and spar, we still contrived to maintain
foothold; and, anon, our company would lessen. The solemn silence of
all things, except the dash of the waves against us, rolling up with
murmurs, and breaking away in wrath, was interrupted only by a sullen
plunge, ever and anon, into the engulphing deep, as the hope went out
utterly in the heart of the victim, and he yielded to death, rather than
prolong the wretched endurance of a life so full of misery.

"Thus the night passed; not without other signs to cheer as well as
startle us. Through the darkness we could see lights in the direction of
the shore, as if borne by human hands. With the dawn of day, our eyes
were turned eagerly in that direction. Nor did we look in vain. The
shore swarmed with human forms. A hundred canoes were already darting
along the margin of the great deep, and evident were the preparations
of the people of this wild region, to visit our stranded vessel. In a
little time they came. Their canoes were some of them large enough to
carry forty warriors, though made from a single tree. They came to us
in order of battle; a hundred boats, holding each from ten to fifty
warriors. These carried spear and shield, huge lances, and well-curved
bows, drawn with powerful sinews of the deer. Their arrows were long
shafts of the feathery reed, such as flourish in all these forests. The
feather from the eagle's wing gave it buoyancy, and the end of the shaft
was barbed with a keen flint, wrought by art to an edge such as our best
workmen give to steel. Many were the chief men among these warriors, who
approached us in full panoply of barbaric pomp. Turbans of white and
crimson-stained cotton, such as the Turk is shown to wear, though folded
in a still nobler fashion, were wrapped about their heads, over which
shook bunches of plumes taken from the paroquet, the crane, and the
eagle. Robes of cotton, white, or crimson, or scarlet, colored with
native dies of the forest, clothed their loins, and fell flowing from
their shoulders; and, ever and anon, as they came, they shook a thousand
gourds which they had made to rattle with little pebbles, which, with
their huge drum, wrought of the mammoth gourd, and covered with raw
deer skin, made a clamor most astounding to our hapless ears. Thus they
hailed our vessel, making it appear as if they intended to have fought
us; but when they beheld how famishing we lay before them, with scarcely
strength and courage enough to plead for mercy--speaking only through
our dry and scalded eyes, and by clasping our hard and weary hands
together--then it seemed as if they at once understood and felt for us;
and they drew nigh with their canoes, and lowered their weapons, and
darting with lithe sinews upon the sides of our leaning vessel, they
held gourds of water to our lips, which cheered us while we swallowed,
as with the sense of a fresh existence.

"Thus were we rescued from the yawning deep. The savages took us, with a
rough kindness, from the wreck. They carried us in their canoes to the
shore; and several were the survivors, as well women as men. They gave
us food and nourishment, and when we were refreshed and strengthened,
they separated us from our comrades, sharing us among our captors, each
according to his rank, his power, or his favor with his sovereign.
Seventeen of our poor Christians were thus scattered among the tribes
and over the territories of the king of Calos. Some were kept in his
household; but my hapless brother was not among them. He was given to
a chief of the far tribes of the West, who made instant preparation to
depart with him. When they would have borne us apart, with a swift bound
and a common instinct, we buried ourselves in a mutual embrace. The
chiefs looked on with a laugh that made us shudder; while he to whom
my brother was given, with a savage growl, thrust his hands into the
flowing locks of my brother, and hurled him away to the grasp of those
who stood in waiting for the captive. He struggled once more to embrace
me, and long after I could hear his cry--'Brother, brother, shall we see
each other never more!' They heeded not his cries or struggles, or mine.
They threw him to the ground with violence, bound him hand and foot,
with gyves of the forest, and placing him in one of their great canoes,
they sped away with him along the shores, as they treaded to the mighty
West, where roll the great waters of the Mechachebe.

"Thus was I separated from my only surviving kinsman; and neither of us
could tell the fate which was in waiting for the other. Verily, then did
I look to find the worst. I no longer had a hope. It is my shame, as a
Christian, that, in that desolate moment, I ceased to have a fear. I
not only expected death, but I longed for it. I could have kissed the
friendly hand that had driven the heavy stone hatchet of the savage into
my brain. But, the Blessed Mother of God be praised, I thought not, in
my despair, to do violence to my own self. That sin was spared me among
my many sins, in that hour of despondency and woe; and all my crime
consisted in the criminal indifference which made me too little heedful
to preserve life. But this indifference lasted not long. I was the
captive of the king of Calos himself. Nine others were kept by him
including me, and among these was the cruel tyrant upon whose head lay
the blood of so many of the wretched people of Mexico, Don Juan de Mores
y Silva. He was the tyrant no longer. All his strength and courage had
departed in his afflictions; and in the hour of our despair and terror,
he was feebler than the meanest among us; feebler of soul than the girl
whose heart beats with the dread that she cannot name, fearfully, as
that of the little bird which you cover with your hand. We loathed him
the worse for his miserable fear; and it made us all more resolute in
courage to see one so cast down with his terrors, whom we had seen of
late so insolent in his triumphs.

"When the lots were determined, the king of Calos drew nigh to examine
us more heedfully. He had not before regarded us with any consideration.
Verily, he was a noble savage to the eye. His person was tall, like one
of the sons of Anak, and his carriage was that of a great warrior, born
a prince, to whom it was natural equally to conquer and to rule. Rich
were the garments of flowing cotton which he wore loosely, like a robe,
mostly white, but with broad stains of crimson about the skirts and
shoulders.

"A great baldrick hung suspended at his back, which bore a quiver, made
of the skin of the rattle-snake, filled with arrows, each shaft better
than a cloth-yard's length. The macana which he carried in his grasp,
was a mighty club of hard wood, close in grain, and weighty as stone,
which, save at the grasp or handle, was studded with sharp blades of
flint, which resembled it to the mighty blade of the sword-fish. With
this weapon mine eyes have seen him smite down two powerful enemies at
a single stroke. Great was his forehead and high, and his cheek bones
stood forth like knots upon his face, as if the cheeks were guarded by a
shield. Black was his piercing eye, which grew red and fiery when he was
angered; and, at such seasons, it was easier for him to smite than to
speak. Unlike his people, he wore the natural growth of his hair, long
and flowing straight adown his back, glossy with its original blackness,
and with the oil of the bear, of which, like all his people, the lord of
Calos made plentiful use. This king might be full forty years of age.
Yet looked he neither young nor old--neither so young that you might not
hold him the gravest and best counsellor of wisdom in the land, nor so
old, but that he might better and more ingeniously lead in battle than
any of his warriors. Certes, he was the most ready first to march when
the invasion of the distant tribes had been resolved on; and, of a
truth, never was statesman in the great courts of Europe--not the
counsellors of the great Carlos himself--so cool in speculation, so just
in judgment, so heedful to consider all the advantages and all the risks
of an enterprise, before the first step was set down in the adoption
of a policy. For seven years had I sufficient means, in the immediate
service of his household, to watch the courses of his thoughts and
character, and to know the virtues and the strength thereof. I saw him
devise among his chiefs, and inform them with his own devices. I have
seen him lead in battle, when all the plans were his own, and it was his
equal teaching and valiancy by which the field was won. Verily, I say
that this lord of Calos were a prince to mate with the best in Europe;
and, but that we have in European warfare such engines of mischief as
come not within the use or knowledge of his race, it were difficult to
circumvent him in stratagem, or overcome his braves in battle. With an
hundred shot--no less--and employing at the same time all the red-men as
allies, who are hostile to this king of Calos--and they are many--and
I doubt not Monsieur Laudonniere, but that you could penetrate his
dominions and make the conquest thereof. But of him could you make no
conquest. He is a warrior of the proudest stomach, who would rather
perish than lose the victory; and who, most surely, would never survive
the overthrow of his dominion.

"Me, did this great king examine with more curious eyes than he bestowed
upon the other captives. I know not for what reason, unless because of
the superior size and strength which I possess, and the extreme length
and thickness of my beard and hair, of which, as a Christian man, I have
always made too much account. All of us did he assign to labor; to
the gathering of wood, and work in the maize fields, with the women.
By-and-by, there came a preference for me beyond the others. I was
brought into the king's household, and barbed his arrows, and wrought
upon his great macanas, and strove, among the Indians, in hewing out his
canoes from the cypress, first burning out the greater core with fire.
But when harvest time came, a great festivity was held among the
savages. Bitter roots were gathered in the woods, and great vessels of
the beverage which was made thereof, was placed within the council or
round-house of the nation. Thither did the chiefs resort and drink; and
ever as they drank they danced, though the liquor wrought upon them like
_aguardiente_ with the European, and moved them even as the most violent
of emetic medicines. Still danced they, and still they danced for the
space of three whole days.--But the lord of Calos seemed not to mingle
at this strange festival. He purposed rites still more strange--rites,
which even now, I think upon with horror only. He had a dwelling to
himself in the deep woods, whither he retired the night before the day
when the great feast of the nation was to begin. Here he waited all the
night, watching with reverence and patience the burning of a strange
fire which had been wrought of many curious and fragrant herbs and
roots. Three of the ancient people, the priests or Iawas, as they style
themselves, retired with him to build this fire, which, when it began
to burn, placing in store a sufficient supply of aromatic fuel that he
might feed it still, they left him, with strange exorcising, to himself.
And there he kept watch throughout the night. But early with the next
morning he came forth, and he sprinkled the ashes of the fire upon the
maize field, and he cried thrice, with a loud voice, of Yo-he-wah,
which, I believe to mean the sacred name as known among the red-men.
With each cry, as our poor Spaniards, myself among them, were gathering
the green ears from the maize stalks, the priests who followed the
king of Calos, seized bodily upon three of our brethren, taking us by
surprise, and putting us all in a quaking fear. These three were all
brought before the lord of Calos, who, not looking upon them as they lay
bound at his feet, threw yet another vessel of sacred ashes into the
air, and as these three Spaniards lay separate, with their faces looking
up, I beheld the ashes sink immediately upon the breast of him whom I
have already named to you--the Jonas by whom our vessel was doomed to
wreck--the cruel Don Juan de Mores y Silva. Now, though the king surely
looked not as he threw the ashes into the air, yet did it descend upon
the breast of this said Spaniard, as certainly as if the eye and arm
of this lord had been upon this particular person at the moment when
he threw. Verily, though I know not well how it should be--being
counselled by Holy Church against such belief--yet, verily, had this
lord of Calos certain powers which did seem to justify the saying among
his people, that he was a master of magic and of arts superior to those
of common men.

"Now, when the Iawas, or priests, beheld where the ashes fell, they
seized incontinently upon the Spaniard aforesaid. They bore him away
from us, wondering and fearing all the while. But those who remained
loosed the other two who had been bound, and they were set free with the
rest, to pursue their labors in the corn-field. But we were not let to
know the awful fate which befel the Spaniard who was taken. Verily, he
saw his danger in the moment when the ashes lighted on his breast. His
face was whiter than the blossom of the dogwood when it first opens to
the spring. His eye glared, and his lip quivered like a leaf in the
gusts of March, though nothing he spake at anything they did to him. But
when they bore him away from our eyes, then a terrible fear and agony
caused him to cry aloud--'Oh! my countrymen, will you not save me from
the bloody savage!' I cannot soon forget that cry, which was clearly
that of a person who beholds his doom. But of what avail? We had not the
people, nor the strength, nor the weapons! A thousand savages danced
wildly around the council-house, and the fields were full of these who
came to drink and dance. Besides, we thought not of any danger but our
own. We knew not how soon the fate was to befal us; for had it not
seized upon Don Juan without a warning or a sign.

"They bore him to the secret tabernacle in the woods, where the lord of
Calos watched alone. We saw not then, but afterwards we knew, what had
been his fate. There they laid him upon a great mound of earth, with
the sacred fire burning at his head in a large vessel of baked clay,
formed with a nice art by the savages, and painted with the mystic
figure of a bloody hand. The garments which he wore were taken off, and
his limbs were fastened separately to great stakes driven in places
about the mound. Thus were his hands and legs, his body and his very
neck made fast, so that whatever might be the deed done upon him, he
could oppose it not even in the smallest measure. But it was permitted
him to cry aloud--and those of us who stole into the woods seeking to
hear,--with a terrible curiosity which our very apprehensions fed,--we
heard,--we heard,--and even as the awful scream of our late companion
came piercing through the woods upon our ears,--we fled afar from the
sound, which was that of a mortal agony and anguish. And, verily, the
torture to which he was doomed was that which might well compel the poor
outraged heart of humanity to cry aloud. With a keen knife, and the hand
of one who had practised long at the cruel rite, the lord of Calos laid
bare the breast of the victim, he not able to struggle even,--only to
shriek,--he laid it bare as one peels the ripe fruit, and exposes the
precious heart thereof! Even this did the lord of Calos. He stripped the
skin from the breast of his victim, then, with sharp strokes, he smote
away the flesh, until the quaking ribs lay bare to his point. With a
sharp stone chisel he smote the breast-bone asunder, lifted the ribs,
and tore away the smoking heart, which he cast, reeking red, into the
burning fire of odorous woods and herbs, which then flamed up and
brightened in the dark chamber, as if fed with some ichorous fuel. In
that terrible agony, when the soul and the human life were thus rudely
torn apart from the mutual embrace, it was told me by the lord of Calos,
himself, that the victim burst one of the wythes that bound him, and
freed his right hand, which he waved violently thrice, even while his
murderer was plucking his heart away from its quivering fastenings!
Oh! the horror, though for a moment only, of that awful consciousness!
Verily, my friends, if the lord of Calos did possess a power of magic
such as his people affirm, verily, I say, he paid a terrible price to
the eternal hater of human souls, when he gat from him his perditious
privilege!

"But the sufferings of that wretched victim, who then and thus perished,
were they greater than those which followed our footsteps,--we, the
survivors,--haunting us by night and day, with the mortal terrors of a
fear that such must be our doom also? Every rustle of an approaching
footstep among the maize-stalks where we toiled, breaking the stems and
gathering the ripened ears, seemed to our woe-stricken souls, as the
step of one who came as an executioner; while we labored in the gloomy
thicket, gathering fuel for the winter fires, the same fear was hanging
over us with a threat of the impending doom. We lived and slept in a
continual dread of death, which made the hair whiten on every brow, even
of the youngest, before that terrible winter was gone over.

"To us it was assigned to put away the body of our murdered comrade. But
this was only after the three days of the feast was elapsed, and when
the duty was tenfold distressing. Still, though all our senses revolted
at the task, a fearful curiosity compelled a close examination of
the victim. Then it was that we saw how the execution had been done,
though we knew not then, nor until some time after, that the cell
which enshrined and kept the heart had been torn open, and the
sacred possession wrenched away with violent hands, even while the
wretched victim had eyes to see, as well as sensibilities to feel, the
sacrilegious and bloody theft. We bore the body far into the woods,
wrapping it with leaves so as to hide it from our eyes, while we carried
it in the bottom of an old canoe which we found for this purpose. Our
burial was conducted after the fashion of the red-men. We laid the corse
of our comrade upon a bed of leaves on the naked earth, and laid heavy
fragments of pine and other combustible wood about him. With this
we made a great pile, which we set on fire, and let to burn until
everything was consumed. We then, with sad, sorrowing, and trembling
hearts, returned, each one of us, in a mournful silence that wist not
what to say, to our separate tasks, and the places which had been
assigned us.

"Now, many months had passed in this manner, and still I was employed
about the king's household. This lord of Calos distinguished me, as I
have said, beyond my comrades. I had a great vigor of limb which is not
common among this people, except in so much as it moves them to great
agility. They are rather light, swift and expert, than powerful in war;
and trust rather to great cunning than superior strength, in the meeting
with their enemies. The king of Calos greatly admired to see me lift
heavy logs of timber, such as would have borne down any among his people
if laid upon his shoulders. But he himself had a strength superior to
his people, and he wondered even more when, striving to lift the logs
which I laid down, he found it beyond his mastery. Then, he put his bow
into my hand, and giving me a cloth-yard shaft of reed, well tipped with
a flinty barb, and dressed with an eagle's feather, he bade me draw it
to the head, and send it as I would. Upon which, doing so, he greatly
wondered to see how rapid and distant was the flight, for well he knew
that the ability to shoot the arrow far comes rather from sleight than
from strength, and is an art that only grows from practice. But this,
perhaps, had not fully given me to the confidence of the king, had it
not been for a service which I rendered on one occasion to his favorite
son, a boy of but twelve years of age, whom I plucked from beneath the
feet of a great stag, which the hunters had wounded in the forest. The
red-men greatly delight to see their sons take part in the chase, even
while their gristle is yet soft and their limbs feeble; for by this
early practice they desired to make them strong and skilful. The son of
the lord of Calos was a youth, tall and strong beyond his years; and
because of the fondness of his father, exceedingly audacious in all
manner of sports and strifes. Thus it was that, having seen a great
stag wounded by the shaft of his sire, he had run in upon him with his
slender spear. The staff of the spear broke, even as the barb penetrated
the breast of the beast, and the boy fell forward at the mercy of his
mighty antlers. Then was it that, seeing the lad's danger,--for I was at
hand, bearing the victuals for the hunters--I threw down the basket, and
rushing in, took the stag by his horns, in season for the lad to recover
himself. The lord of Calos drew nigh and saw, but he offered no help,
leaving it to his son to draw the keen knife which he carried, over the
throat of the struggling beast. And, excepting what the boy said to
me of thanks, nothing did I hear of the thing which I had done. But,
three weeks after, the king made his preparations, for a war party
against the mountain Indians. Then he spoke to me, saying, in his own
language,--which, by this time, I could understand,--Barbu,--this was
the name which had been given me because of my beard--Barbu, it is not
fit that one with such limbs and skill as thou hast, should labor still
in the occupation of the women. Get thee a spear, such as will suit
thy grasp, and there are bows and arrows for thy choice,--make thee
satisfied with sufficient provision, and get thee ready to go against
mine enemies. Thou shalt have to tear the flesh of a strong man!

"Verily, my friends, though it shames me to confess, that I, a Christian
man, could lift weapon in behalf of one against another savage of the
wilderness; yet such had been my sorrow, and so wretched did I feel at
the base tasks to which I had been given,--so very unlike the valiant
duties which had distinguished mine ancient service in the armies of
Castile,--that I even rejoiced at the chance of putting on the armor of
war,--and the meaner weapon of the red-men satisfied me then, who of
old had carried, with great favor, the matchlock and the sword. But
the weapon of the savage, as perchance thou knowest, is not greatly
inferior, according to their usage, and in their country, to the
superior implements with which the Christian warrior takes the field. If
the arquebuse is more fatal than the barbed arrow of the Indian, it is
yet less frequently ready for the danger. While you shall have put your
pieces in readiness for a second fire, the savage will deliver thirty
javelins, each of which, if within bullet reach, shall inflict such an
injury, short of death, as may disarm the wounded person. Their reeds
are always ready at hand. To them every bay and river bank affords an
armory, and the loss of their weapons, which were fatal to Frenchman or
Spaniard, causes them but little mischief, since a single night will
repair all their losses. Neither much time nor much cost is it to
them to supply their munitions, of which they can always carry a more
abundant provision than can we. The great superiority of the European,
in his encounter with the red-man, is in his wisdom, the fruit of
many ages of civilization, and not in the weapons which he wields in
conflict. Let him exchange weapons with the savage, and he will still
obtain the victory.

"It was because of this showing of superiority, together with the
service which I had thus rendered to his son, that made the lord of
Calos take me with him, armed as a warrior, on his expedition against
the mountain Indians of Apalachy. I hastened to provide myself with
weapons, as I was commanded, and I made for myself a great mace, such as
that which the strongest warriors carried, which was a billet of hard
wood, not more than four feet in length, with a handle easy to the
grasp, while at each side ran down a great row of flinty teeth, each
broad and sharpened like to a spear-head. It is a fatal weapon, with a
well-delivered blow. In like manner did I imitate the practice of the
red-men in dressing the head and breast for war. I put on the paints,
red and black, which I beheld them use; but, instead of the unmeaning
and rude figures which they scored upon the breast, I drew there the
figure of a large cross, by which, though none but myself might know, I
made anew my assurance to Holy Mother, of a faith unperishing, in Him
who bore its burthen; and implored His protection against the perils
which might lurk along the path. In the same manner, with a bloody
cross, did I inscribe my forehead and each cheek, while I dipped my
hands above the wrist in the black dyes which they also used as paints,
and which they took from the walnut and other woods of the forest.
Greatly did my Christian comrades wonder to behold me, painted after
this fashion, with a bunch of turkey feathers tied about my head like
the savage, and the strange weapons of the red-men in my grasp. These
rejoiced exceedingly as they beheld me, and laughed and chatted among
themselves, saying--'Yah-hee-wee! Yah-hee-wee!' with other words, by
which they testified their satisfaction. But our Spaniards were in the
same degree sorry, as it seemed to them that, in spite of the holy
emblem upon my breast, I had delivered myself up to the enemy, and had
put on, with the habit, all the superstitions of the Heathen. They had
sorrow upon other grounds, since I was about to leave them, and, from
the favor I had found with the lord of Calos, I had grown to be one to
whom they began to look as to a mediator and protector.

"We set out thus for the country of the enemy, the lord of Calos leading
the way upon the march, as is the custom with the Indians, while the foe
is yet at a distance from the spot. But, as we drew nigh to the hills of
the Apalachian, the young men were scattered on every hand, as so many
light troops. They covered all the paths, they harbored in all places
where they could maintain watch and find security, and nightly they sent
in runners to the camp, reporting their discoveries. I entreated of the
lord of Calos to be sent with these young men; but, whether he feared
that I would seek an opportunity to fly and escape to the enemy, I know
not. He refused, saying that it required scouts of experience,--men who
knew the ways of the country, and that I could be of no use in such
adventures. He was pleased to add that he wished me near him, as one of
his own warriors--that is, the warriors of his family or tribe--that I
might do battle at his side, and in his sight!

"We were not long in finding the enemy, who had received tidings of our
approach. Several battles were fought, in which I did myself credit in
the eyes of our warriors. The lord of Calos was greatly pleased. He took
me with him into counsel, and it was fortunate that the advice which
I gave, as to the conduct of the war, was adopted, and was greatly
successful. Many were the warriors of the mountain whom we slew. Many
scalps were taken, and more than a hundred captive boys and damsels.
These, if young, are always spared, and taken into the conquering tribe.
The former are newly marked with the totem of the people who take them,
while the latter become the wives of the chiefs, who greatly value them.
I confess to you, my brethren, that I was guilty of the sin of taking
one of these same women into my cabin, who was to me as a wife, though
no holy priest, with appointed ceremonials of the church, gave his
sanction to our communion. She was a lovely and a loving creature,
scarcely sixteen, but very fair, almost like a Spaniard, and of hair so
long that she hath thrice wrapt it around her own neck and mine."

"Why didst thou not tell me of that woman?" said Laudonniere,
interrupting the narrator. "Had we known, she should have been procured
with thee. But, even now, it is not too late. We will bid the chief,
Onathaqua, send her after thee, so that thou may'st wed her according
to the rites of the church."

"Alas!" replied Barbu, "thou compellest me, Señor Laudonniere, to
unravel sin after sin before thee. I have greatly erred and wandered
from the paths of virtue, and from the laws of Holy Church, in my
grievous sojourn among the savages. That woman filled no longer the
place which she had at first in my affections. With increase of power
and security, I grew wanton. I grew weary of her, and sold her to one of
the chiefs for a damsel of his own house, which mine eyes coveted."

The Spaniard hung his head as he made this confession, while Laudonniere
with severe aspect rated him for his lecheries. When the captain had
ceased his rebuke, Le Barbu continued his story thus:

"We gained many battles in this war with the mountain Indians, who are
neither so fierce, nor so subtle as those who dwell along the regions of
the sea. Verily, the people of the lord of Calos are great dissemblers,
treacherous beyond the serpent, valiant of their persons, and fight with
excellent address. Great was the favor which I found with them because
of my conduct in the war; and, in each succeeding war, for a space of
six years, I became, in like manner, distinguished, until I became a
most favorite chief with the lord of Calos, and a bosom friend and
companion of his son--he whom I had rescued from the stag, and who had
now grown up to manhood. Greatly did this lad favor his father. He was
of a light olive complexion, scarcely more dark than the people of
Spanish race, but superior in stature, well-limbed, and of admirable
dexterity. With him I hunted from the fall of the leaf in autumn, to the
budding of the leaf again in spring; and, when the summer time came, we
sped away in our canoes, up the vast rivers of the country, through
great lakes, many of which lie embadey in forests of mangrove and
palm, where the forest swims upon the water. If it were possible for a
Christian man--for one who has heard the sound of a great bell in the
cities of the old world, and who has communed with the various good and
wondrous things of civilization--to be content with a loss of these, and
their utter exclusion from sight for ever, then might I have passed
pleasantly the years of my captivity among the people of Calos. I had
become a chief and was greatly honored. I had power and I was much
feared. I had wealth--such wealth as the savage estimates--and I was
loved; and the lord of Calos and his noble son, put in me a faith which
never betrayed a doubt or a denial. But I had not power to shield my
brother Christians, save in one case. Each year witnessed the sacrifice
of a comrade. They were the victims to the Iawas. The priesthood was a
power under which the kings themselves were made to tremble. With them
was it to determine upon peace or war, life or death, bonds or freedom;
and the strength of the king lay greatly in his alliance with the
priesthood. But for this, the rule among the savage nations would be
wholly with the people. Season after season, when came the harvest, one
of our luckless Spaniards was taken away from the rest and doomed to the
sacrifice. In this way the savages propitiate the unknown God, to whom
they looked for victory over their enemies. Do not suppose that I beheld
this cruelty without toiling against it. But I spoke in vain. I made
angry the Iawas, until the lord of Calos himself addressed me, after
this fashion--'Son of the stranger, art thou not well thyself? Why
wouldst thou be sick, being well? Art thou not thyself safe? Why, being
so, put thy head under the macana? It is not wise in thee to _see_
the things over which the power is denied thee. Go then, with Mico
Wa-ha-la,'--such was the name of his son--'go then with him into the
great lake of the forest, and come not back for a season. Depart thou
thus, always, when the maize is ready for the harvest.'

"I obeyed him; but not until I found that I was endangering my own
safety to attempt further expostulation; and then it was that my
companions perished, all save the one who now sits before thee with
myself, and whom I saved because of a service which I rendered to the
Iawa, and whom I persuaded to take my white brother into his wigwam. He
went, even before myself, but through my means, into the service of
Onathaqua."

Here Captain Laudonniere interrupted the speaker.

"For what reason," said he, "being such a favorite with the king of
Calos and his son, didst thou at last leave his service for that of the
King Onathaqua?"

"Alas, Señor Laudonniere, thy question shames me again, since it
requires of me to lay bare another of the vices of my evil heart, and
to confess how the bad passions thereof could lead me into follies which
proved fatal to my better fortune. I had gained great honor among the
savages by my prudence and my skill in war, my strength in battle, and
the excellence of my counsel in the country of the enemy. I had gained
the good will and protection of the great king of Calos, and the
affection of his son, the noble young Mico Wa-ha-la! But these contented
me nothing, though they brought plenty and security to my wigwam, and
such delights as might satisfy the man, a dweller in the wilderness. I
have said that I was greatly trusted by the king, the prince, and the
head men of the country. These then, after I had been eight years in
their service, confided to my charge a great and sacred commission. The
time had come when it became proper that this Mico Wa-ha-la should take
to himself a wife. Now, tidings had reached Calos of a creature, lovely
as a daughter of the sun, who was the youngest child of the King
Onathaqua. A treaty was agreed upon between the two kings for the
marriage of their children; and I was dispatched, with a select body of
warriors, to bring the maiden home to her new sovereign. It was not the
custom for a chief desiring a wife, that he should seek her in person.
Accordingly I was dispatched, and I reached the territories of Onathaqua
in safety. Here I beheld the maiden in pursuit of whom I came, and my
froward heart instantly conceived the wildest affection for her beauty.
Beautiful she was as any of our Castilian maidens, and as delicate and
modestly proper in her bearing, as one may see in the gentlest damsel
of a Christian country. Deeply was I smitten with this new flame, and
greatly did I strive to please the maiden who had fired me with these
fresh fancies. I spake with her in the Indian language, with charms of
thought which had been taken from the Castilian, such as were vastly
superior to those which belonged to Indian courtship. I sang to her many
a glorious ballad of the sweet romance of my country, discoursing of
the tender loves between the Castilian cavaliers and the dark-eyed and
dark-tressed maidens of Grenada. Verily, the beauty of the delicate
daughter of Onathaqua, the precious Istakalina--by which the people of
Onathaqua understand the white lily of the lake before it opens--was
no unbecoming representative of that choice dark beauty which made the
charm of the Moorish damsel of my land, ere Boabdil gave up his sceptre
into the hands of the holy Ferdinand. For Istakalina, I rendered the
language of the Castilian romance into the dialect of her people; and
with a sad fondness in her eyes, that drooped ever while looking upwards
at the passionate gaze of mine, did she listen to the story of feelings
and affections to which her own young and innocent nature did now
tenderly incline. Thus was it that she was delivered into my keeping
by her sire, that I should conduct her to the young Mico Wa-ha-la, my
friend. And thus, with fond discourse of song and story, which grew more
fond with every passing hour--with me to speak and she to listen--did
we commence our journey homeward to the dominions of the lord of Calos.
Alas! for me, and alas! for the hapless maiden, that, in the fondness of
my passion, I forgot my trust; forgot preciously to guard and protect
the precious treasure in my keeping; and, in the increase of my blind
love, forgot all the lessons of war and wisdom, and all the necessary
providence which these equally demand. Thus was it that I was
dispossessed of my charge, at the very moment when it was most dear to
my delight. Didst thou ask me for the hope which grew with this blind
passion, verily, señor, I should have to say to thee that I had none. I
thought not of the morrow; I dared not think of the time when Istakalina
should fill the cabin of Wa-ha-la. I knew nothing but that she was with
me, with her dark eyes ever glistening beneath their darker lids, as she
met the burning speech of mine; that we thridded the sinuous paths of
silent and shady forests, with none to reproach our speech or glances;
our attendants, some of them going on before, and some following; and
that, when she ascended the litter, which was borne by four stout
savages, or sat in the canoe as we sped across lake or river--for both
of these modes of travel did we at times pursue--I was still the nearest
to her side, drunk with her sweet beauty, and the sad tenderness which
dwelt in all her looks and actions. Nor was it less my madness that I
fondly set to the account of her fondness for me, the very sadness with
which she answered my looks, and the sweet sigh which rose so often to
her softly parted lips. Verily, was never man and Christian so false and
foolish as was I, in those bitter blessed moments. Thus was I blinded to
all caution--thus was I heedless of all danger--thus was I caught in
the snare, to the loss of all that was precious as well to my captor as
myself."

"How was this? How happened it?" demanded Laudonniere as Le Barbu
paused, and covered his face with his hands in silence, as if overcome
with a great misery.

"Thou shalt hear, Señor. I will keep nothing from thee of this sad
confession; for, verily, have I long since repented of the sin and folly
which brought after them so much evil. Thou shalt know that, distant
from the territories of the lord of Calos, a journey of some three
days, and nearly that far distant also from the dwelling of Onathaqua,
there lieth a great lake of fresh water, in the midst of which is an
island named Sarropee. This island and the country which surrounds
the lake, is kept by a very powerful nation, a fierce people, not so
numerous as strong, because they have places of retreat and refuge,
whither no enemy dare pursue them. On the firm land, and in open
conflict, the lord of Calos had long before conquered this strange
people; but in their secure harborage and vast water thickets, they
mocked at the power of all the surrounding kings. These, accordingly,
kept with them a general peace, which was seldom broken, except under
circumstances such as those which I shall now unfold. The people of this
lake and island are rich in the precious root called the _Coonti_, of
which they have an abundance, of a quality far superior to that of all
the neighboring country. Their dates, which give forth a delicious
honey, are in great abundance also, and of these their traffic is large
with all other nations. But that they are a most valiant people, and
occupy a territory so troublesome to penetrate, they had been destroyed
by other nations, all of whom are greedy for the rich productions which
their watery realm bestows. Now, it was, that, in our journey homewards,
we drew nigh to the great lake of the people of the isle of Sarropee.
Here it was that my discretion failed me in my passion. Here it was that
my footstep faltered, and the vision of mine eyes was completely shut.
I knew that our people were at peace with the people of Sarropee, and
I thought not of them. But had I not been counselled to vigilance in
bringing home the daughter of Onathaqua, even as if the woods were thick
with enemies? But I had forgotten this caution. I sent forth no spies; I
sought for no wisdom from my young warriors; and, like an ignorant child
that knows not of the deep gulf beneath, I stepped confidently into the
little canoe which was to take Istakalina and myself across an arm of
the lake which set inwards, while our warriors fetched a long compass
around it. Alas! señor, I was beguiled to this folly by the fond desire
that I might have the lovely maiden wholly to myself in the little
canoe, for already did I begin to grieve with the thought that in a few
days, the journey would be at an end, and I should then yield her unto
the embraces of another. And thus we entered the canoe. I made for her
a couch, in the bottom of the little boat, of leaves gathered from the
scented myrtle. With the paddle in my hand, I began to urge the vessel,
but very slowly, lest that we should too soon reach the shore, and find
the warriors waiting for us. Sweetly did I strive to discourse in her
listening ears; and with what dear delight did I behold her as she
answered me only with her tears. But these were as the cherished drops
of hope about mine heart, which gave it a life which it never knew
before. While thus we sped, dreaming nothing of any danger, over the
placid waters, with the dark green mangrove about us, and a soft breeze
playing on the surface of the great lake, suddenly, from out the palm
bushes, darted a cloud of boats, filled with painted warriors, that bore
down upon us with shows of fury and a mighty shout of war. I answered
them with a shout, not unlike their own, for already had I imbibed
something of the Indian nature. I shouted the war-whoop of the lord
of Calos, and tried to make myself heard by the distant warriors that
formed my escort. And they did hear my clamors; for already had they
rounded the bayou or arm of the lake which I had sought to cross, and
were pressing down towards us upon the opposite banks. Then did I bestir
the paddle in my grasp, making rapid progress for the shore, while the
canoes of the Sarropee strove to dart between us and the place for which
I bent. But what could my single paddle avail against their better
equipment? Theirs were canoes of war, carrying each more than a score of
powerful warriors armed for action, and prepared to peril their lives in
the prosecution of their object. I, too, was armed as an Indian warrior,
and with their approach, I betook me to my weapon. I had learned to
throw the short lance, or the javelin of the savage, with a dexterity
like his own; and, ere they could approach me, I had fatally struck
with these darts two of their most valiant warriors. They strove not to
return the arrows lest they should hurt the maiden, Istakalina, who had
raised herself at the first danger, and now strove with the paddle which
I had thrown down. As one of the canoes which threatened us drew nigh, I
seized the great macana which I carried, and prepared myself to use it
upon the most forward warriors; but when I expected that they would
assail me with war-club and spear, the cunning savages thrust their
great prow against our little boat, amidships, and even while my macana
lighted on the head of one of the assailants, smiting him fatally, I
fell over into the lake with the upsetting of our vessel. In a moment
had they grasped Istakalina from the lake, and taken her to themselves
in their own canoe, and as I raised my head from the water, beholding
this mishap, a heavy stroke upon my shoulder, which narrowly missed my
head, warned me of my danger. Then, seeing that I could no longer save
the captive maiden, I dived deeply under, making my way like an otter,
beneath the water, for the shore. A flight of arrows followed my rising
to take the air, but they were hurriedly delivered, with little aim, and
only one of them grazed my cheek. The mark is still here as thou seest.
Again I dived beneath the water, still swimming shoreward, and when I
next rose into the light and air, I was among the people of the lord of
Calos. They were now assembled along the banks of the lake, as near as
they could go to the enemy, some of them, indeed, having waded waist
deep in their wild fury and desperate defiance. But of what avail were
their weapons or their rage? The maiden, Istakalina, the princess and
the betrothed of Wa-ha-la, was gone. The people of the Sarropee had
borne her off, heeding me little even as they had taken her. She was
already far off, moving towards the centre of the lake, and faint were
the cries which now came from her, though it delighted my poor vain
heart, in that desperate hour, to perceive that, in her last cries, it
was my unhappy name that she uttered. They bore her away to the secret
island where they dwelt, in secure fastnesses; and long and fruitless,
though full of desperation, was the war that followed for her recovery.
But, though I myself fought in this war, as I never have fought before,
yet did I not dare to do battle under the eye, or among the warriors of
the lord of Calos. I fled from his sight and from the reproaches of my
friend, the Mico Wa-ha-la, for, in my soul, I felt how deep had been my
guilt, and my conscience did not dare the encounter with their eyes. I
took refuge with Onathaqua, the father of Istakalina; and when he knew
of the valor with which I strove against the captivity of the maiden, he
forgave me that I lost her through my own imprudence. Of the blind and
selfish passion which prompted that imprudence, he did not dream, and
he so forgave me. Under his lead, I took up arms against the tribes of
Sarropee, and for two years did the war continue, with great slaughter
and distress among the several nations. But, in all our battles, I kept
ever on the northern side of the great lake, and never allowed myself to
join with the warriors of Calos. They but too well conceived my guilt.
The keen eyes of mine escort distinguished my passion, and saw that it
was not ungracious in the sight of Istakalina. Too truly did they report
us to the lord of Calos, and to my friend, the young Mico Wa-ha-la.
Bitter was the reproach which he made me in a last gift which he sent
me, while I dwelt with Onathaqua. It consisted of a single arrow, from
which depended a snake skin, with the warning rattles still hanging
thereto. 'Say to the bearded man,' said the Mico, 'when you give him
this, that it comes from Wa-ha-la. Tell him that his friend sends him
this, in token that he knows how much he hath been wronged. Say to the
bearded man, that Wa-ha-la had but one flower of the forest, and that
his friend hath gathered it. Let his friend beware the arrow of the
warrior, and the deadly fang of the war-rattle, for the path between
us is everywhere sown with the darts of death.'

"Thus he spake, and I was silent. I was guilty. I could not excuse
myself, and did not entreat. I felt the truth of his complaint and the
justice of his anger. I felt how great had been my folly and my crime.
Istakalina was lost to us both. Thus then, a fugitive, and an outlaw
from Calos, dreading every moment the vengeance of Wa-ha-la and his
warriors, I dwelt for seven years with Onathaqua, who hath ever treated
me as a son. I have fought among his warriors, and shared the fortunes
of his people, of which nothing more need be said. Tidings at length
came to me, of a people in the country bearded like myself. Then came
your messengers to Onathaqua, and you behold me here. I looked not for
Frenchmen but for Spaniards. I thank and praise the Blessed Mother of
God, that I have found friends if not countrymen, and that I see, once
more, the faces of a Christian people."

Thus ended the narrative of Le Barbu, or the Bearded Man of Calos.




XVIII.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.


We have already mentioned that, with the restoration of Laudonniere
to power, and the complete subjection of his mutineers, he resumed by
degrees his projects of exploration and discovery. Among other places to
which he sent his barks, was the territory of King Audusta, occupying
that region in which Fort Charles had been erected by Ribault, in the
first attempt to colonize in the country. To Audusta, himself, were
sent two suits of apparel, with knives, hatchets and other trifles;
"the better," as Laudonniere says, "to insinuate myselfe into his
friendship." To render this hope more plausible, "I sent in the barke,
with Captaine Vasseur, a souldier called Aimon, which was one of those
which returned home in the first voyage, hoping that King Audusta might
remember him." This Aimon was instructed to inquire after another
soldier named Rouffi, who, it appears, had preferred remaining in the
country, when it had been abandoned by the colonists under Nicolas
Barré.

Audusta received his visitors with great favor,--sent back to
Laudonniere a large supply of "mil, with a certaine quantity of beanes,
two stagges, some skinnes painted after their manner, and certaine
pearles of small value, because they were burnt." The old chief invited
the Frenchmen once more to remove and plant in his territories. He
proffered to give him a great country, and would always supply him with
a sufficient quantity of grain. Audusta had known the Frenchmen almost
entirely by benefits and good fellowship. The period of this visit to
Audusta, which was probably in the month of December, is distinguished
in the chronicle of Laudonniere, by expressions of delightful surprise
at the number of stock doves (wild pigeons) which came about the
garrison--"in so greate number, that, for the space of seven weekes
together," they "killed with harquebush shot at least two hundred every
day." This was good feeding. On the return of Capt. Vasseur from his
visit to Audusta, he was sent with a present "unto the widow of Kinge
Hiocaia, whose dwelling was distant from our fort about twelve leagues
northward. She courteously received our men, sent me backe my barkes,
full of mil and acornes, with certaine baskets full of the leaves of
cassine, wherewith they make their drinke. And the place where this
widow dwelleth, is the most plentifull of mil that is in all the coast,
and the most pleasante. It is thought that the queene is the most
beautiful of all the Indians, and of whom they make the most account:
yea, and her subjects honour her so much that almost continually they
beare her on their shoulders, and will not suffer her to go on foot."

The visit of Laudonniere, through his lieutenant, was returned, in a few
days, by the beautiful widow, through her Hiatiqui, "which is as much as
to say, her Interpreter."

Laudonniere continued his explorations, still seeking provisions, and
with the view to keeping his people from that idleness which hitherto
had caused such injurious discontents in his garrison. His barks were
sent up May River, to discover its sources, and make the acquaintance of
the tribes by which its borders were occupied. Thirty leagues beyond the
place called Mathiaqua, "they discovered the entrance of a lake, upon
the one side whereof no land can be seene, according to the report of
the Indians, which had oftentimes climbed on the highest trees in the
country to see land, and notwithstanding could not discerne any."

These few sentences may assist in enabling the present occupants of the
St. John's to establish the location along that river, at the period of
which we write. The ignorance of the Indians in regard to the country
opposite, along the lake, indicates equally the presence of numerous
tribes, and the absence of much adventure or enterprise among
them--results that would seem equally to flow from the productive
fertility of the soil, and the abundance of the game in the country.
With this account of it as a _terra incognita_, the explorers ceased to
advance. In returning, they paid a visit to the island of Edelano--one
of those names of the Indians, which harbors in the ear with a musical
sweetness which commends it to continued utterance. We should do well to
employ it now in connection with some island spot of rare beauty in the
same region.

This island of Edelano is "situated in the midst of the river; as fair a
place as any that may be seene thorow the world; for, in the space of
some three leagues that it may containe, in length and breadth, a man
may see an exceedingly rich countrey and marvellously peopled. At the
coming out of the village of Edelano, to goe unto the river side, a man
must passe thorow an alley about three hundred paces long and fifty
paces broad; on both sides whereof great trees are planted, the boughes
whereof are tied [blended?] together like an arch, and meet together so
artificially [as if done by art] that a man would thinke it were an
arbour made of purpose, as faire, I say, as any in all Christendom,
although it be altogether naturall."

