The toast was drank with enthusiasm. The discontents were silenced. How should it be otherwise where the authority was so generous, conveying its suggestions through the generous wines of Xeres, and only hinting at the possibility of disgrace and punishment, in the occurrence of events scarcely possible to those who claimed to draw the sword of valor in the service of the Deity. The Adelantado gave no farther heed to the factions of his army. He probably adopted the best precautions. It is true that St. Vincent still mouthed threats of disobedience, but the policy of Melendez had no ears in his quarter; and the preparations went on, without interruption, for the march against La Caroline!
[CHAPTER VI.]
THE STORMING OF LA CAROLINE.
The preparations for departure were complete. The Adelantado himself marched at the head of his vanguard, the immediate command of which was confided to Señor Martin de Ochoa, with a troop of Biscayans and Asturians, armed with axes, for clearing their pathway through the forest. With these went the traitor, Francis Jean, who had abandoned his religion and La Caroline together. He was watched closely, but proved faithful to his new masters. Dreary, indeed, was the progress of Melendez. The storm prevailed all the time. The rain soaked their garments, and it was with difficulty they could protect their ammunition and provisions. The fourth day of the march they were within five miles of La Caroline, but arrested by an immense tract of swamp, in passing which the water was up to their middles. The whole country was flooded, and the freshet momently increased, in consequence of the continued rains. These had become more terrible in volume than ever. The windows of heaven seemed again opened for another deluge. The hearts of the Spaniards sunk, as their toils and sufferings increased. More than a hundred slunk away, fell off on the route, and made their way over the ground which they had trodden, reporting the worst of disasters to their comrades, defeat and destruction, by way of excusing their cowardice. But the indomitable courage and unbending will of the adelantado, his presence and voice of command in every quarter, still prevailed to bring his remaining battalions forward. It was in vain that his troops muttered curses upon his head. Fernan Perez, an ensign of the company of St. Vincent, was bold enough to say, that “he could not comprehend how so many brave gentlemen should let themselves be led by a wretched Asturian mountaineer—a fellow who knew no more about carrying on war on land than a horse!”
The ensign had a great deal more to say of the same sort, of which Melendez was not ignorant, but of which he took no notice. He was a sage dissimulator who answered discontent with policy, and strengthened his people’s hearts by divine revelation. He called another council of his officers. He told them of his prayers to and consultations of Heaven, seeking to know the will of God only in the performance of his work,—persuaded that each of them had made like prayers all night; that they were accordingly in the very mood of mind to resolve what was to be done in their extremity. He made this to appear as bad as possible, describing them as “harrassed with fatigue, shorn of strength, without bread, munitions or any human resource.”
Some one counselled their retreat to St. Augustine before the Huguenots should discover them.
“Very good advice,” quoth Melendez, “but suffer me still another word. The prospect is undoubtedly a gloomy one, but look you, there are the portals of La Caroline. Now, it may be just as well to see how affairs stand with our enemies. According to all appearances they are not in force. We may not have the power to take the place, but it is well to see whether the place can be taken. If we retreat now, we are not sure that we shall do so securely. They will probably hunt us through the forest, at every step of the way, encouraged by our show of weakness and timidity. It is not improbable that we may surprise this fort. Men seldom look either for friends or enemies in bad weather. I doubt if they can sustain a bold assault; but if they do, and we fail, we have the consolation at least of having done all that was possible for men.”
The assault was agreed upon; and in a transport of joy, the Adelantado sunk upon his knees, in the mire where he stood, and called upon his troops to do likewise, imploring the succor of the God of battles.
He gave his orders with rapid resolution and according to a fixed design already entertained. Taking with him Francis Jean, the renegade, he put himself at the head of one division of his troops, and gave other bodies to the Captains Martin de Ochoa, Francis Recalde, Andres Lopez Patino and others, and, covered by the midnight darkness from observation—with all sounds of drum and trumpet stilled—with the echoes of their advancing squadrons hushed in the fall of torrents and the roar of sweeping winds—the assailants made their way, slowly and painfully but without staggering, toward the silent bastions of La Caroline.
