“These do not suffer thus as
Frenchmen, but as
Heretics and
Enemies
to God!”
Having thus rendered himself master of La Caroline, effectually displacing the Huguenots from the region which they had acquired, and maintained so long through so many vicissitudes, Melendez prepared to hurry back to his camp on the banks of the Selooe. He but lingered to review the force of the garrison, and with his own hands, fresh reeking with the blood of his slaughtered victims, to lay the foundations of a church dedicated to the God of Mercy, when he set forth with the small body of troops, which he reserved to himself from the number that accompanied his expedition, scarcely a hundred men, impatient for return, lest Ribault, escaping from the storm, should visit upon his settlement at St. Augustine the same wrath which had lighted upon La Caroline. The heavy torrents from which he had already suffered so much continued to descend as before, and the whole face of the country was inundated; his people suffered inconceivably upon the march, but the Adelantado was superior to the sense of suffering. He felt himself too much the especial favorite of God, to suffer himself to doubt that the toils and inconveniences of such a progress as that before him, were anything but tests of his fidelity, and the means by which the Deity designed to prepare him properly for the holy service which was expected at his hands. He reached his camp in safety. His arrival was the source of a great triumph and an unexpected joy. Here he had been reported as having perished, with all his army, at the hands of the French. The deserters, who had abandoned him on the route, in certain anticipation of this fate, had not scrupled to spread this report by way of excusing their own inconstancy and fears. His people accordingly passed instantly from the extremity of terror to that of joy and triumph. They marched out, en masse, at his approach, to welcome him as the vanquisher of the heretics; the priests at their head, bearing the cross of Christ, the conqueror, and chanting Te Deum, in exultation at the twofold conquest which he had won, at the expense equally of their own, and the enemies of the church.
His triumphs were not without some serious qualifications. In the midst of their joy, an incendiary, as he supposed, had reduced to ashes the remaining vessels in the harbor. A portion of his garrison, a little after, showed themselves in mutiny against their officers, this spirit having been manifested before his departure for La Caroline. He was apprised also of a mishap to one of his greater ships, the San Pelayo, which had been sent to Hispaniola, filled with captive Frenchmen taken at different periods, and who were destined to suffer the question as heretics in the Inquisition of the mother country. These had risen upon the crew, overpowered them, captured the vessel, and carried her safely into Denmark.
While meditating, and seeking to repair some of these mishaps, Melendez received intelligence of Ribault and his fleet, which caused him some inquietude. His own shipping being destroyed, his future safety depended wholly upon the condition of Ribault’s armament, since, with their small vessels, his harborage might be entered at any moment, and his sole means of defence lay with his troops upon the land, where his entrenchments were not yet sufficiently advanced to offer much, if any obstacle, to a vigorous assailant. But farther advices, brought him by the savages, relieved him measurably from any apprehensions from the shipping of his enemy. In this respect the condition of the French was no better than his own. The unfortunate Ribault, driven before the hurricane, had been wrecked with all his squadron, upon the bleak and unfriendly shores of Cape Cannaverel; his troops were saved, with the exception of the crew and armament of one vessel, containing a detachment under the Sieur de la Grange, all of whom perished but the captain. Dividing his troops into two or more bodies, Ribault advanced along the shore, proceeding northerly, in the direction of La Caroline, and one of his detachments had reached the inlet of Matanzas, when Melendez was first advised of their approach. He was told by the Indians that about four leagues distant, a large body of white men were embarrassed in their progress by a bay, over which they had no means to pass. Upon this intelligence, the Adelantado, taking with him forty picked soldiers, proceeded with all despatch to the designated place. His proceedings were marked by subtlety and caution. With such a force, he could hope to do nothing in open warfare against the numbers of Ribault, which, after all casualties, were probably six or seven hundred men. But nobody knew better than Melendez how to supply the deficiencies of the lion with the arts of the fox. He concealed his troop in the woods that bordered the inlet, and from the top of a tree surveyed the scattered groups of Frenchmen, on the opposite shore. They were two hundred in number, and some of them had been engaged in the construction of a raft with which to effect their passage. But the roughness of the waters, and the strength of the current forbade their reliance upon so frail a conveyance, and while they were bewildered with doubt and difficulties, Melendez showed himself alone upon the banks of the river. When he was seen from the opposite shore, a bold Gascon of Saint Jean de Luz plunged fearlessly into the stream, and succeeded in making the passage.
“Who are these people?” demanded Melendez.
“We are Frenchmen, all, who have suffered shipwreck.”
“What Frenchmen?”
“The people of M. Ribault, Captain-General of Florida, under commission of the king of France.”
“I know no right to Florida, on the part of France or Frenchmen. I am here, the true master of the country, on behalf of my sovereign, the Catholic king, Philip the Second. I am Pedro Melendez, adelantado of all this Florida, and of the isles thereof. Go back to your general with my answer, and say to him, that I am here, followed by my army, as I had intelligence that he too was here, invading the country in my charge.”
The Gascon returned with the speech, and soon after was persuaded again to swim the stream, with a request for a safe conduct from the Spanish general, on behalf of four gentlemen of the French, who desired to treat with him. It was requested that a batteau which Melendez had brought along shore with his provisions, and which was now safely moored beside the eastern banks, might be sent to bring them over. To all this Melendez readily consented. The arrangement suited him exactly. His troop was still in reserve, covered rather than concealed within the forest, and so disposed as to seem at a distance to consist of overwhelming numbers. But six men were suffered to accompany the Spanish commander. These, well armed, were quite equal to the four to whom he accorded the interview. These soon made their appearance. Their leader told the story of their melancholy shipwreck, the privations they had borne, the wants under which they suffered, and implored his assistance to regain a fortress called La Caroline, which the king, his master, held at a distance of some twenty leagues.
Melendez replied—
“Señor, I have made myself the master of your fort. I have laid strong hands upon the garrison. I have slain them all, sparing none but the women, and such children as were under fifteen years.”
The Frenchmen looked incredulous.
“If you doubt,” he continued, “I can soon convince you. I have brought hither with me the only two soldiers whom I have admitted to mercy. I spared them, because they claimed to be of the Catholic faith. You shall see them, and hear the truth from their own lips. In all probability you know them, and will recognise their persons. Rest you here, while I send you something to eat. You shall see your compatriots, with some of the spoils taken at La Caroline. These shall prove to you the truth of what I say.”
With these words he disappeared. Soon after, refreshments were brought to our Frenchmen, and when they had eaten, the two captives at La Caroline, who had been spared on account of their faith, were allowed to commune with them, and to repeat all the facts in the cruel history of La Caroline. Nothing of that terrible tragedy was concealed. Melendez had a policy too refined for concealment, when the revelation of his atrocities was to be the means for their renewal. To strike the hearts of the Frenchmen with such terror, as to have them at his mercy, was a profound secret of success in dealing with the wretched, suffering, and already desponding outcasts in his presence.
After an hour’s absence he returned.