Leaving the island of Edelano, thus equally famous for its beauties of
nature and name, our voyagers proceeded "to Eneguape, then to Chilily,
from thence to Patica, and lastly they came unto Coya." This place seems
to have been, at this period, one of the habitations of the powerful
king Olata Utina. In the name Olata, we find an affix such as is common
to the Seminoles and Creeks of the present day. _Holata_, as we now
write the word, is evidently the Olata of Laudonniere. It was probably
a title rather than a name.[23] Olata Utina received his visitors
with great favor, as he had always done before; and six of them were
persuaded to remain with him, in order the better to see the country,
while their companions returned to La Caroline. Some of these remained
with the Indian monarch more than two months. One of them, named
Groutald, a gentleman who had taken great pains in this exploration,
reported to Laudonniere that he had never seen a fairer country. "Among
other things, he reported to me that he had seene a place, named
Hostaqua, and that the king thereof was so mighty, that he was able to
bring three or four thousand savages into the field." Of this king
we have heard before. It was the counsel of Monsieur Groutald to
Laudonniere that he should unite in a league with this king, and by this
means reduce the whole country into subjection. "Besides, that this king
knew the passages unto the mountaine of Apalatci, which the Frenchmen
desired so greatly to attaine unto, and where the enemy of Hostaqua made
his abode, which was easie to be subdued, if so be wee would enter into
league together." Hostaqua sent to Laudonniere "a plate of a minerall
that came out of this mountaine,--out of the foote whereof"--such was
the glowing account given by the Indian monarch--"there runneth a
streame of golde or copper." The process by which the red-men obtain the
pure treasures of this golden stream was an exceedingly primitive one,
and reminds us of the simple process of gathering golden sands in
California. "They dig up the sand with an hollow and drie cane of reed,
until the cane be full; afterward they shake it, and find that there are
many small graines of copper and silver among this sand; which giveth
them to understand that some rich mine must needs be in the mountaine."
Laudonniere is greatly impressed by this intelligence, "and because the
mountaine was not past five or six days journey from our fort, lying
towards the north-west, I determined, as soone as our supply should come
out of France, to remove our habitation unto some river more towards the
north, that I might be nearer thereunto."

  [23] Holata Mico (or Blue King), and Holata Amathla, were
  distinguished leaders of the Seminoles in the late war in Florida.

An incident, which occurred about this time, still further increased
the appetites of Laudonniere. He had suffered, and indeed sent, certain
favorite soldiers to go into several parts of the country, among the
savage tribes with whom he kept terms of amnesty and favor, in order
that they should acquire as well a knowledge of the Indian language
as of the country. One of these was named Peter Gambier. This man had
rambled somewhat farther than his comrades. He had shared in all the
more adventurous expeditions of the Indians, and had succeeded in
gathering a considerable quantity of gold and silver, all of which was
understood to have been directly or indirectly from the Indians, who
dwelt at the foot of the Apalachian Mountains. These were tribes of the
Cherokee nation, with whom the Indian nations along the sea-board were
perpetually at war. Full of news, and burdened with his treasure, Peter
Gambier prepared to return to La Caroline. He had made his way in safety
until he reached the beautiful island with the beautiful name, Edelano,
lying in the midst of but high up May River. On the same stream which
was occupied by his countrymen, in force, the thoughtless soldier
conceived himself to be quite safe. He was hospitably entertained by
the chief or king of Edelano, and a canoe was accorded him, with
two companions, with whom to descend the river to the fort. But the
improvident Frenchman, allowed his precious treasures to glitter in the
eyes of his host. He had not merely gold and silver, but he had been
stocked with such European merchandises as were supposed most likely to
tempt the savages to barter. A portion of this stock remained in his
possession. The natural beauties of the island which they occupied had
not softened the hearts of the savages with any just sense of humanity.
They were as sensible to the _auri sacra fames_ as were the Europeans,
and just as little scrupulous, we shame to say it, in gratifying their
appetites as their pale-faced visitors. The possessions of the Frenchmen
were sufficient to render the Mico of Edelano indifferent to all
considerations of hospitality, and the two Indians whom he lent to
Gambier were commissioned to take his life. Thus, accompanied by his
assassins, he entered the canoe, and they were in progress down the
river, when, as the Frenchman stooped over some fish which he was
seething in the boat, the red-men seized the opportunity to brain him
with their stone hatchets, and possess themselves of his treasures. When
the tidings came to Laudonniere, he was not in a situation to revenge
the crime; but the large acquisitions of gold and silver procured by his
soldier, as reported to him, confirmed him in his anxiety to penetrate
these tantalizing realms, in which the rivers ran with such glittering
abundance from rocks whose caverns promised to outvie all that Arabian
story had ever fabled of the magical treasures of Aladdin.

Scarcely had this event taken place, when the war was renewed between
Olata Utina and Potanou. The former applied for assistance to
Laudonniere, who, adopting the policy of the "Spaniards, when they were
imployed in their conquests, who did alwayes enter into alliance with
some one king to ruine another," readily sent him thirty arquebusiers,
under Lieutenant Ottigny. These, with three hundred Indians, led by
Utina, penetrated the territories of Potanou, and had a severe fight,
which lasted for three hours, with the people of that potentate.
"Without doubt, Utina had been defeated, unlesse our harquebusiers had
borne the burthen and brunt of all the battell, and slaine a great
number of the soldiers of Potanou, upon which occasion they were put
to flight." The lieutenant of the French would have followed up the
victory, but Utina, the Paracoussi, had gathered laurels quite enough
for a single day, and was anxious to return home to show his scalps
and enjoy his triumphs among his people. His tribes and villages were
assembled at his return, and, for several days, nothing but feasts,
songs and dances, employed the nation. Ottigny returned to the fort,
after two days spent in this manner with Utina, and his return was
followed by visits from numerous other chiefs, nearer neighbors than
Utina, and enemies of that savage, who came to expostulate with
Laudonniere against his lending succor to a prince who was equally
faithless and selfish. They, on the other hand, entreated him to unite
with them in the destruction of one who was a common enemy. This
application had been made to him before; but his policy had been rather
to maintain terms of alliance, offensive and defensive, with a powerful
chieftain, at some little distance, than to depend wholly upon others
more near at hand. This policy was again drawn from that of the
Spaniard. He was soon to be taught how little was the reliance which he
could place in any of the forest tribes. He was about to suffer from
those deficiencies and evils which were due to his anxious explorations
of the country, when his people had been much better employed in the
wholesome labors of the field, in the very eye of the garrison.

It was the custom of the Indian tribes, after the gathering and storing
away of their harvests, to commence hunting with the first fall of the
leaves, probably about the middle of September. The chase, during this
period, was seldom such as to carry them far from the fields which they
had watched during the summer. Near at hand, for a season at least,
the game was in sufficient quantity to supply their wants. But, as the
season advanced, and towards the months of January, February and March,
they gradually passed into the deeper thickets, and disappeared from
their temporary habitations. During this period, they build up new
abodes, which are equally frail, in the regions to which they go, and
which are contiguous to the hunting-grounds which they are about to
penetrate. To these retreats the whole tribe retires; and hither they
carry all the commodities which are valuable in their eyes. Their summer
dwellings are thus as completely stripped as if the region were
abandoned forever.

This removal, for which their previous experience should sufficiently
have prepared our Frenchmen, was yet destined to have for them some very
pernicious results. We have seen that certain subsidies of corn and
beans had been procured from various tribes and nations; enough,
according to Laudonniere, to serve them until the arrival of expected
succors from France. But, calculating on these succors, and confident
of their arrival during the month of April, our Frenchmen had become
profligate of their stores. April found them straitened for provisions,
and not an Indian could be seen. April passed slowly and brought no
succor. With the month of May the Indians had returned to their former
abodes; but, by this time, their remaining stock of grain had mostly
found its way into the ground, in the setting of another crop. From
the savages, accordingly, nothing but scanty supplies of fish could be
procured, without which, says Laudonniere, "assuredly wee had perished
from famine." Of the incompetence of this captain, and the wretched
order which prevailed among his garrison, his incapacity and other
incompetence, this statement affords sufficient proof. They neither
tilled the earth for its grain, nor sounded the river for its finny
tribes; though these realms were quite as much under their dominion as
that of the savages; but they relied solely upon this capricious and
inferior race, in the exploration of land and sea, for maintaining them
against starvation.

May succeeded to April, and still in vain did our Frenchmen look forth
upon the sea, for the ships of their distant countrymen. June came,
and their wants increased. They fell finally into famine, of which
Laudonniere himself affords us a sufficiently impressive picture.

"We were constrayned to eate rootes, which the most part of our men
punned in the mortars which I had brought with me to beate gunnepowder
in, and the graine which came to us from other places. Some tooke the
wood of _esquine_, (?) beate it, and made meale thereof, which they
boiled with water, and eate it. Others went with their harquebusies to
seeke to kill some foule. Yea, this miserie was so great, that that one
was founde that had gathered up all the fish-bones that he could finde,
which he dried and beate into powder to make bread thereof. The effects
of this hidious famine appeared incontinently among us, for our bones
eftsoones beganne to cleave so neare unto the skinne, that the most part
of the souldiers had their skinnes pierced thorow with them in many
partes of their bodies, in such sort that my greatest feare was, least
the Indians would rise up against us, considering that it would have
beene very harde for us to have defended ourselves in such extreme decay
of all our forces, besides the scarsitie of all vittualls, which fayled
us all at once. For the very river had not such plentie of fish as it
was wont, and it seemed that the very land and water did fight against
us." In this condition were they till the beginning of June. "During
which time," says the chronicler, further--"the poore souldiers and
handicraftsmen became as feeble as might be, and being not able to
worke, did nothing but goe, one after another, as centinels, unto the
clift of an hill, situate very neare unto the fort, to see if they might
discover any French ship."

But their watchings still ended with disappointment. Thus was the hope
with which the heart sickens, deferred too long. No ships greeted their
famishing eyes, and they at length appealed to their commander, in a
body, to take measures for returning to France, and abandoning the
colony,--"considering that if wee let passe the season to embarke
ourselves, wee were never like to see our country;" and alleging,
plausibly enough, that new troubles had probably broken out in France,
which was the reason that they had failed to receive the promised
succors. Laudonniere lent an easy ear to their demands. He, himself, was
probably quite as sick of the duties, to which he was evidently unequal,
as were his followers. It was, perhaps, prudent to submit to those for
whom he could no longer provide. The bark "Breton" was fitted up, and
given in charge to Captain Vasseur; and, as this vessel could carry
but a small portion of the colony, it was determined to build a "faire
ship," which the shipwrights affirmed could be made ready by the 8th of
August. "Immediately I disposed of the time to worke upon it. I gave
charge to Monsieur de Ottigny, my lieutenant, to cause timber necessary
for the finishing of bothe the vessels to be brought, and to Monsieur
D'Erlach, my standard-bearer, to goe with a barke a league off from the
forte, to cut down trees fit to make plankes." Sixteen men, under the
charge of a sergeant, were set "to labour in making coals; and to Master
Hance, keeper of the artillery," was assigned the task of procuring
rosin to bray the vessels. "There remained now but the principal,
[object,] which was to recover vittualls, to sustain us while the worke
endured." Laudonniere, himself, undertook to seek for this supply. He
embarked with thirty men in the largest of his vessels, with the purpose
of running along the coast for forty or fifty leagues. But his search
was taken in vain. He procured no supplies. He returned to the fort only
to defraud the expectations of his people, who now grew desperate with
hunger and discontent. They assembled together, riotously, and, with one
voice, insisted that the only process by which to extort supplies from
the savages was to seize upon the person of their kings.

To this, at first, Laudonniere would not consent. The enterprise was
a rash one. The consequences might be evil, in regard to any future
attempts at settlement. He proposed one more trial among them, and
sent despatches communicating his desire to traffic for food with the
surrounding tribes. The Indians were not averse to listen. But they knew
the distress under which the Frenchmen suffered, and were prepared to
turn it to account. They came into the garrison with small supplies of
grain and fish, enough to provoke appetite rather than to satisfy it.
For these they demanded such enormous prices, as, if conceded, would
have soon exhausted all the merchandise of the garrison. With one hand
they extended their produce, while the other was stretched for the
equivalent required. Knowing the desperation of the Frenchmen, they took
care, while thus tantalizing their hopes and hunger, to keep out of
reach of shot of arquebuse. In this way, they took the very shirts
from the backs of the starving soldiers. When Laudonniere remonstrated
against their prices, their answer was a bitter mockery.

"Very good," said the savages, "if thou make such great account of thy
merchandise, let it stay thy hunger. Do thou eat of it and we will eat
of our fish." This reply would be cheered with their open-throated
laughter. The old ally of the French, the Paracoussi Utina, mocked them
in like manner. His subjects followed his example; and, in the end,
goaded to madness, Laudonniere resolved on adopting the course which
his people had counselled; that, by which, taking one of their kings
prisoner, food could be extorted for his ransom. The ingratitude of
Utina, for past services, a recent attempt which he had made to employ
the French soldiers in his own conquests, while professing to lead them
only where they should find provisions, and the supposed extent of his
resources, pointed him out to all parties as the proper person upon whom
to try the experiment, on a small scale, which Cortez and Pizzarro had
used, on a large one, in the conquest of Peru and Mexico.




XIX.

  Of the captivity of the Great Paracoussi--Olata Ouvae Utina, and the
    war which followed between his people and the French.

CHAPTER I.


It being determined by Laudonniere, in the necessities of his people,
to seize upon the person of the great Paracoussi, Olata Ouvae Utina,
in order, by the ransom which he should extort, to relieve the
famine which prevailed among the garrison, he proceeded to make his
preparations for the event. Two of his barks were put in order for this
purpose, and a select body of fifty men was chosen from his ranks to
accompany him on the expedition. But this select body, though the very
best men of the garrison, exhibited but few external proofs of their
adequacy for the enterprise. So lean of flesh, so shrunk of sinew, so
hollow-eyed were they, that their picture recals to us the description
given by Shakspeare of the famished and skeleton regiments of Henry of
Monmouth at the famous field of Agincourt--'A poor and starved band,'
the very 'shales and husks of men,' with scarcely blood enough in all
their veins, to stain the Indian hatchet, which they travel to provoke.
But famine endows the sinews with a vigor of its own. Hunger enforced
to the last extremities of nature, clothes the spirit of the man in the
passions of the wolf and tiger. Lean and feeble as are our Frenchmen,
they are desperate. They are in the mood to brave the forest chief in
his fastnesses, and to seize upon his own heart, in the lack of other
food. The very desperation of their case secures them against any
misgivings.

The dominions of Holata Utina were distant from La Caroline, between
forty and fifty leagues up the river. His chief town, where he dwelt,
lay some six more leagues inland, a space over which our Frenchmen had
to march. Leaving a sufficient guard in their vessels, Laudonniere
and his company landed and proceeded in this quarter. He marched with
caution, for he knew his enemy. His advance was conducted by Alphonse
D'Erlach, his standard-bearer--one, whose experience and skill had been
too frequently tried to leave it doubtful that his conduct would be
a safe one. He had traversed the space before, and he knew the route
thoroughly. The progress was urged with as much secrecy as caution. The
cover of the woods was carefully maintained, the object of the party
being a surprise. They well knew that Utina had but little expectation
of seeing them, at this juncture, in his own abodes. None, so well as
himself, knew how feeble was their condition, how little competent to
any courageous enterprise. They succeeded in appearing at the village of
the chief without provoking alarm. He himself was at home, sitting in
state in the royal wigwam, with but few warriors about him. The fashion
of the Indian, with less royal magnificence, in other words, with less
art and civilization--is not greatly unlike that of the Turk. Olata
Utina sat crossed legs upon a _dais_ prepared of dressed skins of the
deer, the bear and panther. The spotted hides hung over the raised
portions of the seat which he kept, upon which also might be seen
coverlets of cotton ingeniously manufactured, and richly stained with
the bright crimson, scarlet, and yellow, of native dye-woods. This art
of dyeing, the savages had brought to a comparatively high state of
perfection. His house itself stood upon an artificial eminence of earth,
raised in the very centre of his village, and overlooking it on every
hand. It was an airy structure, with numerous openings, and the breeze
played sweetly and capriciously among the coverlets which hung as
curtains before the several places of egress and entrance. Utina himself
was a savage of noble size and appearance. He carried himself with the
ease and dignity of one born to the purple. His form, though an old man,
was still unbending and tall. His countenance was one of great spirit
and nobleness. With forehead equally large and high, with a dark eye
that flashed with all the fires of youth, with lips that opened only to
discourse in tones of a sweet but majestic eloquence, and with a shrewd
sagacity, that made him, among a cunning people, a recognised master
of all the arts of the serpent, he was necessarily a person to impress
with respect and admiration those even who came with hostility.

It is probable that Utina knew nothing of the approach of the Frenchmen,
until it was too late to escape them. But, before they entered the
opened space assigned to the settlement, he was advised of their coming.
Then it was that he threw aside his domestic habit and assumed his
state. Then it was that he resumed his dignity and ascended the _dais_
of stained cotton and flowing deer-skin. His turban of purple and yellow
cotton was bound skilfully about his brow, his bow and quiver lay beside
him, while at his feet was extended his huge macana, or war-club, which
it scarcely seemed possible that his aged hands should now grasp with
vigor sufficient for its formidable use. His hands, when the Frenchmen
entered the dwelling, held nothing more formidable than the earthen
pipe, and the long tubulated reed which he busied himself in inserting
within the bowl. Two of his attendant warriors retired at the same
moment. These, Laudonniere did not think proper to arrest, though
counselled to do so by D'Erlach. He knew not that they had been
despatched by the wily Paracoussi for the purpose of gathering his
powers for resistance.

Laudonniere appeared in the royal wigwam with but ten companions. Forty
others had been dispersed by D'Erlach at proper points around the
village. Of their proximity the king knew nothing. His eye took in,
at a single glance, the persons of his visitors; and a slight smile,
that looked derisive, was seen to overspread his visage. It was with
something like good humor in his tones that he gave them welcome. A page
at the same time brought forth a basket of wicker-work, which contained
a large collection of pipes of all sorts and sizes. Another basket
afforded a sufficient quantity of dried leaves of the tobacco and
vanilla. The Paracoussi nodded to his guests as the boy presented
both baskets, and Laudonniere, with two others of his company, helped
themselves to pipes and weed. Thus far nothing had been said but
"_Ami_," and "_Bonjour_." The welcome of the Indians was simple always,
and a word sufficed among them as amply as the most studied and verbose
compliment. The French had learned to imitate them in this respect, to
be sparing of words, and to restrain the expression of their emotions,
particularly when these indicated want or suffering.

But the necessities of our Frenchmen were too great and pressing, at the
present time, to be silenced wholly by convention; and when, as if in
mockery, a small trencher of parched corn was set before them, with a
vessel of water, the impatience of Laudonniere broke into utterance.

"Paracoussi Utina," said he, "you have long known the want which has
preyed upon our people."

"My brother is hungry," replied Utina, with a smile more full of scorn
than sweetness--"let my brother eat. Let his young men eat. There is
never famine among the people of Utina."

"And if there be no want among the people of Utina, wherefore is it that
he suffers the French to want? Why has he forgotten his allies? Did not
my young men fight the battles of Utina against the warriors of the
mighty Potanou? Did not many captives grace the triumph of Utina? Has
the Paracoussi forgotten these services? Why does he turn away from his
friends, and show himself cold to their necessities?"

"Why will my pale brother be talking?" said the other, with a most
lordly air of indifference. "The people of Utina have fought against the
warriors of Potanou for more than a hundred winters. My French brother
is but a child in the land of the red-people. What does he know of the
triumphs of my warriors? He saw them do battle once with the tribes of
Potanou, and he makes account because he then fought on behalf of my
people. My people have fought with the people of Potanou more than a
hundred battles. Our triumphs have been witnessed by every bird that
flies, every beast that runs, every fish that swims, between the
villages of Potanou and the strong house of the Frenchman where he
starves below. What more will our pale brother say, being thus a child
among the red-men?"

"Why parley with the savage?" said Alphonse D'Erlach, "if you mean to
take him? I care not for his insolence which chafes me nothing; but we
lose time. You have suffered some of his warriors to depart. They are
gone, doubtless, to gather the host together. We shall need all the time
to carry our captive safely to the boats."

These words were spoken aloud, directly in the rear of Utina, D'Erlach
having taken a place behind him in the conference. The Paracoussi was
startled by the language. Some of it was beyond his comprehension. But
he could not misunderstand the tone and manner of the speaker. D'Erlach
was standing above him, with his hand stretched over him, and ready to
grasp his victim the moment the word should be spoken. His slight form
and youthful features, contrasted with the cold, inflexible expression
of his eyes and face, very forcibly impressed the imagination of the
Indian monarch, as, turning at the interruption, he looked up at the
person of the speaker. But, beyond the first single start which followed
the interruption, Utina gave no sign of surprise or apprehension.

"Awhile, awhile, Alphonse--be not too hasty, my son;" was the reply of
Laudonniere. He continued, addressing himself to the Paracoussi:

"My red brother thinks he understands the French. He is mistaken. He
will grow wiser before he grows much older. But it will be time then
that I should teach him. It matters now only, that I should say to the
Paracoussi Utina, _we want, and you have plenty_. We have fought your
battles. We are your friends. We will trade with you for mil and beanes.
Give us of these, according to our need, and you shall have of the
merchandize of the French in just proportion. Let it be so, brother,
that peace may still flourish between our people."

"There is mil and beanes before my white brother. Let him take and
divide among his people."

"But this will not suffice for a single meal. Does the Paracoussi laugh
to scorn the sufferings of my people?"

"The Paracoussi laughs because the granaries of the red-men are full.
There is no famine among _his_ people. Hath the Great Spirit written
that the red-man shall gather food in the proper season that the white
man may sleep like the drowsy buffalo in the green pasture? Let my
white brother drive from his ear the lying bird that sings to him:
'Sleep--take thy slumber under the pleasant shade tree, while the people
of Utina get thee food!'"

"Would the Paracoussi make the Frenchmen his enemies? Is their anger
nothing? Is their power not a thing to be feared?"

"And what is the Paracoussi Olata Ovae Utina? Hath he not many thousand
warriors? The crane that rises in the east in the morning, though he
flies all day, compasses not the land at sunset, which belongs to my
dominions. East and west my people whoop like the crane, and hear no
birds that answer but their own. Let my pale brother hush, for he speaks
a foolish thing of his warriors. Did I dream, or did any runners tell me
that the bones of the Frenchmen break through the skin, lacking food,
and their sinews are so shrunken that they can never more strive in
battle? Who shall fear them? I had pity on my brother when I heard these
things. I sent him food, and bade my people say--'take this food which
thou needest; the great Paracoussi asks for nothing in recompense, but
thy guns, thy swords, and thy lances; weapons which they tell me thou
hast strength to use no longer.'"

"Did they tell thee so, Utina? But thou shalt see. Once more, my
brother, I implore thee to give us of thy abundance, and we will
cheerfully impart to thee from our store of knives, reap-hooks,
hatchets, mirrors, and lovely beads, such as will delight thy women.
Here, behold,--this is some of the treasure which I have brought thee
for the purposes of barter."

The lordly chieftain deigned not a single glance to the European wares,
which, at a word from Laudonniere, one of the French soldiers laid at
his feet. The French captain, as if loth to proceed to extremities,
continued to entreat; while every new appeal was only answered, on the
part of the savage prince, with a new speech of scorn, and new gestures
of contempt. At length, Laudonniere's patience was exhausted, and he
gave the signal which had been agreed upon with his lieutenant. In the
next moment, the quick grasp of Alphonse D'Erlach was laid upon the
Paracoussi's shoulders. He attempted to rise, and to grasp, at the same
time, the macana which lay at his feet. But D'Erlach kept him down with
his hands, while his foot was struck down upon the macana. In that
moment, the war-conch was sounded at the entrance by several Indians
who had been in waiting. It was caught up and echoed by the bugles of
D'Erlach; the blast of which had scarcely been heard throughout the
village, before it had been replied to, four several times, from as many
different points where the French force had been stationed, ten soldiers
in each. One desperate personal struggle which the Paracoussi made,
proved fruitless to extricate him from the grasp of his captor; and he
then sat quietly, without a word, coldly looking his enemies in the
face.




CHAPTER II.


The captive Paracoussi lost none of his dignity in his captivity. He
scorned entreaty. He betrayed no symptom of fear. That he felt the
disgrace which had been put upon him, was evident in the close
compression of his lips; but he was sustained by the secret conviction
that his warriors were gathering, and that they would rescue him from
his captors by the overwhelming force of their numbers. At first his
stoicism was shared by his family and attendants; but when Laudonniere
declared his purpose to remove his prisoner to the boats, then the
clamors of women, not less eloquent in the wigwam of the savage, than
in the household of the pale faces, became equally wild and general. The
Paracoussi had but one wife, foregoing, in this respect, some of his
princely privileges, to which the customs of the red-men afforded a
sufficient sanction. But there were many females in the royal dwelling,
all of whom echoed the tumultuous cries of its mistress. This devoted
woman, with her attendants, accompanied the captive to the boats, where,
following the precautions adopted by D'Erlach, the Frenchmen arrived in
safety. The warriors of the red-men had not yet time to gather and array
themselves. Laudonniere gave the women and immediate companions of the
Paracoussi to understand that his purpose was not to do his captive any
injury. The French were hungry and must have food. When a sufficient
supply was brought them, Olata Utina should be set free.

But these assurances they did not believe. They themselves, seldom set
free their captives. Ordinarily, they slew all their male prisoners
taken by surprise or in war, reserving the young females only. They
naturally supposed, that what was the custom with them, founded upon
sufficient reasons, at once of fear and superstition, must be the custom
with the white men also. Accordingly, the queen of Utina, was not to be
comforted. She followed him to the river banks, clinging to him to the
last, and stood there ringing her hands and filling the air with her
shrieks, while the people of Laudonniere lifted him into the bark, and
pushed out to the middle of the river. It was well for them that this
precaution was taken. The warriors of the Paracoussi were already
gathering in great numbers. More than five hundred of them showed
themselves on the banks of the river, entreating of Laudonniere to draw
nigh that they might behold their prince. They brought tidings that,
taking advantage of his captivity, the inveterate Potanou had suddenly
invaded his chief village, had sacked and fired it, destroying all the
persons whom he encountered. But Laudonniere was properly suspicious,
and soon discovered, that, while five hundred archers showed themselves
to him as suppliants, the shores were lined with thrice five hundred in
snug ambush, lying close for the signal of attack. Failing to beguile
the Frenchmen to the land, a few of them, in small canoes, ventured out
to the bark in which their king was a prisoner, bringing him food--meal
and peas, and their favorite beverage, the cassina tea. Small supplies
were brought to the Frenchmen also; but without softening their hearts.
Laudonniere had put his price upon the head of his captive, and would
'bate nothing of his ransom.

But it so happened, that the Indians were quite as suspicious and
inflexible as the Frenchmen. They believed that Laudonniere only aimed
to draw from them their stores, and then destroy their sovereign. A
singular circumstance, illustrative of the terrible relations in which
all savage tribes must stand toward each other, even when they dwell
together in near neighborhood, occurred at this time, and increased the
doubts and fears of the people of Utina. As soon as it was rumored
about that this mighty potentate, whom they all so much dreaded, was a
prisoner to the white man, the chiefs of the hostile tribes gathered to
the place of his captivity, as the inhabitant of the city goes to behold
in the menagerie the great lion of Sahara, the lord of the desert, of
whom, when free in his wild ranges, it shook their hearts only to hear
the roar. With head erect, though with chains about his limbs,--with
heart haughty, though with hope humbled to the dust--the proud
Paracoussi sate unmoved while they gathered, gazing upon him with a
greedy malice that declared a long history of scorn and tyranny on the
one hand, and hate and painful submission on the other. They walked
around the lordly savage, scarcely believing their eyes, and still with
a secret fear, lest, in some unlucky moment, he should break loose from
his captivity, and resume his weapon for the purposes of vengeance.
Eagerly and earnestly did they plead with Laudonniere either to put him
to death, or to deliver him to their tender mercies. Among those who
came to see and triumph over his ancient enemy, and, if possible, to get
him into his power, was the Paracoussi Satouriova, one of Laudonniere's
first acquaintances, whose power, perhaps, along the territories of May
River, was only next to that of Utina. He, as well as the rest of the
chiefs, brought bribes of maize and beans, withheld before, in order to
persuade Laudonniere to yield to their desires. In this way he procured
supplies, much beyond those which were furnished by the people of the
prisoner, though still greatly disproportioned to his wants. The people
of Utina, meanwhile, persuaded that their monarch could not escape the
sacrifice, and aware of the several and strong influences brought to
bear upon his captors, proceeded to do that which was likely to defeat
all the hopes and calculations of the French. Their chiefs assembled in
the Council House, assuming that Utina was dead already, and elected
another for their sovereign, from among his sons. The measure was a
hasty one, ill considered, and promised to lead to consequences the most
injurious to the nation. The new prince immediately took possession of
the royal wigwam, and began the full assertion of his authority. Parties
were instantly formed among the tribes, from among the many who were
dissatisfied with this assumption, and, but for the great efforts of
the nobles of the country, the chiefs, the affair would have found
its finish in a bloody social war; since, already had one of the near
kinsmen of Olata Utina set up a rival claim to the dominion of his
people.

But, it was sufficient that the election of the son of their captive,
to the throne of his father, rendered unavailing the bold experiment of
the Frenchmen, and threatened to defeat all the hopes which they had
founded on the securing his person. The savages had adopted the most
simple of all processes, and the most satisfactory, by which to baffle
the invaders. Olata Utina was an old man, destined, in the ordinary
course of nature, to give way in a short time to the very successor they
had chosen. Why should they make any sacrifices to procure the freedom
of one whom they did not need. Their reverence for royalty in exile was
hardly much greater than it is found to-day in civilized Europe; and
they resigned themselves to the absence of Olata Utina with a philosophy
duly proportioned to the quantities of corn and peas which they should
save by the happy thought which had already found a successor to his
sway. In due degree with their resignation to the chapter of accidents,
however, was the mortification of our Frenchmen, who thus found
themselves cut off from all the hopes which they had built upon their
bold proceeding. They had made open enemies of a powerful race, without
reaping those fruits of their offence, which might have reconciled them
to its penalties. Still they suffered in camp as well as in garrison,
from want of food, and were allowed to entertain no expectations from
the anxieties of the savages in regard to the fate of the captive
monarch. His importance naturally declined in the elevation of his
successor. Whether governed by policy or indifference, his people
betrayed but little sympathy in his condition; and though keeping
him still in close custody, treating him with kindness the while,
Laudonniere was compelled to seek elsewhere for provisions. Apprised by
certain Indians that, in the higher lands above, but along the river,
there were some fields of maize newly ripening, he took a detachment
of his men in boats and proceeded thither. Coming to a village called
Enecaque, he was hospitably entertained by the sister of Utina, by whom
it was governed. She gave him good cheer, a supper of mil, beans, and
fish, with gourds of savory tea, made of cassina. Here it was found that
the maize was indeed ripe: but the hungry Frenchmen suffered by the
discovery and their own rapacity. They fastened upon it in its fresh
state, without waiting for the slow process of cooking, to disarm it of
its hurtful juices, and they became sick accordingly. Yet how could men
be reproached for excess, who had scarcely eaten for four days, and
for whom a portion of the food that silenced hunger during this time,
consisted of a dish of young puppies newly whelped.

While on this expedition, it occurred to Laudonniere to revenge upon the
lord of Edelano, the cruel murder of his soldier, Peter Gambier, whose
story has been given in previous pages. He was now drawing nigh to that
beautiful island; and after leaving Enecaque, he turned his prows in
search of its sweet retreats. But, with all his caution, the bird had
flown. The lord of Edelano had been advised of what he had to fear, and,
at the approach of the Frenchmen he disappeared, crossing the stream
between, to the opposite forests, and leaving his village at the mercy
of the enemy. Baffled of their revenge upon the offender, the Frenchmen
vented their fury upon his empty dwellings. The torch was applied to the
village, which was soon consumed. Returning to Enecaque, Laudonniere
swept its fields of all their grain, with which he hastened back to his
starving people at La Caroline. These, famishing still, "seeing me afar
off coming, ranne to that side of the river where they thought I would
come on land; for hunger so pinched them to the heart, that they could
not stay until the victuals were brought them to the fort. And that they
well showed as soon as I was come, and had distributed that little maize
among them which I had given to each man, before I came out of the
barke; for they eate it before they had taken it out of the huske."

The necessity of the garrison continued as great as ever. The wretched
fields of the red-men afforded very scanty supplies. Other villages were
sought and ransacked, those of Athoré, swayed by King Emola, and those
of a Queen named Nia Cubacani. In ravaging the fields of the former,
two of the Frenchmen were slain. But the provisions got from Queen
Nia Cubacani, were all free gifts. The pale faces seem to have been
favorites with the female sovereigns wherever they went. In the
adventures of the Huguenots, as in those of the Spaniards under Hernan
de Soto and other chiefs, the smiles of the Apalachian women seemed to
have been bestowed as freely as were the darts and arrows of their lords
and masters. In this way was the path of enterprise stripped of many of
its thorns, and he whose arm was ever lifted against the savage man,
seldom found the heart of the savage woman shut against his approach.
This is a curious history, but it seems to mark usually the fortunes of
the superior, invading the abodes of the inferior people. The women of
a race are always most capable of appreciating the social morals of a
superior.

The Paracoussi Olata Utina, now made an effort to obtain his liberty.
The hopes of the Frenchmen, in respect to his ransom, had failed.
His people had shown a stubbornness, which, to do the Indian monarch
justice, had not been greater than his own. He saw the poverty and
distress which prevailed among his captors, in spite of all their
attempts at concealment. He saw that the lean and hungry famine was
still preying upon their hearts. He said to Laudonniere--

"Of what avail is it to you or to me, that you hold me here a captive?
Take me to my people. The maize is probably ripened in my fields. One of
these shall be set aside for your use wholly, with all its store of corn
and beans, if you will set me free in my own country."

Laudonniere consulted with his chief men. They concurred in granting the
petition of the Paracoussi. The two barks were accordingly fitted out,
and, with a select detachment, Laudonniere proceeded with his captive
to a place called Patica, some eight or nine leagues distant from the
village of Utina. The red-men fled at their approach, seeking cover in
the forests, though their king, himself, cried to them to await his
coming. To pursue them was impossible. To trust the king out of their
possession, without any equivalent, was impolitic. Another plan was
pursued. One of the sons of the Paracoussi, a mere boy, had been taken
with his father. It was now determined to dismiss this boy to the
village, accompanied by one of the Frenchmen, who had been thither
before, and who knew the character and condition of the country. His
instructions were to restore the boy to his mother and his kindred, and
to say that his father should be delivered also, if an adequate supply
of provisions was brought to the vessel. The ancient chronicle, briefly,
but very touchingly, describes the welcome which was given to the
enfranchised child. All were delighted to behold him, the humblest
making as much of him as if he had been the nearest kindred, and each
man thinking himself never so happy as when permitted to touch him with
his hand. The wife of Utina, with her father, came to the barks of the
Frenchmen, bringing bread for the present wants of the company; but
the policy of the Indians did not suffer the pleadings of the woman to
prevail. The parties could not agree about the terms of ransom; the
red-men, meanwhile, practised all their arts to delay the departure of
the vessels. It was discovered that they were busy with their forest
strategy, seeking rather to entrap the captain of the French, than
to bargain for the recovery of their own chieftain. Laudonniere was
compelled finally to return with his prisoner to La Caroline, as hungry
as ever, and with no hopes of the future.

Here, a new danger awaited the captive. Furious at their disappointment,
the starving Frenchmen, as soon as the failure of the enterprise was
known, armed themselves, and with sword and matchlock assailed the
little cavalcade which had the chief in custody, as they were about to
disembark. With gaunt visages and staring eyes, that betrayed terribly
the cruel famine under which they were perishing, and cries of such
terrible wrath, as left but little doubt of the direst purpose, they
darted upon their prey. But Laudonniere manfully interposed himself,
surrounded by his best men, between their rage and his victim. Captain
La Vasseur and Ensign D'Erlach, each seized upon a mutineer whom they
held ready to slay at a stroke given; and other good men and true,
coming to the rescue, the famishing mutineers were shamed and frightened
into forbearance. But bitterly did they complain of the lack of wisdom
in their captain, who had released the son, the precious hope of the
nation, retaining the sire, for whom, having a new king, the savages
cared nothing. Their murmurs drove Laudonniere forth once more. Taking
the Paracoussi with him, after a brief delay, he proceeded to explore
other villages along the river. The red-men planted two crops during the
growing season. Their maize ripened gradually, and fields that yielded
nothing during one month, were in full grain in that ensuing. For
fifteen days the French commandant continued his explorations with small
success; when the Paracoussi, whom nothing had daunted, of his proper
and haughty firmness, during all his captivity, once more appealed to
his captors:

"That my people did not supply you with maize and beanes when you sought
them last, was because they were not ripe. I spake to you then as a
foolish young man, anxious to set foot once more among my people. I
should have known that the grain could not be ready then for gathering.
But the season is now. It is ripened everywhere, and, in the present
abundance of my people, they will gladly yield to your demands, and give
full ransom for their king. Take me thither then, once more, and my
people will not stick to give you ample victual."

The necessities of the French were too great to make them hesitate at
a renewal of the attempt, where all others had proved so profitless;
particularly when the old king, with some solemnity, placing his hand
upon the wrist of the French captain, said to him--

"Brother, doubt me not--doubt not my people. If they answer thee not to
thy expectations as well as mine, bring me back to thy people, and let
them do with me even as they please?"

Again was the Paracoussi brought into the presence of his subjects. They
assembled to meet him on the banks of a little river, which emptied into
the main stream, and to which Laudonniere had penetrated in his vessels.
They appeared with considerable supplies of bread, fish and beans, which
they shared among the Frenchmen. They put on the appearance of great
good feeling and friendship, and entered into the negotiations for the
release of their king, with equal frankness and eagerness. But in all
this they exhibited only the consummate hypocrisy of their race;--a
hypocrisy not to be wondered at or complained of, as it is the only
natural defence which a barbarous people can ever possibly oppose to
the superior power of civilization. Their effort was simply still so to
beguile the Frenchmen, as to ensnare their leader,--get _him_ within
their power, and then compel an exchange with his people of chief for
chief. For this purpose they prolonged the negotiations. Small supplies
of food, enough to provoke expectation, without satisfying demand, were
brought daily to their visitors. But, in the meantime, their warriors
began to accumulate along the shores, covered in the neighboring
thickets, or crouching in patient watch along the reedy tracts that
fringed the river. The vigilant eye of Alphonse D'Erlach soon detected
the ambush; and at length, finding Laudonniere preparing to leave
them, still keeping their king a captive, the savages resumed their
negotiations with more activity, and withdrew their archers from the
neighborhood.

It must not be supposed that their love for their monarch was small,
because they showed themselves so slow in bringing the humble ransom of
corn and beans, which the French demanded. To them, that ransom was by
no means insignificant. It swept their granaries. It took the food from
their children. It drove them into the woods in winter without supplies,
leaving them to the rigors of the season, the uncertainties of the
chase, and with no other dependence than the common mast of the forest.
It deprived them of the very seed from which future harvests were to be
gathered. The drain for the supply of the hungry mouths at La Caroline,
seemed to them perpetual, and Laudonniere aimed now not only to meet
the wants of the present, but to store ships and fort against future
necessities. It was of the last importance to the people of Olata Utina,
that they should recover their king without subjecting their people
to the horrors of such a famine as was preying upon the vitals of the
Frenchmen.

They over-reached Laudonniere at last. They persuaded him that the
presence of the king, among his people, was necessary to compel each
man to bring in his subsidy;--that they must see him, in his former
abodes, freed entirely from bonds, before they would recognize his
authority;--that they feared, when they should have brought their grain,
that the French would still retain their captive;--and, in short,
insisted so much upon the freedom of Utina, as the _sine quâ non_, that
the doubts of Laudonniere were overcome. It was agreed that two chiefs
should become hostages for Olata Utina, and, in guaranty of the
fulfilment of his pledges.

We are not told of the exact amount of ransom required for the surrender
of their king. It was probably enormous, according to the equal
standards of Indian and Frenchmen, in this period and region. Willingly
came the two chiefs to take the place of Olata Utina. They were admitted
on board the bark, where he was kept in chains. They were warriors, and
as they approached him, they broke their bows and arrows across, and
threw them before him: Then, as they beheld his bonds, they rushed to
his feet, lifted up and kissed his chains, and supported them, while the
Frenchmen unlocked them from the one captive to transfer them to the
hands and feet of those who came to take his place. These looked not
upon the bonds as they were riveted about their limbs. They only watched
the movements of their king with eyes that declared a well-satisfied
delight. He rose from his place, and shook himself slowly, as a lion
might be supposed to do, rousing himself after sleep. Never was head so
erect, or carriage so like one who feels all his recovered greatness.
He waved his hand in signal to the shore, where hundreds of his people
were assembled to greet his deliverance.

The signal was understood, a mantle of fringed and gorgeously-dyed
cotton was brought him by one of his sons. His macana, or war-club, and
a mighty bow from which he could deliver a shaft more than five English
feet in length, were also brought him. Over his shoulder the mantle was
thrown by one of his attendants. The war-club was carried before him by
a page. But, before he left the vessel, he bent his bow, fixed one of
the shafts upon the deer sinews, which formed the cord, and drawing it
to its head, sent it high in air, until it disappeared for a few seconds
from the sight. This was a signal to his people. Their king, like the
arrow, was freed from its confinement. It had gone like a bird of mighty
wing, into the unchained atmosphere. A cloud of arrows from the shore
followed that of their sovereign. To this succeeded a great shout of
thanks and deliverance--"He! He! yo-he-wah! He--he--yo-he-wah." The echo
of which continued to ring through the vaulted forests, long after the
Paracoussi had disappeared within their green recesses.




CHAPTER III.


The Paracoussi, on parting with Laudonniere, renewed his assurances of
good will, and repeated the promises which had been given to ensure
his deliverance from captivity. The engagement required that a certain
number of days should be allowed him, in which to gather supplies in
sufficient quantity to discharge his ransom. Laudonniere left his
lieutenants, Ottigny and D'Erlach, with the two hostages, in one of the
barks, to receive the provisions which Utina was to furnish, while he
himself returned to La Caroline. The lieutenants moored their vessel
within a little creek which emptied into the May, and adopted all
necessary precautions against savage artifice. The vigilance of Alphonse
D'Erlach, in particular, was sleepless. He knew, more certainly than his
superior, the necessities and dangers of the French, and the subtlety of
the Indians. By day and night they lurked in the contiguous thickets,
watchful of every opportunity for assault. An arquebuse presented in
wantonness against the ledge which skirted the river, would frequently
expel a group of shrieking warriors, well armed and covered with the war
paint; and, with the dawn of morning, the first thing to salute the eyes
of our Frenchmen would be long strings of arrows, planted in the earth,
their barbs of flint turned upwards, from which long hairs shreds from
heads which had been shorn for war, were to be seen waving in the wind.
These were signs, too well understood by previous experience, of a
threatened and sleepless hostility.

