Petals Plucked from Sunny Climes

by A. M. Brooks

The Indians had become wearied with these children of the sun, whose presence had given them neither peace nor plenty, as they had killed all who opposed them; besides, these celestial visitants appropriated all their stores for the sustenance of themselves, thus leaving them only the prospect of extra exertion, to which their heretofore easy, idle habits of living had rendered them averse. With the recollection of these events, the natives, fresh from their former experience, could hardly be expected, when the messengers of peace came to Florida, as they saw no difference in their external appearance and that of their predecessors, besides being goaded with the memory of their wrongs, that they would be prepared to give them any thing but a cruel reception. For this reason the beautiful bay of Espiritu Santo, which years before had witnessed the pageant of a far-famed conquering general among peaceful people, now saw the war-clubs descend with fearful force upon the defenseless heralds of the cross, who had come in good faith to convert them. Afterward appeared Señor Don Tristan de Luna, from Mexico, landing at Santa Maria, or Pensacola Bay. The only remaining record of his exploits is the fact of a Spanish settlement having been established on the shores of Pensacola Bay, in 1561, and that numerous explorations were made through the country at the same time, as they remained four years, but became discouraged and left the country, which had been to them only a scene of reverses, and returned to more friendly climes, leaving the glory of establishing the first permanent settlement on the shores of America to another.

During the religious differences which harassed the Huguenots in the reign of Charles the IX. of France, Coligny, a convert, conceived the project of seeking an asylum in the New World, where God could be worshiped in accordance with their received opinions of his attributes. King Charles required no importuning for the furtherance of this plan, it being a matter of indifference to him whether they succeeded or failed, as he would be rid of these troublesome Protestant subjects, whom he both feared and hated. Jean Ribaut sailed from France in February, 1562, landing first on the south side of Anastasia Island, near the present site of St. Augustine, naming the inlet River of Dolphins, which they could not cross with their large ships because of the bar at its mouth. The river is now called Matanzas. They then sailed in a northerly direction from this point, naming the present St. John’s May River, from the month in which they first discovered it. The French historian thus glowingly describes their impressions of the country: “The weather being fair, we viewed the lands as we passed, sparkling with flowers and verdure, the vast forests, the unknown birds, the game which appeared at the entrance of the glades and stood fearlessly gazing at the apparition of man.” They entered a large inlet, ninety leagues north from Dolphin River, which Ribaut named Port Royal. On a small island they built a fort, and named it, Charles, or Carolus, in honor of the French king. For three years this colony existed through hardships, but without persecution. However, unfortunately, the material they had enlisted to found a Reformed Church on foreign shores was mixed with dross—men without character or principle, whose vices were not improved by transplanting. Thus, the first endeavors made by persecuted men to seek an asylum in the New World, were attended with events too true to be disputed, and almost too tragical to receive credence. They present a striking instance of the chivalrous spirit which animated the reformers of that day, also the sanguinary disposition with which they were harassed by religious bigotry. After Ribaut had settled this colony, consisting of twenty-five men, in charge of Captain Albert, he sailed for France, to relate his discoveries and receive assistance. The captain, being on friendly terms with the Indians, went on expeditions through the country, one of which was to Onade, or Savannah River, where the Indians gave him pearls, gold, and crystals in which the ore was found. They also informed him that it was ten days’ journey distant to these treasures, which were no doubt the mountains of Georgia now, then a portion of Florida. Ribaut was detained on his voyage to France by alternate storms and calms, until his ship-stores became exhausted, when they resorted to leather as a means of subsistence, and finally sacrificed one of their number to sustain life in the surviving ones. When he arrived in France, a civil war being in progress between the Catholics and Huguenots, no opportunity presented itself for fitting out an expedition, or sending relief to the little band at Port Royal. In consequence of this neglect they built themselves a mere shallop, in which they started for home. On the voyage they mutinied, killing their commander, and were finally, in a starving, sinking condition, taken on board an English vessel. A portion of them were landed in France, and the remainder on the shores of England. Those in the English dominions were brought before the king, where they related their adventures in the New World, which narration first turned the attention of the English to this country.