“Are you satisfied,” he asked? “of the truth of the things which I have told you.”
“We can doubt no longer;” was the reply; “but this does not lessen our claim upon your humanity as men, and your consideration as Frenchmen. Our people are at peace, there is amity and alliance between our sovereigns. You cannot deny us assistance, and the vessels necessary for our return to France.”
“Surely not, if you are Catholics, and if I had the means of helping you to ships. But you are not Catholics. The alliance between our kings is an alliance of members of the true Church, both sworn against heretics.”
“We are members of the Reformed Church,” was the reply of the officers; “but we are men; human; made equally in the image of the Deity, and serve the same God, if not at the same altars. Suffer us, at least, to remain with you for a season, till we can find the means for returning to our own country.”
“Señor, it cannot be. As for sheltering heretics, that is impossible. I have sworn on the holy sacrament, to root out and to extirpate heresy, wherever I encounter it—by sea or land—to wage against the damnable heresy which you profess a war to the utterance, as vindictive as possible, to the death and to the torture; and in this resolution I conceive myself to be serving equally the king of France as the king, my sovereign. I am here in Florida for the express purpose of establishing the Holy Roman Catholic Faith! I will assist no heretic to remain in the country.”
“Assist us to leave it, señor: that is in truth what we demand.”
“Demand nothing of me. Yield yourselves to my mercy—at discretion—deliver up your arms and ensigns, and I will do with you as God shall inspire me. Consent to this—these are my only terms—or do what pleases you. But you must hope nothing at my hands—neither truce nor friendship.”
With this cruel ultimatum, he quitted them, giving them opportunity to return and report to their comrades. In two hours they reappeared, and made him an offer from the two hundred men gathered on the opposite banks, of twenty thousand ducats, only to be assured of their lives. The answer was as prompt as it was characteristic.
“Though but a poor soldier, señor, I am not capable of governing myself, in the performance of my duties, by any regard to selfish interests. If I am moved to do an act of grace, it will be done from pure generosity. But do not let these words deceive you. I tell you as a gentleman, and an officer holding a high commission from the king of Spain, that, though the heavens and the earth may mingle before my eyes, the resolution which I once make, I never change!”
It will scarcely be thought possible that any body of men, having arms in their hands, and still in possession of physical powers sufficient for their use, would, under such circumstances, listen to such a demand. But the forces of Ribault had been terribly demoralized by disaster and disappointment. Privation had humbled their souls, and the utter exhaustion of their spirits made them give credence to vain hopes of mercy at the hands of their enemy, which at another period they could never have entertained. The report of their envoy found them ready to make any concessions. It required but half an hour to determine their submission. The returning batteau brought over with four officers all their ensigns, sixty-six arquebuses, twenty pistols, a large number of swords and bucklers, casques and cuirasses, their whole complement of munitions, and a surrender of the entire body at discretion. Melendez gladly seized upon these spoils. He embarked twenty of his soldiers in his batteau, with orders to bring over the Frenchmen, in small divisions, and to offer them no insult; but, as they severally arrived on the eastern side of the bay, they were conducted out of sight, and under the guns of his arquebusiers. They were then given to eat, and when the repast was ended, they were asked if any among them were Catholics. There were but eight of the whole number who replied in the affirmative. These were set apart, to be conducted to St. Augustine. The rest frankly avowed themselves to be good Christians of the Reformed Church. These were immediately seized, their arms tied behind their backs, and in little squads of six, were conducted to a spot in the background, where Melendez had traced, with his cane, a line upon the sand. Here they were butchered to a man, each succeeding body sharing the same fate, without knowing, till too late, that of their comrades. There was no pause, no mercy, no relentings in behalf of any. All perished, to the number of two hundred; and Pedro Melendez returned to his camp at St. Augustine, again to be welcomed with Te Deum, and the acclamation for good Christian service, from a Christian people.
The congratulations of his people were yet resounding in his ears, when the savages brought him further intelligence of Frenchmen gathered upon the borders of that bay which had arrested the progress of the previous detachment. They were represented to be more numerous than the first, and Melendez did not doubt that they constituted the bulk of Ribault’s force under the immediate command of that leader. He proceeded to encounter him as he had done the other party, but on this occasion he increased his own detachment to one hundred and fifty men. These he ranged in good order during the night, along the banks of the river, which the Huguenots had begun their preparations to pass. They had been at work upon the radeau or raft which had been begun by the preceding party, but their progress had been unsatisfactory, and the prospect of the passage, in such a vessel, over such an arm of the sea, was quite as discouraging as to their predecessors. With the dawn, and when they discovered the force of Melendez on the opposite shore, the drums sounded the alarm, the royal standard of France was advanced, and the troops were ranged in order of battle. Poor Ribault still observed the externals of the veteran, if only to conceal the real infirmities which impaired the moral of his command.
Seeing this display of determination, Melendez, with proper policy, commanded his people to proceed to breakfast without any show of excitement or emotion. He himself promenaded the banks of the river, accompanied only by his admiral and two other officers, as indifferently as if there had been no person on the opposite side. With this, the clamors of the French tambours ceased—the fifes were allowed to take breath—and in place of the warlike standard of their country, the commander of the Huguenots displayed a white flag as sign of peace, and his trumpets sounded for a parley. A response from the Spanish side of the river, in similar spirit, caused one of the Frenchmen to advance within speaking distance, upon the raft, who requested that somebody might be sent them, as their radeau could not contend against the current. A pirogue was finally sent by the Spaniard, which brought over the sergeant-major of Ribault. This man related briefly the necessities and desires of his commander. He was totally ignorant of all that had taken place. He had been wrecked, and had lost all his vessels; that he had with him three hundred and fifty soldiers; that he was desirous of reaching his fortress, twenty leagues distant; and prayed the assistance of the Spaniards, to enable him to do so. At the close, he desired to know with whom he was conferring.
Melendez answered as directly as he had done in the previous instance, when dealing with the first detachment. He did not scruple to add to the narrative of the capture of La Caroline, and the cruel murder of its garrison, the farther history of the party whom he had encountered in the same place with themselves.
“I have punished all these with death;” he continued; and, still further to assure the officer of Ribault of the truth of what he said, he took him to the spot where lay in a heap the exposed, the bleached and decaying bodies of his slaughtered companions. The Frenchman looked steadily at the miserable spectacle, and so far commanded his nerves as to betray no emotion. He continued his commission without faltering; and obtained from Melendez a surety in behalf of Ribault, with four or six of his men, to cross the river for the purpose of conference, with the privilege of returning to his forces at his leisure. But the adelantado positively refused to let the Frenchmen have his shallop or bateau. The pirogue, alone, was at their service. With this, the French general could pass the strait without risk; and he was compelled to content himself with this. The policy of Melendez was not willing to place any larger vessel in his power.