It was soon found that the Paracoussi either could not or would not
comply with his engagements. He sent a small supply of grain to the
lieutenant, but said that more could not be provided except by a
surrender of the hostages. The Frenchmen were required to bring the
captives to the village, when and where they should be furnished with
the full amount of the promised ransom. Satisfied that all this was mere
pretence, indicating purposes of treachery, the Frenchmen were yet too
much straitened by want to forego any enterprise which promised them
provisions. They, accordingly, set forth for the place appointed, in
two separate bodies, marching so that they might support each other
promptly, under the several leads of D'Erlach and Ottigny. The former
held the advance. The village of Utina was six French leagues from
the river where they left their barque, and the route which they were
compelled to pursue was such as exposed them frequently to the perils
of ambuscade. But so vigilant was their watch, so ready were they with
matches lighted, and so close was the custody in which they kept their
hostages, that the Indians, whom they beheld constantly flitting through
the thickets, dared never make any attempt upon them. They reached the
village in safety, and immediately proceeded to the dwelling-house of
Olata Utina, raised, as before described, upon an artificial eminence.
Here they found assembled all the chiefs of the nation; but the
Paracoussi was not among them. He kept aloof, and was not to be seen at
present by the Frenchmen. His chiefs received their visitors with smiles
and great professions; but, as their own proverb recites, when the enemy
smiles your scalp is in danger. They pointed to great sacks of mil and
beans which had already been accumulated, and still they showed the
Frenchmen where hourly came other of their subjects adding still more
to the pile.

"But wherefore," they demanded, "wherefore come our white brethren, with
the fire burning in their harquebuses? See they not that it causes our
women to be afraid, and our children to tremble in their terror. Let our
brethren put out this fire, which makes them dread to come nigh with
their peace-offerings, and know us for a friend, under whose tongue
there is no serpent."

To this D'Erlach replied--"Our red brothers do themselves wrong. They
do not fear the fire in our harquebuses. They know not its danger. The
Frenchmen have always forborne to show them the power that might make
them afraid. But this power is employed only against our enemies.
Let the chiefs of the people of the Paracoussi Utina show themselves
friends, and the thunder which we carry shall only send its fearful
bolts among the foes of Utina, the people of Potanou, and the warriors
of the great mountain of Apalatchy."

"If we are thus friends of the Frenchmen, why do they keep our beloved
men in bondage? Are these the ornaments proper to a warrior and a great
chief among his people?"

They pointed as they spoke to the fetters which embraced the legs and
arms of the hostages, who sat in one corner of the council-house.

"Our red brothers have but to speak, and these chains fall from the
limbs of their well beloved chiefs."

"Heh!--We speak!--Let them fall!"

"Speak to your people that these piles be complete," pointing to the
grain.

"They have heard. See you not they come?"

"But very slowly;--and hearken to us now, brothers of the red-men, while
we ask,--do the skies that pavilion the territories of the Paracoussi
Utina rain down such things as these."

Here D'Erlach showed them a bunch of the arrows which they had found
planted by the wayside as they came. The thin lips of the savages parted
into slight smiles as they beheld them.

"These grow not by nature," continued D'Erlach; "they fall not from
heaven in the heavy showers. They are sown by the red-men along the path
which the white man travels. What is the fruit which is to grow from
such seed as this?"

The chiefs were silent. The youth proceeded:

"Brothers, we are calm;--we are not angry, though we well know what
these arrows mean. We are patient, for we know our own strength. The
Paracoussi has promised us supplies of grain, and hither we have come.
Four days shall we remain in waiting for it. Till that time, these
well-beloved men shall remain in our keeping. When we receive the
supplies which have been promised us, they shall be yours. We have
spoken."

Thus ended the first conference. That night the French lieutenants found
their way to the presence of the Paracoussi. He was kept concealed in a
small wigwam, deeply embowered in the woods, but in near and convenient
neighborhood to the village. He himself had sent for them, and one of
his sons had shown the way. They found the old monarch still maintaining
the state of a prince, but he was evidently humbled. His captivity had
lessened his authority; and his anxiety to comply with the engagements
made with the French had in some degree impaired his influence over
his people. They had resolved to destroy the pale-faces, as insolent
invaders of their territory, consumers of its substance and enemies
of its peace. It was this hostility and this determination that had
interposed all the obstacles in the way of procuring the supplies
promised.

"They resist me, their Paracoussi," said Utina bitterly, "and have
resolved on fighting with you! They will wage war against you to the
last. See you not the planted arrows that marked your pathway to my
village? These arrows are planted from the territories of Utina, by
every pathway, to the very gates of La Caroline. They will meet your
eyes wherever you shall return to the fortress. They mean nothing less
than war, and such warfare as admits of no peace. Go you, therefore, go
you with all speed to your vessels, and make what haste you can to the
garrison. The woods swarm with my warriors, and they no longer heed
my voice. They will hunt you to your vessel. They mean to throw trees
athwart the creek so that her escape may be cut off, while they do
you to death with their arrows, and I cannot be there to say to my
people--'stay your shafts, these be our friends and allies.' They no
longer hearken to my voice. I am a Paracoussi without subjects, a ruler
without obedience,--a shadow, where I only used to be the substance."

The despondency of the king was without hypocrisy. It sensibly impressed
our Frenchmen. They felt that he spoke the truth. He was then, in fact,
excluded from the house of council, as incurring the suspicion of the
red-men as fatally friendly to the whites. While they still conversed,
they were alarmed by violent shrieks, as of one in mortal terror.

"That scream issues from a French throat!" exclaimed D'Erlach, as he
rushed forth. He was followed by Lieutenant Ottigny and another.
The Paracoussi never left his seat. The screams guided them into a
neighboring thicket, into which they hurried, arriving there not a
moment too soon. A Frenchman struggled in the grasp of five stalwart
savages, who had him down and were preparing to cut his throat. He had
been beguiled from the place which had been assigned him as a watch, and
was about to pay the penalty of his folly with his life. In an instant
the gallant Alphonse D'Erlach had sprung among them, his sword passing
clear through the back of the most prominent in the group of assailants.
His body, falling upon that of the captive, prevented the blows which
the rest were showering upon him. They started in sudden terror at this
interruption. Their own and the clamors of the Frenchman had kept them
from all knowledge of the approaching rescue. In an instant they were
gone. They waited for no second stroke from a weapon whose first address
was so sharp and sudden. They left their captive, bruised and groaning,
but without serious injury to life or limb.

The warnings and assurances of the Paracoussi were sufficiently enforced
by this instance of the hostility of the red-men. But the necessity of
securing all the supplies they might possibly procure from the natives,
either through their own artifices or because of the apprehension for
their chiefs, caused our Frenchmen to linger at the village of Utina.
They were determined to wait the full period of four days which they had
assigned themselves. In this period they saw the Paracoussi more than
once. At each interview his admonitions were delivered with increased
solemnity. They found his chiefs less and less accommodating at every
interview. The piles of grain at the council-house increased slowly.
Occasionally an Indian might be seen to enter and cast the contents of
his little basket among the rest. The Frenchmen endeavored to persuade
the chiefs to furnish men to carry the grain to their vessel, but this
was flatly denied. Resolved, finally, to depart, each soldier was
required to load himself with a sack as well filled as it was consistent
with his strength to bear. This was slung across his shoulder, and, in
this way, burdened with food for other mouths as well as their own, and
carrying their matchlocks besides, the Frenchmen prepared to depart, on
the morning of the 27th July, 1565, from the village of Utina to the
bark which they had left. It was a memorable day for our adventurers.
In groups, scornfully smiling as they beheld the soldiers staggering
beneath their burdens, the chiefs assembled to see them depart from the
village. Alphonse D'Erlach beheld the malignant triumph which sparkled
in their eyes.

"We shall not be suffered to reach the bark in quiet;" was his remark to
Ottigny. "Let me have the advance, Monsieur, if you please; I have dealt
with the dogs before."

To this Ottigny consented; and leading one of the divisions of the
detachment, as at coming, D'Erlach prepared to take the initiate in a
progress, every part of which was destined to be marked with strife.
The immediate entrance to the village of the Paracoussi, the only path,
indeed, by which our Frenchmen could emerge, lay, for nearly half a
mile, through a noble avenue, the sides of which were densely occupied
by a most ample and umbrageous forest. The trees were at once great and
lofty, and the space beneath was closed up with a luxuriant undergrowth
which spread away like a wall of green on either hand. D'Erlach
remembered this entrance.

"Here," said he to Ottigny, "Here, at the very opening of the path,
our trouble is likely to begin. Let your men be prepared with matches
lighted, and see that your fire is delivered only in squads, so that, at
no time, shall all of your pieces be entirely empty."

Ottigny prepared to follow this counsel. His men were all apprised of
what they had to expect; and were told, at the first sign of danger,
to cast down their corn bags, and betake themselves to their weapons
wholly. The grain might be lost--probably would be--but better this,
than, in a vain endeavor to preserve it, lose life and grain together.
Thus prepared, D'Erlach began the march. He was followed, at a short
interval, by Ottigny, with the rest of the detachment; a small force of
eight arquebusiers excepted, who, under charge of a sergeant, were sent
to the left of the thicket which bounded the avenue on one hand, with
instructions to scour the woods in that quarter, yet without passing
beyond reach of help from the main body.

All fell out as had been anticipated. D'Erlach was encountered as he
emerged from the avenue, by a force of three hundred Indians. They
poured in a cloud of arrows, but fortunately at such a distance as to
do little mischief. With the first assault the Frenchmen dispossessed
themselves of their burdens, and prepared themselves for fight. The
savages came on more boldly, throwing in fresh flights of arrows as
they pushed forward, and rending the forests with their cries. D'Erlach
preserved all his steadiness and coolness. He saw that the arrows were
yet comparatively ineffectual.

"Do not answer them yet, my good fellows," he cried, "but stoop ye,
every man, and break the arrows, as many as ye can, that fall about ye."

He had seen that the savages, having delivered a few fires, were wont
to rush forward and gather up the spent shafts, which, thus recovered,
afforded them an inexhaustible armory, upon which it is their custom to
rely. When his assailants beheld how his men were engaged, they rushed
forward with loud shouts of fury, and delivering another storm of darts,
they made demonstrations of a desire for close conflict, with their
stone hatchets and macanas. At this show, D'Erlach spoke to his men in
subdued accents.

"Make ye still as if ye would stoop for the fallen arrows, ye of the
first rank; but blow ye your matches even as ye do so, and falling upon
your knees deliver then your fire; while the second rank will cover you
as ye do so, and while ye charge anew your pieces."

The command was obeyed with coolness; and, as the Indians darted
forward, coming in close packed squadrons into the gorge of the avenue,
the soldiers delivered their fire with great precision. Dreadful was
the howl which followed it, for more than thirteen of the savages had
fallen, mortally hurt, and two of their chief warriors had been made to
bite the dust. Seizing the bodies of their slain and wounded comrades,
the survivors immediately hurried into cover, and D'Erlach at once
pushed forward with his command. But he had not advanced more than four
hundred paces, when the assault was renewed, the air suddenly being
darkened with the flight of bearded shafts, while the forest rang with
the yells of savage fury. They were still too far for serious mischief,
and were besides covered with the woods; so, giving the assailants
little heed, except to observe that they came not too nigh, or too
suddenly upon him, D'Erlach continued to push forward, doing as he had
done before with the hostile arrows whenever they lay in the pathway.
But the courage of the red-men increased as they warmed in the struggle,
and they grew bolder because of the very forbearance of the Frenchmen.
Besides, their forces had been increased by other bodies, each
approaching in turn to the assault, so as to keep their enemies
constantly busy. In parties of two or three hundred, they darted from
their several ambushes, and having discharged their arrows, and met with
repulse, retired rapidly to other favorite places of concealment to
renew the conflict as it continued to advance. By this time, the whole
body of the Frenchmen had become engaged in the fight. The force under
Ottigny, following the example of that led by D'Erlach, had succeeded in
pressing forward, though not without loss, while making great havoc with
the red-men. These people fought, never men more bravely; and, but for
the happy thought, that of destroying their arrows as fast as they fell,
it is probable that the detachment had never reached La Caroline. They
hovered thus about the march of the Frenchmen all the day, encouraging
each other with shouts of vengeance and delight, and sending shaft upon
shaft, with an aim, which, had they not been too greatly sensible of
the danger of the arquebuse, to come sufficiently nigh, would have been
always fatal. Yet well did the savage succeed, so long as they remained
unintoxicated by their rage, in dodging the aim of the weapon. As
Laudonniere writes--"All the while they had their eye and foot so
quicke and readie, that as soone as ever they saw the harquebuse raised
to the cheeke, so soon were they on the ground, and eftsoone to answer
with their bowes, and to flie their way, if by chance they perceived
that we were about to take them."

This conflict lasted from nine o'clock in the morning until night. It
only ceased when the darkness separated the combatants. Even then,
but for the deficiency of their arrows, they probably would not have
withdrawn from the field. It was late in the night when the Frenchmen
reached their boats, weary and exhausted, their grain wrested from them,
their hostages rescued, and twenty-four of their number killed and
wounded. The Floridians had shown themselves warriors of equal spirit
and capacity. The determined exclusion of their Paracoussi from counsels
which it was feared that he would dishonor, their manly resistance to
the white invaders, their scornful ridicule of their necessities, their
proud defiance of their power, and the fierce and unrelenting hostility
with which they had chased their adversaries, remind us irresistibly of
the degradation of Montezuma by his subjects, their prolonged warfare
with the Spaniards, their sleepless hostility, and that bloody struggle
which first drove them over the causeways of Tenochtitlan. The inferior
state and wealth of the Paracoussi, Olata Ouvae Utina, constitutes no
such sufficient element of difference, as to lessen the force of the
parallel between himself and people, and those of the Atzec sovereign.




XX.

IRACANA,

OR THE EDEN OF THE FLORIDIAN.


The disasters which befel his detachment, brought Laudonniere to
his knees. He had now been humbled severely by the dispensations of
Providence--punished for that disregard of the things most important to
the colonization of a new country, which, in his insane pursuit of
the precious metals, had marred his administration. His misfortunes
reminded him of his religion.

"Seeing, therefore, mine hope frustrate on that side, I made my prayer
unto God, and thanked him of his grace which he had showed unto my poore
souldiers which were escaped."

But his prayers did not detain him long. The necessities of the colony
continued as pressing as ever. "Afterward, I thought upon new meanes to
obtaine victuals, as well for our returne into France, as to drive out
the time untill our embarking." Those were meditations of considerable
difficulty. The petty fields of the natives, never contemplated with
reference to more than a temporary supply of food;--never planted with
reference to providing for a whole year, were really inadequate to the
wants of such a body of men, unless by grievously distressing their
proprietors. The people of Olata Utina had been moved to rage in all
probability, quite as much because of their grain crops, about to be
torn from them, as with any feeling of indignation in consequence of the
detention of their Paracoussi. In the sacks of corn which the Frenchmen
bore away upon their shoulders, they beheld the sole provisions upon
which, for several months, their women and children had relied to
feed; and their quick imaginations were goaded to desperation, as they
depicted the vivid horrors of a summer consumed in vain search after
crude roots and indigestible berries, through the forests. No wonder the
wild wretches fought to avert such a danger; as little may we wonder
that they fought successfully. The Frenchmen, compelled to cast down
their sacks of grain, to use their weapons, the red-men soon repossessed
themselves of all their treasure. When Laudonniere reviewed his
harrassed soldiers on their return from this expedition, "all the mill
that he found among his company came but to two men's burdens." To
attempt to recover the provisions thus wrested from them, or to revenge
themselves for the indignity and injury they had undergone, were equally
out of the question. The people of the Paracoussi could number their
thousands; and, buried in their deep fortresses of forest, they could
defy pursuit. Laudonniere was compelled to look elsewhere for the
resources which should keep his company from want.

Two leagues distant from La Caroline, on the opposite side of May River,
stood the Indian village of Saravahi. Not far from this might be seen
the smokes of another village, named Emoloa. The Frenchmen, wandering
through the woods in search of game, had alighted suddenly upon these
primitive communities. Here they had been received with gentleness and
love. The natives were lively and benevolent. They had never felt
the wrath of the white man, nor been made to suffer because of his
improvidence and necessities. His thunderbolts had never hurled among
their columns, and mown them down as with a fiery scythe from heaven.
The Frenchmen did not fail to remark that they were provident tribes,
with corn-fields much more ample than were common among the Indians.
These, they now concluded, must be covered with golden grain, in the
season of harvest, and thither, accordingly, Laudonniere dispatched
his boats. A judicious officer conducted the detachment, and stores of
European merchandize were confided to him for the purposes of traffic.
He was not disappointed in his expectations. His soldiers were received
with open arms; and a "good store of mil," speaking comparatively, was
readily procured from the abundance of the Indians.

But, in preparation for the return to France, other and larger supplies
were necessary. The boats were again made ready, and confided to La
Vasseur and D'Erlach. They proceeded to the river to which the French
had given their name of Somme, now known as the Satilla, but which was
then called among the Indians, the Iracana, after their own beautiful
queen. Of this queen our Frenchmen had frequently been told. She
had been described to them as the fairest creature, in the shape of
woman, that the country had beheld: nor was the region over which she
swayed, regarded with less admiration. This was spoken of as a sort of
terrestrial paradise. Here, the vales were more lovely; the waters more
cool and pellucid than in any other of the territories of earth. Here,
the earth produced more abundantly than elsewhere; the trees were more
stately and magnificent, the flowers more beautiful and gay, and the
vines more heavily laden with grapes of the most delicious flavor.
Sweetest islets rose along the shore over which the moon seemed to
linger with a greater fondness, and soft breezes played ever in the
capacious forests, always kindling to emotions of pleasure, the soft
beatings of the delighted heart. The influences of scene and climate
were felt for good amongst the people who were represented at once as
the most generous and gentle of all the Floridian natives. They had
no wild passions, and coveted no fierce delights. Under the sway of a
woman, at once young and beautiful, the daughter of their most favorite
monarch, their souls had become attuned to sympathies which greatly
tended to subdue and to soothe the savage nature. Their lives were spent
in sports and dances. No rebukes or restraints of duty, no sordid cares
or purposes, impaired the dream of youth and rapture which prevailed
everywhere in the hearts of the people. Gay assemblages were ever to be
found among the villages in the forests; singing their own delights and
imploring the stranger to be happy also. They had a thousand songs and
sports of youth and pleasure, which made life a perpetual round of ever
freshening felicity. Innocent as wild, no eye of the ascetic could
rebuke enjoyments which violated no cherished laws of experience and
thought, and their glad and sprightly dances, in the deep shadows of the
wood, to the lively clatter of Indian gourds and tambourines, were quite
as significant of harmless fancies as of thoughtless lives. Happy was
the lonely voyager, speeding along the coast, in his frail canoe, when,
suddenly darting out from the forests of Iracana, a slight but lovely
creature, with flowing tunic of white cotton, stood upon the head land,
waving her branch of palm or myrtle, entreating his approach, and
imploring him to delay his journey, while he shared in the sweet
festivities of love and youth, for a season, upon the shore,--crying
with a sweet chant,--

"Love you me not, oh, lonely voyager--love you me not? Lo! am I not
lovely; I who serve the beautiful queen of Iracana? will you not come to
me, for a while!--come, hide the canoe among the reeds, along the shore,
and make merry with the damsels of Iracana. I give to thee the palm and
the myrtle, in token of a welcome of peace and love. Come hither, oh!
lonely voyager, and be happy for a season!"

And seldom were these persuasions unavailing. The lonely voyager was
commonly won, as was he who, sailing by Scylla and Charybdis, refused to
seal his ears with wax against the song of the Syren. But our charmers,
along the banks of the Satilla, entreated to no evil, laid no snares for
the unwary, meditating their destruction. They sought only to share the
pleasures which they themselves enjoyed. The benevolence of that love
which holds its treasure as of little value, unless its delights may be
bestowed on others, was the distinguishing moral in the Indian Eden of
Iracana; and he who came with love, never departed without a sorrow,
such as made him linger as he went, and soon return, when this were
possible, to a region, which, among our Floridians, realized that period
of the Classic Fable, which has always been designated, par excellence,
as the "age of gold."

Our Frenchmen, under the conduct of La Vasseur and D'Erlach, reached the
frontiers of Iracana, at an auspicious period. The season of harvest,
among all primitive and simple nations, is commonly a season of great
rejoicing. Among a people like those of Iracana, habitually accustomed
to rejoice, it is one in which delight becomes exultation, and when in
the supreme felicity of good fortune, the happy heart surpasses itself
in the extraordinary expression of its joy. Here were assembled to
the harvest, all the great lords of the surrounding country. Here
was Athoree, the gigantic son of Satouriova, a very Anak, among the
Floridians. Here were Apalou, a famous chieftain,--Tacadocorou, and
many others, whom our Frenchmen had met and known before;--some of whom
indeed, they had known in fierce conflict, and a strife which had never
been healed by any of the gentle offices of peace.

But Iracana was the special territory of peace. It was not permitted,
among the Floridians, to approach this realm with angry purpose. Here
war and strife were tabooed things,--shut out, denied and banished, and
peace and love, and rapture, were alone permitted exercise in abodes
which were too grateful to all parties, to be desecrated by hostile
passions. When, therefore, our Frenchmen, beholding those only with
whom they had so lately fought, were fain to betake themselves to their
weapons, the chiefs themselves, with whom they had done battle, came
forward to embrace them, with open arms.

"Brothers, all--brothers here, in Iracana;" was the common speech.
"Be happy here, brothers, no fight, no scalp, nothing but love in
Iracana,--nothing but dance and be happy."

Even had not this assurance sufficed with our Frenchmen, the charms of
the lovely Queen herself, her grace and sweetness, not unmixed with
a dignity which declared her habitual rule, must have stifled every
feeling of distrust in their bosoms, and effectually exorcised that of
war. She came to meet the strangers with a mingled ease and state, a
sweetness and a majesty, which were inexpressibly attractive. She took
a hand of La Vasseur and of D'Erlach, with each of her own. A bright,
happy smile lightened in her eye, and warmed her slightly dusky features
with a glow. Rich in hue, yet delicately thin, her lips parted with a
pleasure, as she spoke to them, which no art could simulate. She bade
them welcome, joined their hands with those of the great warriors by
whom she was attended, and led them away among her damsels, of whom a
numerous array were assembled, all habited in the richest garments of
their scanty wardrobes.

The robes of the Queen herself were ample. The skirts of her dress fell
below her knees, a thing very uncommon with the women of Florida. Over
this, she wore a tunic of crimson, which descended below her hips. A
slight cincture embraced, without confining, her waist. Long strings
of sea-shell, of the smallest size, but of colors and tints the most
various and delicate, drooped across her shoulders, and were strung, in
loops and droplets, to the skirts of her dress and her symar. Similar
strings encircled her head, from which the hair hung free behind, almost
to the ground, a raven-like stream, of the deepest and most glossy
sable. Her form was equally stately and graceful--her carriage betrayed
a freedom, which was at once native and the fruit of habitual exercise.
Nothing could have been more gracious than the sweetness of her welcome;
nothing more utterly unshadowed than the sunshine which beamed in her
countenance. She led her guests among the crowd, and soon released La
Vasseur to one of the loveliest girls who came about her. Alphonse
D'Erlach she kept to herself. She was evidently struck with the singular
union of delicacy and youth with sagacity and character, which declared
itself in his features and deportment.

Very soon were all the parties engaged in the mazes of the Indian dance
of Iracana,--a movement which, unlike the waltz of the Spaniards, less
stately perhaps, and less imposing--yet requires all its flexibility and
freedom, and possesses all its seductive and voluptuous attractions.
Half the night was consumed with dancing; then gay parties could be seen
gliding into canoes and darting across the stream to other villages and
places of abode. Anon, might be perceived a silent couple gliding
away to sacred thickets; and with the sound of a mighty conch, which
strangely broke the silence of the forest, the Queen herself retired
with her attendants, having first assigned to certain of her chiefs the
task of providing for the Frenchmen. Of these she had already shown
herself sufficiently heedful and solicitous. Not sparing of her regards
to La Vasseur, she had particularly devoted herself to D'Erlach, and,
while they danced together, if the truth could be spoken of her simple
heart, great had been its pleasure at those moments, when the spirit of
the dance required that she should yield herself to his grasp, and die
away languidly in his embrace.

"Ah! handsome Frenchman," she said to her companion,--"You please me so
much."

His companions were similarly entertained. Captain La Vasseur was soon
satisfied that he too was greatly pleasing to the fair and lovely savage
who had been assigned him; and not one of the Frenchmen, but had his
share of the delights and endearments which made the business of life in
Iracana. The soldiers had each a fair creature, with whom he waltzed and
wandered; and fond discourse, everywhere in the great shadows of the
wood, between sympathizing spirits, opened a new idea of existence to
the poor Huguenots who, hitherto, had only known the land of Florida, by
its privations and its gold. The dusky damsels, alike sweet and artless,
brought back to our poor adventurers precious recollections of youthful
fancies along the banks of the Garonne and the Loire, and it is not
improbable, that, under the excitement of new emotions, had Laudonniere
proposed to transfer La Caroline to the Satilla, or Somme, instead of
May River, they might have been ready to waive, for a season at least,
their impatient desire to return to France.

Night was at length subdued to silence on the banks of the Satilla. The
sounds of revelry had ceased. All slept, and the transition from night
to day passed, sweetly and insensibly, almost without the consciousness
of the parties. But, with the sunrise, the great conch sounded in the
forest. The Eden of the Floridian did not imply a life of mere repose.
The people were gathered to their harvesting, and the labors of the day,
under the auspices of a gracious rule, were made to seem a pleasure.
Hand in hand, the Queen Iracana, with her maidens, and her guests,
followed to the maize fields. Already had she found D'Erlach, and her
slender fingers, without any sense of shame, had taken possession of
his hand, which she pressed at moments very tenderly. He had already
informed her of the wants and the sufferings of his garrison, and she
smiled with a new feeling of happiness, as she eagerly assured him that
his people should receive abundance. She bent with her own hands the
towering stalks; and, detaching the ears, flung to the ground a few
in all these places, on which it was meant that the heaps should be
accumulated. "Give these to our friends, the Frenchmen," she said,
indicating with a sweep of the hand, a large tract of the field, through
which they went. D'Erlach felt this liberality. He squeezed her fingers
fondly in return,--saying words of compliment which, possibly, in her
ear, meant something more than compliment.

Then followed the morning feast; then walks in the woods; then sports
upon the river in their canoes; and snaring the fish in weirs, in which
the Indians were very expert. Evening brought with it a renewal of the
dance, which again continued late in the night. Again did Alphonse
D'Erlach dance with Iracana; but it was now seen that her eyes saddened
with the overfulness of her heart. Love is not so much a joy as a care.
It is so vast a treasure, that the heart, possessed of the fullest
consciousness of its value, is for ever dreading its loss. The happiness
of the Floridian Eden had been of a sort which never absorbed the
soul. It lacked the intensity of a fervent passion. It was the life of
childhood--a thing of sport and play, of dance and dream--not that eager
and avaricious passion which knows never content, and is never sure,
even when most happy, from the anxieties and doubts which beset all
mortal felicity. Already did our Queen begin to calculate the hours
between the present, and that which should witness the departure of the
pleasant Frenchmen.

"You will go from me," said she to D'Erlach, as they went apart from the
rest, wandering along the banks of the river and looking out upon the
sea. "You will go from me, and I shall never see you any more."

"I will come again, noble Queen, believe me," was the assurance.

"Ah! come soon," she said, "come soon, for you please me very much,
_Aphon_."

Such was the soft Indian corruption of his christened name. No doubt,
she too gave pleasure to 'Aphon.' How could it be otherwise? How could
he prove insensible to the tender and fervid interest which she so
innocently betrayed in him? He did not. He was not insensible; and vague
fancies were quickening in his mind as respects the future. He was
opposed to the plan of returning to France. He was for carrying out the
purposes of Coligny, and fulfilling the destinies of the colony. He had
warned Laudonniere against the policy he pursued, had foreseen all the
evils resulting from his unwise counsels, and there was that in his
bosom which urged the glorious results to France, of a vigorous and just
administration of a settlement in the western hemisphere, in which he
was to participate, with his energy and forethought, without having
these perpetually baffled by the imbecility and folly of an incapable
superior. In such an event, how sweetly did his fancy mingle with his
own fortunes those of the gentle and loving creature who stood beside
him. He told her not his thoughts--they were indeed, fancies, rather
than thoughts--but his arm gently encircled her waist, and while
her head drooped upon her bosom, he pressed her hand with a tender
earnestness, which spoke much more loudly than any language to her
heart.

The hour of separation came at length. Three days had elapsed in the
delights of the Floridian Eden. Our Frenchmen were compelled to tear
themselves away. The objects for which they came had been gratified. The
bounty of the lovely Iracana had filled with grain their boats. Her
subjects had gladly borne the burdens from the fields to the vessels,
while the strangers revelled with the noble and the lovely. But their
revels were now to end. The garrison at La Caroline, it was felt, waited
with hunger, as well as hope and anxiety for their return, and they
dared to delay no longer. The parting was more difficult than they
themselves had fancied. All had been well entertained, and all made
happy by their entertainment. If Alphonse D'Erlach had been favored with
the sweet attentions of a queen, Captain La Vasseur had been rendered
no less happy by the smiles of the loveliest among her subjects. He had
touched her heart also, quite as sensibly as had the former that of
Iracana. Similarly fortunate had been their followers. Authority
had ceased to restrain in a region where there was no danger of
insubordination, and our Frenchmen, each in turn, from the sergeant to
the sentinel, had been honored by regards of beauty, such as made him
forgetful, for the time, of precious memories in France. Nor had these
favors, bestowed upon the Frenchmen, provoked the jealousy of the
numerous Indian chieftains who were present, and who shared in these
festivities. It joyed them the rather to see how frankly the white men
could unbend themselves to unwonted pleasures, throwing aside that
jealous state, that suspicious vigilance, which, hitherto, had
distinguished their bearing in all their intercourse with the Indians.

"Women of Iracana too sweet," said the gigantic son of Satouriova,
Athore, to Captain La Vasseur, as the parties, each with a light and
laughing damsel in his grasp, whirled beside each other in the mystic
maze of the dance.

"I much love these women of Iracana," said Apalou, as fierce a warrior
in battle, as ever swore by the altars of the Indian Moloch. "I glad you
love them too, like me. Iracana woman good for too much love! They make
great warrior forget his enemies."

"Ha!" said one addressing D'Erlach, "You have beautiful women in your
country, like Iracana, the Queen?"

But, we need not pursue these details. The hour of separation had
arrived. Our Frenchmen had brought with them a variety of commodities
grateful to the Indian eye, with which they designed to traffic; but the
bounty of Iracana, which had anticipated all their wants, had asked
for nothing in return. The treasures of the Frenchmen were accordingly
distributed in gifts among the noble men and women of the place. Some of
these Iracana condescended to take from the hands of Aphon. Her tears
fell upon his offering. She gave him in return two small mats, woven of
the finer straws of the country, with her own hands--wrought, indeed,
while D'Erlach sat beside her in the shade of a great oak by the river
bank--and "so artificially wrought," in the language of the chronicle,
"as it was impossible to make it better." The poor Queen had few words--

"You will come to me, _Aphon_--you will? you will? I too much want you!
Come soon, _Aphon_. Iracana will dance never no more till _Aphon_ be
come."

"_Aphon_" felt, at that moment, that he could come without sorrow. He
promised that he would. Perhaps he meant to keep his promise; but we
shall see. The word was given to be aboard, and the trumpet rang,
recalling the soldier who still lingered in the forest shadows, with
some dusky damsel for companion. All were at length assembled, and with
a last squeeze of her hand, D'Erlach took leave of his sorrowful queen.
She turned away into the woods, but soon came forth again, unable to
deny herself another last look.

But the Frenchmen were delayed. One of their men was missing. Where was
Louis Bourdon? There was no answer to his name. The boats were searched,
the banks of the river, the neighboring woods, the fields, the Indian
village, and all in vain. The Frenchmen observed that the natives
exhibited no eagerness in the search. They saw that many faces were
clothed with smiles, when their efforts resulted fruitlessly. They could
not suppose that any harm had befallen the absent soldier. They could
not doubt the innocence of that hospitality, which had shown itself so
fond. They conjectured rightly when they supposed that Louis Bourdon, a
mere youth of twenty, had gone off with one of the damsels of Iracana,
whose seductions he had found it impossible to withstand. D'Erlach
spoke to the Queen upon the subject. She gave him no encouragement. She
professed to know nothing, and probably did not, and she would promise
nothing. She unhesitatingly declared her belief that he was in the
forest, with some one that "he so much loved:" but she assured D'Erlach
that to hunt them up would be an impossibility.

"Why you not stay with me, Aphon, as your soldier stay with the woman he
so much love? It is good to stay. Iracana will love you too much more
than other woman. Ah! you love not much the poor Iracana."

"Nay, Iracana, I love you greatly. I will come to you again. I find it
hard to tear myself away. But my people--"

"Ah! you stay with Iracana, and much love Iracana, and you have all
these people. They will plant for you many fields of corn; you shall no
more want; and we will dance when the evening comes, and we shall be so
happy, Aphon and Iracana, to live together; Aphon the great Paracoussi,
and Iracana to be Queen no more."

It was not easy to resist these pleadings. But time pressed. Captain
La Vasseur was growing impatient. The search after Louis Bourdon was
abandoned, and the soldiers were again ordered on board. The anxieties
of La Vasseur being now awakened, lest others of his people should be
spirited away. Of this the danger was considerable. The Frenchman was a
more flexible being than either the Englishman or Spaniard. It was much
easier for him to assimilate with the simple Indian; and our Huguenot
soldiers, who had very much forgotten their religion in their diseased
thirst after gold, now, in the disappointment of the one appetite were
not indifferent to the consolations afforded by a life of ease and
sport, and the charms which addressed them in forms so persuasive as
those of the damsels of Iracana. La Vasseur began to tremble for his
command, as he beheld the reluctance of his soldiers to depart. He gave
the signal hurriedly to Alphonso D'Erlach, and with another sweet single
pressure of the hand, he left the lovely Queen to her own melancholy
musings. She followed with her eyes the departing boats till they were
clean gone from sight, then buried herself in the deepest thickets where
she might weep in security.

Other eyes than hers pursued the retiring barks of the Frenchmen, with
quite as much anxiety; and long after she had ceased to see them. On
a little headland jutting out upon the river below, in the shade of
innumerable vines and flowers, crouching in suspense, was the renegade,
Louis Bourdon. By his side sat the dusky damsel who had beguiled him
from his duties. While his comrades danced, he was flying through the
thickets. The nation were, many of them, conscious of his flight; but
they held his offence to be venial, and they encouraged him to proceed.
They lent him help in crossing the river, at a point below; the father
of the woman with whom he fled providing the canoe with which to
transport him beyond the danger of pursuit. Little did our Frenchmen, as
the boats descended, dream who watched them from the headland beneath
which they passed. Many were the doubts, frequent the changes, in
the feelings of the capricious renegade, as he saw his countrymen
approaching him, and felt that he might soon be separated from them and
home forever, by the ocean walls of the Atlantic. Whether it was that
his Indian beauty detected in his face the fluctuations of his thoughts,
and feared that, on the near approach of the boats, he would change his
purpose and abandon her for his people, cannot be said; but just then
she wound herself about within his arms, and looked up in his face,
while her falling hair enmeshed his hands, and contributed, perhaps,
still more firmly to ensnare his affections. His heart had been in his
mouth; he could scarcely have kept from crying out to his comrades as
the boats drew nigh to the cliff; but the dusky beauties beneath his
gaze, the soft and delicate form within his embrace, silenced all the
rising sympathies of brotherhood in more ravishing emotions. In a moment
their boats had gone by; in a little while they had disappeared from
sight, and the arms of the Indian woman, wrapped about her captive,
declared her delight and rapture in the triumph which she now regarded
as secure. Louis Bourdon little knew how much he had escaped, in thus
becoming a dweller in the Floridian Eden.




XXI.

HISTORICAL SUMMARY.


The glowing accounts of the delights of the Floridian Eden which were
brought by our returning voyagers, were not sufficient to persuade
the garrison to forego their anxious desire to return to France. The
home-sickness under which they labored had now reached such a height
as to suffer no appeal or opposition. Nothing but the stern decree of
authority could have silenced the discontents; and the authority lay
neither in the will nor in the numbers under the control of Laudonniere.
To such a degree of impatience had this passion for their European
homes arisen, that, when it was found that the building of the vessel
for their deportation would be delayed beyond the designated period,
in consequence of the death, in battle with the savages, of two of the
carpenters, the multitude rose in mutiny setting upon Jean de Hais, the
master-carpenter,--who had innocently declared the impossibility of
doing the work within the given time,--with such ferocity, as to make it
scarcely possible to save his life. With this spirit prevailing among
his garrison, Laudonniere was compelled to abandon the idea, altogether,
of building the ship; and to address all his energies to the repair, for
the desired purpose, of the old brigantine, which had been brought back
to La Caroline, by the returning pirates. To work, with this object, all
parties were now set with the utmost expedition. The houses which had
been built without the fort were torn down, in order that the timber
should be converted into coal for the uses of the forge; this being
a labor much easier than that of using the axe upon the trees of the
forest. The palisade which conducted from the fort to the river was
torn down also by the soldiery, for the same purpose, in spite of
the objections of Laudonniere. It was their policy to make their
determination to depart inevitable, by rendering the place no longer
habitable. The fort, itself, it was determined to destroy, when they
were ready to sail, "lest some new-come guest should have enjoyed and
possessed it." Our Frenchmen were very jealous of the designs of the
English queen. They well knew that the haughty and courageous Elizabeth
was meditating a British settlement in the New World; and though, after
their own voluntary abandonment of the country, they had no right
to complain that another should occupy the waste places, yet their
jealousy was too greatly that of the dog in the manger, to behold,
with pleased eye, the possession by another of the things which
they themselves had been unable to enjoy. "In the meanwhile," says
Laudonniere--seeking to excuse his own unwise management and feeble
policy--"In the meanwhile, there was none of us to whome it was not an
extreme griefe to leave a country wherein wee had endured so greate
travailes and necessities, to discover that which wee must forsake
through our owne countrymen's default. For if wee had beene succoured in
time and place, and according to the promise that was made unto us, the
war which was between us and Utina had not fallen out, neither should
wee have had occasion to offend the Indians, which, with all paines in
the world, I entertained in good amitie, as well with merchandize and
apparel, as with promise of greater matters; and with whome I so behaved
myself, that although sometimes I was constrained to take victuals in
some few villages, yet I lost not the alliance of eight kings and lords,
my neighbours, which continually succoured and ayded me with whatever
they were able to afford. Yea, this was the principal scope of all my
purposes, to winne and entertaine them, knowing how greatly their amitie
might advance our enterprise, and principally while I discovered the
commodities of the country, and sought to strengthen myself therein. I
leave it to your cogitation to think how neare it went to our hearts
to leave a place abounding in riches (as we were thoroughly enformed
thereof) in coming whereunto, and doing service unto our prince, we
lefte our owne countrey, wives, children, parents and friends, and
passed the perils of the sea, and were therein arrived as in a plentiful
treasure of all our heart's desire."

It was while distressing himself with these cogitations that
Laudonniere, on the 3d of August, 1565, took a walk, "as was his custom
of an afternoon," to the top of a little eminence, in the neighborhood
of the fort, which afforded a distant prospect of the sea. Here, looking
forth with yearning to that watery waste which he was preparing to
traverse, he was suddenly excited, as he beheld four sail of approaching
vessels. At first, the tidings made the soldiers of the garrison to leap
for joy. The vessels were naturally supposed to be those of their own
countrymen; and such was the gladness inspired by this supposition, that
"one would have thought them to be out of their wittes, to see them
laugh and leap." But, something in the behavior of the strange ships,
after a while, rendered our Frenchmen a little doubtful of their
character. Instead of boldly approaching, they were seen to cast anchor
and to send out one of their boats. A prudent fear of the Spaniards made
Laudonniere get his soldiers in readiness; while Captain La Vasseur,
with a select party, advanced to the river side to meet the visitors.
They proved to be Englishmen--a fleet under the command of the
celebrated John Hawkins; and had on board one Martin Atinas, of Dieppe;
a Frenchman, who had been one of the colonists of Fort Charles,--one of
those who, returning to France, had been taken up at sea and carried
into England. He had guided the English admiral along the coast, and his
information had contributed to prompt the voyage of exploration which
Hawkins had in hand. But the object of the British admiral was quite
pacific, and his conduct exceedingly generous and noble. His ostensible
purpose in putting into May River was to procure fresh water.
Laudonniere permitted him to do so. Hawkins, perceiving the distressed
condition of the Frenchmen, relieved them with liberal supplies of
bread, wine and provisions. Apprised of their desire to return to
France, he, with greater liberality and a wiser policy, offered to
transport the whole colony. But Laudonniere was still jealous of the
Englishman, and was apprehensive that, while he carried off the one
colony, he would instantly plant another in its place. He declined the
generous offer, but bargained with him for one of his vessels, for which
Laudonniere chiefly paid by the furniture of the fortress,--the cannon,
&c.,--viz.: "two bastards, two mynions, one thousand of iron (balls),
and one thousand (pounds) of powder." These items included only a
portion of the purchase consideration, in earnest of the treaty. Moved
with pity at the wretched condition of the Frenchmen, the generous
Englishman offered supplies for which he accepted Laudonniere's bills.
These the subsequent misfortunes of the latter never permitted him to
satisfy. In this way our colonists procured "twenty barrels of meale,
six pipes of beanes, one hogshead of salt, and a hundred (cwt.?) of
waxe to make candles. Moreover, forasmuch as hee saw my souldiers
goe barefoote, hee offered me besides fifty paires of shoes, which I
accepted." "He did more than this," says Laudonniere. "He bestowed upon
myselfe a great jarre of oyle, a jarre of vinegar, a barell of olives, a
great quantitie of rice, and a barell of white biscuit. Besides, he gave
divers presents to the principal officers of my company according to
their qualities: so that, I may say, that we received as many courtesies
of the Generall as was possible to receive of any man living."

