Marc Antoine, the second son of Ogier de Gourgues, was a zealous defender of the Catholic faith. He travelled all through Europe in his youth, studied theology at the Roman college, and, gifted with uncommon eloquence, though he did not take Orders, held public controversies against Calvinism and a discussion with Scaliger, as is shown by the eulogy at his funeral, which took place at Bordeaux. Some years after those public vindications of the Catholic faith, he went to England, where he was received with great distinction by Queen Elizabeth, a fact worthy of notice, as the favor she manifested to Dominique has been considered as an argument in proof of his Protestant proclivities. She liked to gather around her men of certain celebrity, and those who were in her good graces were not always in sympathy with her religious notions, as is shown in the case of Marc Antoine.
Marc Antoine became Premier President of the Parliament of Bordeaux, and was charged with all the preparations relative to the fulfilment of the marriage between Louis XIII. and the Infanta of Austria—a difficult mission, because the Huguenots, opposed to the alliance, were resolved to frustrate it. M. O’Reilly, in his Histoire de Bordeaux, says: “They endeavored to seize the person of the king in the environs of Guitre, but he arrived at Bordeaux without any disaster, thanks to the excellent arrangements made by President de Gourgues.”
Marc Antoine not only made foundations in favor of the Jesuits and Carmelites, but his second wife, Olive de Lestonnac, left thirty thousand livres to the Recollects of Sainte Foy, to build a residence where they could labor for the conversion of the Huguenots. It would seem as if every member of the family were animated with a particular zeal for the Catholic religion.
In 1690 we find Jacques Joseph de Gourgues Bishop of Bazas.
After the foregoing proofs, no possible doubt can be felt concerning the stanch Catholicity of the De Gourgues family. As for Dominique, but little is known of his life previous to his expedition to Florida. Though he afterwards belonged to the royal navy, it appears that he first served on land and took part in the Italian campaign under Maréchal de Strozzi. His last feat of arms in Italy, says one of his biographers, was to sustain a siege, in 1557, with thirty men against a corps of Spanish troops. The fort held was taken by assault, and the garrison all slaughtered, except De Gourgues, who was spared, to be sent ignominiously to row on the galleys. His boat being captured by the Turks on the coast of Sicily, he was taken to Rhodes and thence to Constantinople. But his fate was not changed; he continued to serve in the galleys. Again putting to sea, he was taken and set at liberty by Mathurin Romegas, commander of the galleys of Malta and Knight of S. John of Jerusalem. The deliverer of the future hero of Florida was likewise a Gascon. His tombstone may still be seen in the nave of the nuns’ church of Trinità de’ Monti at Rome, the inscription half effaced by the feet of the worshippers.
Dominique now returned to France, and after a voyage to Brazil and the Indies, he entered the service of the house of Lorraine, who employed him on several private occasions against the Huguenots. His expedition to Florida did not take place till the year 1567. We have seen him fighting against the Spaniards in Italy, and subjected by them to the utmost degradation. It is not surprising he burned to avenge the murder of his companions-in-arms and the severe treatment he had endured, as well as to wipe out the stain on the national honor caused by the massacre of his fellow-countrymen in Florida. He had too narrowly escaped the Spanish sword himself not to feel the deepest sympathy in their fate. He afterwards drew up himself an account of his expedition, which is full of thrilling interest. It has been published, but the original is in the Bibliothèque Impériale at St. Germain.
The establishment of a French colony in Florida grew out of the civil and religious contests of the XVIth century. Admiral de Coligni, with the view of providing his co-religionists a safe asylum beyond the seas, induced Charles IX. to allow five or six hundred Huguenots under Jean Ribault to embark at Dieppe, Feb. 18, 1561, in order to establish themselves in Florida. They landed at the mouth of the Rio San Mateo on the 1st of May, and built a fort on an island, which they called Fort Charles, in honor of their sovereign. The return of Ribault to France led to a relaxation of discipline, and the consequent ruin of the colony. Other companies, also favored by Coligni, were sent in 1564 and 1565, under Laudonnière and the same Ribault, to place the colony on a better footing. Laudonnière secured the friendship of the Indians, whose chief, Satirova, hastened to offer his support. But the destitution to which the colony was reduced weakened the attachment of the natives, and some acts of piracy exasperated the Spaniards, who regarded them as intruders, and resolved on their destruction.
Pedro Melendez appeared with six vessels before Fort Caroline and summoned Laudonnière and Ribault to surrender, promising to spare those who were Catholics, but declaring all heretics should be put to death. They defended themselves valiantly, and even took the offensive, and had it not been for a tempest, perhaps bravery would have won the day over the number of the enemy. But we need not give details which are familiar to all. The fort fell into the hands of Melendez, and all, except Laudonnière and one of his companions who evaded the search, were put to death, “not as French, but as heretics,” if we are to believe an inscription left on the spot. Nothing could be more horrible than this atrocious murder of four hundred inoffensive colonists. The Spaniards even tore out the eyes of their victims, stuck them on the point of their daggers, and hurled them against the French on the water. The skin of Ribault was sent to the King of Spain. And to crown so barbarous a deed, they heaped together the bodies of the men, women, and children, and kindling a great fire, reduced them to ashes, with savage howlings.
Whatever the zeal of the Spanish for the Catholic religion, we may naturally suppose it was not the only motive that animated them on this occasion. Their eagerness to take possession of the country and fortify it, instead of requesting Charles IX. to send a Catholic colony to replace the Huguenots, shows that other motives influenced them. Religion was only a cloak. Moreri, in his Dictionnaire Historique, 1712, says: “They hung the French under the pretext they were Lutherans.”
Laudonnière, who escaped, brought the fearful details of this butchery to France. The rage was universal. Notwithstanding the antipathy of the court to the religion of the majority of the victims, it has been too strongly asserted that all sense of national honor was lost in view of the religious aspect of the case. The government of Charles IX. was too weak to insist on complete reparation, but his letters to the French Ambassador at Madrid prove he demanded Philip II. should chastise those who were guilty of the massacre.[165] No reparation, however, was made, and the cruelties of Melendez not only remained unpunished, but he was loaded with honors.