Ribault crossed to the conference, accompanied by eight of his officers. They were well received by the adelantado, and a collation spread for them. He showed them afterwards the bodies of their slain companions. He gave them the full history of the taking of La Caroline, and the treatment of the garrison, and brought forward the two Frenchmen, claiming to be Catholics, whose lives had been spared when the rest were massacred. There was something absolutely satanic in the conduct of the Spaniard, by which Ribault was confounded. He was not willing to believe the facts that he could not question.
“Monsieur,” said he to Laudonniere, “I will not believe that you design us evil. Our kings are friends and brothers, and in the name of this alliance between them, I conjure you to furnish us with a vessel for returning to our country. We have suffered enough in this: we will leave it in your hands entirely. Help us to the means necessary for our departure.”
To this Melendez replied in the very same language which he had used to the preceding detachment:
“Our kings are Catholics both; they hold terms with one another, but not with heretics. I will make no terms with you. I will hold no bonds with heretics anywhere. You have heard what I have done with your comrades. You hear what has been the fate of La Caroline. You behold the corses of those who but a few days ago followed your banner; and now I say to you that you must yield to my discretion, leaving it to me to do with you as God shall determine me!”
Aghast and confounded, Ribault declared his purpose to return and consult with his people. In a case so extreme, particularly as he had with him many gentlemen of family, he could not undertake to decide without their participation. Melendez approved this determination, and the general of the French re-crossed the river.
For three hours was the consultation carried on in the camp of our Huguenots. Ribault fully revealed the terrible history of what had passed, of what he had heard and seen in the camp of the Spaniards. The cold and cruel decision of Melendez in their case, as in that of the previous troops, was unfolded without reserve. There were no concealments, and, for a time, a dull, deep and dreary silence overspread the assembly. But all had not been crushed by misfortune into imbecility. There were some noble and fierce spirits whose hearts rose in all their strength of resolution, as they listened to the horrible narrative and the insolent exaction.
“Better perish a thousand deaths, in the actual conflict with a thousand enemies, than thus submit to perish in cold blood from the stroke of the cowardly assassin!”
Such was the manly resolution of many. Others, again, like Ribault, were disposed to hope against all experience. The fact that Melendez had treated them so civilly, that he had placed food and drink before them, and that his manners were respectful and his tones were mild, were assumed by them to be conclusive they were not to suffer as their predecessors had done.
“They were beguiled with the same arguments,” said young Alphonse D’Erlach; “arguments which appealed to their hunger, their thirst, their exhaustion, and their spiritless hearts—arguments against truth, and common sense and their own eyes. He who listens to such arguments will merit to fall by the hands of the assassin.”
We need not pursue the debate which continued for three hours. At the end of this time, Ribault returned to the landing.
“A portion of my people,” he said, “but not the greater number, are prepared to surrender themselves to you at discretion.”
“They are their own masters,” replied Melendez; “they must do as they please; to me it is quite indifferent what decision they make.”
Ribault continued:
“Those who are thus prepared to yield themselves have instructed me to offer you twenty thousand ducats for their ransom; but the others will give even a greater sum, for they include among them many persons of great wealth and family;—nay, they desire further, if you will suffer it, to remain still in the country.”
“I shall certainly need some succors,” replied Melendez, “in order to execute properly the commands of the king, my master, which are to conquer the country and to people it, establishing here the Holy Evangel;—and I should grieve to forego any assistance.”
This evasive answer was construed by Ribault according to his desires. He requested permission to return and deliberate with his people, in order to communicate this last response. He readily obtained what he asked, and the night was consumed among the Huguenots in consultation. It brought no unanimity to their counsels.
“I will sooner trust the incarnate devil himself, than this Melendez,” was the resolution of Alphonse D’Erlach to his elder brother. “Go not, mon frére, yield not: the savage Floridian has no heart so utterly stony as that of this Spaniard. I will peril anything with the savage, ere I trust to his doubtful mercy.”
And such was the resolve of many others, but it was not that of Ribault.
“What!” exclaimed one of his friendly counsellors—“he has shown you our slain comrades, butchered under the very arrangement which he accords to us, and yet you trust to him?”
The infatuated leader, broken in spirit, and utterly exhausted in the struggle with fate, replied:
“That he has freely shown me what he has done, is no proof that he designs any such deeds hereafter. His fury is satiated. It is impossible that he will commit a like crime of this nature. It is his pride that would have us wholly in his power.”
“He hath fed on blood until he craves it,” cried Alphonse D’Erlach. “You go to your death, Monsieur Ribault. The tiger invites you to a banquet where the guest brings the repast.”
He was unheard, at least by the Huguenot general.
“We will leave this man, my friends,” cried Alphonse D’Erlach, the strong will and great heart naturally rising to command in the moment of extremity. “We will leave this man. Quem Deus vult perdere prius dementat. He goes to the sacrifice!”
And when Ribault prepared in the morning to lead his people across the bay, he found but an hundred and fifty of all the force that he commanded during the previous day. Two hundred had disappeared in the night under the guidance of D’Erlach.
The fates had the blinded Ribault in their keeping. He was ferried across the stream for the last time, by the grim ferryman vouchsafed him; and the trophies which he first laid at the feet of the adelantado consisted of his own armor, a dagger, a casque of gold, curiously and beautifully wrought; his buckler, his pistolet, and a secret commission which he had received at the hands of Admiral Coligny himself. The standards of France and of the Admiral were then lowered at the feet of the Spaniard, then the banners of companies, and finally the sword of the Huguenot general. Never was submission more complete and shameful. The spirit of the veteran was utterly broken and gone. But this degradation was not thus to end. Melendez gave orders that he and the companions he had brought with him, eight in number, should be tied with their hands behind their backs. The indignity brought the blush with tenfold warmth into the cheeks of the old warrior. He foresaw the inevitable doom before him, but he felt the shame only.
“Have I lived for this? Is it thus, Monsieur Melendez, that you treat a warrior and a Christian?”
“God forbid that I should treat a Christian after this fashion. But are you a Christian, señor?”
“Of the Reformed Church, I am!” was the reply.
“I do not hold yours, señor, to be a church of Christ, but of Satan. Bind him, my comrades, and take him hence.”
A significant wave of the fatal staff, which had prescribed the line upon the spot of earth selected as the chosen place of sacrifice—the scene of a new auto-da-fé, as fearful as the preceding—finished his instructions, and as the guards led the veteran away, he commenced, in the well-known spirit of the time, to sing aloud the psalm “Domine, memento mei, &c.,” in that fearful moment well conceiving that there was left him now but one source of consolation, and none of present hope. He addressed no words of expostulation to his murderer; but as they led him away, he calmly remarked—“From the earth we came, to the earth we must return; soon or late, it is all the same; such must have been the fate. It is not what we would, but what we must.”
