“Make ye still as if ye would stoop for the fallen arrows, ye of the first rank; but blow ye your matches even as ye do so, and falling upon your knees deliver then your fire; while the second rank will cover you as ye do so, and while ye charge anew your pieces.”
The command was obeyed with coolness; and, as the Indians darted forward, coming in close packed squadrons into the gorge of the avenue, the soldiers delivered their fire with great precision. Dreadful was the howl which followed it, for more than thirteen of the savages had fallen, mortally hurt, and two of their chief warriors had been made to bite the dust. Seizing the bodies of their slain and wounded comrades, the survivors immediately hurried into cover, and D’Erlach at once pushed forward with his command. But he had not advanced more than four hundred paces, when the assault was renewed, the air suddenly being darkened with the flight of bearded shafts, while the forest rang with the yells of savage fury. They were still too far for serious mischief, and were besides covered with the woods; so, giving the assailants little heed, except to observe that they came not too nigh, or too suddenly upon him, D’Erlach continued to push forward, doing as he had done before with the hostile arrows whenever they lay in the pathway. But the courage of the red-men increased as they warmed in the struggle, and they grew bolder because of the very forbearance of the Frenchmen. Besides, their forces had been increased by other bodies, each approaching in turn to the assault, so as to keep their enemies constantly busy. In parties of two or three hundred, they darted from their several ambushes, and having discharged their arrows, and met with repulse, retired rapidly to other favorite places of concealment to renew the conflict as it continued to advance. By this time, the whole body of the Frenchmen had become engaged in the fight. The force under Ottigny, following the example of that led by D’Erlach, had succeeded in pressing forward, though not without loss, while making great havoc with the red-men. These people fought, never men more bravely; and, but for the happy thought, that of destroying their arrows as fast as they fell, it is probable that the detachment had never reached La Caroline. They hovered thus about the march of the Frenchmen all the day, encouraging each other with shouts of vengeance and delight, and sending shaft upon shaft, with an aim, which, had they not been too greatly sensible of the danger of the arquebuse, to come sufficiently nigh, would have been always fatal. Yet well did the savage succeed, so long as they remained unintoxicated by their rage, in dodging the aim of the weapon. As Laudonniere writes—“All the while they had their eye and foot so quicke and readie, that as soone as ever they saw the harquebuse raised to the cheeke, so soon were they on the ground, and eftsoone to answer with their bowes, and to flie their way, if by chance they perceived that we were about to take them.”
This conflict lasted from nine o’clock in the morning until night. It only ceased when the darkness separated the combatants. Even then, but for the deficiency of their arrows, they probably would not have withdrawn from the field. It was late in the night when the Frenchmen reached their boats, weary and exhausted, their grain wrested from them, their hostages rescued, and twenty-four of their number killed and wounded. The Floridians had shown themselves warriors of equal spirit and capacity. The determined exclusion of their Paracoussi from counsels which it was feared that he would dishonor, their manly resistance to the white invaders, their scornful ridicule of their necessities, their proud defiance of their power, and the fierce and unrelenting hostility with which they had chased their adversaries, remind us irresistibly of the degradation of Montezuma by his subjects, their prolonged warfare with the Spaniards, their sleepless hostility, and that bloody struggle which first drove them over the causeways of Tenochtitlan. The inferior state and wealth of the Paracoussi, Olata Ouvae Utina, constitutes no such sufficient element of difference, as to lessen the force of the parallel between himself and people, and those of the Atzec sovereign.
The disasters which befel his detachment, brought Laudonniere to his knees. He had now been humbled severely by the dispensations of Providence—punished for that disregard of the things most important to the colonization of a new country, which, in his insane pursuit of the precious metals, had marred his administration. His misfortunes reminded him of his religion.
“Seeing, therefore, mine hope frustrate on that side, I made my prayer unto God, and thanked him of his grace which he had showed unto my poore souldiers which were escaped.”