Here, we are fortunately in possession of the narrative of Hawkins
himself, and his report of the encounter with our Frenchmen. It affords
a good commentary upon the bad management of Laudonniere, and the
worthless character of his followers; the sturdy Englishmen seeing, at a
glance, where all the evils of the colony lay. He describes their first
settlement as gathered from their own lips; their numbers, the period
they had remained in the country, their frequent want, and the modes
resorted to for escaping famine. His details comprise all the facts
of our history, as already given. Of their discontents and rebels, he
speaks as of a class, "who would not take the paines so much as to fishe
in the river before their doores, but would have all thinges put in
their mouthes. They did rebell against the Captaine, taking away first
his armour, and afterwards imprisoning him, &c." The narrative of
Hawkins gives the subsequent history of the rebels, their piracy,
capture and fate. He mentions one particular, which we do not gather
from Laudonniere, showing the sagacity of the Floridian warriors.
Finding that the Frenchmen, in battle, were protected by their coats of
mail, or escaupil, and the bucklers in familiar use at the time, they
directed their arrows at the faces and the legs of their enemies, which
were the parts in which they were mostly wounded. At the close of this
war, according to our Englishmen, Laudonniere had not forty soldiers
left unhurt. After detailing the supplies accorded to the colonists from
his stores, he adds, "notwithstanding the great want that the Frenchmen
had, the ground doth yield victuals sufficient, if they would have taken
paines to get the same; _but they being souldiers, desired to live by
the sweat of other men's browes_." Here speaks the jealous scorn of the
sailor. "The ground yieldeth naturally great store of grapes, for in the
time the Frenchmen were there they made twenty hogsheads of wine." Our
poor Huguenots could seek gold and manufacture wine, but could not raise
provisions. They were of too haughty a stomach to toil for any but the
luxuries of life. "Also," says Hawkins, "it (the earth) yieldeth roots
passing good, deere marvellous store, with divers other beastes and
fowle serviceable to man. These be things wherewith a man may live,
having corne or maize wherewith to make bread, for maize maketh good
savory bread, and cakes as fine as flowre; also, it maketh good meale,
beaten and sodden with water, and nourishable, which the Frenchmen did
use to drink of in the morning, and it assuageth their thirst, so that
they have no need to drink all the day after. And this maize was the
greatest lack they had, because they had no labourers to sowe the same;
and therefore, to them that should inhabit the land, it were requisite
to have labourers to till and sowe the ground; for they, having victuals
of their owne, whereby they neither spoil nor rob the inhabitants, may
live not only quietly with them, _who naturally are more desirous
of peace than of warre_, but also shall have abundance of victuals
proffered them for nothing, &c." The testimony of Hawkins is as
conclusive in behalf of the Floridians as it is unfavorable to our
Frenchmen. He speaks in the highest terms of the qualities and resources
of the country, as abounding in commodities unknown to men, and equal to
those of any region in the world. He tells us of the gold procured by
the Huguenot colonists, one mass of two pounds weight being taken by
them from the Indians, without equivalent. The latter he describes as
having some estimation of the precious metals; "for it is wrought flat
and graven, which they wear about their necks, &c." The Frenchmen eat
snakes in the sight of our Englishmen, to their "no little admiration;"
and affirm the same to be a delicate meat. Laudonniere tells Hawkins
some curious snake stories, which could not well be improved upon, even
in the "Hunter's Camp," on a "Lying Saturday." "I heard a miracle of one
of these adders,"--snakes a yard and a half long,--"upon the which a
faulcon (hawk) seizing, the sayd adder did claspe her taile about her;
which, the French captaine seeing, came to the rescue of the faulcon,
and took her,--slaying the adder." There is no improbability in this
story; but we shall be slow to give our testimony in behalf of that
which follows: "And the Captaine of the Frenchmen saw also a serpent
with three heads and foure feet, of the bignesse of a great spaniel,
which, for want of a harquebuse, he durst not attempt to slay."
Laudonniere had evidently some appreciation of the marvellous; but only
_four_ feet to _three_ heads was a monstrous disproportion. The account
which Hawkins gives of the abundance of fish in the neighborhood of the
garrison, is no exaggeration, and only adds to the surprise that we feel
at the wretched indolence and imbecility of the colonists, who, with
this resource "at their doores," depended for their supply upon the
Floridians.

Hawkins's account of the coast and characteristics of Florida is copious
and full of interest, but belongs not to this narrative. He left the
Huguenots, on the 28th July, 1565, making all preparations to follow in
his wake; and on the fifteenth of August Laudonniere was prepared to
depart also. The biscuit was made for the voyage, the goods and chattels
of the soldiers were taken on board, and most of the water;--nothing
delayed their sailing but head-winds;--when the whole proceeding was
arrested by the sudden appearance of Ribault, with the long-promised
supplies from France. The approach of Ribault was exceedingly cautious;
so circumspect, indeed, that fears were entertained by the garrison that
his ships were those of the Spaniards. The guns of the fortress were
already trained to bear upon them when the strangers discovered
themselves. The reasons for their mysterious deportment, as subsequently
given, arose from certain false reports which had reached France, of the
conduct of Laudonniere. He had been described, by letters from some of
his malcontents in the colony, as affecting a sort of regal state--as
preparing to shake off his dependence upon the mother-country--and
setting up for himself, as the sovereign lord of the Floridas. Poor
Laudonniere! living on vipers, crude berries and bitter roots, mocked by
the savages on one hand, fettered and flouted by his own runagates and
rebels on the other,--defied in his authority, and starving in all his
state, was in no mood to affect royalty upon the River May. He was, no
doubt, a vain and ostentatious person; but, whatever may have been his
absurdities and vanities, at first, they had been sufficiently schooled
by his necessities, we should think, to cure him of any such idle
affectations. He had been subdued and humbled by defeat,--the failure
of his plans, and the evident contempt into which he had sunk among his
people. Yet of all this, the King of France and Monsieur de Coligny
could have known nothing; and when we recollect that the colony was
made up of Huguenots only, a people of whose fidelity the former might
reasonably doubt, the suspicions of the Catholic monarch may not be
supposed entirely unreasonable. At all events, Ribault was sent to
supersede the usurping commander, and bore imperative orders for his
recall. The armament confided to Ribault consisted of seven vessels, and
a military force corresponding with such a fleet. We are also made aware
that, on this occasion, the force which he commanded was no longer
made up of Huguenots exclusively, as in the previous armament. A large
sprinkling of Catholic soldiers accompanied the expedition, and the
temporary peace throughout the realm enabled a great number of gentlemen
and officers to employ themselves in the search after adventure in the
New World. They accordingly swelled the forces of Ribault, and showed
conclusively that the colonial establishment in Florida had grown into
some importance at home. That Laudonniere should become a prince there,
was calculated to exaggerate the greatness of the principality; and the
jealousy of the French monarch, in all probability, for the first time,
awakened his sympathy for the settlement. The same accounts which had
borne the tidings of Laudonniere's ambition, may have exaggerated the
resources and discoveries of the country; and possibly some specimens of
gold--the mass of two pounds described by Hawkins--had dazzled the eyes
and excited the avarice of court and people. Enough that Laudonniere was
to be sent home for trial, and that Ribault was to succeed him in the
government.

The approach of Ribault with his fleet was exceedingly slow. Head-winds
and storms baffled his progress, and as he reached the coast of Florida
he loitered along its bays and rivers, seeking to obtain from the
Indians all possible tidings of the colony, before venturing upon an
encounter with the supposed usurper of the sovereignty of the country.
When, at length, he drew nigh to La Caroline, so suspiciously did he
approach, that he drew upon him the fire of Laudonniere's men; and,
but for the distance, and the seasonable outcry which was made by his
followers, announcing who they were, a conflict might have ensued
between the parties. To the great relief of Ribault, Laudonniere
received him with submission. The former apprised him frankly of the
reports in France to his discredit, and delivered him the letters of
Coligny to the same effect. Laudonniere soon succeeded in convincing
his successor that he had been greatly slandered--that he was entirely
innocent of royalty, and almost of state, of any kind--that, however
unfortunate he may have been--however incompetent to the duties he had
undertaken, he was certainly not guilty of the extreme follies, the
presumption, or the cruelty, which constituted the several points in the
indictment urged against him. Ribault strove to persuade him to remain
in the colony, and to leave his justification to himself. But this
Laudonniere declined to do, resolving to return to France;--a resolution
which, as we shall see hereafter, was only delayed too long,--to the
further increase of the misfortunes of our captain. Meanwhile he fell
sick of a fever, and the authority passed into the hands of Jean
Ribault, whose return was welcomed by crowds of Indian chiefs, who came
to the fortress to inquire after the newly-arrived strangers. They soon
recognised the chief by whose hands the stone pillar had been reared,
which stood conspicuous at the entrance of the river. He was easily
distinguished, by many of them, by reason of the massy beard which he
wore. They embraced him with signs of a greater cordiality than they
were disposed to show to his immediate predecessor. The Kings Homoloa,
Seravahi, Alimacani, Malica, and Casti, were among the first to recall
the ties of their former friendship, and to brighten the ancient chain
of union, by fresh pledges. They brought to Ribault, among other gifts,
large pieces of gold, which, in their language, is called "sieroa pira,"
literally "red metal,"--which, upon being assayed by the refiner, proved
to be "perfect golde." They renewed their offers to conduct him to the
Mountains of Apalachia, where this precious metal was to be had for the
gathering. Ribault was not more inaccessible to this attractive showing
than Laudonniere had been; but before he could project the desired
enterprise, in search of the mountains which held such glorious
possessions, new events were in progress, involving such dangers as
superseded the hopes of gain among the adventurers, by necessities which
made them doubtful of their safety. The Spaniards, of whom they had long
been apprehensive, were at length discovered upon the coast.




XXII.

THE FATE OF LA CAROLINE.

CHAPTER I.


The fleet of Ribault consisted of seven vessels. The _three_ smallest of
these had ascended the river to the fortress. The _four_ larger, which
were men of war, remained in the open roadstead. Here they were joined
on the fourth of September by six Spanish vessels of large size and
armament. These came to anchor, and, at their first coming, gave
assurance of amity to the Frenchmen. But Ribault had been warned, prior
to his departure from France, that the Spaniards were to be suspected.
The crowns of France and Spain, it is true, were at peace, but the
Spaniards themselves contemplated settlements in Florida, to which
they laid claim, by right of previous discovery, including, under this
general title, territories of the most indefinite extent. Philip the
Second, that cold, malignant and jealous despot, freed by the amnesty
with France from the cares of war in that quarter, now addressed his
strength and employed his leisure in extending equally his sway, with
that of the Catholic faith, among the red-men of America. Prior to the
settlements of Coligny, he had begun his preparations for this object.
The charge of the expedition was confided to Don Pedro Melendez de
Avilez, an officer particularly famous among his countrymen for his
deeds of heroism in the New World. He himself, bore a considerable
portion of the expense of the enterprise, and this was a consideration
sufficiently imposing in the eyes of his sovereign, to secure for him
the dignity of a Spanish Adelantado, with the hereditary government
of all the Floridas. It was while engaged in the preparations for
this expedition that tidings were received by the Spaniards of the
settlements which had been begun by the Huguenots. The enterprise of Don
Pedro de Melendez now assumed an aspect of more dignity. It became a
crusade, and the eager impulse of ambition was stimulated by all the
usual arguments in favor of a holy war. To extirpate heresy was an
object equally grateful to both the legitimates of France and Spain; and
the heartless monarch of France, Charles the Ninth, in the spirit which
subsequently gave birth to the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew,
it is reported--though the act may have been that of the Queen
Mother--cheerfully yielded up his Protestant subjects in Florida, to the
tender mercies of the Spanish propagandist. There is little doubt that
the French monarch had signified to his Spanish brother, that he should
resent none of the wrongs done to the colonies of Coligny; he himself
being, at this very time, busied in the labor which was preparing for
the destruction of their patron and brethren at home. Coligny well knew
how little was the real sympathy entertained by the monarch for this
class of his subjects, and he felt that there were sufficient reasons to
fear, and to be watchful of, the Spaniards. He had some better authority
than mere suspicion for his fear. Just as Ribault was about to take his
departure from France, the Lord Admiral wrote him as follows, in a hasty
postscript:--"As I was closing this letter, I received certain advices
that Don Pedro Melendez departeth from Spain to go to the coast of New
France, (Florida,) see that you suffer him not to encroach upon you, no
more than you will suffer yourself to encroach on him."

The preparations of Melendez began to assume an aspect of great and
imposing magnificence. Clergy and laity crowded to his service. Nearly
twenty vessels, some of very considerable force, were provided; and
three thousand adventurers assembled under his command. But Heaven
did not seem at first to smile upon the enterprise. His fleet was
encountered by tempests as had been the "Grand Armada," and the number
of his vessels before he reached Porto Rico had been reduced nearly
two thirds. Some doubt now arose in the minds of the Spanish captains,
whether they were in sufficient force to encounter Ribault. The bigotry
and enthusiasm of Melendez rejected the doubt with indignation. His
fanaticism furnished an argument in behalf of his policy, imposing
enough to the superstitious mind, and which his followers were
sufficiently willing to accept. "The Almighty," said the Adelantado,
"has reduced our armament, only that his own arm might achieve the holy
work."

The warning of danger contained in the letter of the Lord Admiral to
Ribault did not fall upon unheeding senses. Still, the French captain
was quite unprepared for the rapidity of the progress made by the
Spaniards. When, with six large vessels, they suddenly appeared in the
roadstead of May River, Ribault was at La Caroline. His officers had
been apprised of the propriety of distrusting their neighbors, and
accordingly showed themselves suspicious as they drew nigh. It was well
they did so. In the absence of Ribault, with three of the ships at La
Caroline, they were inferior in force to the armament of Melendez,
and were thus doubly required to oppose vigilance to fraud and force.
Fortunately, the Spaniards did not reach the road till near evening,
when they had too little time for efficient operations. Hence the
civility of their deportment, and the pacific character of their
assurances. They lowered sail, cast anchor, and forbore all offensive
demonstrations. But one circumstance confirmed the apprehensions of the
Frenchmen. In the brief conversation which ensued between the parties,
after the arrival of the Spaniards, the latter inquired after the chief
captains and leaders of the French fleet, calling them by their names
and surnames, and betraying an intimate knowledge of matters, which had
been judiciously kept as secret as possible in France. This showed,
conclusively, that, before Melendez left Spain, he was thoroughly
informed by those who knew, in France, of the condition, conduct, and
strength of Ribault's armament. And why should he be informed of these
particulars, unless there were some designs for acting upon this
information? The French captains compared notes that night, in respect
to these communications, and concurred in the belief that they stood
in danger of assault. They prepared themselves accordingly, to cut and
run, with the first appearance of dawn, or danger. With the break of
day, the Spaniards began to draw nigh to our Frenchmen; but the sails of
these were already hoisted to the breeze. Their cables were severed, at
the first sign of hostility, and the chase begun within the greatest
animation. But, if the ships of the Huguenots were deficient in force,
they had the advantage of their enemies in speed. They showed the
Spaniards a clean pair of heels, and suffered nothing from the distant
cannonade with which their pursuers sought to cripple their flight. The
chase was continued through the day. With the approach of evening, the
Spaniards tacked ship and stood for the River Seloy, or Selooe, called
by the French, the River of Dolphins; a distance, overland, of but eight
or ten leagues from La Caroline. Finding that they had the advantage
of their enemies in fleetness, the French vessels came about also, and
followed them at a respectful distance. Having made all the discoveries
which were possible, they returned to May River, when Ribault came
aboard. They reported to him that the great ship of the Spaniards,
called "The Trinity," still kept the sea; that three other ships had
entered the River of Dolphins; that three others remained at its mouth;
and that the Spaniards had evidently employed themselves in putting
soldiers, with arms, munition, and provisions, upon shore. These, and
further facts, reached him from other quarters. Emoloa, one of the
Indian kings in amity with the French, sent them word that the Spaniards
had gone on shore at Seloy in great numbers--that they had dispossessed
the natives of their houses at that village; had put their "negro
slaves, whom they had brought to labor," in possession of them; and were
already busy in entrenching themselves in the place, making it a regular
encampment.

Not doubting that they meant to assail and harrass the settlement of La
Caroline from this point, with the view to expelling the colonists from
the country, Ribault boldly conceived the idea of taking the initiate in
the war. He first called a council of his chief captains. They assembled
in the chamber of Laudonniere, that person being sick. Here Ribault
commenced by showing the relative condition of their own and the enemy's
strength. His conclusion, from his array of all the facts, was, that the
true policy required that he should embark with all his forces, and
seek the fleet of the Spaniards, particularly at a moment when it was
somewhat scattered; when one great ship only kept the seas; when the
rest were in no situation to support each other in the event of sudden
assault, and when the troops of the Adelantado, partly on the shore, and
partly in his vessels, were, very probably, not in proper order to be
used successfully. His argument was not deficient in force or propriety.
Certainly, with his own seven ships, all brought together, and all his
strength in compact order and fit for service, he might reasonably hope
to fall successfully upon the divided forces and scattered squadrons of
his enemy, and sweep them equally from sea and land.

But Laudonniere had his argument also, and it was not without its
significance. He opposed the scheme of Ribault entirely; representing
the defenceless condition of the fortress, and the danger to the fleet
at sea, and upon the coast, during a season proverbially distinguished
by storms and hurricanes. His counsel was approved of by other captains;
but Ribault, an old soldier and sea captain, was too eager to engage
the enemy to listen to arguments that seemed to partake of the
pusillanimous. It was very evident that he did not regard Laudonniere
as the best of advisers in the work of war. He took his own head
accordingly, and commanded all soldiers that belonged to his command to
go on board their vessels. Not satisfied with this force, he lessened
the strength of the garrison by taking a detachment of its best men,
leaving few to keep the post but the invalids, who, like Laudonniere,
were suffering, or but just recovering, from the diseases of the climate
in midsummer. Laudonniere expostulated, but in vain, against this
appropriation of his garrison. On the eighth of September, Ribault left
the roadstead in pursuit of the Spaniards, and Laudonniere never beheld
him again. That very day the skies were swallowed up in tempests. Such
tempests were never beheld before upon the coast. The storms prevailed
for several days, at the end of which time, apprehending the worst,
Laudonniere mustered his command, and proceeded to put the fortress in
the best possible condition of defence. To repair the portions of the
wall which had been thrown down, to restore the palisades stretching
from the fortress to the river, was a work of equal necessity and
difficulty; which, with all the diligence of the Frenchmen, advanced
slowly, in consequence of the violence and long continuance of the
stormy weather. The whole force left in the garrison consisted of but
eighty-six persons supposed to be capable of bearing arms. Of their
doubtful efficiency we may boldly infer from these facts. Several of
them were mere boys, with sinews yet unhardened into manhood. Some were
old men, completely _hors de combat_ from the general exhaustion of
their energies; many were still suffering from green wounds, got in
the war with Olata Utina, and others again were wholly unprovided with
weapons. Relying upon the assumption that he should find his enemy at
sea and in force, Ribault had stripped the garrison of its real manhood.
His vessels being better sailers than those of the Spaniards, he took
for granted that he should be able to interpose, at any moment, for the
safety of La Caroline, should any demonstration be made against it.
This was assuming quite too much. It allowed nothing for the caprices of
wind and wave; for the sudden rising of gales and tempests; and accorded
too little to the cool prudence, and calculating generalship of Pedro
Melendez, one of the most shrewd, circumspect and successful of the
Spanish generals of the period: nor, waiving these considerations, was
the policy of Ribault to be defended, when it is remembered that he had
been specially counselled that the Spaniards had made their lodgments in
force upon the shores of Florida, not many leagues, by land, from the
endangered fortress. His single virtue of courage blinded him to the
danger from the former. He calculated first to destroy the fleet of the
enemy, thus cutting off all resource and all escape, and then to descend
upon the troops on land, before they could fortify their camp, and
overwhelm them with his superior and unembarrassed forces. We shall see,
hereafter, the issue of all these calculations. In all probability his
decision was influenced quite as much by his fanaticism as his courage.
He hated the Spaniards as Catholics, quite as much as they hated him and
his flock as heretics. This rage blinded the judgment of the veteran
soldier, upon whom fortune was not disposed to smile.

The condition of things at La Caroline, when Ribault took his departure,
deplorable enough as we have seen, was rendered still worse by another
deficiency, the fruit of this decision of the commander. The supplies of
food which were originally brought out for the garrison, were mostly
appropriated for the uses of the fleet, allowing for its possibly
prolonged absence upon the seas. This absorbed the better portion of the
store which was necessary for the daily consumption at La Caroline. A
survey of the quantity in the granary of the fortress, made immediately
after the departure of the fleet, led to the necessity of stinting the
daily allowance of the garrison. Thus, then, with provisions short, with
Laudonniere sick, and otherwise incompetent,--with the men equally few
and feeble, improvident hitherto, and now spiritless,--the labors of
defence and preparation at La Caroline went forward slowly; and its
watch was maintained with very doubtful vigilance. We have seen enough,
in the previous difficulties of the commandant with his people, to form
a just judgment of the small subordination which he usually maintained.
His government was by no means improved with the obvious necessity
before him, and the hourly increase of peril. Alarmed, at first, by the
condition in which he had been left, Laudonniere, as has been stated,
proceeded with the _show_ of diligence, rather than its actual working,
to repair the fortress, and put himself in order for defence. But,
with the appearance of bad weather, his exertions relaxed; his people,
accustomed to wait upon Providence and the Indians,--praying little to
the One and preying much upon the others--very soon discontinued their
unfamiliar and disagreeable exertions. They could not suppose--averse
themselves to bad weather--that the Spaniards could possibly expose
themselves to chills and fevers during an equinoctial tempest, under any
idle impulses of enterprise and duty; and their watch was maintained
with very doubtful vigilance. On the night of the nineteenth of
September, Monsieur de La Vigne was appointed to keep guard with his
company. But Monsieur de La Vigne had a tender heart, and felt for his
soldiers in bad weather. Seeing the rain continue and increase, "he
pitied the sentinels, so much moyled and wet; and thinking the Spaniards
would not have come in such a strange time, he let them depart, and, to
say the truth, hee went himself into his lodging." But the Spaniards
appear to have been men of inferior tastes, and of a delicacy less
sympathising and scrupulous than Monsieur de La Vigne. Bad weather
appeared to agree with them, and we shall see that they somewhat enjoyed
the very showers, from the annoyance of which our French sentinels were
so pleasantly relieved. We shall hear of these things hereafter. In
the meanwhile, let us look in upon the Adelantado of Florida, Pedro
Melendez, a strong, true man, in spite of a savage nature and a
maddening fanaticism,--let us see him and the progress of his fortunes,
where he plants the broad banner of Spain, with its castellated towers,
upon the lonely Indian waters of the Selooe, that river which our
Huguenots had previously dignified with the title of "the Dolphin."




CHAPTER II.

RIBAULT'S FORTUNES AT SELOOE.


It was on the twenty-eighth of August, the day on which the Spaniards
celebrated the festival of St. Augustine, that the Adelantado entered
the mouth of the Selooe or Dolphin River. He was attracted by the aspect
of the place, and here resolved to establish a settlement and fortress.
He gave the name of the Saint to the settlement. Having landed a portion
of his forces, he found himself welcomed by the savages, whom he treated
with kindness and who requited him with assurances of friendship. From
them he learned something of the French settlements, and of their
vessels at the mouth of the May River, and he resolved to attempt the
surprise of his enemies. We have seen the failure of this attempt.
Disappointed in his first desire, like the tiger who returns to crouch
again within the jungle from which he has unsuccessfully sprung,
Melendez made his way back to the waters of the Selooe, where he
proposed to plant his settlement, and which his troops were already
beginning to entrench. Here he employed himself in taking formal
possession in the name of the King of Spain, and having celebrated the
Divine mysteries in a manner at once solemn and ostentatious, he swore
his officers to fidelity in the prosecution of the expedition, upon the
Holy Sacrament.

It was while most busy with his preparations, that the fleet of Ribault
made its appearance at the mouth of the river. The two heaviest of the
Spanish vessels, being relieved of their armament and troops, which had
been transferred to the land, had been despatched, on the approach of
the threatened danger, with all haste to Hispaniola. The two other
vessels, at the bar or entrance of the harbor, were unequal to the
conflict with the superior squadron of Ribault. Melendez was embarked
in one of them, and the three lighter vessels of the French, built
especially for penetrating shallow waters, were pressing forward to the
certain capture of their prey, for which there seemed no possibility of
escape. Melendez felt all his danger, but he had prepared himself for
a deadly struggle, and was especially confident in the enthusiastic
conviction that himself and his design were equally the concern of
Providence. It would seem that fortune was solicitous to justify the
convictions of so much self-esteem. Ribault's extreme caution in
sounding the bar to which his vessels were approaching, lost him two
precious hours; but for which his conquest must have been certain. There
was no hope, else, unless in some such miraculous protection as that
upon which the Spanish general seemed to count. Had these two vessels
been taken and Melendez a prisoner, the descent upon the dismayed troops
on shore, not yet entrenched, and in no preparation for the conflict
with an equal or superior enemy, and the annihilation of the settlement
must have ensued. The consequence of such an event might have changed
the whole destinies of Florida, might have established the Huguenot
colonies firmly upon the soil, and given to the French such a firm
possession of the land, as might have kept the _fleur-de-lis_ waving
from its summits to this very day. But the miracle was not wanting which
the Spanish Adelantado expected. In the very moment when the hands of
Ribault, were stretched to seize his prizes, the sudden roar of the
hurricane came booming along the deep. The sea rose between the
assailant and his prey,--the storm parted them, and while the feebler
vessels of Melendez, partially under the security of the land, swept
back towards the settlement which he had made on shore, the brigantines
and bateaux of Ribault were forced to rejoin their greater vessels, and
they all bore away to sea before the gale. Under the wild norther
that rushed down upon his squadron, Ribault with a groan of rage and
disappointment, abandoned the conquest which seemed already in his
grasp.

Melendez promptly availed himself of the Providential event, to insist
among his people upon the efficiency of his prayers. They had previously
been desponding. They felt their isolation, and exaggerated its danger.
The departure of their ships for Hispaniola, their frequent previous
disasters, the dispersion of nearly two thirds of the squadron with
which they had left the port of Cadiz, but three months before; the
labors and privations which already began to press upon them with a
novel force; all conspired to dispirit them, and made them despair of
a progress in which they were likely to suffer the buffetings only,
without any of the rewards of fortune;--and when they beheld the
approaching squadron of the French, in force so superior as to leave
no doubt of the capture of their only remaining vessels, they yielded
themselves up to a feeling of utter self-abandonment, to which the
stern, grave self-reliance of Melendez afforded no encouragement. But
when, with broad sweep of arm, he pointed to the awful rising of the
great billows of the sea, the wild raging of cloud and storm in the
heavens, the scudding flight of the trembling ships of Ribault, their
white wings gradually disappearing in distance and darkness like feeble
birds borne recklessly forward in the wild fury of the tempest, he
could, with wonderful potency, appeal to his people to acknowledge the
wonders that the Lord had done for them that day.

"Call you this the cause of our king only, in which we are engaged my
brethren? Oh! shallow vanity! And yet, you say rightly. It is the cause
of our king--the greatest of all kings--the king of kings; and he will
make it triumphant in all lands, even though the base and the timid
shall despair equally of themselves and of Him! We shall never, my
brethren, abandon this cause to which we have sworn our souls, in life
and death, without incurring the eternal malediction of the Most High
God, forever blessed be his name! We are surrounded by enemies, my
friends; we are few and we are feeble; but what is our might, when the
tempest rises like a wall between us and our foes, and in our greatest
extremity, the hand of God stretches forth from the cloud, and plucks
us safely from the danger. Be of good heart, then; put on a fearless
courage; believe that the cause is holy in which ye strive, and the God
of Battles will most surely range himself upon our side!"

Loud cries of exultation from his people answered this address. A
thousand voices renewed their vows of fidelity, and pledged themselves
to follow blindly wherever he should lead. He commanded that a solemn
mass of the Holy Spirit should be said that night, and that all the army
should be present. He vouchsafed no farther words. Nothing, he well
knew, that he could say, could possibly add to the miraculous event that
had saved their vessels, before their own eyes, in the very moment of
destruction. "Our prayers, our faith, my brethren; to these we owe the
saving mercies of the Blessed Jesus!"




CHAPTER III.

MELENDEZ AT SELOOE.


But the enthusiasm excited by the dispersion of Ribault's vessels, and
the escape of their own, was of short-lived duration among the Spaniards
at Selooe. Human nature may obey a grateful impulse, and, while it
lasts, will be insensible to common dangers and common necessities; but
the enthusiasm which excites and strengthens for a season, is one also
which finally exhausts; and when the enervation which succeeds to a
high-strung exultation, is followed by great physical trials, and the
continued pressure of untoward events, the creature nature is quite too
apt to triumph over that nobler spirit whose very intensity is fatal to
its length of life. The sign of providential favor which they had beheld
wrought visibly in their behalf, the inspiriting language of their stern
and solemn leader, the offices of religion, meant to evoke the presence
of the Deity, and to secure, by appropriate rites, his farther
protection, of which they had recently witnessed so wonderful a
manifestation; these wore away in their effects upon our Spaniards, and
in the toils and sufferings which they were subsequently to endure.

Perhaps nothing more greatly depresses the ordinary nature than an abode
in strange and savage regions during a prevalence of cheerless,
unfriendly weather. The soul recoils as it were upon itself, under the
ungenial pressure from without, and looking entirely within, finds
nothing but wants which it is impossible to satisfy. Memory then
studiously recals, as if for the purposes of torture and annoyance, the
aspects of the beloved ones who are far from us in foreign lands. The
joys which we have had with old and loving associates, the sweets of
dear homes, and the sounds of friendly voices, these are the treasures
which she conjures up at such periods, in mournful contrast with present
privations and all manner of denial. But if, in addition to these, we
are conscious of accumulating dangers; if the storm and savage howl
without; if hunger craves without being answered, and thirst raves for
the drop of moisture to cool its tongue, in vain, we must not wonder if
the ordinary nature sinks under its sorrows and apprehension, and loses
all the elastic courage which would prompt endeavor and conduct to
triumph. The master mind alone, may find itself strong under these
circumstances--the man of inexorable will, great faith, and a
far-sighted appreciation of the future and its compensations. But it
is the master mind only which bears up thus greatly. The common herd
is made of very different materials, and in quite another mould.

Don Pedro de Melendez was one of the few minds thus extraordinarily
endowed. His prudence, keeping due pace with his religious fanaticism,
approved him a peculiar character; a man of rare energies, extraordinary
foresight and indomitable will. Resolute for the destruction of the
heretics of La Caroline, he was yet one of that class of persons--how
few--who can forego the premature attempt to gratify a raging appetite,
in recognition of those embarrassing circumstances, which if left
unregarded, would only operate for its defeat. He could wait the season,
with all patience, when desire might be crowned with fruition. Yet was
his thirst a raging one--a master passion--absorbing every other in
his soul. All that had taken place on land and sea, had been certainly
foreseen by him. Thus had he dispatched his ships seasonably to
Hispaniola, as well for their security, as to afford him succor. If he
doubted for the safety of those which remained to him, on the approach
of Ribault, he was relieved of his doubts by his faith in the
interposition of the Deity, and went forth to the encounter, himself
heading the forlorn hope, as it were, without any misgivings of the
result. He _knew_ that the Deity would, in some manner, make himself
manifest in succor for the true believer, even then engaged in the
maintenance of His cause. He had foreseen the threatening aspects of the
heavens, the wild tumults of the sea, the sullen and angry caprices of
the winds. He _felt_ that storm and terror were in prospect, and that
they were meant as his defences against his enemy! But this did not
prevent him from adopting all proper human precautions. He did not
peril his prows beyond the shoals which environed the entrance to his
harborage. He did not trust them beyond the natural bars at the mouth
of the Selooe, leaving them to the unrestrained fury of the demon
winds that sweep the blue waters of the gulf. Nor, assuming the bare
possibility that the protection of the Deity might be withheld from the
true believer, as much for the trial of his valor as his faith, in the
moment of encounter with the heretic, was the Adelantado neglectful of
the means for further struggle, should the assailants, successful with
his shipping, approach the shores of Selooe in the endeavor to destroy
his army. This he sought to protect by the best possible defences. His
troops were under arms in order for battle. Every possible advantage of
trench and picket was employed for giving them additional securities.
His people had already taken possession of the Indian village, from
whence the savages had been expelled; and their dwellings were converted
into temporary fortresses, each garrisoned with its selected band. It is
wonderful, how the veteran chieftain toiled, in the endeavor to secure
his position. While he felt how little the Deity needed the strength of
man, in working out the purposes of destiny, he well knew how necessary
it was that man should show himself worthy, by his prudence and
preparations, of the intervention and the care of Deity.

We have seen the issue of the unfortunate attempt of Ribault upon his
enemy; with the absence of immediate danger, the first tumults of
exultation on the part of the Spaniards, subsided into a sullen and
humiliating repose. As night came on, they momently began to feel the
increasing annoyances of their situation. That they were in temporary
security from the heretic French, left them free to consider, and to
feel, the insecurity and the unfriendly solitude of their situation. The
frail palm covered huts of the Floridian savages, on the banks of their
now raging river, with the tempest roaring among the affrighted forest
trees, afforded but a sorry shelter to their numerous hosts. Darkness
and thick night closed in upon them in their dreary and comfortless
abodes, and their hearts sunk appalled beneath the terrific bursts of
thunder that seemed to rock the very earth upon which they stood. They
were not the tried veterans of Spain. Many among them wore weapons for
the first time, and all were totally inexperienced in that foreign
hemisphere, in which the elements wore aspects of terror which had never
before entered their imaginations. Their officers were mostly able men
and good soldiers, but even these had enjoyed but small experience in
the new world. The levies of Melendez had been hurriedly made, with the
view to anticipate the progress of Ribault. They were not such as that
iron-hearted leader would have chosen for the terrible warfare which
he had in view. Chilled by the ungenial atmosphere, confounded with
torrents such as they had never before beheld, and which seemed to
threaten the return of the deluge, they exaggerated the evils of their
situation and feared the worst. They were not ill-advised upon the
subject of their own strength and resources, and whatever they might
hope in respect to the probable ill-fortunes of Ribault and his fleet,
they knew him to be an experienced soldier, and that his armament was
superior, while his numbers were quite equal to their own. They now knew
that they were the objects of his search and hate, as he had been of
theirs, and they still looked with dread to his reappearance, suddenly,
and the coming of a conflict which should add new terrors to the storm.
They could not conceive the extent of the securities which they enjoyed,
and fancied that with a far better acquaintance with the country than
they possessed, he would reappear among them at the moment when least
expected, and that they should perish beneath the fury of his fierce
assault.

While thus they brooded over their situation, officers and men cowering
in the frail habitations of the Indians, through which the rushing
torrents descended without impediment, extinguishing their fires, and
leaving them with no light but that fitful one, the fierce flashes from
the clouds, which threatened them with destruction while illuminating
the pale faces of each weary watcher;--Pedro Melendez, strengthened by
higher if not a holier support, disdained the miserable shelter of
the hovels where they crouched together. He trod the shore and forest
pathways without sign of fear or shows of disquiet or annoyance. He
smiled at the sufferings which he yet strove to alleviate. He opened his
stores for the relief of his people, yet partook of none himself. He
gave them food and wine of his own, even while he smiled scornfully to
see them eat and drink. His solicitude equally provided against their
dangers and their fears. He placed the necessary guards against the one,
and soothed or mocked the other. He alone appeared unmoved amidst the
storm, and might be seen with unhelmed head, passing from cot to cot,
and from watch to watch, urging vigilance, providing relief, and
encouraging the desponding with a voice of cheer. His eye took in
without shrinking, all the aspects of the storm. He gazed with uplifted
spirit as the wild red flashes cleft the great black clouds which
enveloped the forests in a shroud. "Ay!" he exclaimed, "verily, O Lord!
thou hast taken this work into thine own hands!" And thus he went to and
fro, without complaint, or suffering, or fatigue, till his lieutenants
with shame beheld the example of the veteran whom they had not soul or
strength to emulate. His deportment was no less a marvel than a reproach
to his people. They could not account for that seemingly unseasonable
delight which was apparent in his face, in the exulting tones of his
voice, and the eager impulse of his action. That a glow-like inspiration
should lighten up his features, and give richness and power to his
voice, while they cowered from the storm and darkness in fear and
trembling, seemed to them indications rather of madness than of wisdom.
But in truth, it was inspiration. Melendez had been visited by one
of those sudden flashes of thought which open the pathway to a great
performance. A brave design filled his soul; a sudden bright conception,
to the proper utterance of which he hurried with a due delight. He
summoned his chief leaders to consultation in the great council house
of the tribe of Selooe, a round fabric of mixed earth and logs, with a
frail palm leaf thatch, fragments of which, the fierce efforts of the
tempest momently tore away. The rain rushed through the rents of ruin,
the wind shrieked through the numerous breaches in the walls, but
Melendez stood in the midst, heedless of these annoyances, or only
heedful of them so far as to esteem them services and blessings. He knew
the people with whom he had to deal, their fears, their weaknesses, and
discontents, the base nature of many of their desires, and the utter
incapacity of all to realize the intense enthusiasm which shone within
his soul. He could scorn them, but he had to use them. He despised their
imbecility, but felt how necessary it was too temporize with their
moods, and make them rather forgetful of their infirmities, than openly
to denounce and mock them. His eye was fastened upon certain of his
chiefs in especial, whose weaknesses were more likely to endanger his
objects than those of the rest, since these were associated with a
certain degree of pretension arising from their occupance of place. But
there is no one in more complete possession of the subtleties of the
politician, than the fanatic of intense will. All his powers are
concentrated upon the single object, and he values this too highly to
endanger it by any rashness. He can make allowances for the weaker among
the brethren, so long as they have the power to yield service; he only
cuts them down ruthlessly, when, like the tree bringing forth no fruit,
the question naturally occurs to the politician, "Why cumbereth it the
ground?" Melendez was prepared to act the politician amidst all his
fanaticism. For this reason, though his resolution was inexorably taken,
he summoned his officers to a solemn deliberation--a council of war--to
determine upon what should be done in the circumstances in which they
stood.




CHAPTER IV.

THE COUNCIL OF WAR AT SELOOE.


It was midnight when the assemblage of the Spanish captains took place
in the great council house of the savages of Selooe. Already, that
night, had the place been consecrated by the performance of a solemn
mass in honor of the Holy Spirit. The purposes of the present gathering
were, in the opinion of Melendez, not less honorable to the Deity. Rude
logs strewn about the building, even as they had been employed by the
red-men, furnished seats for the Spanish officers. They surrounded a
great fire of resinous pine, which now blazed brightly in the centre
of the apartment. In this respect the scene had rather the appearance
of savage rites than of Christian council. In silence, the nobles of
Castile, of Biscay and the Asturias took their places. Their eyes were
vacant, and their hearts were depressed. They caught nothing of that
exulting blaze which lightened up the features of Melendez.

"Oh! ye of little faith!" he exclaimed, rising in their midst, "is
it thus that ye give acknowledgment to God for the blessings ye have
received at his hands, and for that care of the Guardian Shepherd, to
which ye, thus far, owe your safety? Have ye already lost the memory of
that wondrous sign wrought this day for your deliverance,--when your
eyes beheld a wall of storm and thunder pass between your captain
and his little barques, and the overwhelming squadron of the heretic
Ribault? Was this manifestation of his guardian providence made for us
in vain? Said it not, plainly as the voice of Heaven might say, that our
mission was not ended--that there was other work to be wrought by our
hands, and that he was with us, to help us in the great achievement of
his purposes. Lo! you now, the very storm, that rages about us, and
beneath the terrors of which ye tremble, is but a further proof of his
guardianship. Under cover of the rages of the tempest, shall we press on
to the complete achievement of our work. We shall march to the conquest
of La Caroline,--we shall destroy these arch-heretics--these enemies of
God, in the very fortress of their strength--in the very place which
they have set apart, in the vain hope of security, as their home of
refuge!"

Audible murmurs here arrested the speaker.

"What is it that ye fear, my children?" continued Melendez.

Then some among them cried out--"What madness is it that we hear?
Shall we, thus enfeebled as we are, with our great ships speeding to
Hispaniola, here, left as we are on the wild shores of the savage, not
yet entrenched, shall we divide our strength, in the hope to conquer La
Caroline, leaving to the heretic Ribault to fall upon our camp when we
depart, to pursue us as we tread the great forests of the Floridian, and
to destroy us between the power which he brings and that which awaits us
at La Caroline?"

"Oh! my brethren! would ye could see with my vision! Ribault will not
trouble our camp, neither will he pursue us in our absence. He speeds
before the terrors of the tempest. He flies from the destruction which
will scarcely suffer him to escape. A voice cries to me that he already
perishes beneath the engulphing waters of the Mexican sea; or is cast
upon the bleak and treacherous shores and islands which guard the domain
of the Floridian. Even if he should escape these dangers, weeks must
pass before he can return to these waters of Selooe, the heathen empire
of which we have consecrated with the name and confided to the holy
keeping of the blessed St. Augustine! This tempest is no summer gale,
subsiding as rapidly as it begins. It will rage thus for many days. In
that time, encouraged by the Lord, we shall pass the forest wastes that
lie between us and La Caroline. With five hundred men, and a host of
these red warriors, we shall penetrate in less than four days to the
fortress of the heretics--and while they dream that they sleep securely
under the shadows of the tempest, we shall rush upon their slumbers,
and give them to sleep eternally. My valiant comrades, this is the
resolution which I have taken; but I would hear your counsel. I would
not that ye should not cheerfully adopt the resolve which is assuredly a
dictate from Heaven itself. For, if we destroy not these heretics, they
will destroy us. If we cut off the people of La Caroline ere Ribault
shall return, his fortress is ours, the cannon of which we shall turn
upon him. It is a war _a l'outrance_ between us. They will give us no
quarter: they shall have none. This tempest gives us the assurance that
we shall have no danger from Ribault, if we seize the precious moments
for our enterprise, when he is vainly striving with the tempests of the
deep, and vainly striving against the winds that bear him away hourly
still farther from the scene of our achievements."

We need not pursue the deliberations of the Spanish council. It is
enough if we report the result. In the speeches of Melendez, already
made, we see the full force of his argument, which was sound and
sensible, and could only be opposed by the fears of those who sought
to avoid exposure, who dreaded the elements, the unknown in their
condition, and who shrunk from enterprises which promised nothing but
hard blows, and which tasked their hardihood beyond all their past
experience in war. There were arguments and pleas put in by the
over-cautious and the timid, to all of which the Adelantado listened
patiently, but to all of which he opposed his arguments, based at once
upon the obvious policy natural to their circumstances, and to the
equally obvious requisitions of the Deity, as shown by an interposition
in their favor, which they were all prepared to acknowledge as fervently
as Melendez. His quiet but inflexible will prevailed; the council
gradually became of his mind. The unsatisfied were at least silenced,
while those whom he convinced were clamorous in their plaudits of a
scheme which they ascribed, as Melendez did himself, to the immediate
revelation of Heaven.

"I thank you, noble gentlemen," were the words of the Adelantado, as
they separated for the night. "That our opinions so well correspond
increases my confidence in our plan. Not that I had doubts before. I had
thy assurance, oh! Lord! that this adventure had thy heavenly sanction.
_In te Domine speravi_,--let us never be confounded! And now, my
comrades, let us separate. With the dawn, though the storm rages still,
as I hope and believe it will, we must prepare for this enterprise. We
shall choose five hundred of our best soldiers, carry with us provisions
for eight days, and in that time our work will be done. Our force will
be divided into six companies, each with its flag and captain, and a
select body of pioneers, armed with axes, shall be sent before to open
a pathway through the forest. That we have no guide is a misfortune;
but God will provide so that we fail not. Fortunately we know in what
quarter lies La Caroline--the distance is known also, and we shall not
go wide, if we are only resolved to seek and to destroy the heretics
with firm and valiant hearts, filled with a proper faith in heaven."

Even as he concluded, one at the entrance of the council-house entreated
entrance. It proved to be a priest, the Reverend Father Salvandi, who
brought with him a strange man, overgrown with beard, and partly in the
costume of a mariner.

"My son," said the priest, "here is the very man you want. This is one
Francis Jean, a Frenchman,--once a heretic, but now, conscious of his
errors, and repentant in the hands of Holy Church. He hath recanted of
his sins, and hath come back willingly to the folds of Christ. He hath
fled from La Caroline, from the cruelties of Laudonniere, the heretic,
and will report what he knows, touching the condition of the Lutheran
fortress and the people thereof."