The command of the second expedition was given to one of Ribaut’s companions, Laudonnière. They again landed south of the River May; but having received the news that Port Royal was abandoned, and being saddened from old associations, they determined to settle near the mouth of May River, it having presented the most attractions to them on a former visit, as here they had been supplied with more corn and grain, besides gold and silver, than at any other place. In the month of June, 1564, they commenced building a fort, felling trees, clearing away undergrowth, hewing timbers, and throwing up intrenchments. The form of this palisade was triangular, on two sides of which were a trench and walls of earth, with retreating angles and platforms for admitting four cannons; the other side was constructed of heavy timbers locked together. This structure was built on the present site of St. John’s Bluff, the land being claimed by an Indian chief who rendered them good service in its construction, also in erecting their store-houses and buildings. The Indians were easily remunerated for their labor, being satisfied with a few trinkets, toys, or hatchets. The roofs were of palm-leaves, ingeniously woven together after the Indian method. The French took possession of the country in the name of King Charles, their sovereign, calling their new fort Caroline also. The Indians entertained their visitors with marvelous tales of “a nation who covered their bodies with gold and silver plates when they fought, which protected them from the arrows of their enemies, shot from the largest bows.” This information inflamed the ambition of the Frenchmen so much that, as soon as the fort furnished a defense for them, the ships departed for France, leaving supplies with the colony for nine months. The new settlers again became restless, not hearing from those who had sailed, receiving no assistance from France, and as provisions were failing also, they commenced building a vessel for their return. In this extremity they were visited by Captain Hawkins, who had sailed from the West Indies—his object in entering the river being to obtain a supply of fresh water. Seeing what would be the result of their undertaking, he dissuaded them from going to sea in their dangerous craft; he also sold them a vessel and provisions, which produced a reconciliation in their ranks. A fleet of seven vessels sailed from the port of Dieppe, May 22, 1565, landing, three months from that date, on the coast of Florida. Laudonnière, at first, thought them his enemies, who had mutinied and left for France, where they had been circulating evil reports in regard to his judicial character, but was much pleased to find Ribaut had returned, who then took command of Fort Caroline, and Laudonnière commenced making preparations for sailing to France, where he had been ordered. In the meantime information had been received by the Spanish monarch of a Huguenot settlement on the coast of Florida. It was the religious, and not the political, zeal of the Spaniards, as circumstances go to prove, that moved them to plan the destruction of this infant colony. Pedro Melendez de Avilez, a marine officer in the time of Philip II. of Spain, importuned the king, on account of his desire for worldly honors, to be sent to the then wilds of Florida. For the furtherance of his plans he made the following plea as the philanthropic design of his unselfish motives: “Such grief seizes me when I behold this multitude of wretched Indians, that I should choose the conquest and settling of Florida above all commands, or offices and dignities which your majesty might see proper to bestow.” His commission was received without difficulty, when he adopted the motto, “Plunder from heretics is good for the soul as well as the purse.” On the 4th of September, 1565, six vessels were seen coming from the sea, which dropped anchor near the four large vessels of Ribaut. They were recognized as Spanish galleons, and the French were hailed to know “what they were doing in the dominions of King Philip.” No other demonstrations were then made, except that he was their enemy. The enterprise of Melendez had now assumed an appearance of more dignity; it became a crusade, and the eager impulse of ambition was stimulated by all the usual arguments in favor of a religious war. The extirpation of heresy was an object equally grateful to the legitimates both of France and Spain, Charles IX. cheerfully yielding up his Protestant subjects in Florida to the tender mercies of Spanish propagandists. Melendez came to Florida as a conqueror, and to convert the Indians. In consideration of his bearing a greater portion of the expense, he was styled the Adelantado of the Floridas. During the voyage they encountered storms which decreased their numbers nearly one-third. Having heard of the colony being reënforced, doubts were entertained of their strength to attack it, and Melendez appealed to them in the following manner: “The Almighty has thus reduced our force, that his own right arm might achieve the work.” The French were unprepared for the rapidity of the progress made by the Spaniards, and when the galleons anchored Ribaut was at La Caroline. Fortunately, they did not reach May River until near night, when darkness prevented an attack, which was the occasion of their civility. They lowered sail, cast anchor, and forbore all offensive demonstrations. But one circumstance confirmed the apprehensions of the Frenchmen: in the brief conversation which ensued between the parties on the arrival of the Spaniards, was their inquiries after the chief captains and leaders of the French fleet, calling them by their names and surnames, thus betraying an intimate knowledge of matters which had been judiciously kept secret as possible in France, showing conclusively that before Melendez left Spain he was thoroughly informed, by those who knew, of the condition, movements, and strength of Ribaut’s armament. Why this information, unless there were some designs for acting upon it? The French officers compared notes that night, in respect to these communications, concurring in the belief that they stood in danger of an assault. They accordingly made preparations to leave with the dawn. At an early hour the Spaniards begun to draw near the French, but the