A cotton tunic with which the Indian had provided himself, was wrapped round the loins of our new-made savage, his feet were cased with moccasins, and his legs with leggins made of deerskin—a bow and quiver at his shoulder—a knife in his girdle—a string of peäg or shells about his neck;—and his toilet was complete. That very night, accompanied by his Indian comrade, Stephen Le Genevois entered the walls of La Caroline, bearing messages from Oolenoe and Alphonse D’Erlach—the latter of which, we need scarcely say, were wholly fraudulent. The credulous Laudonniere, delighted with assurances of success on the part of his lieutenant, was not particularly heedful of the nature of the evidence thus afforded him, and laid his head on an easy pillow, around which danger hovered in almost visible forms, while he, unconsciously, dreamed only of golden conquests, and discoveries which were equally to result in fame and fortune. His guardian angel was withdrawn. His mortified vanity had driven from his side the only person whose vigilance might have saved him. His own unregulated will had yielded him, bound, hand and foot, into the power of a relentless enemy.
[CHAPTER III.—THE MIDNIGHT ARREST.]
Sweet were the slumbers of Monsieur Laudonniere, commandant of the fortress of La Caroline. Anxious was the wakening of Stephen Le Genevois, the conspirator, who, in garbing himself after the fashion of the Indian, had not succeeded in clothing his mind in the stolid and stoic nature of his savage companion. The conspirators watched together in one of the inner chambers of the fortress. They had not restricted themselves to watching merely. Already had Le Genevois made his purpose known to one of his ancient comrades. The name of this person was La Croix. He was one of the trusted followers of Laudonniere, whose superior cunning alone had saved him from suspicion, even that of D’Erlach, at the detection of the former conspiracy. La Croix, in the absence of the latter, was prepared for more decisive measures. He was one of those whose insane craving for gold had surrendered him, against all good policy, to the purposes of the conspirators. He was now in charge of the watch. As captain of the night, he led the way to the gates, which, at midnight, he cautiously threw open to the two companions of Le Genevois. Fourneaux and Roquette had been waiting for this moment. They were admitted promptly and in silence. Darkness was around them. The fortress slept,—none more soundly than its commander. In silence the outlaws led by La Croix, all armed to the teeth, made their way to his chamber. The sentinel who watched before it, joined himself to their number. They entered without obstruction and without noise; and, ere the eyes of the sleeper could unclose to his danger, or his lips cry aloud for succor, his voice was stifled in his throat by thick bandagings of silk, and his limbs fastened with cords which, at every movement of his writhing frame, cut into the springing flesh. He was a prisoner in the very fortress, where, but that day, he exulted in the consciousness of complete command. A light, held above his eyes, revealed to him the persons of his assailants;—the supposed Indians, in the outlaws whom he had banished, and others, whom, for the first time, he knew as enemies. When his eyes were suffered to take in the aspects of the whole group, he was addressed, in his own tongue, by the leading conspirator.
“René Laudonniere,” said Stephen Le Genevois, in his bitter tones, “you are in our power. What prevents that we put you to death as you merit, and thus revenge our disgrace and banishment?”
The wretched man, thus addressed, had no power to answer. The big tears gathered in his eyes and rolled silently down his cheeks. He felt the pang of utter feebleness upon him.
“We will take the gag from your jaws, if you promise to make no outcry. Nod your head in token that you promise.”
The prisoner had no alternative but to submit. He nodded, and the kerchief was taken from his jaws.
“You know us, René Laudonniere?” demanded the conspirator.
“Stephen Le Genevois, I know you!” was the answer.
“’Tis well! You see to what you have reduced me. You have held a trial upon me in my absence. You have sentenced me and my companions to banishment. You have made us outlaws, and we are here! You see around you none but those on whom you have exercised your tyranny. What hope have you at their hands and mine? Savage as you have made me in aspect, what should prevent that I show myself equally savage in performance. The knife is at your throat, and there is not one of us who is not willing to execute justice upon you. Are you prepared to do what we demand?”