"Said I not, my comrades, that God would provide!" cried Melendez in
exultation. "This is the very man whom we want. What art thou?"--to the
Frenchman.

"I was a heretic, my lord,--I am now a Christian. I was beaten by
Laudonniere, and I fled from him, taking off one of his barques. He hath
sworn my life; I would take his. I know the route to La Caroline. I will
show the way to your soldiers."

"Ah! Laudonniere will hang you, if he gets you into his power."

"For that reason, my lord, I would have you get him in yours."

"You shall have your wish. The Lord hath indeed spoken! Your name?"

"Francis Jean!"

"Be faithful--guide my people to this fortress of the heretics, and you
shall be rewarded. But, if treacherous, Francis Jean, you shall hang to
the first tree of the forest!"

"Doubt me not, my lord. I will do you good service!"

"Be it so! My comrades--the Lord hath provided. Señor Martin de Ochoa,
take this man into thy keeping. Do him no hurt,--let him be well
entreated, but let him not escape from thy sight."

The Reverend Father Salvandi bestowed his benediction upon the kneeling
circle, and they separated for the night. And still the storm roared
without, and still the rains descended, but the heart of Melendez
rejoiced in the tempest, as it were an angel sent by Heaven to his
succor.




CHAPTER V.

THE DINNER-PARTY OF MELENDEZ.


But the consolations of Melendez were not those of his people, nor did
they arrive at his conclusions. It was soon bruited abroad that he was
to march through the tempest upon La Caroline, and his soldiers spoke
the open language of sedition. Their clamors reached the ears of
Melendez, but he was one of those wonderful politicians who know what
an error it is, at times, to be too quick of sight and hearing. The
discontents of the _canaille_ gave him little concern; yet he watched
them without seeming to do so; and employed processes of his own for
inducing their quiet, without showing himself either apprehensive or
angry. Some of his officers were guilty of seditious speeches also--some
of those whom his will had silenced in council, rather than his
arguments convinced. He took his measures with these in a simple manner,
without allowing his preparations to be arrested for a moment. One of
these officers, named St. Vincent, positively declared his purpose not
to go upon an expedition where they would only get their throats cut;
and that if Melendez persisted in his mad design, he would embark with
all those left at St. Augustine, and take his route back to Hispaniola.
This same person, with the Señors Francis Recalde and Diego de Maya,
openly and boldly remonstrated with the Adelantado against the
enterprise. He answered them by inviting them, and all other of his
officers who had been of the council, to a great dinner which he
prepared for them that day. Here he gave them quite a splendid
entertainment, and in the midst of their hilarity he said--

"That it was with very great surprise he discovered that the secret
councils of the last night had been improperly revealed to all the
world--councils of war," said he, "my comrades, are matters the value of
which depend wholly upon their secresy. It would be my duty to find out
and punish the authors of this wretched infidelity; but I am too well
persuaded of the mercies of God to myself and to all of us, not to be
indulgent to the faults of our people. This offence, accordingly, is
forgiven, no matter who shall have been the offender. But, hereafter, I
may say that all future seditions among the soldiers shall be punished
in the officers. It is from the officers only that the soldiers are led
into insubordination. They shall answer for their men. Let it be known,
however, that all who lose heart, who tremble at this enterprise, to
which God himself has summoned us, are at liberty to remain. I am
satisfied, however, that the greater number are prepared to depart with
me the moment I give the signal, under the proper example of their
captains. Still, I am willing to hear counsel from you touching this
expedition. I am not mulish enough to adhere to a resolution when better
counsels are given against it. Speak freely your minds, therefore,
if you think otherwise than myself; remembering this only, that our
resolution, once taken, if there shall be one so bold as to oppose words
where he should do his duty, he shall be cashiered upon the spot. And
now, my comrades, this wine of Xeres is not amiss. Let us drink. We are
of one mind, I perceive, in council; let our unanimity extend to our
drink. I drink to the speedy overthrow of heresy, and the spread of the
true faith; both certain where the sword of valor is always ready to
obey the voice of God!"

The toast was drank with enthusiasm. The discontents were silenced. How
should it be otherwise where the authority was so generous, conveying
its suggestions through the generous wines of Xeres, and only hinting at
the possibility of disgrace and punishment, in the occurrence of events
scarcely possible to those who claimed to draw the sword of valor in
the service of the Deity. The Adelantado gave no farther heed to the
factions of his army. He probably adopted the best precautions. It is
true that St. Vincent still mouthed threats of disobedience, but the
policy of Melendez had no ears in his quarter; and the preparations
went on, without interruption, for the march against La Caroline!




CHAPTER VI.

THE STORMING OF LA CAROLINE.


The preparations for departure were complete. The Adelantado himself
marched at the head of his vanguard, the immediate command of which
was confided to Señor Martin de Ochoa, with a troop of Biscayans and
Asturians, armed with axes, for clearing their pathway through the
forest. With these went the traitor, Francis Jean, who had abandoned his
religion and La Caroline together. He was watched closely, but proved
faithful to his new masters. Dreary, indeed, was the progress of
Melendez. The storm prevailed all the time. The rain soaked their
garments, and it was with difficulty they could protect their ammunition
and provisions. The fourth day of the march they were within five miles
of La Caroline, but arrested by an immense tract of swamp, in passing
which the water was up to their middles. The whole country was flooded,
and the _freshet_ momently increased, in consequence of the continued
rains. These had become more terrible in volume than ever. The windows
of heaven seemed again opened for another deluge. The hearts of the
Spaniards sunk, as their toils and sufferings increased. More than a
hundred slunk away, fell off on the route, and made their way over the
ground which they had trodden, reporting the worst of disasters to their
comrades, defeat and destruction, by way of excusing their cowardice.
But the indomitable courage and unbending will of the adelantado, his
presence and voice of command in every quarter, still prevailed to
bring his remaining battalions forward. It was in vain that his troops
muttered curses upon his head. Fernan Perez, an ensign of the company of
St. Vincent, was bold enough to say, that "he could not comprehend how
so many brave gentlemen should let themselves be led by a wretched
Asturian mountaineer--a fellow who knew no more about carrying on war on
land than a horse!"

The ensign had a great deal more to say of the same sort, of which
Melendez was not ignorant, but of which he took no notice. He was a sage
dissimulator who answered discontent with policy, and strengthened his
people's hearts by divine revelation. He called another council of his
officers. He told them of his prayers to and consultations of Heaven,
seeking to know the will of God only in the performance of his
work,--persuaded that each of them had made like prayers all night; that
they were accordingly in the very mood of mind to resolve what was to
be done in their extremity. He made this to appear as bad as possible,
describing them as "harrassed with fatigue, shorn of strength, without
bread, munitions or any human resource."

Some one counselled their retreat to St. Augustine before the Huguenots
should discover them.

"Very good advice," quoth Melendez, "but suffer me still another word.
The prospect is undoubtedly a gloomy one, but look you, there are the
portals of La Caroline. Now, it may be just as well to see how affairs
stand with our enemies. According to all appearances they are not in
force. We may not have the power to take the place, but it is well to
see whether the place can be taken. If we retreat now, we are not sure
that we shall do so securely. They will probably hunt us through the
forest, at every step of the way, encouraged by our show of weakness
and timidity. It is not improbable that we may surprise this fort. Men
seldom look either for friends or enemies in bad weather. I doubt if
they can sustain a bold assault; but if they do, and we fail, we have
the consolation at least of having done all that was possible for men."

The assault was agreed upon; and in a transport of joy, the Adelantado
sunk upon his knees, in the mire where he stood, and called upon his
troops to do likewise, imploring the succor of the God of battles.

He gave his orders with rapid resolution and according to a fixed design
already entertained. Taking with him Francis Jean, the renegade, he put
himself at the head of one division of his troops, and gave other bodies
to the Captains Martin de Ochoa, Francis Recalde, Andres Lopez Patino
and others, and, covered by the midnight darkness from observation--with
all sounds of drum and trumpet stilled--with the echoes of their
advancing squadrons hushed in the fall of torrents and the roar of
sweeping winds--the assailants made their way, slowly and painfully but
without staggering, toward the silent bastions of La Caroline.

Under the guidance of the renegade Frenchman the Spanish captains made
a complete reconnoissance of the fortress. A portion of it was still
unrepaired, and this they penetrated without difficulty. We have seen,
in a previous chapter, with what doubtful vigilance the lieutenants of
Laudonniere performed their duties. It will not be forgotten that,
on the night of the 19th September, the charge of the watch lay with
Captain de la Vigne; nor will it be forgotten with what pity that
amiable captain regarded the condition of his sentinels, exposed to
such unchristian weather. We left the fortress of La Caroline in most
excellent repose; the storm prevailing without, and the garrison asleep
within. It was while they slept that Don Pedro de Melendez was praying
to heaven that he might be permitted to assist them in their slumbers,
changing the temporary into an eternal sleep. Thus passed the night of
the 19th September over La Caroline. The dawn of the 20th found the
Spaniards, in several divisions, about to penetrate the fortress. Two of
their leaders, Martin de Ochoa and the master of the camp had already
done so. They had examined the place at their leisure, passing through
an unrepaired breach of one of the walls. Returning, with the view to
making their report, they had mistaken one pathway for another, and
encountered a drowsy Frenchman, who, starting at their approach,
demanded "_Qui vive?_" Ochoa promptly answered, "France," and the man
approached them only to receive a stunning blow upon the head. The
Frenchman recovered himself instantly, drew his sword, and made at the
assailant, but the master of the camp seconded the blow of Ochoa, and
the Frenchman was brought to the ground. The sword of the Spaniard was
planted at his throat, and he was forbidden to speak under pain of
death. He had cried aloud, but had failed to give the alarm, and this
pointed suggestion silenced him from farther attempts. He was conducted
to Melendez, who, determined to see nothing but good auguries, cried
out, without caring to hear the report--"My friends, God is with us! We
are already in possession of the fort." At these words the assault was
given. The captive Frenchman was slain, as the most easy method of
relieving his captors of their charge, and the Spaniards darted
pell-mell into the fort, the fierce Adelantado still leading in the
charge, with the cry--"Follow me, comrades, God is for us!" Two
Frenchmen, half-naked, rushed across his path. One of them he slew, and
Don Andres Patino the other. They had no time allowed them to give the
alarm; but just at this moment a soldier of the garrison who was less
drowsy than the rest, or more apprehensive of his duty, had sauntered
forth from the shelter of his quarters and stood upon the ramparts,
looking forth in the direction of a little "sandie knappe," or hill,
down which a column of the Spaniards were rushing in order of battle.
This vision brought him to the full possession of all his faculties. He
gave the _cri de guerre_, the signal of battle, but as he wheeled about
to procure his weapons, he beheld other detachments of the Spaniards
making their way through the unrepaired and undefended breaches in the
wall. Still he cried aloud, even as he fled, and Laudonniere started
from his slumbers only to hear the startling cry--"To arms! to arms! The
enemy is upon us!"

The warning came too late. The amiable weakness which withdrew the
sentinels from the walls because of the weather, was not now to be
repaired by any energy or courage. The garrison was aroused, but not
permitted to rally or embody themselves. Melendez with his troop
had reached the _corps de garde_ quite as soon as Laudonniere. The
latter--lately supposed to have usurped royal honors--was very soon
convinced that the only object before him was the safety of his own
life. With the first alarm, he caught up sword and buckler, and rushed
valiantly enough into the court. But he only appeared to be made
painfully conscious that everything was lost. His appeals to his
soldiers only brought his enemies about him, who butchered his men as
they approached their guns, and who now appeared in numbers on every
side, in full possession of the fortress. The magazines were already in
their hands, and a desperate effort of Laudonniere's artillerists to
recover them, was followed only by their own destruction. The most
vigorous resistance, hand to hand, was made on the south-west side
of the fort. Here the Frenchmen opposed themselves with cool and
determined courage, to the entrance of the enemy. Hither Laudonniere
hurried, crying aloud to his men in the language of encouragement, and
doing his utmost, by the most headlong valor, to repair the mischiefs
of his feeble rule and most unhappy remissness of authority. Verily,
to those who saw how well he carried himself in this the moment of his
worst despair, the past errors of the unhappy Laudonniere had been
forgiven if not forgotten. But the struggle, on the part of any valor,
was utterly in vain. The Spaniards had won a footing already too secure
for dispossession. Led on by Pedro Melendez, with ever and anon his
fanatic war-cry--"God is with us, my comrades," ringing in their ears,
now thoroughly excited by the earnest of success which they enjoyed, in
overwhelming numbers and in the full faith that they fought the battles
of Holy Church, the Spaniards were irresistible. They mocked the tardy
valor of our Huguenots, their feeble force, and purposeless attempts.
At length the party led by Melendez confronted Laudonniere. The Spanish
chieftain knew not the person of his enemy. But the renegade Frenchman,
Francis Jean, discovered his ancient leader, and the desire for revenge,
which had led to his treachery, filled his heart with exultation at the
prospect of the gratification of his passion. He cried to Melendez:

"That is he! That is the captain of the heretics--that is Laudonniere!"

"Ah, traitor! Is it thou?" cried Laudonniere. "Let me but live to slay
thee, and I care nothing for the rest."

With these words he sprang upon the traitor guide, and would have slain
him at a stroke, but for the interposition of Melendez. He thrust
back the renegade, and confronted the captain of the Huguenots. But
Laudonniere shrank from the conflict, for Melendez was followed by his
troop; and, saving one man, a stout soldier named Bartholomew, who
fought manfully with a heavy partizan, he stood utterly alone and
unsupported. He gave back, or rather was drawn back by Bartholomew; but
now that Melendez and his people had seen the particular prey whom they
had been seeking, they rushed with fiercer appetite than ever to make
him captive. The efforts of the Spaniards were then redoubled. The
fierce bigot Pedro Melendez himself--a stalwart warrior, clad in
heavy black armor of woven mail, with a great white cross upon his
breast--made the most desperate efforts to bring Laudonniere to the last
passage at arms; and for a time the Frenchman, though quite too light
and enfeebled by sickness for the contest with such a champion, was
eager to indulge him. He struggled with the friendly arm which perforce
drew him away, and great was his rage, though impotent, when the rush of
a number of his own fugitives passing between at this moment, hurried
him onward as by the downward rush of a torrent, to the safety of his
life if not to the increase of his honor. At that moment Laudonniere
had gladly redeemed by a glorious death, at the hands of the fierce
Asturian, the errors and the failures of his life. But this was denied
him, and, vainly struggling against the tide of fugitives, he was swept
with them in the direction of the _corps de garde_. Laudonniere yielded
in this manner only foot by foot, striking at the foe and at his own
runagates alike, and receiving upon his shield, with the dexterity of an
accomplished cavalier, the assault of a score of pikes which pressed
beyond the heavy blade of Melendez. When at length the retreating
Frenchmen had reached the court of the fortress, they scattered
headlong, finding themselves confronted by new and consolidated masses
of the enemy, and each of them sought incontinently his own method
of escape. "_Sauve qui peut!_" was the cry, and the crowd by which
Laudonniere had hitherto been borne unwillingly along, now melted away
on every hand, leaving him again almost alone in the presence of the
Spaniard. And still the faithful fellow, Bartholomew, clung to his
superior, saving him from the rashness which would only have flung away
his own life without an object. He hurried along his unhappy and now
reckless captain, taking his way into the yard of Laudonniere's lodging.
Thither they were closely pursued, and, but for a tent that happened to
be standing in the place, they must have been taken. But, passing behind
this tent, while the Spaniards were busied in groping within it, or
cutting away the cords,

"Hither, now, Monsieur René," cried Bartholomew, grasping the commandant
by the wrist and drawing him along; "follow me now and we shall surely
escape. They have left the breach open by the west, near to the lodging
of Monsieur D'Erlach, and by that route shall we gain the thickets."

"Ah!" cried Laudonniere, long and grateful recollections of a tried
fidelity, to which he had not always done justice, extorting from him a
groan; "Ah! this had never happened had Jean Ribault left me Alphonse!"

And the tears gushed from his eyes, and he paused and thrust the point
of his sword into the earth with vexation and despair.

"We have not a moment, Monsieur René," cried the soldier with
impatience; "the tent is down; the Spaniards are foiled for a moment
only. They will be sure to seek you in the breach."

"There! there! indeed!" cried the commandant bitterly, "there should
they have found me at first; but now!--Lead on! lead on! my good fellow.
As thou wilt!"

Soon our fugitives had cleared the breach, and were now without the
walls. The misty shroud which covered the face of nature, and enveloped
as with a sea the thickets to which they were making, favored their
escape. The unhappy Laudonniere found himself temporarily safe in the
forests; but if remote from present danger, they were not so far from
the fortress as to be insensible to the work of death and horror which
was in progress there, the evidence of which came to their ears in the
shrieks of women for mercy, and the groans and cries of tortured men.

"Slay! slay! Smite and spare not!" was the dreadful command of Melendez.
"The groans of the heretic make music in the ears of Heaven!"

Laudonniere shut his ears, and with his companion plunged deeper into
the forests. Here he found other fugitives like himself, and others
subsequently joined him; some were wounded even unto death, others
slightly; all were terror-stricken, shuddering with horror, incapable
from wo and agony. What had they beheld, what endured, and what was the
prospect before them but of massacre? A hasty council was convened
among the party, and the advice of Laudonniere--he could command no
longer--was, that they should bury themselves among the reeds and within
the marshes which lay along the river, out of sight, until they could
make their small vessels, by which the mouth of the river was still
guarded, aware of their situation. But this council was agreeable to a
part only, of that bewildered company. Another portion preferred to push
for one of the Indian villages, at some little distance in the forests,
where, hitherto, they had found a friendly reception. They persevered
in this purpose, leaving Laudonniere and a few others in the marshes.
Hither, then, these hapless fugitives sped, till they could go no
farther; and until their commandant himself, still unrecovered from the
chill and fever which had seized him at the first coming on of autumn,
declared his inability to go deeper into the thicket, though it promised
him the safety which he sought. He was already up to his neck in water,
and such was his weakness, that he was about to yield to his fate. But
for the faithful and unwearied support of one of his soldiers, Jean du
Chemin, who held him above the water when he would have sunk, and who
stuck by him all the rest of that day, and through the long and dreary
night which followed, he must have perished. Meanwhile, two of his
soldiers swam off in the direction of the vessels. Fortunately for those
swimmers, those in the vessels had been already apprized of the taking
of the fort by Jean de Hais, the master carpenter, who had made his
escape the first, by dropping down the river in a shallop. The boats
of the vessels were immediately pushed up the stream, and succeeded in
picking up the swimmers, and, finally, when Laudonniere and his faithful
companions were both about to sink, in extricating them from their
marshy place of refuge. Eighteen or twenty of the fugitives (among whom
was the celebrated painter, Jaques le Moyne de Morgues, to whom we owe
mostly the illustrations of Floridian scenery, costume, and lineaments
preserved in De Bry and other collections) were rescued in this manner,
and conveyed on board the ships. These, with Laudonniere, subsequently
made their way, after many disasters, perils of the sea and land, a
detention in England, where they were again indebted to the humanity
of the English for succor and sympathy. An artful attempt was made by
Melendez to obtain possession of these vessels, but he was baffled.
They sailed from the river of May on the 25th September, 1565, thus
abandoning forever the design of planting themselves and their religion
permanently in Florida. Let us now look to the farther proceedings of
the conquerors in possession of their prize!




CHAPTER VII.

VÆ VICTIS.


And now, it falls to our lot to record the most cruel passage in all
this history; to relate the mournful and terrible fate which befel
the wretched Huguenots taken at the capture of La Caroline, and the
sanguinary deed by which the Spanish chief, through a gloomy fanaticism,
stained foully the honorable fame which his skill and courage in arms
might have ensured to his memory. All resistance having ceased on the
part of the Huguenots of La Caroline, the standard of Castile was
unrolled from its battlements, instead of the white folds and the
smiling lilies of France. The name of the fortress was solemnly changed
to San Matheo, the day on which they found themselves in its possession
being that which was dedicated to the honor of that saint. The arms of
France and of Coligny, which surmounted the gateways of the place, were
erased and those of Spain were graven there instead, and the keeping of
the fortress was assigned to a garrison of three hundred men, under the
command of Gonzalo de Villaroël. These duties occupied but little time,
and did not interfere with other performances of the Adelantado, which
he thought not the less conspicuous among the duties required at his
hands. His prisoners were brought before him. These were, perhaps, not
so numerous, though forming a fair proportion of the number left by
Ribault in the garrison. It is perhaps fortunate that no greater number
had been left, since, in all probability, the same want of watch and
caution by which the fortress had been lost, would have equally been
shown, with any numbers, under such an easy commandant as Laudonniere,
and in the particular circumstances which had taken place. Of these
prisoners many were women and children. We have seen that Laudonniere
succeeded in rescuing some twenty persons. Several had fled to the
forests and taken shelter with the tribes of neighboring Indians. In
some few instances, the red-men protected them with fidelity. But in
the greater number of cases, terrified by the sudden appearance and the
strength of the Spaniards, they had yielded up the fugitives at the
fierce demand of the Adelantado. Others of the miserable Huguenots,
warned by the Indians that they could no longer harbor, were shot down
by the pursuing Spaniards, as they fled in terror through the forests.
Twenty perished in this manner, offering no resistance, and long after
the struggle in La Caroline had ended.

The surviving prisoners were then brought before the conqueror. They
were manacled, and presented a spectacle which must have moved the
sympathies of any ordinary nature. But Pedro de Melendez was not of
an ordinary nature. The natural sympathies had given way to a morbid
passion amounting to insanity, by which his judgment was confounded. The
sight of weeping, and trembling women and children; of captives naked,
worn, exhausted, enfeebled by years, by disease, by cruel wounds--all
pleading for his mercy--only seemed to strengthen him in the most
cruel resolution. "The groans of the heretic, are music in the ears of
heaven!" Upon this maxim he designed an appropriate commentary.

"Separate these women from the other prisoners."

It was done.

"Now detach from these last, all children under fifteen years."

His command was obeyed. The women and children thus set apart were
consigned to slavery. Of their farther fate the historian knows nothing.
The young and tender were probably persuaded to the Roman Catholic
altars, and thus finally achieved their deliverance. The more stubborn,
we may reasonably assume, perished in their bonds, passing from one
condition of degradation to another. Of the rest the history is terribly
definite. Fixing his cold, dark eye upon the male captives upon whose
fate he had yet said nothing, he demanded--

"Is there among ye any who profess the faith of the Holy Catholic
Church?"

Two of the prisoners answered in the affirmative.

"Take these Christians away, and let their bonds be removed. The Holy
Father, Salvandi, will examine them in the faith of Mother Church. For
the rest, are there any among ye, who, seeing the error of your ways,
will renounce the heresy of Luther, and seek once more communion with
the only true church?"

A drear silence followed. The captives looked mournfully at each other,
and at the Adelantado; but in his face there was no encouragement, and
nothing but despair was expressed in the aspects of their fellows.

"Be warned!" continued the Adelantado. "To those who seek the blessings
of the true church, she generously openeth her arms. To those who turn
away, indifferently or in scorn, she decrees death temporal and death
eternal. Hear ye!--and now say."

The silence was unbroken.

"Are ye obdurate? or do ye not comprehend that your lives rest upon your
speech? Either ye embrace the safety which the church offers, by an
instant renunciation of that of the foul heretic Luther, or ye die by
the halter!"

One sturdy soldier advanced from the group--a bold, high-souled
fellow--his brows lifted proudly with the conscious impulse which worked
within his soul.

"Pedro de Melendez, we are in your power. You are master of our mortal
bodies, but with the death before us that you threaten, know that we
are members of the reformed Church of Christ, which ye name to be of
Luther--that, holding it good to live in this faith, we deem it one in
which it will not be amiss to die!"

And the speaker looked round him, into the faces of his fellows, and
they lightened up with a glow of cheerfulness and pride, though no word
was spoken.

"Speaks this man for the rest of ye?" demanded Melendez.

For a moment there was silence. At length a matelit advanced--a common
sailor--a man before the mast.

"Ay! ay! captain! what he says we say! and there's no use for more
palaver. Let there be an end of it. We are of the church of Messer
Luther, and no other; if death's the word, we're ready. We're not the
men, at the end of the reckoning, to belie the whole voyage!"

"Be it it even as ye say!" answered Melendez coldly, but sternly, and
without change of accent or show of passion: "Take them forth, and let
them be hung to yonder tree!"

Then rose the shrieks of women and the cries of children; women seeking
to embrace their husbands and children clinging to the knees of their
doomed sires. But these produced no relentings. The parties were
separated by the strong hand, and the unhappy men were hurried to the
fatal tree. The priest stood ready to receive their recantations. His
exhortations were not spared; but soldier and sailor had equally spoken
for the resolute martyrdom of the whole. The reverend father preached to
them, and promised them in vain. Amidst cries and curses, the victims
were run up to the wide-spreading branches of a mighty oak, dishonored
in its employment for such a purpose, and perished in their fidelity to
the faith which they professed. Their bodies were left hanging in the
sun and wind, destined equally as trophies of the victor, and warnings
to the heretic. A monument was instantly raised beneath the tree, upon
which was printed in large characters--

          "These do not suffer thus as
               Frenchmen, but as
                 Heretics and
                   Enemies
                    to God!"




XXIII.

THE FORTUNES OF RIBAULT.

CHAPTER I.


Having thus rendered himself master of La Caroline, effectually
displacing the Huguenots from the region which they had acquired, and
maintained so long through so many vicissitudes, Melendez prepared to
hurry back to his camp on the banks of the Selooe. He but lingered to
review the force of the garrison, and with his own hands, fresh reeking
with the blood of his slaughtered victims, to lay the foundations of a
church dedicated to the God of Mercy, when he set forth with the small
body of troops, which he reserved to himself from the number that
accompanied his expedition, scarcely a hundred men, impatient for
return, lest Ribault, escaping from the storm, should visit upon his
settlement at St. Augustine the same wrath which had lighted upon La
Caroline. The heavy torrents from which he had already suffered so much
continued to descend as before, and the whole face of the country was
inundated; his people suffered inconceivably upon the march, but the
Adelantado was superior to the sense of suffering. He felt himself too
much the especial favorite of God, to suffer himself to doubt that the
toils and inconveniences of such a progress as that before him, were
anything but tests of his fidelity, and the means by which the Deity
designed to prepare him properly for the holy service which was expected
at his hands. He reached his camp in safety. His arrival was the source
of a great triumph and an unexpected joy. Here he had been reported as
having perished, with all his army, at the hands of the French. The
deserters, who had abandoned him on the route, in certain anticipation
of this fate, had not scrupled to spread this report by way of excusing
their own inconstancy and fears. His people accordingly passed instantly
from the extremity of terror to that of joy and triumph. They marched
out, _en masse_, at his approach, to welcome him as the vanquisher of
the heretics; the priests at their head, bearing the cross of Christ,
the conqueror, and chanting _Te Deum_, in exultation at the twofold
conquest which he had won, at the expense equally of their own, and the
enemies of the church.

His triumphs were not without some serious qualifications. In the midst
of their joy, an incendiary, as he supposed, had reduced to ashes the
remaining vessels in the harbor. A portion of his garrison, a little
after, showed themselves in mutiny against their officers, this spirit
having been manifested before his departure for La Caroline. He was
apprised also of a mishap to one of his greater ships, the San Pelayo,
which had been sent to Hispaniola, filled with captive Frenchmen taken
at different periods, and who were destined to suffer the question as
heretics in the Inquisition of the mother country. These had risen upon
the crew, overpowered them, captured the vessel, and carried her safely
into Denmark.

While meditating, and seeking to repair some of these mishaps, Melendez
received intelligence of Ribault and his fleet, which caused him some
inquietude. His own shipping being destroyed, his future safety depended
wholly upon the condition of Ribault's armament, since, with their
small vessels, his harborage might be entered at any moment, and his
sole means of defence lay with his troops upon the land, where his
entrenchments were not yet sufficiently advanced to offer much, if any
obstacle, to a vigorous assailant. But farther advices, brought him by
the savages, relieved him measurably from any apprehensions from the
shipping of his enemy. In this respect the condition of the French was
no better than his own. The unfortunate Ribault, driven before the
hurricane, had been wrecked with all his squadron, upon the bleak and
unfriendly shores of Cape Cannaverel; his troops were saved, with
the exception of the crew and armament of one vessel, containing a
detachment under the Sieur de la Grange, all of whom perished but the
captain. Dividing his troops into two or more bodies, Ribault advanced
along the shore, proceeding northerly, in the direction of La Caroline,
and one of his detachments had reached the inlet of Matanzas, when
Melendez was first advised of their approach. He was told by the
Indians that about four leagues distant, a large body of white men were
embarrassed in their progress by a bay, over which they had no means
to pass. Upon this intelligence, the Adelantado, taking with him forty
picked soldiers, proceeded with all despatch to the designated place.
His proceedings were marked by subtlety and caution. With such a force,
he could hope to do nothing in open warfare against the numbers of
Ribault, which, after all casualties, were probably six or seven hundred
men. But nobody knew better than Melendez how to supply the deficiencies
of the lion with the arts of the fox. He concealed his troop in the
woods that bordered the inlet, and from the top of a tree surveyed the
scattered groups of Frenchmen, on the opposite shore. They were two
hundred in number, and some of them had been engaged in the construction
of a raft with which to effect their passage. But the roughness of the
waters, and the strength of the current forbade their reliance upon
so frail a conveyance, and while they were bewildered with doubt and
difficulties, Melendez showed himself alone upon the banks of the river.
When he was seen from the opposite shore, a bold Gascon of Saint Jean
de Luz plunged fearlessly into the stream, and succeeded in making the
passage.

"Who are these people?" demanded Melendez.

"We are Frenchmen, all, who have suffered shipwreck."

"What Frenchmen?"

"The people of M. Ribault, Captain-General of Florida, under commission
of the king of France."

"I know no right to Florida, on the part of France or Frenchmen. I am
here, the true master of the country, on behalf of my sovereign, the
Catholic king, Philip the Second. I am Pedro Melendez, adelantado of all
this Florida, and of the isles thereof. Go back to your general with my
answer, and say to him, that I am here, followed by my army, as I had
intelligence that he too was here, invading the country in my charge."

The Gascon returned with the speech, and soon after was persuaded again
to swim the stream, with a request for a safe conduct from the Spanish
general, on behalf of four gentlemen of the French, who desired to treat
with him. It was requested that a batteau which Melendez had brought
along shore with his provisions, and which was now safely moored beside
the eastern banks, might be sent to bring them over. To all this
Melendez readily consented. The arrangement suited him exactly. His
troop was still in reserve, covered rather than concealed within
the forest, and so disposed as to seem at a distance to consist of
overwhelming numbers. But six men were suffered to accompany the Spanish
commander. These, well armed, were quite equal to the four to whom he
accorded the interview. These soon made their appearance. Their leader
told the story of their melancholy shipwreck, the privations they had
borne, the wants under which they suffered, and implored his assistance
to regain a fortress called La Caroline, which the king, his master,
held at a distance of some twenty leagues.

Melendez replied--

"Señor, I have made myself the master of your fort. I have laid strong
hands upon the garrison. I have slain them all, sparing none but the
women, and such children as were under fifteen years."

The Frenchmen looked incredulous.

"If you doubt," he continued, "I can soon convince you. I have brought
hither with me the only two soldiers whom I have admitted to mercy. I
spared them, because they claimed to be of the Catholic faith. You shall
see them, and hear the truth from their own lips. In all probability you
know them, and will recognise their persons. Rest you here, while I send
you something to eat. You shall see your compatriots, with some of the
spoils taken at La Caroline. These shall prove to you the truth of what
I say."

With these words he disappeared. Soon after, refreshments were brought
to our Frenchmen, and when they had eaten, the two captives at La
Caroline, who had been spared on account of their faith, were allowed to
commune with them, and to repeat all the facts in the cruel history of
La Caroline. Nothing of that terrible tragedy was concealed. Melendez
had a policy too refined for concealment, when the revelation of his
atrocities was to be the means for their renewal. To strike the hearts
of the Frenchmen with such terror, as to have them at his mercy, was a
profound secret of success in dealing with the wretched, suffering, and
already desponding outcasts in his presence.

After an hour's absence he returned.

"Are you satisfied," he asked? "of the truth of the things which I have
told you."

"We can doubt no longer;" was the reply; "but this does not lessen our
claim upon your humanity as men, and your consideration as Frenchmen.
Our people are at peace, there is amity and alliance between our
sovereigns. You cannot deny us assistance, and the vessels necessary for
our return to France."

"Surely not, if you are Catholics, and if I had the means of helping you
to ships. But you are not Catholics. The alliance between our kings is
an alliance of members of the true Church, both sworn against heretics."

"We are members of the Reformed Church," was the reply of the officers;
"but we are men; human; made equally in the image of the Deity, and
serve the same God, if not at the same altars. Suffer us, at least, to
remain with you for a season, till we can find the means for returning
to our own country."

"Señor, it cannot be. As for sheltering heretics, that is impossible. I
have sworn on the holy sacrament, to root out and to extirpate heresy,
wherever I encounter it--by sea or land--to wage against the damnable
heresy which you profess a war to the utterance, as vindictive as
possible, to the death and to the torture; and in this resolution I
conceive myself to be serving equally the king of France as the king, my
sovereign. I am here in Florida for the express purpose of establishing
the Holy Roman Catholic Faith! I will assist no heretic to remain in the
country."

"Assist us to leave it, señor: that is in truth what we demand."

"Demand nothing of me. Yield yourselves to my mercy--at
discretion--deliver up your arms and ensigns, and I will do with you as
God shall inspire me. Consent to this--these are my only terms--or do
what pleases you. But you must hope nothing at my hands--neither truce
nor friendship."

With this cruel ultimatum, he quitted them, giving them opportunity to
return and report to their comrades. In two hours they reappeared, and
made him an offer from the two hundred men gathered on the opposite
banks, of twenty thousand ducats, only to be assured of their lives. The
answer was as prompt as it was characteristic.

"Though but a poor soldier, señor, I am not capable of governing
myself, in the performance of my duties, by any regard to selfish
interests. If I am moved to do an act of grace, it will be done from
pure generosity. But do not let these words deceive you. I tell you as
a gentleman, and an officer holding a high commission from the king of
Spain, that, though the heavens and the earth may mingle before my eyes,
the resolution which I once make, I never change!"

It will scarcely be thought possible that any body of men, having arms
in their hands, and still in possession of physical powers sufficient
for their use, would, under such circumstances, listen to such a demand.
But the forces of Ribault had been terribly demoralized by disaster
and disappointment. Privation had humbled their souls, and the utter
exhaustion of their spirits made them give credence to vain hopes of
mercy at the hands of their enemy, which at another period they could
never have entertained. The report of their envoy found them ready to
make any concessions. It required but half an hour to determine their
submission. The returning batteau brought over with four officers all
their ensigns, sixty-six arquebuses, twenty pistols, a large number of
swords and bucklers, casques and cuirasses, their whole complement of
munitions, and a surrender of the entire body at discretion. Melendez
gladly seized upon these spoils. He embarked twenty of his soldiers
in his batteau, with orders to bring over the Frenchmen, in small
divisions, and to offer them no insult; but, as they severally arrived
on the eastern side of the bay, they were conducted out of sight, and
under the guns of his arquebusiers. They were then given to eat, and
when the repast was ended, they were asked if any among them were
Catholics. There were but eight of the whole number who replied in the
affirmative. These were set apart, to be conducted to St. Augustine. The
rest frankly avowed themselves to be good Christians of the Reformed
Church. These were immediately seized, their arms tied behind their
backs, and in little squads of six, were conducted to a spot in the
background, where Melendez had traced, with his cane, a line upon the
sand. Here they were butchered to a man, each succeeding body sharing
the same fate, without knowing, till too late, that of their comrades.
There was no pause, no mercy, no relentings in behalf of any. All
perished, to the number of two hundred; and Pedro Melendez returned to
his camp at St. Augustine, again to be welcomed with _Te Deum_, and the
acclamation for good Christian service, from a Christian people.




CHAPTER II.


The congratulations of his people were yet resounding in his ears, when
the savages brought him further intelligence of Frenchmen gathered upon
the borders of that bay which had arrested the progress of the previous
detachment. They were represented to be more numerous than the first,
and Melendez did not doubt that they constituted the bulk of Ribault's
force under the immediate command of that leader. He proceeded to
encounter him as he had done the other party, but on this occasion he
increased his own detachment to one hundred and fifty men. These he
ranged in good order during the night, along the banks of the river,
which the Huguenots had begun their preparations to pass. They had been
at work upon the radeau or raft which had been begun by the preceding
party, but their progress had been unsatisfactory, and the prospect of
the passage, in such a vessel, over such an arm of the sea, was quite
as discouraging as to their predecessors. With the dawn, and when they
discovered the force of Melendez on the opposite shore, the drums
sounded the alarm, the royal standard of France was advanced, and the
troops were ranged in order of battle. Poor Ribault still observed the
externals of the veteran, if only to conceal the real infirmities which
impaired the moral of his command.

Seeing this display of determination, Melendez, with proper policy,
commanded his people to proceed to breakfast without any show of
excitement or emotion. He himself promenaded the banks of the river,
accompanied only by his admiral and two other officers, as indifferently
as if there had been no person on the opposite side. With this, the
clamors of the French tambours ceased--the fifes were allowed to take
breath--and in place of the warlike standard of their country, the
commander of the Huguenots displayed a white flag as sign of peace, and
his trumpets sounded for a parley. A response from the Spanish side of
the river, in similar spirit, caused one of the Frenchmen to advance
within speaking distance, upon the raft, who requested that somebody
might be sent them, as their radeau could not contend against the
current. A pirogue was finally sent by the Spaniard, which brought over
the sergeant-major of Ribault. This man related briefly the necessities
and desires of his commander. He was totally ignorant of all that had
taken place. He had been wrecked, and had lost all his vessels; that he
had with him three hundred and fifty soldiers; that he was desirous of
reaching his fortress, twenty leagues distant; and prayed the assistance
of the Spaniards, to enable him to do so. At the close, he desired to
know with whom he was conferring.

Melendez answered as directly as he had done in the previous instance,
when dealing with the first detachment. He did not scruple to add to the
narrative of the capture of La Caroline, and the cruel murder of its
garrison, the farther history of the party whom he had encountered in
the same place with themselves.

"I have punished all these with death;" he continued; and, still further
to assure the officer of Ribault of the truth of what he said, he took
him to the spot where lay in a heap the exposed, the bleached and
decaying bodies of his slaughtered companions. The Frenchman looked
steadily at the miserable spectacle, and so far commanded his nerves as
to betray no emotion. He continued his commission without faltering; and
obtained from Melendez a surety in behalf of Ribault, with four or six
of his men, to cross the river for the purpose of conference, with the
privilege of returning to his forces at his leisure. But the adelantado
positively refused to let the Frenchmen have his shallop or bateau. The
pirogue, alone, was at their service. With this, the French general
could pass the strait without risk; and he was compelled to content
himself with this. The policy of Melendez was not willing to place any
larger vessel in his power.

Ribault crossed to the conference, accompanied by eight of his officers.
They were well received by the adelantado, and a collation spread for
them. He showed them afterwards the bodies of their slain companions.
He gave them the full history of the taking of La Caroline, and the
treatment of the garrison, and brought forward the two Frenchmen,
claiming to be Catholics, whose lives had been spared when the rest were
massacred. There was something absolutely satanic in the conduct of the
Spaniard, by which Ribault was confounded. He was not willing to believe
the facts that he could not question.

"Monsieur," said he to Laudonniere, "I will not believe that you design
us evil. Our kings are friends and brothers, and in the name of this
alliance between them, I conjure you to furnish us with a vessel for
returning to our country. We have suffered enough in this: we will
leave it in your hands entirely. Help us to the means necessary for our
departure."

To this Melendez replied in the very same language which he had used to
the preceding detachment:

"Our kings are Catholics both; they hold terms with one another, but not
with heretics. I will make no terms with you. I will hold no bonds with
heretics anywhere. You have heard what I have done with your comrades.
You hear what has been the fate of La Caroline. You behold the corses of
those who but a few days ago followed your banner; and now I say to you
that you must yield to my discretion, leaving it to me to do with you as
God shall determine me!"

Aghast and confounded, Ribault declared his purpose to return and
consult with his people. In a case so extreme, particularly as he had
with him many gentlemen of family, he could not undertake to decide
without their participation. Melendez approved this determination, and
the general of the French re-crossed the river.

For three hours was the consultation carried on in the camp of our
Huguenots. Ribault fully revealed the terrible history of what had
passed, of what he had heard and seen in the camp of the Spaniards.
The cold and cruel decision of Melendez in their case, as in that
of the previous troops, was unfolded without reserve. There were
no concealments, and, for a time, a dull, deep and dreary silence
overspread the assembly. But all had not been crushed by misfortune
into imbecility. There were some noble and fierce spirits whose hearts
rose in all their strength of resolution, as they listened to the
horrible narrative and the insolent exaction.

"Better perish a thousand deaths, in the actual conflict with a thousand
enemies, than thus submit to perish in cold blood from the stroke of the
cowardly assassin!"

Such was the manly resolution of many. Others, again, like Ribault, were
disposed to hope against all experience. The fact that Melendez had
treated them so civilly, that he had placed food and drink before them,
and that his manners were respectful and his tones were mild, were
assumed by them to be conclusive they were not to suffer as their
predecessors had done.

"They were beguiled with the same arguments," said young Alphonse
D'Erlach; "arguments which appealed to their hunger, their thirst, their
exhaustion, and their spiritless hearts--arguments against truth, and
common sense and their own eyes. He who listens to such arguments will
merit to fall by the hands of the assassin."

We need not pursue the debate which continued for three hours. At the
end of this time, Ribault returned to the landing.

"A portion of my people," he said, "but not the greater number, are
prepared to surrender themselves to you at discretion."

"They are their own masters," replied Melendez; "they must do as they
please; to me it is quite indifferent what decision they make."

Ribault continued:

"Those who are thus prepared to yield themselves have instructed me to
offer you twenty thousand ducats for their ransom; but the others will
give even a greater sum, for they include among them many persons of
great wealth and family;--nay, they desire further, if you will suffer
it, to remain still in the country."

"I shall certainly need some succors," replied Melendez, "in order to
execute properly the commands of the king, my master, which are to
conquer the country and to people it, establishing here the Holy
Evangel;--and I should grieve to forego any assistance."

This evasive answer was construed by Ribault according to his desires.
He requested permission to return and deliberate with his people, in
order to communicate this last response. He readily obtained what he
asked, and the night was consumed among the Huguenots in consultation.
It brought no unanimity to their counsels.

"I will sooner trust the incarnate devil himself, than this Melendez,"
was the resolution of Alphonse D'Erlach to his elder brother. "Go not,
_mon frére_, yield not: the savage Floridian has no heart so utterly
stony as that of this Spaniard. I will peril anything with the savage,
ere I trust to his doubtful mercy."

And such was the resolve of many others, but it was not that of Ribault.

"What!" exclaimed one of his friendly counsellors--"he has shown you our
slain comrades, butchered under the very arrangement which he accords to
us, and yet you trust to him?"