He renewed his psalm, the sounds of which grated offensively on the bigot ears of Melendez, falling from such lips, and he impatiently made the signal to his men to expedite the affair. The Huguenot general was led off singing. One of the accounts before us—for there is a Spanish and a French version of the history, differing in several minute, but really unimportant particulars—describes the last scene of Ribault’s career, in a brief but striking manner. The eight which constituted this party had each his assassin assigned him. Among the companions of Ribault at the moment of execution, was Lieutenant Ottigny, of whom we have heard more than once before in the history of La Caroline. They were led into the woods, out of sight and hearing of the French on the opposite side of the bay, all of whom were to be brought over, ten by ten, to the same place of sacrifice. The soldier to whom Ribault had been confided, when they had reached the spot strewn thickly with the corses of his murdered people, said to him—
“Señor, you are the general of the French?”
“I am!”
“You have always been accustomed to exact obedience, without question, from all the people under your command?”
“Without doubt!” replied Ribault, somewhat wondering at the question.
“Deem it not strange, then, señor,” continued the soldier, “that I execute faithfully the orders I have received from my commandant!”
And, speaking these words, he drove his poignard into the heart of the victim, who fell upon his face, in death, without uttering a groan. Ottigny and the others perished in like manner, and with no farther preliminaries. Why pursue the details with the rest? In this manner each unconscious band of the Huguenots, thus surrendering to the clemency of Melendez, was simply ferried across the river to execution. And still the boat returned for and with its little compliment of ten—it was only a proper precaution that denied that more should be brought—and the succeeding voyagers dreamed not, even as they sped, their comrades were sinking one by one under the hands of their butchers. More than a hundred perished on this occasion, but four of the number avowing themselves to be of the Roman Catholic Church, and being spared accordingly.
We have seen that two hundred of the followers of Ribault had refused to submit to the arrangement, by which that unhappy commander had sacrificed himself and all those who accompanied him into the camp of Melendez. These two hundred had been counselled to the more manly course which they had taken, by the youthful but sagacious lieutenant, Alphonse D’Erlach. This young man well understood their enemy. His counsel, if followed by Ribault, would probably have resulted in conquest rather than misfortune.
“We are strong,”—said D’Erlach to his companions—“strong enough to maintain ourselves in any position, which we may take and hold with steadfastness. We have three hundred and fifty soldiers, all with arms in their hands, and it requires only that we shall use our arms and maintain our independence. Why treat at all with the Spaniards? They may assist us across this strait, but why cross it at all? To gain La Caroline? That, according to his own showing, is already in his hands. Indeed, of this, you tell us, there can be no question. What then? Of what avail to seek the post which he has garrisoned, and which, properly fortified, is beyond our utmost strength. It is evident that, fortifying La Caroline and his new post on the banks of the Salooe, he has no available force with which he dares assail us. In the meantime, let us leave this position. Let us retire further to the south, regain the coast upon which our vessels were wrecked, rebuild them, or one at least, in which, if your desire is to return to France, we can re-embark; or, as I would counsel, retire to a remoter settlement, where we may fortify ourselves, and establish the colony anew, for which we first came to Florida. Why abandon the country, when we are in sufficient strength to keep it? Why forego the enterprises which offer us gold and silver in abundance, a genial climate, a fertile soil, a boundless domain, in which our fortunes and our faith may be made equally secure. As for the savages of Florida, I know them and I fear them not. They are terrible only to the timid and the improvident. With due precautions, a proper courage, and arms in our hands, we shall mock at their wandering bands, whose attacks are inconstant, and upon whom the caprice of the seasons is forever working such evil as will prevent them always from bringing large numbers together, or keeping them long in one organization. But, hold the savages to be as terrible as you may, they are surely less to be feared, are less faithless and less hostile, than these sanguinary Spaniards. Do not, at all events, deliver yourselves, bound hand and foot, in petty numbers, to be butchered in detail, by this monstrous cut-throat!”
His counsels prevailed with the greater number. They left the camp of Ribault at midnight, and commenced their silent march along the coast, making for the bleak shores which had seen their vessels stranded. Here they arrived after much toil and privation, and, cheered by the manly courage of D’Erlach, they proceeded at once to build themselves a vessel which should suffice for their escape from the country, or enable them to penetrate without difficulty to regions not yet under the control of the Spaniards. For the work before them they possessed the proper facilities. The fragments of their shattered navy were within their reach. The expedition had been properly provided with carpenters and laborers; and in that day every mariner was something of a mechanic. They advanced rapidly with their work, but at the end of three weeks the clouds gathered once more about their heads. Once more the haughty banners of the Spaniard were beheld, the vindictive enemy being resolved to give them no respite, to allow of no refuge upon the soil, to afford them no prospect of escape from the country.
Advised by the Indians that the surviving Frenchmen were at work at Cannaverel, building themselves both fortresses and vessels, Melendez sent an express to the Governor of San Matheo, late La Caroline, with orders to send him instantly one hundred and fifty of his men. These arrived at St. Augustine on the 23d of October, under the conduct of Don Andres Lopez Patiño, and of Don Jean Velez de Medrano. To these troops Melendez added a like number from his own garrison, and on the 26th of the month, they commenced their march to the south, on foot. His provisions and munitions were sent in two shallops along the shore, and each night they came to anchor opposite his camp. On the first day of November, they came in sight of the French. These, immediately abandoned their work, and seizing their arms retired to a small sandy elevation which they had previously selected as a place of refuge against attack, and which they had strengthened by some slight defences. Here they prepared for a desperate and deadly struggle. The force of their assailants was one-third stronger than their own. They had the advantage, also, of supplies and munitions, in which the Frenchmen were deficient; but a sense of desperation increased their courage, and they showed no disposition to entreat or parley. But Melendez had no desire to compel them to a struggle in which even success would probably be fatal ultimately to himself. His main strength was with him, but should he suffer greatly in the assault, as it was very evident he must, the French being in a good position, and showing the most determined front, his army would be too greatly weakened, perhaps, even for their safe return to St. Augustine, through a country filled with hostile Indians, whom, as yet, he had neither conquered nor conciliated. Having reconnoitred the position taken by the Frenchmen, he generously made them overtures of safety. He proposed not only to spare their lives, but promised to receive as many of them as thought proper, into his own ranks as soldiers.
This offer led to a long and almost angry conference among the French. Their councils were divided. Many of their leaders were men wholly ignorant of the country, and disheartened by the cruel vicissitudes and dangers through which they had passed. Many of them were persons of wealth and family, who were anxious once more to find themselves in a position which demanded no farther struggle, and which might facilitate their return to the haunts of civilization. Others, again, were Catholics, whose sympathies were not active in behalf of the Huguenots with whom they now found themselves in doubtful connection. Others were jealous of the sudden spring to authority, which, in those moments of peril when all others trembled, had been made by the young adventurer, Alphonse D’Erlach. It was in vain that he counselled them against giving faith to the Spaniards.
“What is your security, my friends? His word? His pledge of mercy to you, when he showed none to your brethren? Look at the hand which he stretches out to you; it is yet dripping with the blood of your people, butchered, in cold blood, at La Caroline, and the Bay of Matanzas. Trust him not, if you would prosper—if ye would not perish likewise. Believe none of his assurances, even though he should swear upon the Holy Evangel.”