But his prayers did not detain him long. The necessities of the colony continued as pressing as ever. “Afterward, I thought upon new meanes to obtaine victuals, as well for our returne into France, as to drive out the time untill our embarking.” Those were meditations of considerable difficulty. The petty fields of the natives, never contemplated with reference to more than a temporary supply of food;—never planted with reference to providing for a whole year, were really inadequate to the wants of such a body of men, unless by grievously distressing their proprietors. The people of Olata Utina had been moved to rage in all probability, quite as much because of their grain crops, about to be torn from them, as with any feeling of indignation in consequence of the detention of their Paracoussi. In the sacks of corn which the Frenchmen bore away upon their shoulders, they beheld the sole provisions upon which, for several months, their women and children had relied to feed; and their quick imaginations were goaded to desperation, as they depicted the vivid horrors of a summer consumed in vain search after crude roots and indigestible berries, through the forests. No wonder the wild wretches fought to avert such a danger; as little may we wonder that they fought successfully. The Frenchmen, compelled to cast down their sacks of grain, to use their weapons, the red-men soon repossessed themselves of all their treasure. When Laudonniere reviewed his harrassed soldiers on their return from this expedition, “all the mill that he found among his company came but to two men’s burdens.” To attempt to recover the provisions thus wrested from them, or to revenge themselves for the indignity and injury they had undergone, were equally out of the question. The people of the Paracoussi could number their thousands; and, buried in their deep fortresses of forest, they could defy pursuit. Laudonniere was compelled to look elsewhere for the resources which should keep his company from want.
Two leagues distant from La Caroline, on the opposite side of May River, stood the Indian village of Saravahi. Not far from this might be seen the smokes of another village, named Emoloa. The Frenchmen, wandering through the woods in search of game, had alighted suddenly upon these primitive communities. Here they had been received with gentleness and love. The natives were lively and benevolent. They had never felt the wrath of the white man, nor been made to suffer because of his improvidence and necessities. His thunderbolts had never hurled among their columns, and mown them down as with a fiery scythe from heaven. The Frenchmen did not fail to remark that they were provident tribes, with corn-fields much more ample than were common among the Indians. These, they now concluded, must be covered with golden grain, in the season of harvest, and thither, accordingly, Laudonniere dispatched his boats. A judicious officer conducted the detachment, and stores of European merchandize were confided to him for the purposes of traffic. He was not disappointed in his expectations. His soldiers were received with open arms; and a “good store of mil,” speaking comparatively, was readily procured from the abundance of the Indians.
But, in preparation for the return to France, other and larger supplies were necessary. The boats were again made ready, and confided to La Vasseur and D’Erlach. They proceeded to the river to which the French had given their name of Somme, now known as the Satilla, but which was then called among the Indians, the Iracana, after their own beautiful queen. Of this queen our Frenchmen had frequently been told. She had been described to them as the fairest creature, in the shape of woman, that the country had beheld: nor was the region over which she swayed, regarded with less admiration. This was spoken of as a sort of terrestrial paradise. Here, the vales were more lovely; the waters more cool and pellucid than in any other of the territories of earth. Here, the earth produced more abundantly than elsewhere; the trees were more stately and magnificent, the flowers more beautiful and gay, and the vines more heavily laden with grapes of the most delicious flavor. Sweetest islets rose along the shore over which the moon seemed to linger with a greater fondness, and soft breezes played ever in the capacious forests, always kindling to emotions of pleasure, the soft beatings of the delighted heart. The influences of scene and climate were felt for good amongst the people who were represented at once as the most generous and gentle of all the Floridian natives. They had no wild passions, and coveted no fierce delights. Under the sway of a woman, at once young and beautiful, the daughter of their most favorite monarch, their souls had become attuned to sympathies which greatly tended to subdue and to soothe the savage nature. Their lives were spent in sports and dances. No rebukes or restraints of duty, no sordid cares or purposes, impaired the dream of youth and rapture which prevailed everywhere in the hearts of the people. Gay assemblages were ever to be found among the villages in the forests; singing their own delights and imploring the stranger to be happy also. They had a thousand songs and sports of youth and pleasure, which made life a perpetual round of ever freshening felicity. Innocent as wild, no eye of the ascetic could rebuke enjoyments which violated no cherished laws of experience and thought, and their glad and sprightly dances, in the deep shadows of the wood, to the lively clatter of Indian gourds and tambourines, were quite as significant of harmless fancies as of thoughtless lives. Happy was the lonely voyager, speeding along the coast, in his frail canoe, when, suddenly darting out from the forests of Iracana, a slight but lovely creature, with flowing tunic of white cotton, stood upon the head land, waving her branch of palm or myrtle, entreating his approach, and imploring him to delay his journey, while he shared in the sweet festivities of love and youth, for a season, upon the shore,—crying with a sweet chant,—
“Love you me not, oh, lonely voyager—love you me not? Lo! am I not lovely; I who serve the beautiful queen of Iracana? will you not come to me, for a while!—come, hide the canoe among the reeds, along the shore, and make merry with the damsels of Iracana. I give to thee the palm and the myrtle, in token of a welcome of peace and love. Come hither, oh! lonely voyager, and be happy for a season!”