The infatuated leader, broken in spirit, and utterly exhausted in the
struggle with fate, replied:

"That he has freely shown me what he has done, is no proof that he
designs any such deeds hereafter. His fury is satiated. It is impossible
that he will commit a like crime of this nature. It is his pride that
would have us wholly in his power."

"He hath fed on blood until he craves it," cried Alphonse D'Erlach. "You
go to your death, Monsieur Ribault. The tiger invites you to a banquet
where the guest brings the repast."

He was unheard, at least by the Huguenot general.

"We will leave this man, my friends," cried Alphonse D'Erlach, the
strong will and great heart naturally rising to command in the moment
of extremity. "We will leave this man. _Quem Deus vult perdere prius
dementat._ He goes to the sacrifice!"

And when Ribault prepared in the morning to lead his people across
the bay, he found but an hundred and fifty of all the force that he
commanded during the previous day. Two hundred had disappeared in the
night under the guidance of D'Erlach.




CHAPTER III.


The fates had the blinded Ribault in their keeping. He was ferried
across the stream for the last time, by the grim ferryman vouchsafed
him; and the trophies which he first laid at the feet of the adelantado
consisted of his own armor, a dagger, a casque of gold, curiously and
beautifully wrought; his buckler, his pistolet, and a secret commission
which he had received at the hands of Admiral Coligny himself. The
standards of France and of the Admiral were then lowered at the feet of
the Spaniard, then the banners of companies, and finally the sword of
the Huguenot general. Never was submission more complete and shameful.
The spirit of the veteran was utterly broken and gone. But this
degradation was not thus to end. Melendez gave orders that he and the
companions he had brought with him, eight in number, should be tied with
their hands behind their backs. The indignity brought the blush with
tenfold warmth into the cheeks of the old warrior. He foresaw the
inevitable doom before him, but he felt the shame only.

"Have I lived for this? Is it thus, Monsieur Melendez, that you treat a
warrior and a Christian?"

"God forbid that I should treat a Christian after this fashion. But
_are_ you a Christian, señor?"

"Of the Reformed Church, I am!" was the reply.

"I do not hold yours, señor, to be a church of Christ, but of Satan.
Bind him, my comrades, and take him hence."

A significant wave of the fatal staff, which had prescribed the line
upon the spot of earth selected as the chosen place of sacrifice--the
scene of a new _auto-da-fé_, as fearful as the preceding--finished his
instructions, and as the guards led the veteran away, he commenced, in
the well-known spirit of the time, to sing aloud the psalm "_Domine,
memento mei_, &c.," in that fearful moment well conceiving that there
was left him now but one source of consolation, and none of present
hope. He addressed no words of expostulation to his murderer; but as
they led him away, he calmly remarked--"From the earth we came, to the
earth we must return; soon or late, it is all the same; such must have
been the fate. It is not what we would, but what we must."

He renewed his psalm, the sounds of which grated offensively on the
bigot ears of Melendez, falling from such lips, and he impatiently made
the signal to his men to expedite the affair. The Huguenot general was
led off singing. One of the accounts before us--for there is a Spanish
and a French version of the history, differing in several minute, but
really unimportant particulars--describes the last scene of Ribault's
career, in a brief but striking manner. The eight which constituted
this party had each his assassin assigned him. Among the companions of
Ribault at the moment of execution, was Lieutenant Ottigny, of whom we
have heard more than once before in the history of La Caroline. They
were led into the woods, out of sight and hearing of the French on the
opposite side of the bay, all of whom were to be brought over, ten by
ten, to the same place of sacrifice. The soldier to whom Ribault had
been confided, when they had reached the spot strewn thickly with the
corses of his murdered people, said to him--

"Señor, you are the general of the French?"

"I am!"

"You have always been accustomed to exact obedience, without question,
from all the people under your command?"

"Without doubt!" replied Ribault, somewhat wondering at the question.

"Deem it not strange, then, señor," continued the soldier, "that I
execute faithfully the orders I have received from my commandant!"

And, speaking these words, he drove his poignard into the heart of the
victim, who fell upon his face, in death, without uttering a groan.
Ottigny and the others perished in like manner, and with no farther
preliminaries. Why pursue the details with the rest? In this manner each
unconscious band of the Huguenots, thus surrendering to the clemency of
Melendez, was simply ferried across the river to execution. And still
the boat returned for and with its little compliment of ten--it was only
a proper precaution that denied that more should be brought--and the
succeeding voyagers dreamed not, even as they sped, their comrades
were sinking one by one under the hands of their butchers. More than
a hundred perished on this occasion, but four of the number avowing
themselves to be of the Roman Catholic Church, and being spared
accordingly.




CHAPTER IV.

OF THOSE WHO REFUSED TO FOLLOW THE FORTUNES OF RIBAULT.


We have seen that two hundred of the followers of Ribault had refused
to submit to the arrangement, by which that unhappy commander had
sacrificed himself and all those who accompanied him into the camp of
Melendez. These two hundred had been counselled to the more manly course
which they had taken, by the youthful but sagacious lieutenant, Alphonse
D'Erlach. This young man well understood their enemy. His counsel, if
followed by Ribault, would probably have resulted in conquest rather
than misfortune.

"We are strong,"--said D'Erlach to his companions--"strong enough to
maintain ourselves in any position, which we may take and hold with
steadfastness. We have three hundred and fifty soldiers, all with arms
in their hands, and it requires only that we shall use our arms and
maintain our independence. Why treat at all with the Spaniards? They
may assist us across this strait, but why cross it at all? To gain La
Caroline? That, according to his own showing, is already in his hands.
Indeed, of this, you tell us, there can be no question. What then?
Of what avail to seek the post which he has garrisoned, and which,
properly fortified, is beyond our utmost strength. It is evident that,
fortifying La Caroline and his new post on the banks of the Salooe, he
has no available force with which he dares assail us. In the meantime,
let us leave this position. Let us retire further to the south, regain
the coast upon which our vessels were wrecked, rebuild them, or one
at least, in which, if your desire is to return to France, we can
re-embark; or, as I would counsel, retire to a remoter settlement, where
we may fortify ourselves, and establish the colony anew, for which
we first came to Florida. Why abandon the country, when we are in
sufficient strength to keep it? Why forego the enterprises which offer
us gold and silver in abundance, a genial climate, a fertile soil,
a boundless domain, in which our fortunes and our faith may be made
equally secure. As for the savages of Florida, I know them and I fear
them not. They are terrible only to the timid and the improvident. With
due precautions, a proper courage, and arms in our hands, we shall mock
at their wandering bands, whose attacks are inconstant, and upon whom
the caprice of the seasons is forever working such evil as will prevent
them always from bringing large numbers together, or keeping them long
in one organization. But, hold the savages to be as terrible as you may,
they are surely less to be feared, are less faithless and less hostile,
than these sanguinary Spaniards. Do not, at all events, deliver
yourselves, bound hand and foot, in petty numbers, to be butchered in
detail, by this monstrous cut-throat!"

His counsels prevailed with the greater number. They left the camp of
Ribault at midnight, and commenced their silent march along the coast,
making for the bleak shores which had seen their vessels stranded. Here
they arrived after much toil and privation, and, cheered by the manly
courage of D'Erlach, they proceeded at once to build themselves a vessel
which should suffice for their escape from the country, or enable them
to penetrate without difficulty to regions not yet under the control
of the Spaniards. For the work before them they possessed the proper
facilities. The fragments of their shattered navy were within their
reach. The expedition had been properly provided with carpenters and
laborers; and in that day every mariner was something of a mechanic.
They advanced rapidly with their work, but at the end of three weeks
the clouds gathered once more about their heads. Once more the haughty
banners of the Spaniard were beheld, the vindictive enemy being resolved
to give them no respite, to allow of no refuge upon the soil, to afford
them no prospect of escape from the country.

Advised by the Indians that the surviving Frenchmen were at work at
Cannaverel, building themselves both fortresses and vessels, Melendez
sent an express to the Governor of San Matheo, late La Caroline, with
orders to send him instantly one hundred and fifty of his men. These
arrived at St. Augustine on the 23d of October, under the conduct of Don
Andres Lopez Patiño, and of Don Jean Velez de Medrano. To these troops
Melendez added a like number from his own garrison, and on the 26th
of the month, they commenced their march to the south, on foot. His
provisions and munitions were sent in two shallops along the shore, and
each night they came to anchor opposite his camp. On the first day of
November, they came in sight of the French. These, immediately abandoned
their work, and seizing their arms retired to a small sandy elevation
which they had previously selected as a place of refuge against attack,
and which they had strengthened by some slight defences. Here they
prepared for a desperate and deadly struggle. The force of their
assailants was one-third stronger than their own. They had the
advantage, also, of supplies and munitions, in which the Frenchmen were
deficient; but a sense of desperation increased their courage, and they
showed no disposition to entreat or parley. But Melendez had no desire
to compel them to a struggle in which even success would probably be
fatal ultimately to himself. His main strength was with him, but should
he suffer greatly in the assault, as it was very evident he must, the
French being in a good position, and showing the most determined front,
his army would be too greatly weakened, perhaps, even for their safe
return to St. Augustine, through a country filled with hostile Indians,
whom, as yet, he had neither conquered nor conciliated. Having
reconnoitred the position taken by the Frenchmen, he generously made
them overtures of safety. He proposed not only to spare their lives,
but promised to receive as many of them as thought proper, into his own
ranks as soldiers.

This offer led to a long and almost angry conference among the French.
Their councils were divided. Many of their leaders were men wholly
ignorant of the country, and disheartened by the cruel vicissitudes and
dangers through which they had passed. Many of them were persons of
wealth and family, who were anxious once more to find themselves in a
position which demanded no farther struggle, and which might facilitate
their return to the haunts of civilization. Others, again, were
Catholics, whose sympathies were not active in behalf of the Huguenots
with whom they now found themselves in doubtful connection. Others were
jealous of the sudden spring to authority, which, in those moments of
peril when all others trembled, had been made by the young adventurer,
Alphonse D'Erlach. It was in vain that he counselled them against giving
faith to the Spaniards.

"What is your security, my friends? His word? His pledge of mercy to
you, when he showed none to your brethren? Look at the hand which he
stretches out to you; it is yet dripping with the blood of your people,
butchered, in cold blood, at La Caroline, and the Bay of Matanzas. Trust
him not, if you would prosper--if ye would not perish likewise. Believe
none of his assurances, even though he should swear upon the Holy
Evangel."

"But what are we to do, Monsieur D'Erlach? We have small provisions
here. He hath environed us with his troops."

"We may break through his troops. We have arms in our hands, and if
we have but the heart to use them, like men, we may not only save
ourselves, but avenge our butchered comrades."

His entreaties and arguments were unavailing. It was sufficient for
our broken-spirited exiles that Melendez had volunteered to them those
guaranties of safety which he had denied to their brethren. They
prepared to yield.

"Go not thou with these people, my brother," said Alphonse D'Erlach, to
that elder brother whom we have seen, with himself, a trusted lieutenant
of Laudonniere. He flung himself tenderly upon the bosom of the other,
as he prayed, and the moisture gathered in his eyes. The elder was
touched, but his inclinations led him with the rest.

"He hath sworn to us, Alphonse, that life shall be spared us, and that
we shall be free to enter his service or return to France."

"Would you place life at his mercy?"

"It is so now!"

"No! never! while the hand may grasp the weapon. If we would defy him
as men, we should rather have his life at ours. Oh! would that we were
men. Enter his service! Dost thou think of this? Wouldst thou receive
commands from the lips of him who hath murdered thy old commander!"

"No! surely, I shall never serve Melendez. I seek this only as the mean
whereby to return to France."

"And wherefore return to France? What hath France in reserve for us but
the shot, the torture, and the scourge. Here, brother, here, with the
wild Floridian, let us make our home. Let us rather put on the untamed
habits of the savage, his garments torn from bear and panther; let us
anoint our bodies with oil; let us stain our cheeks with ocre; and
taking bond with the Apalachian and Floridian, let us haunt the
footsteps of the Spaniard with death and eternal hatred, till we leave
not one of them living for the pollution of the soil. This is my
purpose, brother, though I go forth into the wilderness alone!"

"Thou shalt not go alone, Alphonse. We will live and die together."

The brothers embraced. The bond was knit between them, whatever might
be the event; and when, at morning, the main body of the Frenchmen
surrendered themselves to the Spanish adelantado, the Erlachs were
not among them. They, with twenty others, all Huguenots, who detested
equally the power and feared the savage fanaticism of Melendez, had
disappeared silently in the night, leaving as a message for the Spanish
chief, that they preferred infinitely to be devoured by the savages,
than to receive his mercy. Melendez looked anxiously to the dark forests
in which they had shrouded themselves from his pursuit. He would gladly
have penetrated their depths of shadow and their secret glooms, in
search of victims, whom he certainly never would have spared if caught;
but the object was too small for the peril which it involved; and having
destroyed the fort and shipping which they had been building, content
with having broken up the power of the French in the country, he
returned with his captives to St. Augustine. He kept his faith with
them. Many of them joined themselves to his troops, and accompanied his
expeditions, and others who were Huguenots found new favor with him by
undergoing conversion to his faith. With this chapter fairly ends the
history of the Huguenot colonies of Coligny in Florida; but other
histories followed which will require other chapters.




XXIV.

ALPHONSE D'ERLACH.


The dawn of the morning after the separation of D'Erlach with his few
companions from the great body of the French, found the former emerging
from a dense thicket which they had traversed through the night. They
were still but a few miles from their late encampment. A bright and
generous sun, almost the first that had shone for several weeks in
unclouded heavens, seemed to smile upon their desperate enterprise. The
cries of wild fowl awaking in the forests, with occasionally the merry
chaunt of some native warbler, arousing to the day, spake also in the
language of encouragement. On the borders of a little lake, they found
some wild ducks feeding, which they approached without alarming them,
and the fire of a couple of arquebuses gave them sufficient food for the
day. A small supply of maize, prepared after the Indian fashion, was
borne by each of the party, but this was carefully preserved for use in
a moment of necessity. Assuming the possibility of their being pursued,
the youthful leader urged their progress until noon, when they halted
for repose, in a dense thicket, which promised to give them shelter.
Here, having himself undertaken the watch, Alphonse D'Erlach counselled
his people to seek for a renewal of their strength in slumber. They
followed his counsel without scruple, though not without a struggle on
the part of his brother, and others among them, to share his watch. This
he would not permit, alleging his inability to sleep, but promising,
when he felt thus disposed, to devolve his present duty upon others.
Long and sweet was the slumbers which they enjoyed, and unbroken by any
alarm. When they awakened, the sun had sloped greatly in the western
heavens, and but two or three marching hours remained of the day. These
they employed with earnestness and vigor. The night found them on the
edge of a great basin, or lake, thickly fenced in with great trees, and
a dense and bewildering thicket. As the day closed, immense flocks of
wild fowl, geese, ducks, and cranes, alighted within the waters of the
lake, and again did the arquebusiers, with a few shot, provide ample
food for the ensuing day. Here they built themselves a fire, around
which the whole party crouched, a couple only of their number being
posted as sentinels on the hill side, from which alone was it reasonable
to suppose that an enemy would appear. Again did they sleep without
disturbance, arising with the dawn, again to resume their progress. But
before they commenced their journey, a solemn council was held as to
the course which they should pursue. On this subject the mind of their
youthful leader had already adopted a leading idea. His experience in
the country, as well as that of his brother, during frequent progresses,
had enabled them to form a very correct notion of the topography of the
region. Besides, several of their followers, were of the first colonies
of Ribault, and had accompanied Laudonniere, Ottigny, and both the
Erlachs on various expeditions among the Indians.

"We are now upon the great promontory of the Floridian," said Alphonse,
"a region full of dense thickets and impenetrable swamps. These we
should labor to avoid, as well as any approach in the direction of the
Spaniards. By pursuing a course inclining to the north-west for a while,
we shall be enabled to do so, and this done, gradually steering for the
north-east, we shall be enabled to reach the great mountains of the
Apalachia. This is a region where, as we know, the red-men are more
mild and gentle, more laborious, with larger fields of grain, and more
hospitably given than those which inhabit the coasts. It may be that
having sufficiently ascended the country, it will be our policy to leave
the mountains on our left, following at their feet, until we shall have
passed the territories in the immediate possession of the Spaniard. Then
it will be easy to speed downwards to the eastern coasts, where the
people always received us with welcome and affection. We may thus renew
our intercourse with the tribes that skirt the bay of St. Helena--the
tribes of Audusta, Ouade, Maccou and others of which ye wot. But,
whether we take this direction or not, our present course should be as
I have described it. When we have reached the country where the land
greatly rises, it will be with us to choose our farther progress. There
is gold, as we know, in abundance in these mountains of the Apalachian;
and it may be our good hap even to attain to the great city of the
mountains of which Potanou and others have spoken, and to which certain
travellers have given the name of the Grand Copal, of the existence of
which I nothing doubt. This, they report as but fifteen or twenty
days' march from St. Helena, north-westward. It will, follow, if this
description be true, that we are quite as near to this place, as to St.
Helena. Here is adventure and a marvellous discovery open to us, my
comrades and we shall, perhaps, in future days, bless the cruelty of the
Spaniards which hath thus driven us on the road to fortune. At least, we
should have reason to rejoice that we are here, when our comrades lie
stark and bleeding on the shores of Cannaverel. We are few, but we are
true; we have health and vigor; we have arms in our hands, and are quite
equal to any of the small bands of Indians that infest the country. We
shall seek to avoid encounters with them, but shall not fear them if we
meet; and all that I have seen of the red-man inclines me to the faith,
that they who deal with him justly will mostly find justice, nay, even
reverence in return. What remains, but that we steadily pursue our
progress, heedful where we set our feet, keeping our minds in patience,
never hurrying forward blindly, and never being too eager in the
attainment of our object. Our best strength will lie in our patience.
This will save us when our strength shall fail."

This counsel found no opposition. There was much discussion of details,
and the leading suggestion of his mind being adopted, Erlach readily
yielded much of the minutiæ to others. We shall not follow the daily
progress of our adventurers. Enough that for twenty-seven days they
travelled without suffering disaster. There were small ailments of the
party--some grew faint and feeble, others became slightly lamed; and
occasionally all hearts drooped; but on such occasions the troop went
into camp, chose out some secure thicket, built themselves a goodly
fire, and while the invalids lay around it, the more vigorous hunted and
brought in game. Wild turkeys were in abundance. Sometimes they roosted
at night upon the very trees under which our Frenchmen slept. On such
occasions the hunters rose at dawn, and with well-aimed arquebuses shot
down two or more; the very fatness of the birds being such, as made them
split open as they struck the earth. Anon, a wandering deer crossed
their path, and fell a victim to their shot. In this way they gradually
advanced into the hilly country. Very seldom had they met with any of
the red-men, and never in any numbers. These treated them with great
forbearance, were civil, shared with them their slender stock of
provisions, and received a return in trinkets, knives, or rings of
copper, and little bells, a small store of which had been providentally
brought by persons of the party. Sometimes, these Indians travelled
with them, camped with them at night, and behaved themselves like good
Christians. From these, too, they gathered vague intelligence of the
great city which lay among the mountains. This was described to them, in
language often heard before, as containing a wealth of gold, and other
treasures in the shape of precious gems, which, assuming the truth
of the description given by the red-men, our Frenchmen assumed to be
nothing less than diamonds, rubies and crystals. But they were told that
this country was in possession of a very powerful people, fierce and
warlike, who were very jealous of the appearance of strangers. The city
of Grand Copal was described as very populous and rich, a walled town,
which it would be difficult to penetrate.

These descriptions contributed greatly to warm the imaginations of our
Frenchmen, but as the several informants differed in regard to the
direction in which this great city lay, it so happened that parties
began to be formed in respect to the route which should be pursued.
Opinion was nearly equally divided among them. Alphonse D'Erlach was for
pursuing a more easterly course than was desired by some ten or more of
the party. He was influenced by information previously derived from the
Indians, when he went into the territories of Olata Utina, and beyond.
But the more recent testimony was in favor of the west, and this he
was disposed to disregard. For a time, the discussion led to nothing
decisive. His authority was still deferred to and the course continued
upon which he had begun. But as the winter began to press more severely
upon the company, and as their usual supplies of game began to diminish
from the moment that they left the lakes, and great swampy river margin
of the flat country, from that moment, as if justified by suffering, the
Frenchmen lessened in their deference to a leader who was at once so
youthful and so imperative. Alphonse D'Erlach beheld these symptoms with
apprehension and misgiving. He well knew how frail was the tenure by
which he held his authority, from the moment that self-esteem began to
be active in the formation of opinion. He felt that a power for coercion
was wanting to his authority, and resorted to all those politic arts by
which wise men maintain a sway without asserting it. He would say to
them:

"My comrades, there are but twenty-two of us in a world of savages.
Hitherto, for more than thirty days, we have traversed the wildernesses
in safety. This is solely due to the fact that we have suffered no
differences to prevail among us. If you feel that I have counselled and
led you in safety, you may also admit that I have led you rightly; for
safety has been our first object. We are as fresh and vigorous now, as
when we left the dreary plains of Cannaverel. Not one has perished.
We have not suffered from want of food, though frequently delayed in
obtaining it. Methinks, that you have no reason to complain of me. But
if there be dissatisfaction with my authority, choose another leader.
Him will I obey with good will; but do not suffer yourselves to
disagree, lest ye separate, and all parties perish."

This rebuke was felt and had its effect for a season; but when, after a
week of farther and seemingly unprofitable wandering--when they had
attained no special point--when they rather continued to skirt the
mountains, pressing to the northward, than to ascend them--the spirit
of discontent was re-awakened. The circumstance which rather gratified
Alphonse D'Erlach, for the present, that they had met so few of the
natives, none in large numbers, and had succeeded mostly in avoiding
their villages, was the circumstance that led to dissatisfaction among
his followers. They were eager to have their hopes fortified by daily or
nightly reports from those who might be supposed to know; they desired,
above all, to gather constant tidings of the great city of the
mountains--to receive intimations of its proximity; and this, they began
to assert, was impossible, so long as they should forbear to penetrate
the mountains themselves. Against this desire their young leader strove
for many reasons. It is not improbable that he himself doubted the
existence of the marvellous city of Grand Copal. At all events, he well
knew that to penetrate the mountains, during winter, which already
promised to be one of intense rigor, would subject his party to great
suffering, and, should food fail them even partially in the unfriendly
solitudes, would terminate in the destruction of the whole. By following
the mountains, along the east for a certain distance, he knew he should
finally arrive at the heads of the streams descending to the sea in the
neighborhood of the first settlements made by the Huguenots; that he
should there find friendly and familiar nations, and perhaps secure a
home for his people, and found a new community in the happy territories
of Iracana, the Eden of the Indians, of the beautiful and loving Queen,
whereof, he began to have the tenderest recollections. He also knew
that, only by pursuing his way along the mountains, aiming at this
object, could he be secure from the Spaniards in the possession of La
Caroline, as well as St. Augustine, who, he did not doubt, were already
preparing for exploration of the golden territories of which they had
heard, as well as the French.

But his arguments failed to influence the impatient people under his
control. Sharp words and a warm controversy, one night, took place over
the camp-fires, and led to a division of the party in nearly equal
numbers. It was in vain that Alphonse D'Erlach and his brother employed
all their arguments, and used every appeal, in order to persuade his
people to cling together as the only means of safety. One Le Caille, a
sergeant, who was greatly endowed, in his own regards, as a leader among
men, and who had enjoyed some experience in Indian adventure under
Laudonniere, set himself in direct opposition to the two brothers. "We
are leaving the route, entirely, to the great city. We are speeding from
it rather than towards. It lies back of us already, according to all the
accounts given us, and as we march now, we seek nothing. There is our
path, pointing to the great blue summits in the north-west, and thither
should we turn, if we seek for the Grand Copal."

He found believers and followers. So warm had grown the controversy,
that the two parties separated that very night, and camped apart, each
having its own fires. The greater number, no less than thirteen, went
with Le Caille, leaving but nine to D'Erlach, including himself and
brother. The young leader brooder over the disaster, for such he
regarded it, in silence. He found that it was in vain that he should
argue, solely on the strength of his own conjectures, against any course
which they should take, when his own course, though maintaining them in
health and safety, had failed to bring them to any of the ends which
they most desired. They were now wearied of wandering--they craved a
haven where they might rest for a season; and were quite willing to
listen to any one who could speak with boldness and seeming certainty of
any such place. Thus it was that they followed Le Caille.

"Let us at least separate in peace and good-fellowship, _mes
camarades_," said Alphonse D'Erlach, passing over, with the dawn, to
that side of the thicket where the others had made their camp. They
embraced and parted, taking separate courses, like a stream that having
long journeyed through a wild empire, divides at last, only to lose
themselves both more rapidly in the embracing sea.

For more than two hours had they gone upon their different routes, the
one party moving straight for the mountains, the other still pursuing
the route along their bases, in the direction of the east, when Alphonse
D'Erlach said to his brother:

"It grieves me that these men should perish: they will perish of cold
and hunger, and by violence among the savages. This man Le Caille will
fight bravely, but he is a sorry dolt to have the conduct of brave men.
Besides, we shall all perish if we do not keep together. Perhaps it
is better that we should err in our progress--go wide from the proper
track--than that we should break in twain. Let us retrace our steps--let
us follow them, and unite with them for a season, at least, until their
eyes open upon the truth."

He spoke to willing listeners. His followers obeyed him through habit;
they acknowledged the authority of a greater will and a stronger genius;
but they had not been satisfied. They, too, hungered secretly for the
great city and the place of rest, and were impatient of the wearisome
progress, day by day, without any ultimate object in their eyes.
Cheerfully, and with renewal of their strength, did they turn at the
direction of their leader, and push forward to re-unite with their
comrades. They had a wearisome distance of four hours to overcome, but
they had hopes to regain their brethren by night, as they knew that
they would rest two hours at noon for the noonday meal, which, it was
resolved, should not, on this occasion, delay their progress, and by
moving with greater speed than usual, it was calculated that the lost
ground might be recovered.

Meanwhile, the party of Le Caille had crossed a little river which they
had to wade. The depth was not great, reaching only to their waists, but
it was very cold and it chilled them through. They halted accordingly on
the opposite side, and built themselves a fire. Here the rest taken and
the delay were unusually long, and contributed somewhat to the efforts
made by D'Erlach's party to overtake them. When, after a pause of
two hours, the troop of Le Caille was prepared again to move, it was
considerably past the time of noon. As they gathered up their traps,
one of their party who had gone aside from the rest, was suddenly
confounded to behold a red-man start up from the bushes where he had
been crouching, in long and curious watch over their proceedings. The
Frenchman, who was named Rotrou, was quite delighted at the apparition,
since they eagerly sought to gather from the Indians the directions for
their future progress, and none had been seen for many days. Rotrou
called to the Indian in words of good-nature and encouragement, but the
latter, slapping his naked sides with an air of defiance, started off
towards the mountains. Rotrou again shouted; the savage turned for a
moment and paused, then waving his hand with a significant gesture, he
responded with the war-whoop, and once more bounded away in flight. The
rash and wanton Frenchman immediately lifted his arquebuse, and fired
upon the fugitive. He was seen to stagger and fall upon his knee, but
immediately recovering himself, he set off almost at as full speed as
ever, making for a little thicket that spread itself out upon the right.
The party of Le Caille by this time came up. They penetrated the covert
where the red-man had been seen to shelter himself, and for a while they
tracked him by his blood. But at length they came to a spot where he had
evidently crouched and bound up his hurts. They found a little puddle
of blood upon the spot, and some fragments of tow, moss, and cotton
cloth, some of which had been used for the purpose. Here all traces
of the wounded man failed them; and they resumed their route, greatly
regretting that he should have escaped, but greatly encouraged, as
they fancied that they were approaching some of the settlements of the
natives.

It was probably an hour after this event when D'Erlach and his party
reached the same neighborhood, and found the proof of the rest and
repast which that of Le Caille had taken on the banks of the little
river. This sight urged them to new efforts, and though chilled also
very greatly by the passage of the stream, they did not pause in their
pursuit, but pressed forward without delay, having the fresh tracks of
their brethren before their eyes, for the guidance of their footsteps.
It was well they did so. In little more than an hour after this, while
still urging the forced march which they had begun, they were suddenly
arrested by a wild and fearful cry in the forests beyond, the character
of which they but too well knew, from frequent and fierce experience. It
was the yell of the savage, the terrible war-whoop of the Apalachian,
that sounded suddenly from the ambush, as the rattle of the snake is
heard from the copse in which he makes his retreat. Then followed the
discharge of several arquebuses, four or five in number, all at once,
and soon after one or two dropping shots.

"Onward!" cried Alphonse D'Erlach; "we have not a moment to lose. Our
comrades are in danger! On! Fools! they have delivered nearly or quite
all their pieces; and if the savage be not fled in terror, they are
at the mercy of his arrows. Onward, my brave Gascons! Let us save our
brethren."

The young captain led the advance, but though pushing forward with all
industry, he did not forego the proper precautions. His men were already
taught to scatter themselves, Indian fashion, through the forests, and
at little intervals to pursue a parallel course to each other, so as to
lessen the chances of surprise, and to offer as small a mark as possible
to the shafts of the enemy. The shouts and clamor increased. They could
distinguish the cries of the savages from those of the Frenchmen. Of the
latter, they fancied they could tell particular voices of individuals.
They could hear the flight of arrows, and sometimes the dull, heavy
sounds of blows as from a macana or a clubbed arquebuse; and a few
moments sufficed to show them the savages darting from tree to tree,
and here and there a Frenchman apparently bewildered with the number and
agile movements of his foes, but still resolute to seek his victim. At
this moment Alphonse D'Erlach stumbled upon a wounded man. He looked
down. It was the Sergeant, Le Caille himself. He was stuck full of
arrows; more than a dozen having penetrated his body, and one was yet
quivering in his cheek just below his eye. Still he lived, but his eyes
were glazing. They took in the form of D'Erlach. The lips parted.

"Le Grand Copal, Monsieur--eh!" was all he said, when the death-rattle
followed. He gasped, turned over with a single convulsion, and his
concern ceased wholly for that golden city, in the search for which he
had forgotten every other. D'Erlach gave but a moment's heed to the
dying man, then pushed forward for the rescue of those who might be
living. They were surrounded by more than fifty savages, and among these
were scattered groups of women and even children. In fact, Le Caille, in
his pursuit of the Indian wounded by Rotrou, had happened upon a village
of the Apalachians.

It was fortunate for D'Erlach that the savages were quite too busy with
the first, to be conscious of the second party. They had been brought
on quietly, and, scattered as they had been in the approach, they were
enabled to deliver their fire from an extensive range of front. It
appalled the Indians, even as a thunder burst from heaven. They had
gathered around the few Frenchmen surviving of Le Caille's party,
and were prepared to finish their work with hand-javelins and stone
hatchets. The Frenchmen were not suffered to reload their pieces, and
were reduced to the necessity of using them as clubs. They were about
to be overwhelmed when the timely fire of the nine pieces of D'Erlach's
party, the shout and the rush which followed it, struck death and
consternation into the souls of their assailants, and drove them from
their prey. With howls of fright and fury the red-men fled to deeper
thickets, till they should ascertain the nature and number of their new
enemies, and provide themselves with fresh weapons. But D'Erlach was not
disposed to afford them respite. His pieces were reloaded; those of the
Frenchmen of Le Caille--all indeed who were able--joined themselves to
his party, and the Indians were pressed through the thicket and upon
their village. To this they fled as to a place of refuge. Our Frenchmen
stormed it, fired it over the heads of the inmates, and terrible was the
slaughter which followed. The object of D'Erlach was obtained. He had
struck such a panic into the souls of the savages, that he was permitted
to draw off his people without molestation; but the inspection of the
fatal field into which the rashness of Le Caille had led his party,
left D'Erlach with few objects of consolation. Seven of them were slain
outright, or mortally wounded; three others were slightly wounded, and
but three remained unhurt. The survivors were brought off in safety,
greatly rejoicing in a rescue so totally undeserved. The party that
night encamped in a close wood, in a spot so chosen as to be easily
guarded. Two of the persons mortally wounded in the conflict died that
night; the third, next day at noon. They were not abandoned till their
cares and sufferings were at an end, and their comrades buried them,
piling huge stones about their corses. Repose was greatly wanting to
the party; but they were conscious that the Indians were about them.
D'Erlach knew too well the customs of the Apalachian race to doubt
that the runners had already sped, east and west, bearing _le baton
rouge_--the painted club of red, which summons the tribe to which it
is carried to send its young vultures to the gathering about the prey.

He sped away accordingly, re-crossing the little river where the party
of Le Caille had encountered the Indian spy, and pressing forward upon
the route which he had been before pursuing. Day and night he travelled
with little intermission, in the endeavor to put as great a space as
possible between his band and their enemies. But the toil had become too
severe for his people. They began to falter, and were finally compelled
to halt for a rest of two or more days, in a snug and pleasant valley,
such as they could easily defend. Here they suffered several disasters.
One of his men, drying some gunpowder before the fire, it exploded, and
he was so dreadfully burnt that he survived but a day, and expired
in great agony. Another, who went out after game, never returned. He
probably fell a victim to his own imprudence, or sunk under the
arrows of some prowling savage. The camp was broken up in haste and
apprehension, and the march resumed. Their force was now reduced to
thirteen men, and these were destined to still further reduction. The
cold had become excessive. The feet of the Frenchmen grew sore from
constant exercise; and at length, despairing of the long progress still
before them before they could reach the sea, Alphonse D'Erlach yielded
to the growing desire of his people to ascend the mountains and seek a
nearer spot of refuge, or at least of temporary repose. He began to give
ear more earnestly to the story of the great city of the mountains; or,
he seemed to do so. At all events,--such was the suggestion--'we can
shelter ourselves for the winter in some close valley of the hills; here
we can build log dwellings, and supply ourselves with game as hunters.'
The Frenchmen had acquired sufficient experience of Indian habits to
resort to their modes of meeting the exigencies of the season. They knew
what were the roots which might be bruised, macerated, and made into
bread; and they had been fed on acorns more than once by the Floridian
savages. They began the painful ascent, accordingly, which carried them
up the heights of Apalachia, that mighty chain of towers which divide
the continent from north to south. They had probably reached the region
which now forms the upper country of Georgia and South Carolina.

It was in the toilsome ascent of these precipitous heights that they
encountered one of those dangers which D'Erlach had striven so earnestly
to elude. This was a meeting with the Indians, in any force. A body of
more than forty of them were met descending one of the gorges up which
the Frenchmen were painfully making their way. The meeting was the
signal for the strife. The war-whoop was given almost in the moment when
the parties discovered each other. The Indians had the superiority as
well in position as in numbers; being on an elevation considerably above
that of the Frenchmen. They were a large, fine-limbed race of savages,
clad in skins, and armed with bows and stone-hatchets. They had probably
never beheld the white man before, and knew nothing of his fearful
weapons. They were astounded by the explosion of the arquebuse, and when
their chief tumbled from the cliff on which he stood, stricken by an
invisible bolt, they fled in terror, leaving the field to the Frenchmen.
But, three of the latter were slain in the conflict, and three others
wounded. The path was free for their progress, but they went forward
with diminished numbers, and sinking hearts. The survivors were now
but ten, and these were hurt and suffering from sore, if not fatal,
injuries. The cold increased. The savages seemed to have housed
themselves from the fury of the winds, that rushed and howled along the
bleak terraces to which the Frenchmen had arisen. They buried themselves
in a valley that offered them partial protection, built their fires,
raised a miserable hovel of poles and bushes for their covering, and
sent out their hunters. Two parties, one of two, the other of three men,
went forth in pursuit of a bear whose tracks they had detected; leaving
five to keep the camp, three of whom were wounded men. Of these two
parties, one returned at night, bringing home a turkey. They had failed
to discover the hiding-place of the bear. The other did not reappear all
night. Trumpets were sounded and guns fired from the camp to guide their
footsteps, but without success; and with the dawn Alphonse D'Erlach set
forth with his brother and another, one Philip le Borne, to seek the
fugitives. Their tracks were found and followed for a weary distance;
lost and again found. Pursued over ridge and valley, in a zigzag and
ill-directed progress, showing that the lost party had been distracted
by their apprehensions. This pursuit led the hunters greatly from the
camp; but D'Erlach had made his observations carefully at every step,
and knew well that he could regain the spot. He had provided himself
well with such food as they possessed, and his little party was well
armed. He refused to discontinue the search, particularly as they still
recovered the tracks of the missing men. For two days they searched
without ceasing, camping by night, and crouching in the shelter of some
friendly rock that kept off the wind, and building themselves fires
which guarded their slumbers from the assaults of wolf and panther; the
howls of the one, and the screams of the other, sounding ever and anon
within their ears, from the bald rocks which overhung the camp. On the
morning of the third day the fugitives were found, close together, and
stiffened in death. They had evidently perished from the cold.

Very sadly did the D'Erlachs return with their one companion to the camp
where they had left their comrades. But their gloom and grief were not
to suffer diminution. What was their horror to find the spot wholly
deserted. The ashes were cold where they had made their fires: the
probability was that the place had been fully a day and night abandoned.
No traces of the Frenchmen were left--not a clue afforded to their
brethren of what had taken place. Alphonse D'Erlach, however, discovered
the track of an Indian moccasin in the ashes, but he carefully
obliterated it before it was beheld by his companions. It was apparent
to him that his people had suffered themselves to be surprised; but
whether they had been butchered or led into captivity was beyond his
conjecture. His hope that they still lived was based upon the absence of
all proofs of struggle or of sacrifice.

To linger in that spot was impossible; but whither should they direct
their steps.

"We are but three, now, my comrades," said the younger D'Erlach,--"we
must on no account separate. We must sleep and hunt together, and suffer
no persuasions to part us. Let us descend from this inhospitable
mountain, and, crossing the stretch of valley which spreads below,
attempt the heights opposite. We may there find more certain food, and
better protection from these bleak winds."

"Better that we had perished with our comrades, under the knife of
Melendez," was the gloomy speech of the elder D'Erlach.

"It is always soon enough to die," replied the younger. "For shame, my
brother!--it is but death, at the worst, which awaits us. Let us on!"

And he led the way down the rugged heights, the others following
passively and in moody silence.

They crossed the valley, through which a river went foaming and
flashing over huge rocks and boulders, great fractured masses from the
overhanging cliffs, that seemed the ruins of an ancient world. The
stream was shallow though wild; and crossing from rock to rock they made
their way over without much trouble or any accident. The ascent of the
steep heights beyond was not so easy. Three days were consumed in making
a circuit, and finding a tolerable way for clambering up the mountain.
Cold and weary, hungry and sick at heart, the elder D'Erlach and Philip
le Borne, were ready to lie down and yield the struggle. Despair had set
its paralyzing grasp upon their hearts; but the considerate care, the
cheerful courage, the invigorating suggestion, of the younger D'Erlach,
still sufficed to strengthen them for renewed effort, when they were
about to yield to fate. He adopted the legend of the great city. These
rocks were a fitting portal to such a world of empire and treasure. He
dwelt with emotion upon its supposed wonders, and found reasons of great
significance for assuming it to be near at hand. And they toiled after
him up the terrible heights, momently expecting to hear him cry aloud
from the summit for which they toiled--"Eureka! Here is the Grand
Copal!" In this progress the younger D'Erlach was always the leader;
Philip le Borne struggled after him, though at a long distance, and,
more feeble than either, the elder D'Erlach brought up the rear.
Alphonse had nearly reached the bald height to which he was climbing,
when a fearful cry assailed him from behind. He looked about instantly,
only in time to see the form of le Borne disappear from the cliff,
plunging headlong into the chasm a thousand feet below. The victim was
too terrified to cry. Life was probably extinguished long before his
limbs were crushed out of all humanity amongst the jagged masses of
the fractured rocks which received them. The cry was from the elder
D'Erlach. He saw the dreadful spectacle at full; beheld his companion
shoot suddenly down beside him, with outstretched arms, as if imploring
the succor for which he had no voice to cry. He saw, and, overcome with
horror, sank down in a convulsion upon the narrow ledge which barely
sufficed to sustain his person. Alphonse D'Erlach darted down to his
succor, and clung to him till he had revived.

"Where is Philip?" demanded the elder brother.

"We are all that remain, my brother," was the reply.

The other covered his eyes with his hands, as if to shut out thought;
and it was some time before he could be persuaded to re-attempt the
ascent. Alphonse clung to his side as he did so; never suffered him to
be beyond reach of his arm, and, after several hours of the greatest
toil, succeeded in placing him safely upon the broad summit of the
mountain. And what a prospect had they obtained--what a world of wonder,
of beauty and sublimity--fertile realms of forest; boundless valleys of
verdure; illimitable seas of mountain range, their billowy tops rolling
onward and onward, till the eye lost them in the misty vapors of the sea
of sky beyond.

But the eyes of our adventurers were not sensible to the sublimity
and beauty of the scene. They beheld nothing but its wildness, its
stillness, its coldness, its loneliness, its dread and dreary solitude.

"We are but two, my brother, two of all," said the elder D'Erlach. "Let
us die together, my brother."

"If fate so pleases," was the reply--"well! But let us hope that we may
live together yet."

"I am done with hope. I am too weary for hope. My heart is frozen. I
see nothing but death, and in death I see something very sweet in the
slumber which it promises. Why should we live? It is but a prolongation
of the struggle. Let us die. Oh! Alphonse, your life is not less
precious to me than mine own. I would freely give mine, at any moment,
to render yours more safe; yet, if you agree, my hand shall strike the
dagger into your heart, if yours will do for mine the same friendly
office."

"No more, my brother! Let us not speak or think after this fashion. Our
frail and feeble bodies are forever grudgeful of the authority which
our souls exercise upon them. If they are weary, they would escape from
weariness, at sacrifices of which they know not the extent; would they
sleep, they are not unwilling that the sleep should be death, so that
they may have respite from toil. My brother, I will not suffer my body
so to sway my soul if I can help it. I will still live, and still toil,
and still struggle onward, and when I perish it shall be with my
foot advanced, my hand raised, and my eye guiding, in the progress
onward--forever onward. It will be time enough to think of death when
death grapples us and there is no help. But, till that moment, I mock
and defy the tempter, who would persuade me to rest before my limbs are
weary and my strength is gone."

"But, Alphonse, my limbs are weary, and my strength is gone."

"Let your heart be strong; keep your soul from weariness, and your limbs
will receive strength. Sleep, brother, under the shelter of this great
rock, while I kindle fire at your feet, and prepare something for you to
eat."

And while the elder brother slept, the other watched and warmed him,
and some shreds of meat dried in the sun, and a slender supply of meal
corns, parched by the fire, with a vessel of water, was prepared and
ready for him at awakening.

But he awakened in no better hope than when he had laid down. He ate and
was not strengthened. The hope had gone out from his heart, the fire
from his eye, his soul lacked the cheerful vigor necessary to exertion,
and his physical strength was nearly exhausted.

"Would that I had not awakened!" was his mournful exclamation, as his
eyes opened once more to the dreary prospect from the bald eminence of
that desolate mountain-tower. "Would that I might close mine eyes and
sleep, my brother, sleep ever, or awake to consciousness only in a
better world."