“But what are we to do, Monsieur D’Erlach? We have small provisions here. He hath environed us with his troops.”
“We may break through his troops. We have arms in our hands, and if we have but the heart to use them, like men, we may not only save ourselves, but avenge our butchered comrades.”
His entreaties and arguments were unavailing. It was sufficient for our broken-spirited exiles that Melendez had volunteered to them those guaranties of safety which he had denied to their brethren. They prepared to yield.
“Go not thou with these people, my brother,” said Alphonse D’Erlach, to that elder brother whom we have seen, with himself, a trusted lieutenant of Laudonniere. He flung himself tenderly upon the bosom of the other, as he prayed, and the moisture gathered in his eyes. The elder was touched, but his inclinations led him with the rest.
“He hath sworn to us, Alphonse, that life shall be spared us, and that we shall be free to enter his service or return to France.”
“Would you place life at his mercy?”
“It is so now!”
“No! never! while the hand may grasp the weapon. If we would defy him as men, we should rather have his life at ours. Oh! would that we were men. Enter his service! Dost thou think of this? Wouldst thou receive commands from the lips of him who hath murdered thy old commander!”
“No! surely, I shall never serve Melendez. I seek this only as the mean whereby to return to France.”
“And wherefore return to France? What hath France in reserve for us but the shot, the torture, and the scourge. Here, brother, here, with the wild Floridian, let us make our home. Let us rather put on the untamed habits of the savage, his garments torn from bear and panther; let us anoint our bodies with oil; let us stain our cheeks with ocre; and taking bond with the Apalachian and Floridian, let us haunt the footsteps of the Spaniard with death and eternal hatred, till we leave not one of them living for the pollution of the soil. This is my purpose, brother, though I go forth into the wilderness alone!”
“Thou shalt not go alone, Alphonse. We will live and die together.”
The brothers embraced. The bond was knit between them, whatever might be the event; and when, at morning, the main body of the Frenchmen surrendered themselves to the Spanish adelantado, the Erlachs were not among them. They, with twenty others, all Huguenots, who detested equally the power and feared the savage fanaticism of Melendez, had disappeared silently in the night, leaving as a message for the Spanish chief, that they preferred infinitely to be devoured by the savages, than to receive his mercy. Melendez looked anxiously to the dark forests in which they had shrouded themselves from his pursuit. He would gladly have penetrated their depths of shadow and their secret glooms, in search of victims, whom he certainly never would have spared if caught; but the object was too small for the peril which it involved; and having destroyed the fort and shipping which they had been building, content with having broken up the power of the French in the country, he returned with his captives to St. Augustine. He kept his faith with them. Many of them joined themselves to his troops, and accompanied his expeditions, and others who were Huguenots found new favor with him by undergoing conversion to his faith. With this chapter fairly ends the history of the Huguenot colonies of Coligny in Florida; but other histories followed which will require other chapters.
The dawn of the morning after the separation of D’Erlach with his few companions from the great body of the French, found the former emerging from a dense thicket which they had traversed through the night. They were still but a few miles from their late encampment. A bright and generous sun, almost the first that had shone for several weeks in unclouded heavens, seemed to smile upon their desperate enterprise. The cries of wild fowl awaking in the forests, with occasionally the merry chaunt of some native warbler, arousing to the day, spake also in the language of encouragement. On the borders of a little lake, they found some wild ducks feeding, which they approached without alarming them, and the fire of a couple of arquebuses gave them sufficient food for the day. A small supply of maize, prepared after the Indian fashion, was borne by each of the party, but this was carefully preserved for use in a moment of necessity. Assuming the possibility of their being pursued, the youthful leader urged their progress until noon, when they halted for repose, in a dense thicket, which promised to give them shelter. Here, having himself undertaken the watch, Alphonse D’Erlach counselled his people to seek for a renewal of their strength in slumber. They followed his counsel without scruple, though not without a struggle on the part of his brother, and others among them, to share his watch. This he would not permit, alleging his inability to sleep, but promising, when he felt thus disposed, to devolve his present duty upon others. Long and sweet was the slumbers which they enjoyed, and unbroken by any alarm. When they awakened, the sun had sloped greatly in the western heavens, and but two or three marching hours remained of the day. These they employed with earnestness and vigor. The night found them on the edge of a great basin, or lake, thickly fenced in with great trees, and a dense and bewildering thicket. As the day closed, immense flocks of wild fowl, geese, ducks, and cranes, alighted within the waters of the lake, and again did the arquebusiers, with a few shot, provide ample food for the ensuing day. Here they built themselves a fire, around which the whole party crouched, a couple only of their number being posted as sentinels on the hill side, from which alone was it reasonable to suppose that an enemy would appear. Again did they sleep without disturbance, arising with the dawn, again to resume their progress. But before they commenced their journey, a solemn council was held as to the course which they should pursue. On this subject the mind of their youthful leader had already adopted a leading idea. His experience in the country, as well as that of his brother, during frequent progresses, had enabled them to form a very correct notion of the topography of the region. Besides, several of their followers, were of the first colonies of Ribault, and had accompanied Laudonniere, Ottigny, and both the Erlachs on various expeditions among the Indians.
“We are now upon the great promontory of the Floridian,” said Alphonse, “a region full of dense thickets and impenetrable swamps. These we should labor to avoid, as well as any approach in the direction of the Spaniards. By pursuing a course inclining to the north-west for a while, we shall be enabled to do so, and this done, gradually steering for the north-east, we shall be enabled to reach the great mountains of the Apalachia. This is a region where, as we know, the red-men are more mild and gentle, more laborious, with larger fields of grain, and more hospitably given than those which inhabit the coasts. It may be that having sufficiently ascended the country, it will be our policy to leave the mountains on our left, following at their feet, until we shall have passed the territories in the immediate possession of the Spaniard. Then it will be easy to speed downwards to the eastern coasts, where the people always received us with welcome and affection. We may thus renew our intercourse with the tribes that skirt the bay of St. Helena—the tribes of Audusta, Ouade, Maccou and others of which ye wot. But, whether we take this direction or not, our present course should be as I have described it. When we have reached the country where the land greatly rises, it will be with us to choose our farther progress. There is gold, as we know, in abundance in these mountains of the Apalachian; and it may be our good hap even to attain to the great city of the mountains of which Potanou and others have spoken, and to which certain travellers have given the name of the Grand Copal, of the existence of which I nothing doubt. This, they report as but fifteen or twenty days’ march from St. Helena, north-westward. It will, follow, if this description be true, that we are quite as near to this place, as to St. Helena. Here is adventure and a marvellous discovery open to us, my comrades and we shall, perhaps, in future days, bless the cruelty of the Spaniards which hath thus driven us on the road to fortune. At least, we should have reason to rejoice that we are here, when our comrades lie stark and bleeding on the shores of Cannaverel. We are few, but we are true; we have health and vigor; we have arms in our hands, and are quite equal to any of the small bands of Indians that infest the country. We shall seek to avoid encounters with them, but shall not fear them if we meet; and all that I have seen of the red-man inclines me to the faith, that they who deal with him justly will mostly find justice, nay, even reverence in return. What remains, but that we steadily pursue our progress, heedful where we set our feet, keeping our minds in patience, never hurrying forward blindly, and never being too eager in the attainment of our object. Our best strength will lie in our patience. This will save us when our strength shall fail.”