sails of these were already hoisted to the breeze. Their cables severed at the first sign of hostility, when the chase begun with the greatest animation. If the Huguenots were deficient in force, they had the advantage in swift sailing. They suffered nothing from the distant cannonading, although the chase lasted all day. At the approach of night the Spaniards tacked ship and stood for the River Selooe, named by the French Dolphin, a distance overland of but eight or ten leagues from La Caroline. Finding they had the advantage of their enemies fleetness, the French vessels came about also, following at a respectful distance. After having made all the discoveries possible, they returned to May River, when Ribaut came aboard. They reported to him that the great ship of the Spaniards, called “The Trinity,” still kept the sea—that two ships had entered Dolphin River, and three remained at its mouth, while the Spaniards had evidently employed themselves in putting soldiers, with arms, munitions, and provisions, upon shore. Emoloa, one of the Indian kings in amity with the French, sent them word “that the Spaniards had gone on shore in great numbers, and that they had deprived the natives of their houses at that village.” Generals Patino and Vicente had taken control of a huge barn-like structure, formerly occupied by the Indian Cazique, which was constructed from the trunks of large trees, and thatched over with palmetto. They begun work on this newly-captured fortification by intrenching with sand, employing the negroes they had brought with them, this being the first introduction of slave-labor into the United States. This Indian council-house, used as a fortification by Melendez, was destroyed by fire. Twenty years afterward another structure of logs was reared on the same spot, in the form of an octagon. It was finished in 1722, the design being to impress strangers and frighten savages. It was christened San Juan de Pinas. After some preliminaries, preparatory to a formal reception, the Spaniards took possession of the country amid the firing of cannons, flourishing of trumpets, and flinging of banners to the breeze. The priest Mendoza, with his acolytes, met Melendez with all the pomp of a conquering prince, chanting the “Te Deum Laudamus,” when the Adelantado and his companions kneeled, kissing the crucifix, while the Indians assembled, gazing in silent wonder, as the solemn mass of “Our Lady” was performed, and the foundation of St. Augustine laid. Thus was planted by Pedro Melendez the broad banner of Spain, with its castellated towers, in the lonely Indian village of Selooe, beside the river which the Huguenots had previously dignified with the title of “La Riviere des Dolphins.” It was on the 28th of August, 1565, the day on which the Spaniards celebrate the Feast of St. Augustine, that the Adelantado entered the mouth of the Selooe River, being attracted by the general appearance of the country, and resolved to establish a town and fortress. Having previously come on shore with a portion of his forces, he found himself welcomed by the savages, whom he treated kindly, and who requited him with the assurances of friendship. Mendoza, the priest who accompanied the Adelantado, kept a journal of their movements both on the voyage and after landing in America. If he had been a man of more intelligence, posterity would now be greatly benefited by his records, as they are so closely connected with the birth of our great republic. Ribaut, concluding that the Spaniards designed to assail the settlement of La Caroline from this point, with a view of exterminating the colonists from the country, boldly conceived a move for taking the initiative in the war. He first assembled his chief captains in the chamber of Laudonnière, that official being ill. He compared the relative condition of their own and the enemy’s strength, concluding that he could embark with all his forces and seek the fleet of the Spaniards, particularly at a moment when it was somewhat scattered—with only one great ship at sea, and the rest not conditioned to support each other in the event of a sudden attack, as the troops of the Adelantado, with a portion on shore and the remainder on board their vessels, would not be ready for immediate action. Laudonnière was entirely opposed to the scheme of Ribaut, representing the defenseless condition of the fortress and the dangers of a fleet at sea, particularly during a season distinguished for storms and hurricanes. Ribaut, being an old soldier and sea-captain, was too eager for an engagement to heed any arguments that partook of cowardice. He ordered all the soldiers subject to his command to board their vessels. Not satisfied with this force, he lessened the strength of the garrison by taking a detachment of its best men, leaving few to keep the post but invalids. On the 8th of September, 1565, he left in pursuit of the Spaniards, and Laudonnière never saw him again. Nature put on her wildest moods, and the skies were swallowed up in tempests. The storm continued so long that Laudonnière mustered his command and proceeded to put the fortress in the best possible condition for defense. Work advanced slowly in consequence of the continued bad weather. The whole force left in the garrison consisted of but eighty-six men capable of bearing arms. Ribaut, relying upon the impression that he should find his enemy at sea in full force, stripped the garrison of its strength. His vessels being swifter than those of the Spaniards, he was certain that if any demonstration should be made against La Caroline, he could interpose. He made no calculation for the caprices of the weather and cool prudence of Pedro Melendez. He intended first to destroy the fleet of the enemy, and then make a descent upon the troops on land before they could fortify their camps, thus overcoming them with his superior and unembarrassed forces. The condition of things at La Caroline when Ribaut took his departure was deplorable enough, but rendered still more so by a scanty supply of food for the helpless who remained. Laudonnière proceeded to assume the defensive attitude in the event of an attack; but at the recurrence of stormy weather they ceased work, supposing the Spaniards would not expose themselves during the severity of an equinoctial gale.