And seldom were these persuasions unavailing. The lonely voyager was commonly won, as was he who, sailing by Scylla and Charybdis, refused to seal his ears with wax against the song of the Syren. But our charmers, along the banks of the Satilla, entreated to no evil, laid no snares for the unwary, meditating their destruction. They sought only to share the pleasures which they themselves enjoyed. The benevolence of that love which holds its treasure as of little value, unless its delights may be bestowed on others, was the distinguishing moral in the Indian Eden of Iracana; and he who came with love, never departed without a sorrow, such as made him linger as he went, and soon return, when this were possible, to a region, which, among our Floridians, realized that period of the Classic Fable, which has always been designated, par excellence, as the “age of gold.”
Our Frenchmen, under the conduct of La Vasseur and D’Erlach, reached the frontiers of Iracana, at an auspicious period. The season of harvest, among all primitive and simple nations, is commonly a season of great rejoicing. Among a people like those of Iracana, habitually accustomed to rejoice, it is one in which delight becomes exultation, and when in the supreme felicity of good fortune, the happy heart surpasses itself in the extraordinary expression of its joy. Here were assembled to the harvest, all the great lords of the surrounding country. Here was Athoree, the gigantic son of Satouriova, a very Anak, among the Floridians. Here were Apalou, a famous chieftain,—Tacadocorou, and many others, whom our Frenchmen had met and known before;—some of whom indeed, they had known in fierce conflict, and a strife which had never been healed by any of the gentle offices of peace.
But Iracana was the special territory of peace. It was not permitted, among the Floridians, to approach this realm with angry purpose. Here war and strife were tabooed things,—shut out, denied and banished, and peace and love, and rapture, were alone permitted exercise in abodes which were too grateful to all parties, to be desecrated by hostile passions. When, therefore, our Frenchmen, beholding those only with whom they had so lately fought, were fain to betake themselves to their weapons, the chiefs themselves, with whom they had done battle, came forward to embrace them, with open arms.
“Brothers, all—brothers here, in Iracana;” was the common speech. “Be happy here, brothers, no fight, no scalp, nothing but love in Iracana,—nothing but dance and be happy.”
Even had not this assurance sufficed with our Frenchmen, the charms of the lovely Queen herself, her grace and sweetness, not unmixed with a dignity which declared her habitual rule, must have stifled every feeling of distrust in their bosoms, and effectually exorcised that of war. She came to meet the strangers with a mingled ease and state, a sweetness and a majesty, which were inexpressibly attractive. She took a hand of La Vasseur and of D’Erlach, with each of her own. A bright, happy smile lightened in her eye, and warmed her slightly dusky features with a glow. Rich in hue, yet delicately thin, her lips parted with a pleasure, as she spoke to them, which no art could simulate. She bade them welcome, joined their hands with those of the great warriors by whom she was attended, and led them away among her damsels, of whom a numerous array were assembled, all habited in the richest garments of their scanty wardrobes.