This counsel found no opposition. There was much discussion of details, and the leading suggestion of his mind being adopted, Erlach readily yielded much of the minutiæ to others. We shall not follow the daily progress of our adventurers. Enough that for twenty-seven days they travelled without suffering disaster. There were small ailments of the party—some grew faint and feeble, others became slightly lamed; and occasionally all hearts drooped; but on such occasions the troop went into camp, chose out some secure thicket, built themselves a goodly fire, and while the invalids lay around it, the more vigorous hunted and brought in game. Wild turkeys were in abundance. Sometimes they roosted at night upon the very trees under which our Frenchmen slept. On such occasions the hunters rose at dawn, and with well-aimed arquebuses shot down two or more; the very fatness of the birds being such, as made them split open as they struck the earth. Anon, a wandering deer crossed their path, and fell a victim to their shot. In this way they gradually advanced into the hilly country. Very seldom had they met with any of the red-men, and never in any numbers. These treated them with great forbearance, were civil, shared with them their slender stock of provisions, and received a return in trinkets, knives, or rings of copper, and little bells, a small store of which had been providentally brought by persons of the party. Sometimes, these Indians travelled with them, camped with them at night, and behaved themselves like good Christians. From these, too, they gathered vague intelligence of the great city which lay among the mountains. This was described to them, in language often heard before, as containing a wealth of gold, and other treasures in the shape of precious gems, which, assuming the truth of the description given by the red-men, our Frenchmen assumed to be nothing less than diamonds, rubies and crystals. But they were told that this country was in possession of a very powerful people, fierce and warlike, who were very jealous of the appearance of strangers. The city of Grand Copal was described as very populous and rich, a walled town, which it would be difficult to penetrate.
These descriptions contributed greatly to warm the imaginations of our Frenchmen, but as the several informants differed in regard to the direction in which this great city lay, it so happened that parties began to be formed in respect to the route which should be pursued. Opinion was nearly equally divided among them. Alphonse D’Erlach was for pursuing a more easterly course than was desired by some ten or more of the party. He was influenced by information previously derived from the Indians, when he went into the territories of Olata Utina, and beyond. But the more recent testimony was in favor of the west, and this he was disposed to disregard. For a time, the discussion led to nothing decisive. His authority was still deferred to and the course continued upon which he had begun. But as the winter began to press more severely upon the company, and as their usual supplies of game began to diminish from the moment that they left the lakes, and great swampy river margin of the flat country, from that moment, as if justified by suffering, the Frenchmen lessened in their deference to a leader who was at once so youthful and so imperative. Alphonse D’Erlach beheld these symptoms with apprehension and misgiving. He well knew how frail was the tenure by which he held his authority, from the moment that self-esteem began to be active in the formation of opinion. He felt that a power for coercion was wanting to his authority, and resorted to all those politic arts by which wise men maintain a sway without asserting it. He would say to them:
“My comrades, there are but twenty-two of us in a world of savages. Hitherto, for more than thirty days, we have traversed the wildernesses in safety. This is solely due to the fact that we have suffered no differences to prevail among us. If you feel that I have counselled and led you in safety, you may also admit that I have led you rightly; for safety has been our first object. We are as fresh and vigorous now, as when we left the dreary plains of Cannaverel. Not one has perished. We have not suffered from want of food, though frequently delayed in obtaining it. Methinks, that you have no reason to complain of me. But if there be dissatisfaction with my authority, choose another leader. Him will I obey with good will; but do not suffer yourselves to disagree, lest ye separate, and all parties perish.”
This rebuke was felt and had its effect for a season; but when, after a week of farther and seemingly unprofitable wandering—when they had attained no special point—when they rather continued to skirt the mountains, pressing to the northward, than to ascend them—the spirit of discontent was re-awakened. The circumstance which rather gratified Alphonse D’Erlach, for the present, that they had met so few of the natives, none in large numbers, and had succeeded mostly in avoiding their villages, was the circumstance that led to dissatisfaction among his followers. They were eager to have their hopes fortified by daily or nightly reports from those who might be supposed to know; they desired, above all, to gather constant tidings of the great city of the mountains—to receive intimations of its proximity; and this, they began to assert, was impossible, so long as they should forbear to penetrate the mountains themselves. Against this desire their young leader strove for many reasons. It is not improbable that he himself doubted the existence of the marvellous city of Grand Copal. At all events, he well knew that to penetrate the mountains, during winter, which already promised to be one of intense rigor, would subject his party to great suffering, and, should food fail them even partially in the unfriendly solitudes, would terminate in the destruction of the whole. By following the mountains, along the east for a certain distance, he knew he should finally arrive at the heads of the streams descending to the sea in the neighborhood of the first settlements made by the Huguenots; that he should there find friendly and familiar nations, and perhaps secure a home for his people, and found a new community in the happy territories of Iracana, the Eden of the Indians, of the beautiful and loving Queen, whereof, he began to have the tenderest recollections. He also knew that, only by pursuing his way along the mountains, aiming at this object, could he be secure from the Spaniards in the possession of La Caroline, as well as St. Augustine, who, he did not doubt, were already preparing for exploration of the golden territories of which they had heard, as well as the French.
But his arguments failed to influence the impatient people under his control. Sharp words and a warm controversy, one night, took place over the camp-fires, and led to a division of the party in nearly equal numbers. It was in vain that Alphonse D’Erlach and his brother employed all their arguments, and used every appeal, in order to persuade his people to cling together as the only means of safety. One Le Caille, a sergeant, who was greatly endowed, in his own regards, as a leader among men, and who had enjoyed some experience in Indian adventure under Laudonniere, set himself in direct opposition to the two brothers. “We are leaving the route, entirely, to the great city. We are speeding from it rather than towards. It lies back of us already, according to all the accounts given us, and as we march now, we seek nothing. There is our path, pointing to the great blue summits in the north-west, and thither should we turn, if we seek for the Grand Copal.”
He found believers and followers. So warm had grown the controversy, that the two parties separated that very night, and camped apart, each having its own fires. The greater number, no less than thirteen, went with Le Caille, leaving but nine to D’Erlach, including himself and brother. The young leader brooder over the disaster, for such he regarded it, in silence. He found that it was in vain that he should argue, solely on the strength of his own conjectures, against any course which they should take, when his own course, though maintaining them in health and safety, had failed to bring them to any of the ends which they most desired. They were now wearied of wandering—they craved a haven where they might rest for a season; and were quite willing to listen to any one who could speak with boldness and seeming certainty of any such place. Thus it was that they followed Le Caille.