"This world is ours, my brother," responded the younger, impetuously;
"and, if we are men, if we had no misgivings--if we could feel only as
we might--that the weariness of this day would find a wing to-morrow; we
should conquer it, and be worthy of better worlds hereafter. But he who
gives himself up to weariness, will neither find nor deserve a wing.
Thou hast eaten--thou hast drunken,--thou shouldst be refreshed. I have
neither eaten nor drunken, since we set off at dawn this morning for our
progress across the valley."

"Reproach me not, Alphonse," replied the other; "thou hast a strength
and a courage both denied to me."

"Believe it not; be resolute in thy courage, and thy strength will
follow. It is the heart, verily, that is the first to fail."

"Mine is dead within me!"

"Yet another effort, _mon frére_,--yet one more effort! The valley
below us looks soft and inviting. There shall we find shelter from the
bleak winds that sweep these bald summits."

"It is cold! and my limbs stiffen beneath me," answered the other, as
he rose slowly to resume a march which was more painful to his thoughts
than any which he had of death. But for his deference to the superior
will of the younger brother, he had surely never risen from the spot.
But he rose, and wearily followed after the bold Alphonse, who was
already picking his way down the steep sides of the mountain.

       *       *       *       *       *

We need not follow the brothers through the painful details of a
progress which had few varieties to break its monotony, and nothing to
relieve its gloom. Two days have made a wonderful difference in the
appearance of both. Wild, stern and wretched enough before in aspect,
there was now a grim, gaunt, wolf-like expression in the features of
Alphonse D'Erlach, which showed that privation and labor were working
fearfully upon the mind as well as the body. He was emaciated--his eyes
sunken and glossy, staring intensely yet without expression--his
hair matted upon his brows, and his movements rather convulsive than
energetic. His soul was as strong as ever--his will as inflexible; but
the tension of the mind had been too great, and nature was beginning to
fail in the support of this rigor. He now strove but little in the work
of soothing and cheering his less courageous brother. He had no longer a
voice of encouragement, and he evidently began to think that the death
for which the other had so much yearned would perhaps be no unwelcome
visitor. Still, as if the maxims which we have heard him utter were a
portion of his real nature, his cry was forever "On," and still his hand
was outstretched towards blue summits that seemed to hide another world
in the gulfs beyond them.

"I can go no farther, Alphonse. I will go no farther. The struggle is
worse than any death. I feel that I must sleep. I feel that sleep would
be sweeter than anything you can promise."

"If you sleep, you die."

"I shall rejoice!"

"You must not, brother. I will help you. I will carry you."

He made the effort as he spoke--for a moment raised up the failing form
of his brother--staggered forward, and sank himself beneath the burden.

"Ha! ha!" he laughed hoarsely; "that we should fail with the Golden
Copal in sight! But if we rest, we shall recover. Let us rest. Let us
kindle here a fire, my brother, for my limbs feel cold also."

"It is death, Alphonse."

"Death! Pshaw! We cannot fail now; now that we are nearly at the summit.
I tell you, brother, we are almost at the portals of that wondrous city.
Once I doubted there were such city, but I have seen glimpses of towers,
and methought but now I beheld the window in a turret from which a fair
woman was looking forth. See now! Look you to the right--there where you
see the mountain sink as it were, then suddenly rise again, the slopes
leading gently up to a tower and a wall. The evening sunlight rests upon
it. You see it is of a dusky white, and the window shows clearly through
the stone, and some one moves within it. Dost thou see, my brother?"

"I see nothing but the sky and ocean. It is the waters that roll about
us."

"It is the winds that you hear, as they sweep down from yonder
mountains. But where I point your eyes is certainly a tower, a great
castle--no doubt one that commands the ascent to the mountains."

"Brother, this is so sweet!"

"What?"

"Ah! what a blessed fortune! Escaped from the bloody Spaniard, afar from
the inhospitable land of the Floridian, to see once more these sweet
waters and the well-known places."

"What waters? What places?"

"Do you know them not--our own Seine and the cottage, Alphonse? Ha! ha!
there they are! I knew they would come forth. Old Ulrich leads them; and
Bertha is there, and brings little Etienne by the hand. And, ah! ha! ha!
Joy, mother, we are come again!"

"He dreams! he dreams! If thus he dies, with such a dream, there can be
no pain in it. Let him dream! let him dream!"

And Alphonse D'Erlach hastened to kindle the flames, and he tore from
his own body the garment to warm his dying brother; and he clasped his
hands convulsively as he listened to the faint and broken words that
fell from his lips, subsiding at last into,

"Mother, we are come!"

And then he lay speechless. The younger brother turned away, and looked
yearningly to the mountains.

"If I can only reach yon castle, he should be saved. It is not so far!
but this valley to cross--but that low range of rocks to overcome. It
shall be done. I will but cover him warmly with leaves and throw fresh
brands upon the fire, and before night I shall return with help."

And he did as he said. He threw fresh brands upon the fire; he wrapped
the senseless form of his brother in leaves and moss; and, stooping
down, grasped his hand and printed a long, last kiss upon his lips.
The eyes of the dying man opened, but they were fixed and glassy. But
Alphonse saw not the look. His own eyes were upon the castellated
mountain. He sped away, feebly but eagerly, and as he descended into
the valley, he looked back ever and anon; and as he looked, his voice,
almost in whispers, would repeat the words--"Keep in heart, brother. I
will bring you help;" and thus he sped from the scene.

       *       *       *       *       *

The day waned rapidly, but still the young Alphonse sped upon his
mission. He crossed the plain; he urged his progress up the ridgy masses
that formed the foreground to the great cliffs from which the castled
towers still appeared to loom forth upon his sight. He cast a momentary
glance upon the sun, wan, sinking with a misty halo among the tops of
the great sea-like mountains that rolled their blue and billowy summits
in the east, circumscribing his vision, and he murmured--

"I shall be in time. Do not despair, my brother. I will soon be with you
and bring you succor."

And thus he ascended the stony ridges, height upon height gradually
ascending, till he came to a sudden gorge--a chasm rent by earthquake
and convulsion from the bosom of the great mountain for which he sped.
He looked down upon the gorge, and as he descended, he turned his eye
to the lone plateau upon which his brother had been laid to dream, and
cried:

"I go from your eyes, my brother, but I go to bring you help."

And he passed with tottering steps, and a feebleness still increasing,
but which his sovereign will was loth to acknowledge, down into the
chasm, and was suddenly lost from sight.

       *       *       *       *       *

Scarcely had he thus passed into the great shadow of the gorge, when the
howl of wolves awakened the echoes of the valley over which he had gone.
And soon they appeared, five in number, trotting over the ground which
he had traversed, and, with their noses momently set to earth, sending
up an occasional cry which announced the satisfaction of their scent.
Now they ascend the stony ridges. For a moment they halt and gather upon
the verge of the great chasm; then they scramble down into its hollows,
and howling as they go and jostling in the narrow gorges, they too pass
from sight into the obscurity of the mountain shadows.

       *       *       *       *       *

Another spectacle follows in their place. Sudden, along the rocky ledges
of the high precipices which overhang the gorge, darts forth a graceful
and commanding form. It is a woman that appears, young and majestic,
lofty in carriage, yet winning in aspect. She belongs to the red races
of the Apalachian, but she is fairest among her people. The skin of
a panther forms her mantle, and her garments are of cotton, richly
stained. She carries a bow in her hand, and a quiver at her back. Her
brows are encircled by a tiara of crimson cotton, from which arise the
long white plumes of the heron. She claps her hands, and cries aloud to
others still in the shadows of the mountain. They dart out to join her,
a group of graceful-looking women and of lofty and vigorous men. She
points to the gorge beyond, and fits an arrow to her bow. The warriors
do likewise, and her shaft speeds upon its mission of death, shot down
amidst the shadows of the gorge. A cry of pain from the wolf,--another
and another, as the several shafts of the warriors speed in the same
direction. Then one of the warriors hurls a blazing torch into the
abyss, and the wounded wolves speed back through the gorges, and the
hunters dart after them with shafts, and blazing torches, and keen
pursuit. Meanwhile, the Apalachian princess descends the precipice with
footsteps wondrous sure and fast. Her damsels follow her with cries of
eagerness, and soon they disappear--all save the hunters, who pursue the
wolves with well-aimed darts, till they fall howling one by one, and
perish in their tracks. Then the warriors scalp their prey and turn
back, pass through the gorge, and follow in the footsteps of their
princess. The sun sinks, the night closes upon the valley, and all is
silent.




XXV.

DOMINIQUE DE GOURGUES.

I.--EARLY HISTORY OF GOURGUES.


The tidings of the fearful massacre of the Huguenots in Florida, as well
in Spanish, as in French accounts, at length reached France. Deep was
the feeling of horror and indignation which they everywhere excited
among the people. Catholics, not less than Protestants, felt how
terrible was the cruelty thus inflicted upon humanity, how insolent the
scorn thus put upon the flag of the country. Wild and bitter was the cry
of anguish sent up by the thousand bereaved widows and orphans of the
murdered men. But this cry, this feeling, this sense of suffering
and shame, awakened no sympathies in the court of France. The king,
Charles IX., heard the "supplication" of the wives and children of the
sufferers, without according any answer to their prayer. The blood
of nearly nine hundred victims cried equally to earth and heaven for
vengeance, and cried in vain to the earthly sovereign. He had no ear for
the sorrows and the wrongs of heresy; and the plaint of humanity was
stifled in the supposed interests of religion. Charles was most regally
indifferent to a crime which relieved him of so many troublesome
subjects; and was at that very time, meditating the most summary
processes for still farther diminishing their numbers. He was yet to
provide an appropriate finish to such a history of massacre in the
bloody tragedy of St. Bartholomew. The wrong done to the honor of his
flag and nation, by a rival power, was not felt. We have already hinted
the strong conjecture, urged by historians, that the Spanish expedition,
under Melendez, was planned with the full privity and concurrence of the
king of France. His conduct, at this period, would seem fully to justify
the suspicion. His existing relations with his brother of Spain were not
of a sort to be periled now by the exhibition of his sympathies with a
cause, and on behalf of a sect, which both monarchs had reason to hate
and fear, and were preparing to extirpate.

But, if the Court of France demanded no redress for the massacre of its
people, and that of Spain offered none, either redress or apology, there
was yet a deep and intense passion dwelling in the heart of the one
nation, and yearning for revenge upon that of the other. There was still
a chivalrous feeling in France which showed itself superior to the
exactions of sect or party, and which brooded with terrible intensity
over the bloody fortunes of the French in Florida. This moody meditation
at length found its fitting exponent. The sentiment that stirs earnestly
in the popular heart will always, sooner or later, obtain a fitting
voice; and where it burns justifiably for vengeance, it will not long
be wanting in a weapon. The avenger arose in due season to satisfy the
demands of justice!

       *       *       *       *       *

The Chevalier, Dominique de Gourgues, was a Gascon gentleman, born
at Mont de Marsan, in the County of Cominges. His family was one of
considerable distinction. It had always been devotedly attached to the
Catholic religion, nor had he ever for a moment faltered in the same
faith. His career had been a remarkable one, signalized by great valor,
and the most extreme vicissitudes of fortune. He had served in the
armies of France during the long and capricious struggles in Italy,
which had been the chief arena for conflict in the reigns of Charles the
Eighth, of Louis XII., of Francis the First, and down to the present
period. Here he had associated, under the command of Brissac and others,
with that valiant brother Gascon, Blaize de Montluc, who, in his
commentaries, would probably have told us much about the prowess of
Gourgues, if he had not been so greatly occupied with the narrative of
his own.[24] But the forbearance of Montluc has not deprived us of all
the testimony which belongs to the fame of the chevalier. Of all the
subaltern officers of his time, no one achieved a more brilliant
reputation. Among the Gascons, confessedly distinguished above all
others by their reckless daring, and headlong eagerness after glory in
battle, the courage of Gourgues was such as raised him to the rank of a
hero of romance. His youthful eyes had opened upon the latest fields
of that race of heroes of whom Bayard was the superior and perhaps the
last. He was one of the Sampsons of that wondrous band, whose wars,
according to Trivulcio--one not the least remarkable among them,--were
those of the giants;--the Swiss, in the fullest vigor of their martial
fame, and at the height of their insolence;--the Spaniards, with Hernan
de Cordova, the great captain, at their head, and crowning the career
of Charles V. with a power and a lustre which his own merits did not
deserve;--the Italians, under the sway of, and deriving their spirit
from, the fierce martial pontiff, Julius II., and the French, boasting
of a cavalry, headed by Bayard, La Palisse and others, worthy of such
associates, and such as the armies of Europe had never beheld before.
Montluc, who had been trained in part in the same house with Bayard, and
Boiteres, who, as a page of the knight _sans peur et sans reproche_,
makes a famous figure in the chronicles of _le loyal serviteur_, being
among the leaders whom the Chevalier de Gourgues followed into battle.
He partook of their spirit, and proved himself worthy to sustain the
declining honors of chivalry. But his fortunes were as adverse as his
merits were distinguished. With thirty men, near Sienna, in Tuscany, he
sustained, for a long time, the shock of a large division of the Spanish
army. He saw, at length, every man of his command fall around him, and
was made a prisoner. The captive of the Spaniard, in that day, when
the emperor of the country and his favorite generals showed themselves
utterly and equally insensible to good faith and generosity, was to be a
slave. They conducted war with little regard to the rules that prevailed
among civilized nations. The valor that Gourgues displayed, instead of
commending him to their admiration and favor, only provoked their fury;
and they punished, with shameful bonds, those brave actions which the
noble heart prefers to applause and honor. Gourgues was transferred in
chains to the gallies. In this degrading condition, chained to the oar,
he was captured by the links off the coast of Sicily; the Turks then
being in alliance, to the shame of Christendom, with the French monarch,
and against the Spaniards. He was conducted by his new captors to Rhodes
and thence to Constantinople. Sent once more to sea, under his new
master, he was retaken by a Maltese galley, and thus recovered his
liberty. But his latter adventures had given him a taste for the sea.
His progresses brought him to the coast of Africa, to Brazil, and,
according to Lescarbot, though the point is doubted, to the Pacific
Ocean. The details of this career are not given to us, but the results
seem to have been equally creditable to the fame, and of benefit to
the fortunes of our chevalier. He returned to Mont de Marsan, with the
reputation of being one of the most able and hardy of all the navigators
of his time. He had scarcely established himself fairly in his ancient
home, where he had invested all the fruits of his toils and enterprise,
when the tidings came of the capture of La Caroline, and the massacre of
the French in Florida by Melendez. He felt for the honor of France,
for the grief of the widows and orphans thus cruelly bereaved, and was
keenly reminded of that brutal nature of the Spaniard, under which he
had himself suffered so long, and in a condition so humiliating to a
noble spirit. He had his own wrongs and those of his country to avenge.
He brooded over the necessity before him, with a passion that acquired
new strength from contemplation, and finally resolved never to give
himself rest till he had exacted full atonement, in the blood of the
usurpers in Florida, for the crime of which they had been guilty to his
people and himself.

  [24] The Chevalier de Gourgues is only twice mentioned, but both times
  with favor, in the chronicles of Montluc. The instances occur in
  Italy, in 1556; one of which describes the capture of Gourgues, the
  other his rescue from captivity. "_La il fut prius douze ou quatorze
  chevaux legers de ma compagnie, dont le Capitaine Gourgues, qui estoit
  à la suite de Strassi, estoit du nombre_," _&c._ Montluc was not the
  Gascon to leave his people in captivity. He prepares to scale the
  fort in which they are confined, and, his attempt begun, Gourgues was
  Gascon enough to help himself. The Spaniards had a guard of eighteen
  or twenty men over their prisoners, who were sixty or eighty in
  number, the latter being tied in pairs, to make them more secure. As
  soon as the prisoners heard the cry of "_France, France!_" from their
  friends without, they began the struggle within--"_ils commencerent à
  se secouer les uns et les autres, et mesmes le Capitaine Gourgues, qui
  se deslia le premier_," _etc._ The prisoners, led by Gourgues, assail
  their guards with naked arms, wrest from them their weapons, and where
  these are wanting, employ paving stones, actually killing the greater
  number, and taking the rest captive. Such was the success of the
  surprise, and the spirit which they displayed.




II.

BLAIZE DE MONTLUC.


This sublime purpose--sublime by reason of the intense individuality
which it betrayed--the proud, strong and defiant will, which took no
counsel from the natural fears of the subject, and was totally unrebuked
by the placid indifference of the sovereign to his own duties--was
not, however, to be indulged openly; but was compelled, by force of
circumstances; the better to effect its object--to subdue itself to
the eye, to cloak its real purposes, to suffer not the nearest or best
friend to conceive the intense design which was working in the soul of
the hero. We have seen that the Marechal, Blaize de Montluc, a very
celebrated warrior, a very brave fellow, an accomplished leader and a
good man, though a monstrous braggart--the very embodiment of Gascon
self-esteem, had long been a personal friend of the Chevalier de
Gourgues. Montluc was the king's lieutenant in Guyenne, and to him De
Gourgues proceeded to obtain his commission for sailing upon the high
seas. Montluc, like himself, was a Catholic; but, unlike de Gourgues,
was a bitter hater of the Huguenots. Our chevalier had been too long a
prisoner with Spaniard and Turk--too long a cruiser upon lonely oceans,
confined to a little world which knew and cared nothing for sects and
parties, to feel very acutely as a politician in matters of religion.
Such a life as that which he had so long led, was well calculated to
conduce to toleration. "Vengeance is mine:" saith the Lord; and he was
very willing to believe that in his own good time, the Lord will do
himself justice upon the offender. He was no hater of Calvin or the
Protestants--was quite willing that they should pray and preach after
the desires of their own hearts; and did by no means sympathise with his
friend, Montluc, in regard to the heretics whom he denounced. But he
said nothing of this to the Marechal. He knew that nothing could be said
safely, in relation to this vexing struggle, which tore the bowels of
the nation with perpetual strifes. He had been taught policy by painful
experience; and, though boiling with intense excitement, could conceal
the secret flame with an exterior of snow, such as shrouds the top of
the burning Orizaba. He found the old knight in the enjoyment of a
degree of repose, which was no ways desirable to one of his character.
The man of whom the epitaph records--written by himself:--

    "Cy dessous reposent les os
     De Montluc, qui n'eut onc repos."

was not the person to feel grateful in the possession of an office which
gave no exercise to his restless and martial propensities.

"We are shelved, _mon ami_," he said with a grim smile to De Gourgues,
as they sat together in the warm chamber of the speaker:--"We are
shelved. We are under petticoat government. Lords and rulers are now
made by the pretty women of the Court, and an old soldier like myself,
who has saved the monarchy, as you know, a dozen times, has nothing now
to do but to hang up his armor, and watch it while it falls to pieces
with the rust. But I have made myself a name which is famous throughout
Europe, and for the opportunity to do this, I must needs be grateful to
my king. I have the lieutenancy of Guyenne, but how long I am to have it
is the question. There are others who hunger after the shoes I wear; but
whether they will fit so well upon the feet of Monsieur, the Marquis de
Villars, must be for other eyes to determine. All I know, is, that I am
laid up forever. Strength fails, and favor fails, and I chafe at my own
lack of strength. I shall never be happy so long as my knees refuse
to bend as I would mount horse, yet bend even too freely when I would
speed on foot. But what is this expedition for which you desire the
royal seal? Certainly, we Gascons are the most restless of all God's
creatures. Here now are you but just arrived at home, and beginning to
make merry with your friends, and here you are, all at once, impatient
to be upon the seas again. Well, you have won a great fame upon the
ocean, and naturally desire to win still more. I' faith, I feel a great
desire to keep you company. I would be at work to the last, still doing,
still conquering, and dying in the greatest of my victories. What says
the Italian--'_Un bel mourir, tutta la vita onora!_' Did this adventure
of yours, Monsieur, but promise a great battle, verily, I should like to
share it with you."

"Ah! Monsieur, my friend, your passion is no longer mine, though I am
too much of the Gascon still, to fail, at the sound of the trumpet, to
prick mine ears. But this adventure tells for fortune rather than fame.
I find no fame a specific against famine. I would seek now after those
worldly goods which neither of us looked to find in the wars with the
Spaniard. And for which reason, failing to find, we are in danger now of
being put aside by ladies' minions, and the feathered creatures of the
Court. There is great gain now to be won by a visit to the Coast of
Benin, in Africa, whence we carry the negro cannibal, that he may be
made a Christian by proper labor under Christian rule."

And De Gourgues proceeded to unfold the history of the traffic in
slaves, as it was carried on by all nations at that period; its
marvellous profit and no less marvellous benefits to the untutored and
miserable heathen. The Marechal listened with great edification.

"Ah! Monsieur, were I now what you knew me when we fought in Tuscany,
now nearly thirty years ago! But it is too late. I must ever remain what
I am, a poor Gascon, as my sovereign hath ever known me; too heedful of
his fortune ever to give proper tendance to my own!"




III.

GOURGUES AT SEA.


The Chevalier de Gourgues received his commission, and his preparations
for the expedition were at once begun. He converted his goods and
chattels into money--his lands and moveables. He sold everything that he
possessed. Nor did he rest here. He borrowed of friends and neighbors.
His credit was good--his reputation great--himself beloved. It was easy
to inspire confidence in the ostensible objects of his expedition.
The world then conceived very differently of the morals of such an
enterprise, than it does at present. The moneys thus realized were
employed in arming two _roberges_, or brigantines,--ships of light
burthen, resembling the Spanish caravels; and one _patache_, or tender,
a vessel modelled after the frigate of the Levant, and designed for
penetrating shallow harbors. One hundred and fifty soldiers, and eighty
sailors, formed his complement of men, of whom one hundred were armed
with the cross-bow. There were many gentlemen, volunteers, in the
expedition; and De Gourgues had taken the precaution to secure the
services of one who had been a trumpeter under Laudonniere, and had made
his escape with that commander. Provisions for a year were laid in; and
every preparation having been made, and every precaution taken, as well
with the view to secrecy, as to the prosecution of the object, the
squadron sailed for Bordeaux, on the second day of August, 1567, just
two years after the flight of Laudonniere from Florida. But the fates,
at first, did not seem to smile upon the enterprise. Baffled by contrary
winds, our chevalier was at length driven for shelter into the Charente,
where he lay till the twenty-second, when he put to sea, only to
encounter new disappointments. His ships were separated by a severe
tempest, and some time elapsed before they were re-united. He had
provided against this event by ordering his rendezvous at the mouth of
the _Rio del Oro_, upon the coast of Africa. From this point he ranged
the coast down to Cape Blanco, where, instigated by the Portuguese, he
was assailed by three African chiefs, with their naked savages, whom he
beat off in two actions. He then proceeded and continued in safety upon
his route, until he reached Cape Verd, when he turned his prows suddenly
in the direction of America. The first land which he made in this
progress was Dominica, one of the smaller Antilles; thence he drew on to
Porto Rico, and next to Mona; the cacique of which place supplied him
liberally with fresh provisions. Stretching away for the continent, he
encountered a tempest, which constrained him to seek shelter in the port
of San Nicholas, on the west side of Hispaniola, where he repaired his
vessels, greatly shattered by the storm, but where he vainly endeavored
to lay in new supplies of bread; his biscuit having been mostly damaged
by the same cause;--the Spaniards, with great inhospitality, refusing
him all supplies of food. Scarcely had he left San Nicholas, when he was
encountered by a hurricane, which drove him upon the coast, exposing him
to the most imminent peril, and from the danger of which he escaped with
great difficulty; he gained, after many hardships, the west side of the
Island of Cuba, and found temporary respite at Cape San Antonio, where
he went on shore for a season.




IV.

GOURGUES DECLARES HIS PURPOSE TO HIS FOLLOWERS, IN A SPEECH.


His worst dangers of the sea were over. He was now within two hundred
leagues of Florida, his prows looking, with unobstructed vision,
directly towards the enemies he sought. And now, for the first time,
he deemed it proper to unfold to his people the true object of the
expedition. He assembled together all his followers:

"Friends and comrades," he said, "I have hitherto deceived you as to my
objects. They were of a sort to require, in the distracted condition
of our country, the utmost secrecy. It so happens that France, torn by
rival religious factions, is not properly sensible of what is due to her
honor and her people. I have chosen you, as persons whom I mostly know,
as persons who know me, and have confidence in my courage, my honor, and
my judgment. I have chosen you to achieve a great work for the honor
of the French name, and for the safety of the French people. Though we
quarrel and fight among ourselves at home, yet should it be a common
cause, without distinction of party, to protect our people against
the foreign enemy, and to avenge the cruelties they have been made to
suffer. It is for a purpose of this nature, that I have brought you
hither. I have heard many of you speak with tears and rage of the great
crime of which the Spaniards, under Melendez, have been guilty, in
butchering our unhappy countrymen in Florida; nine hundred widows and
orphans have cried in vain for vengeance upon the cruel murderers. You
know all this terrible history--you are Frenchmen and brethren of these
unfortunate victims. You know the crime of our enemies, the Spaniards;
always our enemies, and never more so than when they profess peace to
us, and speak with smiles. What should be our crime, if we suffer them
to escape just punishment for their butchery; if, with the means of
vengeance in our hands, and our enemies before us, we longer delay the
hour of retribution? We must avenge the murder of our countrymen; we
must make the Spaniards of Florida atone, in blood, for the shame and
affront which they have put upon the lilies of France! If you feel as
I do, the day of vengeance and just judgment is at hand. That I am
resolute in this object--that it fills my whole soul with but one
feeling--my whole mind with but one thought--you may know, when you see
that I have sold all my worldly goods, all the possessions that I have
on earth, in order to obtain the means for the destruction of these
Spaniards of Florida. I take for granted that you feel with me, that you
are as jealous of the honor of your country as myself, and that you
are prepared for any sacrifice--life itself--in this cause, at once so
glorious, and so necessary to the fame and safety of our people. If our
Frenchmen are to be butchered without a cause, and find no avenger,
there is an end of the French name, and honor, and well-being; they will
find no refuge on the face of the earth. Speak, then, my comrades. Let
me hear that you feel and think and will resolve with me. I ask you to
do nothing, and to peril nothing, beyond myself. I have already staked
all my worldly fortunes on this one object. I now offer to march at your
head, to give you the first example of self-sacrifice. Is there one of
you who will refuse to follow?"

A speech so utterly unexpected, at first took his followers by surprise;
but the appeal was too grateful to their real sympathies, their
commander too much beloved, and the infusion of genuine Gascons too
large among the adventurers, to make them hesitate in their decision.
They felt the justice of the appeal; were warmed to indignation by
the sense of injury and discredit cast upon the honor and the arms of
France; and, soon recovering from their astonishment, they eagerly
pledged themselves to follow wherever he should lead. With cries of
enthusiasm they declared themselves ready for the work of vengeance;
and, taking them in the humor which he had inspired, De Gourgues
suffered not a moment's unnecessary delay to interfere with his
progress. Crowding all sail upon his vessels, he rapidly crossed the
straits of Bahama, and stretched, with easy course, along the low shores
of the Floridian.




V.

GOURGUES WELCOMED BY THE FLORIDIANS.


It was not very long before his vessels drew in sight of one of the
Forts of the Spaniards, situated at the entrance of May River. So little
did they apprehend the approach of any French armament, that they
saluted that of De Gourgues, as if they had been ships of their own
nation, mistaking them as such. Our chevalier encouraged their mistake.
He answered their salute, gun for gun; but he passed onward without any
intercourse, and the night following entered the river, called by the
Indians Tacatacourou, but to which the French had given the name of the
Seine, some fifteen leagues distant.

Here, confounding the strangers with the Spaniards, a formidable host of
Indians were prepared to give them battle. The red-men had by this
time fully experienced the tender mercies of their brutal and bigoted
neighbors; and had learned to contrast them unfavorably with what they
remembered of the Frenchmen under Ribault and Laudonniere. With all the
faults of the latter, they knew him really as a gentle and moderate
commander; by no means blood-thirsty, and doing nothing in mere lust of
power, wantonly, and with a spirit of malicious provocation only. There
were also other influences at work among them, by which to impress them
favorably towards the French, and make them bitterly hostile to the
usurpers by whom they had been destroyed. It needed, therefore, only
that Gourgues should make himself known to the natives, to discover
their hostility. He employed for this purpose his trumpeter, who had
served under Laudonniere, and was well known to the king, Satouriova,
whose province lay along the waters of the Tacatacourou, and with whose
tribe it was the good fortune of our Frenchmen to encounter. Satouriova,
knew the trumpeter at once, and received him graciously. He soon
revealed the existing relations between the red-men and the Spaniards,
and was delighted when assured that the Frenchmen had come to renew and
brighten the ancient chain of friendship which had bound the red-men
in amity with the people of La Caroline. The interview was full of
compliment and good feeling on both sides. The next day was designated
for a grand conference between Satouriova and Gourgues. The interview
opened with a wild and picturesque display, which, on the part of the
Indians, loses nothing of its dignity because of its rudeness. The
stem and simple manners of the red-men, their deliberation, their
forbearance, the calm which overspreads their assemblies, the stately
solemnity with which the orator rises to address them, their patient
attention; these are ordinary characteristics, which make the spectator
forgetful of their poverty, their rude condition, the inferiority
of their weapons, and the ridiculous simplicity of their ornaments.
Satouriova anticipated the objects of Gourgues. Before the latter
could detail his designs, the savage declared his deadly hatred of the
Spaniards. He was already assembling his people for their destruction.
They should have no foothold on his territories!

All this was spoken with great vivacity; and he proceeded to give a long
history of the wrongs done to his people by the usurpers. He recurred,
then, to the terrible destruction of the Frenchmen at La Caroline, and
at the Bay of Matanzas; and voluntarily pledged himself, with all his
powers, to aid Gourgues in the contemplated work of vengeance.

The response of our chevalier was easy. He accepted the pledges of
Satouriova with delight. He had not come, he said, with any present
design to assail the Spaniards, but rather with the view to renew the
ancient alliance of the Frenchmen with the Floridians; and, should he
find them in the proper temper to rise against the usurpers, then, to
bring with him an armament sufficiently powerful to rid the country of
the intruders. But, as he found Satouriova in such excellent spirit,
and filled with so brave a resolution, he was determined, even with the
small force at his command, to second the chief in his desires to rid
himself of his bad neighbors.

"Do you but join your forces to mine,--bring all your strength--put
forth all your resolution--show your best valor, and be faithful to your
pledges, and I promise you that we will destroy the Spaniards, and root
them out of your country!"

The Cassique was charmed with this discourse, and a league, offensive
and defensive, was readily agreed upon between the parties. Satouriova,
at the close of the conference, brought forward and presented to
Gourgues a French boy, named Pierre de Bré, who had sought refuge with
him when La Caroline was taken, and whom he had preserved with care, as
his own son, in spite of all the efforts of the Spaniards to get him
into their power. The boy was a grateful gift to Gourgues; useful as
an interpreter, but particularly grateful as one of the first fruits
of his mission. That night Satouriova despatched a score or more of
emissaries, in as many different directions, to the tribes of the
interior. These, each, bore in his hands the war-macana, _le Baton
Rouge_, the painted red-club, which announces to the young warriors the
will of their superior. The runner speeds with this sign of blood to the
distant village, strikes the war-post in its centre, waves his potent
sign to the people, declares the place of gathering, and darts away to
spread still more the tidings. When he faints, the emblem is seized by
another, who continues on the route. In this way, the whole nation is
aroused, as by the sudden flaming of a thousand mountain beacons. A
single night will suffice to alarm and assemble the people of an immense
territory. The Indian runner, day by day, will out-travel any horse.
The result of this expedition was visible next day, to Gourgues and his
people. The chiefs of a score of scattered tribes, with all their best
warriors, were assembled with Satouriova, to welcome the Frenchmen to
the land.




VI.

OLOTOCARA.


Satouriova, surrounded by his kinsmen, his allies, and subordinate
chiefs, appeared in all his state on the banks of the river, almost
with the rising of the sun. There were, in immediate attendance, the
Paracoussies or Cassiques. Tacatacourou--whose tribe, living along its
banks for the time, gave the name to the river--Helmacana, Athoree,
Harpaha, Helmacapé, Helicopilé, Mollova, and a great many others. We
preserve these names with the hope that they may help to conduct the
future antiquary to the places of their habitation. Being all assembled,
all in their dignities, each with his little band of warriors, numbering
from ten to two hundred men, they despatched a special message to
the vessels of Gourgues, inviting him to appear among them. By a
precautionary arrangement the escort of our chevalier appeared without
their weapons, those of the red-men being likewise removed from their
persons, and concealed in the neighboring woods. Gourgues yielded
himself without scruple to the arrangements of his tawny host. He was
conducted by a deferential escort to the mossy wood where the chiefs had
assembled, and placed at the right hand of Satouriova. The weeds and
brambles had been carefully pulled away from the spot--the place had
been made very clean, and the seat provided for Gourgues was raised,
like that of Satouriova, and nicely strewn, in the same manner, with a
mossy covering. With his trumpeter and Pierre de Bré, the captain of
the French found no embarrassment in pursuing the conference. It was
protracted for some time, as is usually the case with Indian treaties,
and involved many considerations highly important to the enterprise;
the number of the Spaniards, the condition of their fortresses, their
vigilance, and all points essential to be known, before venturing to
assail them. Much time was consumed in mutual courtesies. Gifts were
exchanged between the parties; De Gourgues receiving from Satouriova,
among other things, a chain of silver, which the red chief graciously
and with regal air cast about the neck of the chevalier.

It was while the conference thus proceeded, that a cry without was
heard from among the great body of the tribes assembled. Shouts full of
enthusiasm announced the approach of a favorite; and soon the Frenchmen
distinguished the words, "Holata Cara!" "Holata Cara!"[25] which we may
translate, "Beloved Chief or Captain," and which preceded the sudden
entrance of a warrior, the appearance of whom caused an instantaneous
emotion of surprise in the minds of the Frenchmen.

  [25] The name is usually written Olotocara; but, to persons familiar
  with the singular degree of carelessness with which the Indian names
  were taken down by the old voyagers and chroniclers, and the different
  modes employed by French, Spanish and English in spelling the same
  words, there should be nothing arbitrary in their orthography; nothing
  to induce us to surrender our privilege of seeking to reconcile these
  names with well-known analogies. My opinion is, that Olotocara was a
  compound of two words, the one signifying chief or ruler, the other
  indicative of the degree of esteem or affection with which he was
  regarded, or as significant of his qualities. Olata, or Holata, was a
  frequent title of distinction among the Floridians, and Holata Cara,
  or Beloved Chief or Warrior, is probably the true orthography of the
  words compounded into Olotocara or Olocotora. It may have been Olata
  Tacara, and there may have been some identification of this chief with
  him from whom the river Tacatacourou took its name. Charlevoix writes
  it Olocotora; Hakluyt, Olotocara. It will be seen that our method
  of writing the name makes it easy to reconcile it with that of
  Hakluyt--Olotocara--Holata Cara--and with that of the title familiar
  to the Floridian usage, past and present. Thus Olata Utina occurs
  before in this very chronicle; and no prefix is more common in modern
  times, among the Seminoles, than that of Holata; thus, Holata Amathla,
  Holata Fiscico, Holata Mico. It is also used as an appendage; thus,
  Wokse Holata, as we write _Esquire_ after the name.

The stranger was fair enough to be a Frenchman himself. His complexion
was wonderfully in contrast with that of the other chiefs, and there
was a something in his bearing and carriage, and the expression of
his countenance, which irresistibly impressed De Gourgues with the
conviction that he was gazing upon one of his own countrymen. The
features of the stranger were smooth as well as fair, and in this,
indeed, he rather resembled the race of red than of white men. But he
was evidently very young, yet of a grave, saturnine cast of face, such
as would denote equally middle age and much experience, and yet was
evidently the result of temperament. His hair, the portion that was
seen, was short, as if kept carefully clipped; but he wore around his
brows several thick folds of crimson cotton, in fashion not greatly
unlike that of the Turk. There were many of the chiefs who wore a
similar head-dress, though whence the manufacture came, our Frenchmen
had no way to determine. A cotton shirt, with a falling cape and fringe
reaching below to his knees, belted about the waist with a strip of
crimson, like that which bound his head, formed the chief items of his
costume. Like the warriors generally, he wore well-tanned buckskin
leggings, terminating in moccasins of the same material. He carried
a lance in his grasp, while a light macana was suspended from his
shoulders.

"Holata Cara!" said Satouriova, as if introducing the stranger to the
Frenchmen, the moment that he appeared, and the young chief was motioned
to a seat. In a whisper to the trumpeter, Gourgues asked if he knew
anything about this warrior; but the trumpeter looked bewildered.

"Such a chief was not known to us," said he, "in the time of
Laudonniere."

"He looks for all the world like a Frenchman," murmured Gourgues.

"He reminds me," continued the trumpeter, "of a face that I have seen
and know, Monsieur; but, I cannot say. If that turban were off now, and
the paint. This is the first time I have ever heard the name. But the
boy, Pierre, may know him."

Gourgues whispered the boy:

"Who is this chief? Have you ever seen him before? Do you know him?"

"No, Monsieur; I have never seen him. I have heard of him. He is the
adopted son of the Great Chief, adopted from another tribe, I hear. But
he is as white as I am, almost, and looks a little like a Frenchman. I
can't say, Monsieur, but I could swear I knew the face. I have seen one
very much like it, I think, among our own people."

"Who?"

"I can't say, Monsieur, I can't; and the more I look, the more I am
uncertain."

Something more was said in an equally unsatisfactory manner, and, in
the meantime, the stranger took his seat in the assembly without
seeming concern. He betrayed no curiosity when his eye rested upon the
Frenchmen. When it was agreed that two persons should be sent, one of
the French and one of the red chiefs to make a _reconnaissance_ of the
Spanish fortress, he rose quietly, looked towards Satouriova, and,
striking his breast slightly, with his right hand, simply repeated his
own name,--

"Holata Cara!"

"It is well," said the chief, with an approving smile; and Holata Cara,
on the part of the Indians, and Monsieur d'Estampes, a gentleman of
Comminges, on the part of the Frenchmen, were sent to explore the
country under the control of the Spanish usurpers. Holata Cara
immediately disappeared from the assembly. A few moments after he was
buried in the deepest of the neighboring thickets, while a beautiful
young savage--a female--who might have been a princess, and wore, like
one, a fillet about her brow, and carried herself loftily as became a
queen, stood beside him, with her hand resting upon his shoulder,
and her eye looking tenderly up into his; while she said, in her own
language:

"I will follow you, but not to be seen; and our people shall be nigh to
watch, lest there be danger from the Spaniard."

The chief smiled, as if, in the solicitous speech to which he listened,
he detected some sweet deceit; but he said nothing but words of parting,
and these were kind and affectionate. It was not long before Holata Cara
joined Monsieur d'Estampes, the boy Pierre de Bré being sent along with
them, on the _reconnaissance_ which the allies had agreed was to be
made. In the meantime, the better to assure Gourgues of the safety of
D'Estampes, Satouriova gave his son and the best beloved of all his
wives, into the custody of the French as hostages, and they were
immediately conveyed to the safe-keeping of the ships.




VII.

FIRST FRUITS OF THE ADVENTURE.


The reconnaissance was completed. The report of Holata Cara and
D'Estampes showed that the Spanish fortress of San Matheo, formerly La
Caroline, was in good order, and with a strong garrison. Two other forts
which the Spaniards had raised in the neighborhood, commanding both
sides of the river, and nearer to its mouth, were also surveyed, and
were found to be well manned and in proper condition for defence. In
these three forts, the garrison was found to consist of four hundred
soldiers, unequally distributed, but with a force in each sufficient for
the post. Thus advised, the allies proceeded severally to array their
troops for the business of assault. But, before marching, a solemn
festival was appointed on the banks of the Salina Cani--by the French
called the Somme--which was the place appointed for the rendezvous. Here
the red-men drank copious draughts of their cassine, or apalachine, a
bitter but favorite beverage, the reported nature of which is that it
takes away all hunger and thirst for the space of twenty-four hours,
from those that employ it. Though long used to all sorts of trial and
endurance, Gourgues found it not so easy to undergo this draught. Still,
he made such a show of drinking, as to satisfy his confederates; and
this done, the allied chiefs, lifting hands and eyes, made solemn oath
of their fidelity in the sight of heaven. The march was then begun, the
red-men leading the way, and moving, in desultory manner, through the
woods, Holata Cara at their head; while, pursuing another route, but
under good guidance, and keeping his force compactly together, our
chevalier conducted his Frenchmen to the same point of destination. This
was the river Caraba, or Salinacani, named by Ribault the Somme, which
was at length reached, but not without great difficulty, the streams
being overflowed by frequent and severe rains, and the marshy and low
tracts all under water. Food was wanting also to our Frenchmen, the bark
appointed to follow them with provisions, under Monsieur Bourdelois not
having arrived.

They were now but two leagues distant from the two smaller forts which
the Spaniards had established and fortified, in addition to that of La
Caroline, on the banks of the May, or, as they had newly christened
it, the San Matheo. While bewildered with doubts as to the manner of
reaching these forts--the waters everywhere between being swollen almost
beyond the possibility of passage--the red-men were consulted, and the
chief, Helicopilé, was chosen to guide our Frenchmen by a more easy and
less obvious route. Making a circuit through the woods, the whole party
at length reached a point where they could behold one of the forts; but
a deep creek lay between, the water of which rose above their waists.
Gourgues, however, now that his object was in sight, was not to be
discouraged by inferior obstacles; and, giving instructions to his
people to fasten their powder flasks to their morions and to carry their
swords and their calivers in their hands above their heads, he effected
the passage at a point which enabled them to cover themselves from sight
of the Spaniards by a thick tract of forest which lay between the fort
and the river. It was sore fording for our Frenchmen; for the bed of the
creek was paved with great oysters, the shells of which inflicted sharp
wounds upon their legs and feet; and many of them lost their shoes in
the passage. As soon as they had crossed, they prepared themselves for
the assault. Up to this moment, so well had the red-men guarded all the
passages, and so rapid had been their march, with that of Gourgues
and his party, that the Spaniards had no notion that there were any
Frenchmen in the country. Still, they were on the alert; and so active
did they show themselves, in and about the fort, that our chevalier
feared that his approach had been discovered.

But no time was to be lost. Giving twenty arquebusiers to his Lieutenant
Casenove, and half that number of mariners, armed with pots and balls of
wild fire, designed to burn the gate of the fort, he took a like force
under his own command, with the view to making simultaneous assaults
in opposite quarters. The two parties were scarcely in motion, before
Gourgues found the chief Holata Cara at his side, followed by a small
party of the red-men; the rest had been carefully concealed in the
woods, in order to pursue the combat after their primitive fashion.
Holata Cara was armed only with a long spear, which he bore with great
dexterity, and a macana which now hung by his side, a flattened club,
the two edges of which were fitted with the teeth of the shark, or with
great flints, ground down to the sharpness of a knife. This was his
substitute for a sword, and was a weapon capable of inflicting the most
terrible wounds. The spear which he carried was headed also with a
massive dart of flint, curiously and finely set in the wood, and
exhibiting a rare instance of Indian ingenuity, in its excellence as
a weapon of offence, and its rare and elaborate ornament. Gourgues
examined it with much interest. The instrument was antique. It might
have been in use an hundred years or more. The heavy but elastic wood,
almost blackened by age and oil, was polished like a mirror by repeated
friction. The grasp was carved with curious ability, and exhibited the
wings of birds with eyes wrought among the feathers, in the sockets of
which great pearls were set, the carving of the feathers forming a bushy
brow above, and a shield all about them, so that, grasp the weapon as
you would, the pearls were secure from injury. Gourgues examined the
owner of the spear with as much curiosity as he did the weapon. But
without satisfaction. The features of the other were immoveable. But the
signals being all made, Holata Cara waved his hand with some impatience
to the fort, and Gourgues had no leisure to ask the questions which that
moment arose in his mind.

