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

by William Gilmore Simms

THE LILY AND THE TOTEM.
I.
THE FIRST VOYAGE OF RIBAULT.

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

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

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

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

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

We need not pursue the details of these earlier historians. They suffice to direct attention to Florida, and to persuade adventure with fanciful ideas of its charming superiority over all unknown regions. But the adventurers, until Coligny’s enterprise was conceived, meditated the invasion of the country, and the gathering of its hidden treasures, rather than the establishment of any European settlements in its glorious retreats. It was not till the eighteenth day of February, in the Year of Grace, one thousand five hundred and sixty-two, that the plan of the Admiral of France was sufficiently matured for execution. On that day he despatched two vessels from France, well manned and furnished, under the command of one John Ribault,[2] for the express purpose of making the first permanent European establishment in these regions of romance. The narrative of this enterprise is chiefly drawn from the writings of René

Laudonniere, who himself went out as a lieutenant in the expedition. Laudonniere, in his narrative of their progress, says nothing of the secret objects of Coligny, of which he probably knew nothing. He ascribes to the King—the Queen-mother, rather—a nobler policy than either of them ever entertained. “My Lord of Chastillon,” (Coligny) thus he writes,—“A nobleman more desirous of the publique than of his private benefits, understanding the pleasure of the King, his Prince, which was to discover new and strange countries, caused vessels for this purpose to be made ready with all diligence, and men to be levied meet for such an enterprise.”

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

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