While Melendez was busy with the preliminaries incident to founding a new settlement, having celebrated the divine mysteries in a manner both solemn and ostentatious, the fleet of Ribaut made its appearance at the mouth of the inlet. His extreme caution in sounding the bar to which his vessels were approaching lost him two precious hours, but for which his conquest must have been certain. Had the two remaining vessels been captured, and Melendez made prisoner, then a descent upon the dismayed troops on shore, not yet intrenched, when the annihilation of the settlement must have ensued: thus the whole destiny of Florida would have been changed, the Huguenot colonies established upon the soil, a firm possession of the land given to the French, that might have kept the fleur-de-lis waving from its summit to this day. At the very instant when the hands of Ribaut were stretched to seize his prize, the sudden force of the hurricane parted them—the trembling ships gradually disappearing with their white wings in the distance and darkness, like feeble birds borne onward in the wild fury of the tempest. Meanwhile the mind of Melendez was not idle; a bright thought had flashed across his pathway which opened daring exploits. His officers were summoned to a council of solemn debate and deliberate action in regard to their future movements. It was midnight when the assemblage of the Spanish captains took place in the great council-house of the savages of Selooe. Rude logs strewn about the building, even as they had been employed by the Indians, furnished seats for the Spanish officers. They surrounded a great fire of resinous pine, which now blazed brightly in the apartment. Silently the Castilian noblemen took their seats. Melendez encouraged an immediate attack on Fort Caroline while weakened by the absence of Ribaut and his forces. His arguments and inflexible will silenced opposition, when all the council gradually became of his mind—the whole scene closing with a benediction from Father Salvandi. Every preparation being completed, Melendez, with five hundred picked men, commenced an overland march to Fort Caroline. It was on the night of the 19th of September, 1565, Monsieur de La Vigne, being appointed to keep guard, with his company, and having a tender heart for the men in bad weather, pitied the guards so much he permitted them to retire to their lodgings, and also went himself. Foul weather appeared to agree with the Spaniards, who enjoyed the showers from which the French retired so willingly, and that night found them in readiness for an attack on the Huguenot colony. The surprise being complete, all show of resistance was useless. “Slay! smite! and spare not!” was the dreadful command of Melendez. “The groans of the heretic make music in the ears of Heaven!” Laudonnière, with eighteen of his companions, succeeded in escaping. Among this number was the celebrated painter Le Moyne, whom we owe much for illustrations of Floridian scenery, lineaments, and costumes, preserved in De Bry and other collections. These sailed out the River May, and, after numerous adventures and detentions, arrived on the coast of England. The most cruel portion of this drama is the last act in regard to the fate of the wretched Huguenots taken at the capture of La Caroline, and the dark deed by which the Spanish chief tarnished the record which might have immortalized his name. All resistance having ceased on the part of the Huguenots at Caroline, the standard of Castile was unrolled from its battlements, instead of the white folds and the smiling lilies of France. The name of the fortress was solemnly changed to San Matheo—the day on which they found themselves in its possession being dedicated to the honor of that saint. The arms of France, and also of Coligny, which surmounted the gateways of the fort, were erased, and those of Spain graven instead. The keeping of the fortress was assigned to a garrison of three hundred men, under the command of Gonzalo de Villaroel. These services occupied but little time, not interfering with other performances of the Adelantado, which he thought not the less conspicuous among the duties required at his hands. The surviving prisoners were brought before him, among whom were many women and children. Besides those rescued by Laudonnière, several had fled to the forests, taking shelter with the tribes of neighboring Indians, who in some instances were protected by them with fidelity, but in the greater number of cases, terrified by the sudden appearance and strength of the Spaniards, they yielded up the fugitives at the fierce demand of the Adelantado. Others of the unfortunate Huguenots, warned by the Indians that they could no longer harbor them, were shot down by their pursuers as they fled through the forests. The sight of weeping and trembling women and children, of naked captives, worn, exhausted, enfeebled by years, by disease, and cruel wounds, all pleading for his mercy, only seemed to strengthen him in his most cruel resolutions. “Separate these women from the other prisoners!” This was done. “Now, detach from these last all children under fifteen years.” His command was obeyed. The women and children thus set apart were consigned to slavery: the younger ones were more readily persuaded to the Catholic altars, and thus finally achieved their deliverance. The more stubborn perished in their bonds, passing through various grades of degradation. With reference to the remainder history is terribly definite. Fixing his cold, dark eye upon the male captives, of whose fate he had said nothing, he demanded: “Is there any among ye who profess the faith of the Roman Catholic Church?” Two of the prisoners replied in the affirmative. “Take these Christians away, and let their bonds be removed. The holy Father Salvandi will examine them in the faith of the Mother Church. For the rest, are there any among ye, seeing the error of your faith, will renounce the heresy of Luther, and seek once more communion with the only true Church?” A dread calm ensued, the captives looking mournfully at each other and the Adelantado, in whose face there was no encouragement, and nothing but despair in the appearance of their companions. “Be warned!” continued the Adelantado. “To those who seek the blessings of the true Church, she generously openeth her arms; to those who turn away indifferently, or in scorn, are decreed death, both temporal and eternal. Hear ye, and now say!” The silence was unbroken. “Are ye obdurate? or do ye not comprehend that your lives rest upon your speech? Either ye embrace the safety which the Church offers, by an instant renunciation of that of the foul heretic, Luther, or ye die by the halter!” One sturdy soldier advanced from the group—a bold, high-souled fellow—his brows lifted proudly with the conscious impulse which worked within his soul. “Pedro Melendez, we are in your power. You are master of our mortal bodies; but with the death before us that you threaten, know that we are members of the Reformed Church of Christ, which ye name to be of Luther, and, holding it good to live in this faith, we deem it not amiss to die in it.” Then the speaker looked around him into the face of his fellows, as they lightened up with a glow of cheerfulness and pride, though no word was spoken. “Speak this man for the rest of ye?” demanded Melendez. For a moment there was silence. Finally a matelot advanced—a common sailor—a man before the mast. “Aye, aye, captain! What he says we say, and there’s no use for more palaver. Let there be an end of it. We are of the Church of Monsieur Luther, and no other. If death’s the word, we’re not the men at the end of the reckoning to belie the whole voyage!” “Be it even as ye say!” answered Melendez, coldly but sternly, and without change of action or show of passion. “Take them forth, and let them be hung to yonder tree!”