Under the guidance of the renegade Frenchman the Spanish captains made a complete reconnoissance of the fortress. A portion of it was still unrepaired, and this they penetrated without difficulty. We have seen, in a previous chapter, with what doubtful vigilance the lieutenants of Laudonniere performed their duties. It will not be forgotten that, on the night of the 19th September, the charge of the watch lay with Captain de la Vigne; nor will it be forgotten with what pity that amiable captain regarded the condition of his sentinels, exposed to such unchristian weather. We left the fortress of La Caroline in most excellent repose; the storm prevailing without, and the garrison asleep within. It was while they slept that Don Pedro de Melendez was praying to heaven that he might be permitted to assist them in their slumbers, changing the temporary into an eternal sleep. Thus passed the night of the 19th September over La Caroline. The dawn of the 20th found the Spaniards, in several divisions, about to penetrate the fortress. Two of their leaders, Martin de Ochoa and the master of the camp had already done so. They had examined the place at their leisure, passing through an unrepaired breach of one of the walls. Returning, with the view to making their report, they had mistaken one pathway for another, and encountered a drowsy Frenchman, who, starting at their approach, demanded “Qui vive?” Ochoa promptly answered, “France,” and the man approached them only to receive a stunning blow upon the head. The Frenchman recovered himself instantly, drew his sword, and made at the assailant, but the master of the camp seconded the blow of Ochoa, and the Frenchman was brought to the ground. The sword of the Spaniard was planted at his throat, and he was forbidden to speak under pain of death. He had cried aloud, but had failed to give the alarm, and this pointed suggestion silenced him from farther attempts. He was conducted to Melendez, who, determined to see nothing but good auguries, cried out, without caring to hear the report—“My friends, God is with us! We are already in possession of the fort.” At these words the assault was given. The captive Frenchman was slain, as the most easy method of relieving his captors of their charge, and the Spaniards darted pell-mell into the fort, the fierce Adelantado still leading in the charge, with the cry—“Follow me, comrades, God is for us!” Two Frenchmen, half-naked, rushed across his path. One of them he slew, and Don Andres Patino the other. They had no time allowed them to give the alarm; but just at this moment a soldier of the garrison who was less drowsy than the rest, or more apprehensive of his duty, had sauntered forth from the shelter of his quarters and stood upon the ramparts, looking forth in the direction of a little “sandie knappe,” or hill, down which a column of the Spaniards were rushing in order of battle. This vision brought him to the full possession of all his faculties. He gave the cri de guerre, the signal of battle, but as he wheeled about to procure his weapons, he beheld other detachments of the Spaniards making their way through the unrepaired and undefended breaches in the wall. Still he cried aloud, even as he fled, and Laudonniere started from his slumbers only to hear the startling cry—“To arms! to arms! The enemy is upon us!”
The warning came too late. The amiable weakness which withdrew the sentinels from the walls because of the weather, was not now to be repaired by any energy or courage. The garrison was aroused, but not permitted to rally or embody themselves. Melendez with his troop had reached the corps de garde quite as soon as Laudonniere. The latter—lately supposed to have usurped royal honors—was very soon convinced that the only object before him was the safety of his own life. With the first alarm, he caught up sword and buckler, and rushed valiantly enough into the court. But he only appeared to be made painfully conscious that everything was lost. His appeals to his soldiers only brought his enemies about him, who butchered his men as they approached their guns, and who now appeared in numbers on every side, in full possession of the fortress. The magazines were already in their hands, and a desperate effort of Laudonniere’s artillerists to recover them, was followed only by their own destruction. The most vigorous resistance, hand to hand, was made on the south-west side of the fort. Here the Frenchmen opposed themselves with cool and determined courage, to the entrance of the enemy. Hither Laudonniere hurried, crying aloud to his men in the language of encouragement, and doing his utmost, by the most headlong valor, to repair the mischiefs of his feeble rule and most unhappy remissness of authority. Verily, to those who saw how well he carried himself in this the moment of his worst despair, the past errors of the unhappy Laudonniere had been forgiven if not forgotten. But the struggle, on the part of any valor, was utterly in vain. The Spaniards had won a footing already too secure for dispossession. Led on by Pedro Melendez, with ever and anon his fanatic war-cry—“God is with us, my comrades,” ringing in their ears, now thoroughly excited by the earnest of success which they enjoyed, in overwhelming numbers and in the full faith that they fought the battles of Holy Church, the Spaniards were irresistible. They mocked the tardy valor of our Huguenots, their feeble force, and purposeless attempts. At length the party led by Melendez confronted Laudonniere. The Spanish chieftain knew not the person of his enemy. But the renegade Frenchman, Francis Jean, discovered his ancient leader, and the desire for revenge, which had led to his treachery, filled his heart with exultation at the prospect of the gratification of his passion. He cried to Melendez: