The Lily and the Totem; or, The Huguenots in Florida

by William Gilmore Simms

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.

[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.

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.[!--was XI.--]
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.”