"It was," says the venerable chronicle, "the Sunday eve next after
Easter-day, April, 1568," when the signal for the assault was given.
Gourgues made a brief speech to his followers before they began the
attack, recounting the cruel treachery and the bloody deeds of the
Spaniards done upon their brethren at La Caroline and Matanzas Bay.
Holata Cara, resting with his spear head thrust in the earth, listened
in silence to this speech. The moment it was ended, he led the way for
the rest, from the thicket which concealed them. As soon as the two
parties had emerged from cover, they were descried by the watchful
Spaniards.

"To arms! to arms!" was the cry of their sentinels. "To arms! these be
Frenchmen!"

To the war-cry of "Castile" and "Santiago!" that of "France!" and
"Saint-Denis for France," was cheerily sent up by the assailants; and
it was observed that no shout was louder or clearer than that of Holata
Cara, as he hurried forward.

When the assailants were within two hundred paces of the fort, the
artillery of the garrison opened upon them from a culverin taken at La
Caroline, which the Spaniards succeeded in discharging twice, with some
effect, while the Frenchmen were approaching. A third time was this
piece about to be turned upon the assailants, when Holata Cara, rushing
forwards planted his spear in the ground, and swinging from it, with
a mighty spring, succeeded, at a bound, in reaching the platform. The
gunner was blowing his match, and about to apply it to the piece, when
the spear of the Indian chief was driven clean through his body, and the
next moment the slain man was thrust headlong down into the fort. Stung
by this noble example, Gourgues hurried forward, and the assault
being made successfully on the opposite side at the same instant, the
Spaniards fled from the defences. A considerable slaughter ensued
within, when they rushed desperately from the enclosure.

But they were encountered on every side. Escape was vain. Of the whole
garrison, consisting of threescore men, all were slain, with the
exception of fifteen, who were reserved for a more deliberate
punishment.

Meanwhile the fortress on the opposite side of the river opened upon the
assailants, and was answered by the four pieces which had been found
within the captured place. The Frenchmen were more annoyed than injured
by this distant cannonade, and immediately prepared to cross the river
for the conquest of this new enemy. Fortunately, the _patache_, bringing
their supplies, had ascended the stream, and, under cover from the guns
of the Spaniard, lay in waiting just below. Gourgues, with fourscore
soldiers, crossed the stream in her; the Indians not waiting for this
slow conveyance, but swimming the river, carrying their bows and arrows
with one hand above their heads.

The Frenchmen at once threw themselves into the woods which covered the
space between this second fort and La Caroline, the latter being only a
league distant. The Spaniards, apprised of the movement of the patache,
beholding shore and forest lined with the multitudes of red-men, and
hearing their frightful cries on every hand, were seized with an
irresistible panic, and, in an evil moment abandoned their stronghold,
in the hope of making their way through the woods, to the greater
fortress of La Caroline. But they were too late in the attempt. The
woods were occupied by enemies. Charged by the advancing Frenchmen, they
rushed into the arms of the savages, and, with the exception of another
fifteen, were all butchered as they fought or fled. Holata Cara was
again found the foremost, and the most terrible agent in this work of
vengeance.




VIII.

THE CONQUEST OF LA CAROLINE.


The Chevalier de Gourgues now proposed temporarily to rest from his
labors, and give himself a reasonable time before attempting the
superior fortress of La Caroline, in ascertaining its strength, and the
difficulties in the way of its capture. The captives taken at the second
fort were transferred to the first, and set apart with their comrades
for future judgment. From one of these he learned that the garrison of
La Caroline consisted of near three hundred men, under command of a
brave and efficient governor. His prisoners he closely examined for
information. Having ascertained the height of the platform, the extent
of the fortifications, and the nature of the approaches, he prepared
scaling ladders, and made all the necessary provisions for a regular
assault. The Indians, meanwhile, had been ordered to environ the
fortress, and so to cover the whole face of the country, as to make it
impossible that the garrison should obtain help, convey intelligence of
their situation to their friends in St. Augustine, or escape from the
beleagured station.

While these preparations were in progress, the Spanish governor at La
Caroline, now fully apprised of his danger, and of the capture of the
two smaller forts, sent out one of his most trusty scouts, disguised as
an Indian, to spy out the condition of the French, their strength and
objects. But Holata Cara, who had taken charge of the forces of the
red-men, had too well occupied all the passages to suffer this excellent
design to prove successful. He made the scout a prisoner, and readily
saw through all his disguises. Thus detected, the Spaniard revealed all
that he knew of the strength and resources of the garrison. He described
them as in very great panic, having been assured that the French
numbered no less than two thousand men. Gourgues determined to assail
them in the moment of their greatest alarm, and before they should
recover from it, or be undeceived with regard to his strength. The
red-men were counselled to maintain their ambush in the thickets
skirting the river on both sides, and leaving his standard-bearer and
a captain with fifteen chosen men in charge of the captured forts and
prisoners, Gourgues set forth on his third adventure. He took with him
the Spanish scout and another captive Spaniard, a sergeant, as guides,
fast fettered, and duly warned that any attempt at deception, or escape,
would only bring down instant and condign punishment upon their heads.
His ensign, Monsieur de Mesmes, with twenty arquebusiers, was left to
guard the mouth of the river, and, with the red-men covering the face of
the country, and provided with all the implements necessary to storm the
defences, Gourgues began his march against La Caroline.

It was late in the day when the little band set forth, and evening
began to approach as they drew within sight of the fortress. The Don
in command at La Caroline was vigilant enough, and soon espied the
advancing columns. His cannon and his culverins, commanding the river
thoroughly, began to play with great spirit upon our Frenchmen, who
were compelled to cover themselves in the woods, taking shelter behind
a slight eminence within sight of the fortress. This wood afforded
them sufficient cover for their approaches almost to the foot of the
fortress--the precautions of the Spaniard not having extended to the
removal of the forest growth by which the place was surrounded, and by
help of which the designs of an enemy could be so much facilitated. It
was under the shelter of this very wood, and by this very route--so
Gourgues learned from his prisoners--that the Spaniards had successfully
surprised and assaulted the fortress two years before.

Here, then, our chevalier determined to lie perdu until the next
morning, the hour being too late and the enemy too watchful, at that
moment, to attempt anything. Besides, Gourgues desired a little time to
see how the land lay, and how his approaches should be made. On that
side of the fortress which fronted the hill, behind which our Frenchmen
harbored, he discovered that the trench seemed to be insufficiently
flanked for the defence of the curtains.

While meditating in what way to take advantage of this weakness, he was
agreeably surprised by the commission of an error, on the part of the
garrison, which materially abridged his difficulties. The Spanish
governor, either with a nervous anxiety to anticipate events, or with
a fool-hardiness which fancied that they might be controlled by a
wholesome audacity, ordered a sortié; and Gourgues with delight beheld a
detachment of threescore soldiers, deliberately passing the trenches and
marching steadily into the very jaws of ruin.

Holata Cara, as if aware by instinct, was at once at the side of our
chevalier, with his spear pointing to the fated detachment. In a moment,
the warrior sped with the commands of Gourgues, to his lieutenant,
Cazenove, who, with twenty arquebusiers, covered by the wood, contrived
to throw himself between the fortress and the advancing party, cutting
off all their chances of escape. Then it was that, with wild cries of
"France! France!" the chevalier rose from his place of hiding, with
all his band, and rushed out upon his prey, reserving his fire until
sufficiently near to render every shot certain. The Spaniards recoiled
from the assault; but, as they fled, were encountered in the rear by the
squad under Cazenove. The battle cry of the French, resounding at once
in front and rear, completed their panic, and they offered but a feeble
resistance to enemies who neither asked nor offered quarter. It was a
massacre rather than a fight; and still, as the French paused in the
work of death, a shrill death-cry in their midst aroused them anew, and
they could behold the lithe form of the red chief, Holata Cara, speeding
from foe to foe, with his macana only, smiting with fearful edge--a
single stroke at each several victim, followed ever by the agonizing
yell of death! Not a Spaniard escaped of all that passed through the
trenches on that miserable sortié!

Terrified by this disaster, so sudden and so complete, the garrison were
no longer capable of defence. They no longer hearkened to the commands
or the encouragements of their governor. They left, or leaped, the
walls; they threw wide the gates, and rushed wildly into the neighboring
thickets, in the vain hope to find security in their dark recesses, and
under cover of the night. But they knew not well how the woods were
occupied. At once a torrent of yells, of torture and of triumph,
startled the echoes on every side. The swift arrow, the sharp javelin,
the long spear, the stone hatchet, each found an unresisting victim;
and the miserable fugitives, maddened with terror, darted back upon
the fortress, which was already in the possession of the French. They
had seized the opportunity, and in the moment when the insubordinate
garrison threw wide the gates, and leaped blindly from the parapets,
they had swiftly occupied their places. The fugitive Spaniards,
recoiling from the savages, only changed one form of death for another.
They suffered on all hands--were mercilessly shot down as they fled,
or stabbed as they surrendered; those only excepted who were chosen to
expiate, more solemnly and terribly, the great crime of which they had
been guilty!




IX.

THE SACRIFICE OF THE VICTIMS.


The captured fortress was won with a singular facility, and with so
little loss to the assailants, as to confirm them in the conviction that
the service was acceptable to God. HE had strengthened their hearts
and arms--HE had hung his shield of protection over them--HE had made,
through the sting of conscience, the souls of the murderous Spaniards
to quake in fear at the very sight of the avengers! The fortress of La
Caroline was found to have been as well supplied with all necessaries
for defence, as it had been amply garrisoned. It was defended by five
double _culverins_, by four _minions_, and divers other cannon of
smaller calibre suitable for such a forest fortress. "Eighteen great
cakes of gunpowder," (it would seem that this combustible was put up
in those days moistened, and in a different form from the present, and
hence the frequent necessity for drying it, of which we read,) and
every variety of weapon proper to the keeping of the fortress, had been
supplied to the Spaniards; so that, but for the unaccountable error of
the sortié, and but for the panic which possessed them, and which may
reasonably be ascribed to the natural terrors of a guilty conscience,
it was scarcely possible that the Chevalier de Gourgues, with all his
prowess, could have succeeded in the assault. He transferred all the
arms to his vessels, but the gunpowder took fire from the carelessness
of one of the savages, who, ignorant of its qualities, proceeded to
seethe his fish in the neighborhood of a train, which took fire, and
blew up the store-house with all its moveables, destroying all the
houses within its sweep! The poor savage himself seems to have been the
only human victim. The fortress was then razed to the ground, Gourgues
having no purpose to reestablish a colony which he had not the power to
maintain.

But his vengeance was not complete. The final act of expiation was yet
to take place; and, bringing all his prisoners together, he had them
conducted to the fatal tree upon which the Spaniards had done to death
their Huguenot captives! This was at a short distance from the fortress.

Mournful was the spectacle that met the eyes of the Frenchmen as they
reached the spot. There still hung the withered and wasted skeletons of
their brethren, naked, bare of flesh, bleached, and rattling against
the branches of the thrice-accursed tree! The tempest had beaten wildly
against their wasted forms--the obscene birds had preyed upon their
carcasses--some had fallen, and lay in undistinguished heaps upon the
earth; but the entire skeletons of many, unbroken, still waved in the
unconscious breezes of heaven! For two weary years had they been thus
tossed and shaken in the tempest. For two years had they thus waved,
ghastly, white, and terrible, in mockery of the blessed sunshine! And
now, in the genial breezes of April, they still shook aloft in horrible
contrast with the green leaves, and the purple blossoms of the spring
around them! But they were now decreed to take their shame from the
suffering eyes of day! A solemn service was said over the wretched
remains, which were taken down with cautious hands, as considerately as
if they were still accessible to hurt, and buried in one common grave!
The red-men looked on wondering, and in grave silence; and Holata Cara,
leaning upon his spear, might almost be thought to weep at the cruel
spectacle.

But his aspect changed when the Spanish captives were brought forth.
They were ranged, manacled in pairs, beneath the same tree of sacrifice.
Briefly, and in stern accents, did Gourgues recite the crime of which
they had been guilty, and which they were now to expiate by a sufferance
of the same fate which they had decreed to their victims! Prayers and
pleadings were alike in vain. The priest who had performed the solemn
rites for the dead, now performed the last duties for the living judged!
He heard their confessions. One of the wretched victims confessed that
the judgment under which he was about to suffer was a just one; that he
himself, with his own hands, had hung no less than five of the wretched
Huguenots. With such a confession ringing in their ears, it was not
possible for the French to be merciful! At a given signal, the victims
were run up to the deadly branches, which they themselves had accursed
by such employment; and even while their suspended forms writhed and
quivered with the last fruitless efforts of expiring consciousness, the
chieftain Holata Cara looked upon them with a cold, hard eye, stern
and tearless, as if he felt the dreadful propriety of this wild and
unrelenting justice! The deed done--the expiation made--Gourgues then
procured a huge plank of pine, upon which he caused to be branded, with
a searing iron, in rude, but large, intelligible characters, these
words, corresponding to that inscription put by the Spaniards over the
Huguenots, and as a fitting commentary upon it:--

          "These are not hung as Spaniards,
              nor as Mariners, but as
               Traitors, Robbers, and
                     Murderers!"

How long they hung thus, bleaching in storm and sunshine; how long this
terrible inscription remained as a record of their crime and of this
history, the chronicle does not show, nor is it needful. The record
is inscribed in pages that survive storm, and wreck, and fire;--more
indelibly written than on pillars of brass and marble! It hangs on high
forever, where the eyes of the criminal may read how certainly will the
vengeance of heaven alight, or soon or late, upon the offender, who
wantonly exults in the moment of security in the commission of great
crimes done upon suffering humanity.




X.

THE CHIEFS OF THE LILY AND THE TOTEM EMBRACE AND PART.


"San Augustine!"

Such were the words spoken to Gourgues by Holata Cara at the close of
this terrible scene of vengeance, and his spear was at once turned
in the direction of the remaining Spanish fortress. Gourgues readily
understood the suggestion, but he shook his head regretfully--

"I am too feeble! We have not the force necessary to such an effort!"

The red chief made no reply in words, but he turned away and waved his
spear over the circuit which was covered by the thousand savages who had
collected to the conflict, even as the birds of prey gather to the field
of battle.

But Gourgues again shook his head. He had no faith in the alliance with
the red-men. He knew their caprice of character, their instability of
purpose, and the sudden fluctuations of their moods, which readily
discovered the enemy of the morrow in the friend of to-day. Besides,
his contemplated task was ended. He had achieved the terrible work
of vengeance which he had proposed to himself and followers, and his
preparations did not extend to any longer delay in the country. He had
neither means nor provisions.

He collected the tribes around him. All the kings and princes of the
Floridian gathered at his summons, on the banks of the Tacatacorou,
or Seine, where he had left his vessels, some fifteen leagues from La
Caroline. Thither he marched by land in battle array, having sent all
his captured munitions and arms with his artillerists by sea, in the
patache.

The red-men hailed him with songs and dances, as the Israelites hailed
Saul and David returning with the spoils of the Philistines.

"Now let me die," cried one old woman, "now that I behold the Spaniards
driven out, and the Frenchmen once more in the country."

Gourgues quieted them with promises. It may be that he really hoped that
his sovereign would sanction his enterprise, and avail himself of what
had been done to establish a French colony again in Florida; and he
promised the Floridians that in twelve months they should again behold
his vessels.

The moment arrived for the embarkation, but where was Holata Cara? The
Frenchman inquired after him in vain. Satouriova only replied to his
earnest inquiries,--

"Holata Cara is a great chief of the Apalachian! He hath gone among his
people."

A curious smile lurked upon the lips of the Paracoussi as he made this
answer; but the inquiries of Gourgues could extract nothing from him
further.

They embraced--our chevalier and his Indian allies--and the Frenchmen
embarked, weighed anchor, and, with favoring winds, were shortly out of
sight. Even as they stretched away for the east, the eyes of Holata Cara
watched their departure from a distant headland where he stood embowered
among the trees. The graceful figure of an Indian princess stood beside
his own, one hand shading her eyes, and the other resting on his
shoulder. At length he turned from gazing on the dusky sea.

"They are gone!" she exclaimed.

"Gone!" he answered, in her own dialect. "Gone! Let us depart also!" And
thus speaking, they joined their tawny followers who awaited them in the
neighboring thicket, within the shadows of which they soon disappeared
from sight.




XI.

MORALS OF REVENGE.


Historians have been divided in opinion with regard to the propriety
of that wild justice which Dominique de Gourgues inflicted upon the
murderers of his countrymen at La Caroline. One class of writers hath
preached from the text, "Vengeance is mine saith the Lord;" another
from that which, permissive rather than mandatory, declares that "Whoso
sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed."

Charlevoix regrets that so remarkable an achievement as that of
Gourgues, so honorable to the nation, and so glorious for himself,
should not have been terminated by an act of clemency, which, sparing
the survivors of the Spanish forts, should have contrasted beautifully
with the brutal behavior of the Spaniards under the like circumstances;
as if the enterprise itself had anything but revenge for its object; as
if the butcheries which accompanied the several attacks upon the Spanish
forts, and the butcheries which followed them--where the victims were
trembling and flying men--were any whit more justifiable than the
single, terrible act of massacre which appropriately furnished the
catastrophe to the whole drama!

If the Spaniards were to be spared at all, why the enterprise at all? No
wrong was then in progress, to be defeated by interposition; no design
of recovering French territory or re-establishing the French colony was
in contemplation, making the enterprise necessary to success hereafter.
The entire purpose of the expedition was massacre only, and a bloody
vengeance!

It is objected to this expedition of Gourgues, that reprisals are rarely
possible without working some injustice. This would be an argument
against all law and every social government. But it is said that revenge
does not always find out the right victim, particularly in such a case
as the present, and that the innocent is frequently made to suffer for
the guilty.

Gourgues could not, it would seem, have greatly mistaken his victims,
when we find one of them confessing to the murder of five of the
Huguenots by his own hand, and none of them disclaiming a participation
in the crime. But there is a better answer even than this instance
affords, and it conveys one of those warning lessons to society, the
neglect of which too frequently results in its discomfiture or ruin.

That society or nation which is unable or unwilling to prevent or
punish the offender within its own sphere and province, must incur his
penalties; and this principle once recognized, it becomes imperative
with every citizen to take heed of the public conduct of his fellow, and
the proper exercise of right and justice on the part of his ruler. There
are, no doubt, difficulties in the way of doing this always; but what if
it were commonly understood and felt that each citizen had thus at heart
the wholesome administration of exact justice on the part of the society
in which he lived, and the Government which can exist only by the
sympathies of the people? How prompt would be the remedy furnished by
the ruler to the suffering party! how slow the impulse to wrong on the
part of the criminal!

The suggestion that magnanimity and mercy shown to the Spaniards by
Gourgues, after his victory, would have had such a beautiful effect upon
the consciences of those guilty wretches, is altogether ridiculous. The
idea exhibits a gross ignorance of the nature of the Spaniards at the
time. Gourgues knew them thoroughly. A more base, faithless, treacherous
and murderous character never prevailed among civilized nations, and
never could prevail among any nation of _warlike_ barbarians. We do not
mean to justify Gourgues; but may say that it is well, perhaps, for
humanity, that heroism sometimes puts on the terrors of the avenger, and
visits the enormous crime, which men would otherwise fail to reach, with
penalties somewhat corresponding with the degree and character of the
offence! There are sometimes criminals whom it is a mere tempting of
Providence to leave only to the judgments of eternity and their own
seared, cold, and wicked hearts. The murderer whose hands you cannot
bind, you must cut off; not because you thirst for his blood, but
because he thirsts for yours! But ours is not the field for discussion,
and we may well leave the question for decision to the instincts of
humanity. The vengeance which moves the nations to clap hands with
rejoicing has, perhaps, a much higher guaranty and sanction than the
common law of morals can afford.




XII.

THE CHEVALIER AT HOME--MONTLUC COUNSELS GOURGUES FROM HIS COMMENTARIES.


Having taken his farewell of the Floridians, and embarked with all his
people, it was on board of his vessels, with their wings spread to the
breeze, that the Chevalier De Gourgues offered up solemn acknowledgments
to Heaven, for the special sanction which he had found in its favor for
the enterprise achieved. It was with a heart full of gratitude, that he
bowed down on the deck of his little bark, and offered up his prayer to
the God of Battles for the succor afforded him in his extremity. It was
with a light heart that he meditated upon the sanguinary justice done
upon the cruel enemies of his people; the honor of his country's flag
redeemed by a poor soldier of fortune, when disgraced and deserted by
the monarch and the court, who derived all their distinction from its
venerable and protecting folds. It was with a just and honorable pride
that he felt how certainly he had made the record of his name in the
pages of history, by an action grateful to the fame of the soldier, and
still more grateful to the fears and sympathies of outraged humanity.
The acclamations of the wild Floridian--their praises and songs of
victory, however wild and rude--were but a foretaste of those which
he had a right to expect from the lips of his countrymen in _la Belle
France_! Alas! the hand of power covered the lips of rejoicing! The
despotism of the land shook a heavy rod over the people, silencing the
voice of praise, and chilling the heart of sympathy. But let us not
anticipate.

The Chevalier De Gourgues sailed from the mouth of the Tacatacorou, on
the third of May, 1568. For seventeen days the voyage was prosperous,
and his vessels ran eleven hundred leagues; and on the sixth of June,
thirty-four days after leaving the coast of Florida, he arrived at
Rochelle. The latter half of his voyage had been far different from the
first. As at his departure from France, he suffered severely from head
winds and angry tempests. His provisions were nearly exhausted, and his
people began to suffer from famine. His consorts separated from him
in the storm, one of them, the _patache_, being lost with its whole
complement of eight men; the other not reaching port for a month after
himself. His escape was equally narrow from other and less merciful
enemies than hunger and shipwreck. The bruit of his adventure, to his
great surprise, had reached the country before him. The Spanish court,
well served, in that day, by its emissaries, had been advised of his
progress, and that he had appeared at Rochelle. A fleet of eighteen
sail, led by one large vessel, was instantly despatched in pursuit of
him.

Received with good cheer and great applause by the people of Rochelle,
it was fortunate that he did not linger there. He set forth with his
vessel for Bordeaux; there he went to render an account to his friend,
the Marechal Blaize de Montluc, of his adventures. This timely movement
saved him. The pursuing Spaniards reached Che-de-Bois the very day that
he had left it, and continued the chase as far as Blaze. He reached
Bordeaux in safety, and made his report to the king's lieutenant.

Montluc was one of those glorious Gascons who would always much prefer
to fight than eat. He was proud of the chevalier as a Gascon, and he
loved him as a friend. But the approbation that he expressed in private,
he did not venture openly to speak.

"You have done a famous thing, Monsieur De Gourgues, you have saved the
honor of France, and won immortal glory for yourself; but the king's
lieutenant must not say this to the king's people. I praise God that you
are a Gascon like myself, and no race, I think, Monsieur De Gourgues,
was ever quite so valiant as our own; but my friend, I fear they do
not love us any the better that they have not the soul to rival us. I
fear that the glory thou hast won will bring thee to the halter only.
Hearken, my friend, Dominique, dost thou know that, at this very moment,
thy vessel is pursued by a host of Spanish caravels? the winds rend and
the seas sink them to perdition! Thou knowest, how I hate, and scorn,
and spit upon the cut-throat scoundrels! Well! That is not all. I tell
thee, Dominique, my friend, there is a courier already on his way to the
ambassador of Spain, who will demand thy head from our sovereign, that
it may give pleasure to his sovereign, the black-hearted and venomous
Philip. What would he with thy head, my friend? I tell thee, it is his
wretched selfishness that would take thy head--not that it may be useful
to him, but that it shall no longer be of use to thee! Was there ever
such a fool and monster! Thou shouldst keep thy head, my friend, so long
as thou hast a use for it thyself, even though it ache thee many times
after an unnecessary bottle!"

"Think'st thou, Montluc, that there is any danger that the court of
France will give ear to the king of Spain?"

"Give ear! Ay, give both ears, my friend! Our head is in the lap of
Spain already. She hath the shears with which she shall clip the hair by
which our strength is shorn; and, if she will, me thinks, she may clip
head as well as hair, when the humor suits. It is not now, my friend, as
when we fought against the bloody dogs at Sienna, remembering only to
outdo the famous deeds of the stout men-at-arms that followed Bayard and
La Palisse in the generation gone before. Ah! _Monsieur_, thou wast with
me in those days. Thou rememberest, I trow, the famous skirmish which
we had before the little town of Sêve. But I will read thee from my
commentaries, which I have been writing in imitation of Roman Cæsar, of
the wonderful wars and sieges in which I have fought, and in which I
have evermore found most delight."

And he drew forth from his cabinet, as he spoke, the great volume of
manuscripts, afterwards destined to become the famous depository of his
deeds.

"I have written like a Gascon, Monsieur De Gourgues, but let none
complain who is not able to do battle like a Gascon! He who fights well,
my friend, may surely be allowed the privilege of showing how goodly
were his deeds. I will read thee but a passage from that famous skirmish
at Sêve; not merely that thou shouldst see the spirit of what I have
written, and bear witness to the truth, but that thou mayst find for
thyself a fitting lesson for thy own conduct in the straight which is
before thee."

Having found the passage, Montluc read as follows:

"As the Signior Francisco Bernardin and myself, who, for that time were
the Marshals of the camp, drew nigh to the place, and were beginning to
lodge the army, there sallied forth from fort, and church, and trench,
a matter of two or three hundred men, who charged upon us with the
greatest fury. I had with me at that time, but the Captain Charry--a
most brave captain, whom thou must well remember--"

Gourgues nodded assent--

"----with fifty arquebusiers and a small body of horse. Knowing this my
weakness, the Baron de Chissy, our camp-master, sent me a reinforcement
of one hundred arquebusiers. But my peril was such, that I sent to him
straightway for other help, telling him that we were already at it, and
close upon the encounter. At this very moment, Monsieur de Bonnivet,
returning post from court, and hearing of the fighting, said to the
Baron de Chissy, without alighting from his horse--

"'Do thou halt here till the Marechal shall arrive, and, meanwhile, I
will go and succor Monsieur de Montluc.'

"He was followed by certain captains and arquebusiers on horseback.
We had but an instant for embrace when he arrived, for the enemy were
already charging our men.

"'You are welcome, Monsieur de Bonnivet,' I said to him quickly; 'but
alight, and let us set upon these people, and beat them back again into
their fortress.'

"Whereupon, he and his followers instantly alighted, and he said to me,
'do you charge directly upon those, who would recover the fort.'

"Which said, he clapped his buckler upon his arm, while I caught up an
halbert, for I ever (as thou knowest) loved to play with that sort of
cudgel. Then I said to Signior Francisco Bernardin--

"'Comrade, whilst we charge, do you continue to provide the quarters.'

"But to this he answered--

"'And is that all the reckoning you make of the employment the Marechal
hath entrusted to our charge? If it must be that you will fight thus--I
will be a fool for company, and, once in my life, play Gascon also.'

"So he alighted and went with me to the charge. He was armed with very
heavy weapons, and had, moreover, become unwieldy from weight of years.
This kept him from making such speed as I. At such banquets, my body
methought did not weigh an ounce. I felt not that I touched the ground;
and, for the pain of my hip (greatly hurt as thou knowest by a fall at
the taking of Quiers) that was forgotten! I thus charged straightway
upon those by the trench upon one side, and Monsieur de Bonnivet did as
much upon his quarter; so that we thundered the rogues back with such a
vengeance, that I passed over the trench, pell-mell, amidst the route,
pursuing, smiting and slaying, all the way, till we reached the church!
I never so laid about me before, or did so much execution at any one
time. Those within the church, seeing their people in such disorder,
and so miserably cut to pieces, in a great terror, fled from the place,
taking, in flight, a little pathway that led along the rocky ledges of
the mountain, down into the town. In this route, one of my men caught
hold upon him who carried their ensign; but the fellow nimbly and very
bravely disengaged himself from him, and leapt into the path; making for
the town as fast as he could speed. I ran after him also, but he was too
quick even for me, as well he might be,--_for he had fear in both his
heels!_"

Here Montluc paused, and closed the volume.

"It is enough that I have read; for thou wilt see the counsel that I
design for thee. It is not easy for thee to take it, being a Gascon; but
such it is, borrowed from the wisdom of that same ensign. Thou sawest
him scamper, for thou wert on that very chase;--now, if thou wouldst
save thy head from the affections of the king of Spain, _take fear in
both thy heels_, and run as nimbly as that ensign."

"Verily, it is not easy, Monsieur de Montluc, seeing that I am conscious
of no wrong, but rather of a great service done to my country; and if my
own king deliver me not up, wherefore should I fear him of Spain."

"That is it, my friend! Our king will, not from his own nature, but
from that of others, who love not this service to thy country. The
Queen-mother will deliver thee up, the Princes of Lorraine will deliver
thee up, and the devil will deliver thee up--all having a great
affection for the king of Spain--if thou trust not the counsel of thy
friends, and wilfully put thy head in one direction where the wisdom of
thy heels would show thee quite another. Hast thou forgotten that good
proverb of the Italians, which we heard so much read from their lips and
honored in their actions,--'_No te fidar, et no serai inganato?_' Above
all, _mon ami_, trust nothing to thy hope, when it builds upon thy
service done to kings. It is a hope that has hung a thousand good
fellows who might be living to this day. Now, in counselling thee to
flight and secrecy, I counsel thee against my own pride and pleasure. It
would be a great delight to me to have thee near me, while I read thee
all mine history;--the beginning, even to the end thereof;--the thousand
sieges, battles and achievements, in which I have shown good example to
the young valor of France, and made the Gascon name famous throughout
the world."

The heart of the Chevalier Gourgues was not persuaded. He could not
believe that his good deeds for his country's good and honor, would meet
with ill-return and disgrace.

"The king will do me justice."

"Verily, should he even give thee to him of Spain, or hang thee himself,
they will call it by no other name," answered the other drily.

"But the baseness and the cowardice of flight! This confiding one's
courage and counsel to one's heels, Montluc!"

"Is wisdom, as thou shouldst know from the story of Achilles. Verily, it
requires that the secret meaning of this vulnerableness of the heel on
the part of the son of Thetis, is neither more nor less than that he
was a monstrous coward--that he would have been the bravest man of the
world, but for the weakness that always made him fly from danger. It was
in the form of allegory that the satirical poet stigmatised a man in
authority. You see nothing in the treatment of Hector by Achilles, but
what will confirm this opinion. He will not fight with him himself, but
makes his myrmidons do so. What is this, but the case of one of our own
plumed and scented nobles, who procures his foe, whom he fears, to be
murdered by the Biscayan bully whom he buys?--But, let me read thee a
passage from my commentaries bearing very much upon this history."




XIII.

FALL OF THE CURTAIN.


We need not listen to this passage. The reader will find it, with other
good things, in the huge tome of the braggart, and garrulous, but very
shrewd and valiant old Gascon. Enough to say, that this counsel did
not prevail with his friend. Gourgues determined to persevere in his
original intention of presenting himself at court. His reasons for this
resolution were probably not altogether shown to Montluc. Gourgues was a
bankrupt, and needed employment. His expedition had absorbed his little
fortune, and left him a debtor, without the means of repayment. With the
highest reputation as a captain, by land and sea,--and with his name
honored by the sentiment of the nation, which was not permitted to
applaud,--he still fondly hoped that his friend had mistaken his
position, and that he should be honored and welcomed to the favor and
service of his sovereign. He was one of those to hope against hope.

"As thou wilt! Unbolt the door for the man who is wilful. If thy
resolution be taken, I say no more. But thou shalt have letters to the
Court, and if the words of an old friend and brother in arms may do thee
good, thou shalt have the sign-manual of Montluc, to as many missives as
it shall please thee to despatch."

The letters were written; and, with a full narrative of his expedition
prepared, the Chevalier de Gourgues made his appearance at court. He had
anticipated the ambassador of Spain; but he was received coldly. The
Queen Mother, and the Princes of Lorraine, with all who worshipped at
their altars, turned their backs upon the heroic enthusiast. The king
forebore to smile. In his secret heart, he really rejoiced in the
vengeance taken by his subject upon the Spaniards, but he was not in
a situation to declare his true sentiments. Meanwhile, the Spanish
ambassador demanded the offender, and set a price upon his head. The
Queen Mother and her associates denounced him. A process was initiated
to hold him responsible, in his life, for an enterprise undertaken
without authority against the subjects of a monarch in alliance with
France; and our chevalier was compelled to hide from the storm which
he dared not openly encounter. For a long time he lay concealed in
Rouën, at the house of the President de Marigny, and with other ancient
friends. In this situation, the Queen of England, Elizabeth, made him
overtures, and offered him employment in her service; but the tardy
grace of his own monarch, at length, enabled him to decline the
appointments of another and a hostile sovereign. But, nevertheless,
though admitted to mercy by the king of France, he was left without
employment. Fortune, in the end, appeared to smile. Don Antonio, of
Portugal, offered him the command of a fleet which he had armed with the
view to sustaining his right to the crown of that country, which Philip
of Spain was preparing to usurp. Gourgues embraced the offer with
delight. It promised him employment in a familiar field, and against the
enemy whom he regarded with an immortal hate; but the Fates forbade
that he should longer listen to the plea of revenge. While preparing to
render himself to the Portuguese prince, he fell ill at Tours, where he
died, universally regretted, and with the reputation of being one of
the most valiant and able captains of the day--equally capable as a
commander of an army and a fleet. We cannot qualify our praise of this
remarkable man by giving heed to the moral doubts which would seek to
impair the glory, not only of the most remarkable event of his life, but
of the century in which he lived. We owe it to his memory to write upon
his monument, that his crimes, if his warfare upon the Spaniards shall
be so considered, were committed in the cause of humanity!

Our chronicle is ended. The expedition of Dominique de Gourgues
concludes the history of the colonies of France in the forests of
the Floridian.




APPENDIX.


Originally, it was the design of the Author, to write a religious
narrative poem on the subject of the preceding history. The following
sections, however, were all that were written.


I.

THE VOICE.

    A midnight voice from Heaven! It smote his ear,
    That stern old Christian warrior, who had stood,
    Fearless, with front erect and spirit high,
    Between his trembling flock and tyranny,
    Worse than Egyptian! It awakened him
    To other thoughts than combat. "Dost thou see;"--
    Thus ran the utterance of that voice from Heaven,--
    "The sorrows of thy people? Dost thou hear
    Their groans, that mingle with the old man's prayer,
    And the child's prattle, and the mother's hymn?
    Vain help thy cannon brings them, and the sword,
    Unprofitably drunk with martyr blood,
    Maintains the Christian argument no more.
    Arouse thee for new labors. Gird thy loins
    For toils and perils better overcome
    By patience, than the sword. Thou shalt put on
    Humility as armor; and set forth,
    Leading thy flock, whom the gaunt wolf pursues,
    To other lands and pastures. 'T is no home
    For the pure heart in France! There, Tyranny
    Hath wed with Superstition; and the fruit--
    The foul, but natural issue of their lusts,
    Is murder!--which, hot-hunting fresher feasts,
    Knows never satiation;--raging still,
    Where'er a pure heart-victim may be found
    In these fair regions. It will lay them waste,
    Leaving no field of peace,--leaving no spot
    Where virtue may find refuge from her foes,
    Permitted to forbear defensive blows,
    Most painful, though most needful to her cause!
    The brave shall perish, and the fearful bend,
    Till unmixed evil, rioting in waste,
    Wallows in crime and carnage unrebuked!
    Vain is thy wisdom,--and the hollow league,
    That tempts thee to forbearance, worse than vain.
    Flight be thy refuge now. Thou shalt shake off
    The dust upon thy sandals, and go forth
    To a far foreign land;--a wild, strange realm,
    That were a savage empire, most unmeet
    For Christian footstep, and the peaceful mood,
    But that it is a refuge shown by God
    For shelter of his people. Thither, then,
    Betake thee in thy flight. Let not thy cheek
    Flush at the seeming shame. It is no shame
    To fly from shameless foes. This truth is taught
    By him, the venerable sire who led
    His people from the Egyptians. Lead thou thine!
    Forbear the soldier's fury. I would rouse
    The Prophet and the Patriarch in thy breast,
    And make thee better seek the peaceful march,
    Than the fierce, deadly struggle. Thou shouldst guide,
    With pastoral hand of meekness, not of blood,
    The tribes that still have followed thee, and still,
    Demand thy care. Far o'er the western deeps
    Have I prepared thy dwelling! A new world,
    Full of all fruits and lovely to the eye,--
    Various in mount and valley, sweet in stream,
    Cool in recesses of the ample wood,
    With climate bland, air vigorous, sky as pure
    As is the love that proffers it to faith--
    Await thee; and the seas have favoring gales
    To waft thee on thy path! Delay and die!"


II.

COLIGNY'S RESOLVE.

    "And, if I perish!" the gray warrior said,--
    "I perish still in France! If cruel foes
    Beleaguer and ensnare me to my fate,
    The blow will fall upon me in the land
    Which was my birth-place. Better there to die
    The victim for my people, than to fly
    Inglorious, from the struggle set for us
    By the most cruel fortunes! Not for me
    The hope of refuge in a foreign clime,
    While that which cradled me lies desolate
    In blood and ashes! It is better here
    To strive against the ruin and misrule,
    Than basely yield the empire to the foe,
    Whose sway we might withstand; and whose abuse,
    Unchecked, were but the fruitful argument
    For thousand years of woe! I would not lay
    These aged bones to sleep in distant lands,
    Though pure and peaceful; but would close mine eye,
    Upon the same sweet skies--by tempests now
    Torn and disclouded--upon which gladly first
    They opened with delight in infancy.
    This fondness, it may be, is but a weakness
    Becoming not my manhood. Be it so!
    I know that I _am_ weak; but there's a passion,
    That glows with loyal anger in my heart,
    And shows like virtue. It forbids my flight;
    And, for my country's glory, and the safety
    Of our distracted and diminished flock,
    Declares how much more grateful were the strife--
    That proud defiance which I still have given
    To those fierce enemies, whose sleepless hate
    Hath shamed and struck at both. I deem it better
    To struggle with injustice than submit;
    For still submission of the innocent
    Makes evident the guilty; and the good,
    Who yield, but multiply the herd of foes,
    That ravin when the retribution sleeps!
    What hope were there for sad humanity,
    If still, when came the danger, fled the brave?
    Fled only to beguile, in fierce pursuit,
    The wolfish spoiler, leaving refuge none,
    In heart or homestead? Not for me to fly--
    Not though, I hear, Eternal Sire! thy voice
    Still speaking with deep utterance in my soul,
    Commending my obedience. All in vain,
    I strive to serve thee with submission meet,
    And move to do thy will. The earth grows up,
    Around me; and the aspects of my home,
    Enclose me like the mountains and the sea,
    Forbidding me to fly them. Natural ties,
    That are as God's, upon the mortal heart,
    Fetter me still to France! and yet thou knowest,
    How reverent and unselfish were my toils,
    In this our people's cause. I have not spared
    Day or night labor; and my blood hath flowed,
    Unstinted, in the strife that we have waged.
    The sword hath hacked these limbs--the poisoned cup
    Hung at these lips. The ignominous death,
    From the uplifted scaffold, look'd upon me,
    Craving its victim; the assassin's steel,
    Turned from my ribs, with narrowest graze avoiding
    The imperil'd life! Yet never have I shrunk,
    Because of these flesh-dangers from the work
    Whereto my hand was set. Let me not now
    Turn from the field in flight, though still to lead
    The flock that I must die for! _This_ I know!
    I cannot _always_ 'scape. The blow _will_ come!
    Not always will the poisonous draught be spill'd,
    Or the sharp steel be foil'd, or turn'd aside;--
    And to the many martyrs in this cause,
    Already made, my yearning spirit feels,
    Its sworn alliance. I will die like them,
    But cannot fly their graves! I _dare_ not fly,
    Though death awaits me here, and, soft, afar,
    Sits safety in the cloud and beckons me."


III.

THE VOYAGE.

    "And leave thy flock to perish?"--Thus the voice,
    Reproachful to the patriarch.--"No," he cried,
    "They shall partake the sweet security,
    Of the far home of refuge thou assign'st.
    They shall go forth from bondage and from death:
    The path made free to them, their feet shall take;
    My counsels shall direct them, and my soul
    Still struggle in their service. Those who fly,
    Best moved by fond obedience,--with few ties
    To fasten the devoted heart to earth,
    And looking but to heaven;--and those who still,
    With that fond passion of home which fetters me,
    Prefer to look upon their graves in France,--
    Shall equally command my care and toil,
    Though not alike my presence. They who go forth
    To the far land of promise which awaits them,
    Mine eye shall watch across the mighty deep,
    And still my succors reach them, while the power
    Is mine for human providence; and still,
    Even from the fearful eminence of death,
    My spirit, parting from its shrouding clay,
    Survey them with the thought of one who loves,
    Glad in the safety which it could not share!"

           *       *       *       *       *

    Even as he said,--a little band went forth
    Still resolute for God;--having no home,
    But that made holy by his privilege;
    Their prayers unchecked, their pure rites undisturbed,
    They bending at high altars, with no dread,
    Lest other eyes than the elect should see,
    Their secret smokes arise.
                    To a wild shore,
    Most wild, but lovely,--o'er the deeps they came;
    Propitious winds at beck, and God in heaven,
    Looking from bluest skies. From the broad sea,
    Sudden, the grey lines of the wooing land,
    Stretched out its sheltering haven, and afar,
    Implored them, with its smiles, through gayest green,
    That to the heart of the lone voyagers,
    Spoke of their homes in France.
                    "And here," they cried,
    "Cast anchor! We will build our temples here!
    This solitude is still security,
    And freedom shall compensate all the loss
    Known first in loss of home! Yet naught is lost,--
    All rather gained, that human hearts have found
    Most dear to hope and its immunities,
    If that we win _that_ freedom of the soul,
    It never knew before! Here should we find
    Our native land,--the native land of soul,
    Where conscience may take speech,--where truth take root,
    And spread its living branches, till all earth
    Grows lovely with their heritage. From the wild
    Our pray'rs shall rise to heaven; nor shall we build
    Our altars in the gloomy caves of earth,
    Dreading each moment lest the accusing smokes,
    That from our reeking censers may arise,
    Shall show the imperial murderer where we hide."

       *       *       *       *       *


  Transcriber's Note: Obvious typos have been amended. The text on the
  cover image was added to the original for this e-book and is granted
  to the public domain.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Lily and the Totem, by William Gilmore Simms