The air was rent with the shrieks of women and cries of children—women endeavoring to save their husbands, and children clinging to the knees of their doomed sires, all of which produced no relentings—the parties being separated by a strong hand, and the doomed men hurried to the fatal tree, the priest standing ready to receive their recantations. Exhortations were not spared—soldier and sailor had equally spoken for the martyrdom of the whole—the reverend father preaching and promising all in vain. Amid cries and shrieks, the victims were run up to the wide-spreading branches of a mighty oak, disgraced in its employment for such a purpose, where they perished with fidelity to the faith which they professed. Their bodies were left hanging in the sun and wind, destined equally as trophies of the victor and warnings to the heretic. Melendez caused a monument to be raised beneath the tree, upon which was printed, in large characters, “These do not suffer thus as Frenchmen, but as heretics and enemies to God.” Melendez thus became master of Fort Caroline, wresting a country from the Huguenots which they had acquired through so many vicissitudes. Before leaving he lingered to review the garrison, and founded with his own bloody hands a church dedicated to the God of mercy. He then departed with a small body of troops, arriving at his camp in safety. He was received as the vanquisher of heretics. After this slaughter the victors entered St. Augustine in solemn procession, with four priests in front, chanting the Te Deum in triumph. However, his victory was not without its disquietude, having heard of Ribaut somewhere on the coast, and his own shipping destroyed. The unfortunate Ribaut, driven before the hurricane, had been wrecked with all his squadron upon the bleak, unfriendly shores of Cape Cannaveral, his troops being saved, but the crew drowned.