“Let us at least separate in peace and good-fellowship, mes camarades,” said Alphonse D’Erlach, passing over, with the dawn, to that side of the thicket where the others had made their camp. They embraced and parted, taking separate courses, like a stream that having long journeyed through a wild empire, divides at last, only to lose themselves both more rapidly in the embracing sea.
For more than two hours had they gone upon their different routes, the one party moving straight for the mountains, the other still pursuing the route along their bases, in the direction of the east, when Alphonse D’Erlach said to his brother:
“It grieves me that these men should perish: they will perish of cold and hunger, and by violence among the savages. This man Le Caille will fight bravely, but he is a sorry dolt to have the conduct of brave men. Besides, we shall all perish if we do not keep together. Perhaps it is better that we should err in our progress—go wide from the proper track—than that we should break in twain. Let us retrace our steps—let us follow them, and unite with them for a season, at least, until their eyes open upon the truth.”
He spoke to willing listeners. His followers obeyed him through habit; they acknowledged the authority of a greater will and a stronger genius; but they had not been satisfied. They, too, hungered secretly for the great city and the place of rest, and were impatient of the wearisome progress, day by day, without any ultimate object in their eyes. Cheerfully, and with renewal of their strength, did they turn at the direction of their leader, and push forward to re-unite with their comrades. They had a wearisome distance of four hours to overcome, but they had hopes to regain their brethren by night, as they knew that they would rest two hours at noon for the noonday meal, which, it was resolved, should not, on this occasion, delay their progress, and by moving with greater speed than usual, it was calculated that the lost ground might be recovered.
Meanwhile, the party of Le Caille had crossed a little river which they had to wade. The depth was not great, reaching only to their waists, but it was very cold and it chilled them through. They halted accordingly on the opposite side, and built themselves a fire. Here the rest taken and the delay were unusually long, and contributed somewhat to the efforts made by D’Erlach’s party to overtake them. When, after a pause of two hours, the troop of Le Caille was prepared again to move, it was considerably past the time of noon. As they gathered up their traps, one of their party who had gone aside from the rest, was suddenly confounded to behold a red-man start up from the bushes where he had been crouching, in long and curious watch over their proceedings. The Frenchman, who was named Rotrou, was quite delighted at the apparition, since they eagerly sought to gather from the Indians the directions for their future progress, and none had been seen for many days. Rotrou called to the Indian in words of good-nature and encouragement, but the latter, slapping his naked sides with an air of defiance, started off towards the mountains. Rotrou again shouted; the savage turned for a moment and paused, then waving his hand with a significant gesture, he responded with the war-whoop, and once more bounded away in flight. The rash and wanton Frenchman immediately lifted his arquebuse, and fired upon the fugitive. He was seen to stagger and fall upon his knee, but immediately recovering himself, he set off almost at as full speed as ever, making for a little thicket that spread itself out upon the right. The party of Le Caille by this time came up. They penetrated the covert where the red-man had been seen to shelter himself, and for a while they tracked him by his blood. But at length they came to a spot where he had evidently crouched and bound up his hurts. They found a little puddle of blood upon the spot, and some fragments of tow, moss, and cotton cloth, some of which had been used for the purpose. Here all traces of the wounded man failed them; and they resumed their route, greatly regretting that he should have escaped, but greatly encouraged, as they fancied that they were approaching some of the settlements of the natives.
It was probably an hour after this event when D’Erlach and his party reached the same neighborhood, and found the proof of the rest and repast which that of Le Caille had taken on the banks of the little river. This sight urged them to new efforts, and though chilled also very greatly by the passage of the stream, they did not pause in their pursuit, but pressed forward without delay, having the fresh tracks of their brethren before their eyes, for the guidance of their footsteps. It was well they did so. In little more than an hour after this, while still urging the forced march which they had begun, they were suddenly arrested by a wild and fearful cry in the forests beyond, the character of which they but too well knew, from frequent and fierce experience. It was the yell of the savage, the terrible war-whoop of the Apalachian, that sounded suddenly from the ambush, as the rattle of the snake is heard from the copse in which he makes his retreat. Then followed the discharge of several arquebuses, four or five in number, all at once, and soon after one or two dropping shots.
“Onward!” cried Alphonse D’Erlach; “we have not a moment to lose. Our comrades are in danger! On! Fools! they have delivered nearly or quite all their pieces; and if the savage be not fled in terror, they are at the mercy of his arrows. Onward, my brave Gascons! Let us save our brethren.”
The young captain led the advance, but though pushing forward with all industry, he did not forego the proper precautions. His men were already taught to scatter themselves, Indian fashion, through the forests, and at little intervals to pursue a parallel course to each other, so as to lessen the chances of surprise, and to offer as small a mark as possible to the shafts of the enemy. The shouts and clamor increased. They could distinguish the cries of the savages from those of the Frenchmen. Of the latter, they fancied they could tell particular voices of individuals. They could hear the flight of arrows, and sometimes the dull, heavy sounds of blows as from a macana or a clubbed arquebuse; and a few moments sufficed to show them the savages darting from tree to tree, and here and there a Frenchman apparently bewildered with the number and agile movements of his foes, but still resolute to seek his victim. At this moment Alphonse D’Erlach stumbled upon a wounded man. He looked down. It was the Sergeant, Le Caille himself. He was stuck full of arrows; more than a dozen having penetrated his body, and one was yet quivering in his cheek just below his eye. Still he lived, but his eyes were glazing. They took in the form of D’Erlach. The lips parted.
“Le Grand Copal, Monsieur—eh!” was all he said, when the death-rattle followed. He gasped, turned over with a single convulsion, and his concern ceased wholly for that golden city, in the search for which he had forgotten every other. D’Erlach gave but a moment’s heed to the dying man, then pushed forward for the rescue of those who might be living. They were surrounded by more than fifty savages, and among these were scattered groups of women and even children. In fact, Le Caille, in his pursuit of the Indian wounded by Rotrou, had happened upon a village of the Apalachians.