The robes of the Queen herself were ample. The skirts of her dress fell below her knees, a thing very uncommon with the women of Florida. Over this, she wore a tunic of crimson, which descended below her hips. A slight cincture embraced, without confining, her waist. Long strings of sea-shell, of the smallest size, but of colors and tints the most various and delicate, drooped across her shoulders, and were strung, in loops and droplets, to the skirts of her dress and her symar. Similar strings encircled her head, from which the hair hung free behind, almost to the ground, a raven-like stream, of the deepest and most glossy sable. Her form was equally stately and graceful—her carriage betrayed a freedom, which was at once native and the fruit of habitual exercise. Nothing could have been more gracious than the sweetness of her welcome; nothing more utterly unshadowed than the sunshine which beamed in her countenance. She led her guests among the crowd, and soon released La Vasseur to one of the loveliest girls who came about her. Alphonse D’Erlach she kept to herself. She was evidently struck with the singular union of delicacy and youth with sagacity and character, which declared itself in his features and deportment.
Very soon were all the parties engaged in the mazes of the Indian dance of Iracana,—a movement which, unlike the waltz of the Spaniards, less stately perhaps, and less imposing—yet requires all its flexibility and freedom, and possesses all its seductive and voluptuous attractions. Half the night was consumed with dancing; then gay parties could be seen gliding into canoes and darting across the stream to other villages and places of abode. Anon, might be perceived a silent couple gliding away to sacred thickets; and with the sound of a mighty conch, which strangely broke the silence of the forest, the Queen herself retired with her attendants, having first assigned to certain of her chiefs the task of providing for the Frenchmen. Of these she had already shown herself sufficiently heedful and solicitous. Not sparing of her regards to La Vasseur, she had particularly devoted herself to D’Erlach, and, while they danced together, if the truth could be spoken of her simple heart, great had been its pleasure at those moments, when the spirit of the dance required that she should yield herself to his grasp, and die away languidly in his embrace.
“Ah! handsome Frenchman,” she said to her companion,—“You please me so much.”
His companions were similarly entertained. Captain La Vasseur was soon satisfied that he too was greatly pleasing to the fair and lovely savage who had been assigned him; and not one of the Frenchmen, but had his share of the delights and endearments which made the business of life in Iracana. The soldiers had each a fair creature, with whom he waltzed and wandered; and fond discourse, everywhere in the great shadows of the wood, between sympathizing spirits, opened a new idea of existence to the poor Huguenots who, hitherto, had only known the land of Florida, by its privations and its gold. The dusky damsels, alike sweet and artless, brought back to our poor adventurers precious recollections of youthful fancies along the banks of the Garonne and the Loire, and it is not improbable, that, under the excitement of new emotions, had Laudonniere proposed to transfer La Caroline to the Satilla, or Somme, instead of May River, they might have been ready to waive, for a season at least, their impatient desire to return to France.
Night was at length subdued to silence on the banks of the Satilla. The sounds of revelry had ceased. All slept, and the transition from night to day passed, sweetly and insensibly, almost without the consciousness of the parties. But, with the sunrise, the great conch sounded in the forest. The Eden of the Floridian did not imply a life of mere repose. The people were gathered to their harvesting, and the labors of the day, under the auspices of a gracious rule, were made to seem a pleasure. Hand in hand, the Queen Iracana, with her maidens, and her guests, followed to the maize fields. Already had she found D’Erlach, and her slender fingers, without any sense of shame, had taken possession of his hand, which she pressed at moments very tenderly. He had already informed her of the wants and the sufferings of his garrison, and she smiled with a new feeling of happiness, as she eagerly assured him that his people should receive abundance. She bent with her own hands the towering stalks; and, detaching the ears, flung to the ground a few in all these places, on which it was meant that the heaps should be accumulated. “Give these to our friends, the Frenchmen,” she said, indicating with a sweep of the hand, a large tract of the field, through which they went. D’Erlach felt this liberality. He squeezed her fingers fondly in return,—saying words of compliment which, possibly, in her ear, meant something more than compliment.