On the 28th of September, when the weary Adelantado was taking his siesta under the sylvan roof of a Seloy, a band of Indians came in with news that quickly roused him from his slumbers: “A French vessel had been wrecked on the coast toward the south. Those who escaped from her were some four leagues off, on the banks of a river, or arm of the sea, which they could not cross. Melendez immediately sent a detachment of men to reconnoiter. They rowed along the channel between Anastasia Island and the main shore. After landing they struck across the island on foot, traversing plains and marshes, reaching the sea toward night. Craftily concealing his troops on the opposite shore, he climbed a tree for the purpose of reconnoitering. From this point he saw the dismayed band of Frenchmen grouped together, about two hundred strong, and, on account of rough waters, were unable to cross in a raft they had constructed.”

We have now seen how, when Jean Ribaut was making an attack on the Spaniards, his plans were thwarted by a storm of strange fury. One of the ships was wrecked at a point farther northward than the rest, and it was her company whose camp-fires were seen by the Spaniards at their bivouac among the sands of Anastasia Island. They were attempting to reach Fort Caroline, in regard to whose fate they knew nothing, while Ribaut, with the remainder, was farther southward, struggling through the wilderness toward the same goal. Of the fate of the former party there is no French record. Solis, the priest and brother-in-law to Melendez, was eye-witness to the following scenes, a report of which was sent to Spain:

When the Adelantado saw the French fires at a distance, he dressed in the garb of a common sailor, and rowed toward the shipwrecked men, the better to learn their condition. A bold Gascon succeeded in making the passage by swimming, when Melendez demanded, “Who are you?” The Frenchman replied, “We are the people of Ribaut, Captain-general of Florida.” “Are you Lutherans?” “We are Lutherans.” “Gentlemen,” continued Melendez, “your fort is taken, and all in it put to the sword, save the women and children under fifteen years of age.” In proof of which he caused articles of plunder from Fort Caroline to be shown to the unhappy Frenchmen.

He then left and went to breakfast with his officers, first ordering food to be set before his petitioners. Having eaten, he returned to them. “Are you convinced, now, that what I have told you is true?” The French captain assented. “But assist us to leave—that is, in truth, what we demand.” “Demand nothing of me, for I tell you, as a gentleman and an officer, holding a high commission from the Court of Spain, that, if the heavens were to mingle before my eyes, the resolution I once make I never change. If you were Catholics, and I had ships, I would help you, but I have none.”

The supplicants expressed a hope that they would be allowed to remain with the Spaniards till ships could be sent to their relief, since there was peace between the two nations, whose kings were friends and brothers. “We are men made equally in the image of Deity, and serve the same God, if not at the same altars.” “If you will give up your arms and banners, and place yourselves at my mercy, you may do so, and I will act toward you as God shall give me grace. Do as you will, for other than this you can have neither truce nor friendship with me.”