It was fortunate for D’Erlach that the savages were quite too busy with the first, to be conscious of the second party. They had been brought on quietly, and, scattered as they had been in the approach, they were enabled to deliver their fire from an extensive range of front. It appalled the Indians, even as a thunder burst from heaven. They had gathered around the few Frenchmen surviving of Le Caille’s party, and were prepared to finish their work with hand-javelins and stone hatchets. The Frenchmen were not suffered to reload their pieces, and were reduced to the necessity of using them as clubs. They were about to be overwhelmed when the timely fire of the nine pieces of D’Erlach’s party, the shout and the rush which followed it, struck death and consternation into the souls of their assailants, and drove them from their prey. With howls of fright and fury the red-men fled to deeper thickets, till they should ascertain the nature and number of their new enemies, and provide themselves with fresh weapons. But D’Erlach was not disposed to afford them respite. His pieces were reloaded; those of the Frenchmen of Le Caille—all indeed who were able—joined themselves to his party, and the Indians were pressed through the thicket and upon their village. To this they fled as to a place of refuge. Our Frenchmen stormed it, fired it over the heads of the inmates, and terrible was the slaughter which followed. The object of D’Erlach was obtained. He had struck such a panic into the souls of the savages, that he was permitted to draw off his people without molestation; but the inspection of the fatal field into which the rashness of Le Caille had led his party, left D’Erlach with few objects of consolation. Seven of them were slain outright, or mortally wounded; three others were slightly wounded, and but three remained unhurt. The survivors were brought off in safety, greatly rejoicing in a rescue so totally undeserved. The party that night encamped in a close wood, in a spot so chosen as to be easily guarded. Two of the persons mortally wounded in the conflict died that night; the third, next day at noon. They were not abandoned till their cares and sufferings were at an end, and their comrades buried them, piling huge stones about their corses. Repose was greatly wanting to the party; but they were conscious that the Indians were about them. D’Erlach knew too well the customs of the Apalachian race to doubt that the runners had already sped, east and west, bearing le baton rouge—the painted club of red, which summons the tribe to which it is carried to send its young vultures to the gathering about the prey.
He sped away accordingly, re-crossing the little river where the party of Le Caille had encountered the Indian spy, and pressing forward upon the route which he had been before pursuing. Day and night he travelled with little intermission, in the endeavor to put as great a space as possible between his band and their enemies. But the toil had become too severe for his people. They began to falter, and were finally compelled to halt for a rest of two or more days, in a snug and pleasant valley, such as they could easily defend. Here they suffered several disasters. One of his men, drying some gunpowder before the fire, it exploded, and he was so dreadfully burnt that he survived but a day, and expired in great agony. Another, who went out after game, never returned. He probably fell a victim to his own imprudence, or sunk under the arrows of some prowling savage. The camp was broken up in haste and apprehension, and the march resumed. Their force was now reduced to thirteen men, and these were destined to still further reduction. The cold had become excessive. The feet of the Frenchmen grew sore from constant exercise; and at length, despairing of the long progress still before them before they could reach the sea, Alphonse D’Erlach yielded to the growing desire of his people to ascend the mountains and seek a nearer spot of refuge, or at least of temporary repose. He began to give ear more earnestly to the story of the great city of the mountains; or, he seemed to do so. At all events,—such was the suggestion—‘we can shelter ourselves for the winter in some close valley of the hills; here we can build log dwellings, and supply ourselves with game as hunters.’ The Frenchmen had acquired sufficient experience of Indian habits to resort to their modes of meeting the exigencies of the season. They knew what were the roots which might be bruised, macerated, and made into bread; and they had been fed on acorns more than once by the Floridian savages. They began the painful ascent, accordingly, which carried them up the heights of Apalachia, that mighty chain of towers which divide the continent from north to south. They had probably reached the region which now forms the upper country of Georgia and South Carolina.
It was in the toilsome ascent of these precipitous heights that they encountered one of those dangers which D’Erlach had striven so earnestly to elude. This was a meeting with the Indians, in any force. A body of more than forty of them were met descending one of the gorges up which the Frenchmen were painfully making their way. The meeting was the signal for the strife. The war-whoop was given almost in the moment when the parties discovered each other. The Indians had the superiority as well in position as in numbers; being on an elevation considerably above that of the Frenchmen. They were a large, fine-limbed race of savages, clad in skins, and armed with bows and stone-hatchets. They had probably never beheld the white man before, and knew nothing of his fearful weapons. They were astounded by the explosion of the arquebuse, and when their chief tumbled from the cliff on which he stood, stricken by an invisible bolt, they fled in terror, leaving the field to the Frenchmen. But, three of the latter were slain in the conflict, and three others wounded. The path was free for their progress, but they went forward with diminished numbers, and sinking hearts. The survivors were now but ten, and these were hurt and suffering from sore, if not fatal, injuries. The cold increased. The savages seemed to have housed themselves from the fury of the winds, that rushed and howled along the bleak terraces to which the Frenchmen had arisen. They buried themselves in a valley that offered them partial protection, built their fires, raised a miserable hovel of poles and bushes for their covering, and sent out their hunters. Two parties, one of two, the other of three men, went forth in pursuit of a bear whose tracks they had detected; leaving five to keep the camp, three of whom were wounded men. Of these two parties, one returned at night, bringing home a turkey. They had failed to discover the hiding-place of the bear. The other did not reappear all night. Trumpets were sounded and guns fired from the camp to guide their footsteps, but without success; and with the dawn Alphonse D’Erlach set forth with his brother and another, one Philip le Borne, to seek the fugitives. Their tracks were found and followed for a weary distance; lost and again found. Pursued over ridge and valley, in a zigzag and ill-directed progress, showing that the lost party had been distracted by their apprehensions. This pursuit led the hunters greatly from the camp; but D’Erlach had made his observations carefully at every step, and knew well that he could regain the spot. He had provided himself well with such food as they possessed, and his little party was well armed. He refused to discontinue the search, particularly as they still recovered the tracks of the missing men. For two days they searched without ceasing, camping by night, and crouching in the shelter of some friendly rock that kept off the wind, and building themselves fires which guarded their slumbers from the assaults of wolf and panther; the howls of the one, and the screams of the other, sounding ever and anon within their ears, from the bald rocks which overhung the camp. On the morning of the third day the fugitives were found, close together, and stiffened in death. They had evidently perished from the cold.
Very sadly did the D’Erlachs return with their one companion to the camp where they had left their comrades. But their gloom and grief were not to suffer diminution. What was their horror to find the spot wholly deserted. The ashes were cold where they had made their fires: the probability was that the place had been fully a day and night abandoned. No traces of the Frenchmen were left—not a clue afforded to their brethren of what had taken place. Alphonse D’Erlach, however, discovered the track of an Indian moccasin in the ashes, but he carefully obliterated it before it was beheld by his companions. It was apparent to him that his people had suffered themselves to be surprised; but whether they had been butchered or led into captivity was beyond his conjecture. His hope that they still lived was based upon the absence of all proofs of struggle or of sacrifice.
To linger in that spot was impossible; but whither should they direct their steps.
“We are but three, now, my comrades,” said the younger D’Erlach,—“we must on no account separate. We must sleep and hunt together, and suffer no persuasions to part us. Let us descend from this inhospitable mountain, and, crossing the stretch of valley which spreads below, attempt the heights opposite. We may there find more certain food, and better protection from these bleak winds.”
“Better that we had perished with our comrades, under the knife of Melendez,” was the gloomy speech of the elder D’Erlach.
“It is always soon enough to die,” replied the younger. “For shame, my brother!—it is but death, at the worst, which awaits us. Let us on!”