Then followed the morning feast; then walks in the woods; then sports upon the river in their canoes; and snaring the fish in weirs, in which the Indians were very expert. Evening brought with it a renewal of the dance, which again continued late in the night. Again did Alphonse D’Erlach dance with Iracana; but it was now seen that her eyes saddened with the overfulness of her heart. Love is not so much a joy as a care. It is so vast a treasure, that the heart, possessed of the fullest consciousness of its value, is for ever dreading its loss. The happiness of the Floridian Eden had been of a sort which never absorbed the soul. It lacked the intensity of a fervent passion. It was the life of childhood—a thing of sport and play, of dance and dream—not that eager and avaricious passion which knows never content, and is never sure, even when most happy, from the anxieties and doubts which beset all mortal felicity. Already did our Queen begin to calculate the hours between the present, and that which should witness the departure of the pleasant Frenchmen.
“You will go from me,” said she to D’Erlach, as they went apart from the rest, wandering along the banks of the river and looking out upon the sea. “You will go from me, and I shall never see you any more.”
“I will come again, noble Queen, believe me,” was the assurance.
“Ah! come soon,” she said, “come soon, for you please me very much, Aphon.”
Such was the soft Indian corruption of his christened name. No doubt, she too gave pleasure to ‘Aphon.’ How could it be otherwise? How could he prove insensible to the tender and fervid interest which she so innocently betrayed in him? He did not. He was not insensible; and vague fancies were quickening in his mind as respects the future. He was opposed to the plan of returning to France. He was for carrying out the purposes of Coligny, and fulfilling the destinies of the colony. He had warned Laudonniere against the policy he pursued, had foreseen all the evils resulting from his unwise counsels, and there was that in his bosom which urged the glorious results to France, of a vigorous and just administration of a settlement in the western hemisphere, in which he was to participate, with his energy and forethought, without having these perpetually baffled by the imbecility and folly of an incapable superior. In such an event, how sweetly did his fancy mingle with his own fortunes those of the gentle and loving creature who stood beside him. He told her not his thoughts—they were indeed, fancies, rather than thoughts—but his arm gently encircled her waist, and while her head drooped upon her bosom, he pressed her hand with a tender earnestness, which spoke much more loudly than any language to her heart.
The hour of separation came at length. Three days had elapsed in the delights of the Floridian Eden. Our Frenchmen were compelled to tear themselves away. The objects for which they came had been gratified. The bounty of the lovely Iracana had filled with grain their boats. Her subjects had gladly borne the burdens from the fields to the vessels, while the strangers revelled with the noble and the lovely. But their revels were now to end. The garrison at La Caroline, it was felt, waited with hunger, as well as hope and anxiety for their return, and they dared to delay no longer. The parting was more difficult than they themselves had fancied. All had been well entertained, and all made happy by their entertainment. If Alphonse D’Erlach had been favored with the sweet attentions of a queen, Captain La Vasseur had been rendered no less happy by the smiles of the loveliest among her subjects. He had touched her heart also, quite as sensibly as had the former that of Iracana. Similarly fortunate had been their followers. Authority had ceased to restrain in a region where there was no danger of insubordination, and our Frenchmen, each in turn, from the sergeant to the sentinel, had been honored by regards of beauty, such as made him forgetful, for the time, of precious memories in France. Nor had these favors, bestowed upon the Frenchmen, provoked the jealousy of the numerous Indian chieftains who were present, and who shared in these festivities. It joyed them the rather to see how frankly the white men could unbend themselves to unwonted pleasures, throwing aside that jealous state, that suspicious vigilance, which, hitherto, had distinguished their bearing in all their intercourse with the Indians.
“Women of Iracana too sweet,” said the gigantic son of Satouriova, Athore, to Captain La Vasseur, as the parties, each with a light and laughing damsel in his grasp, whirled beside each other in the mystic maze of the dance.
“I much love these women of Iracana,” said Apalou, as fierce a warrior in battle, as ever swore by the altars of the Indian Moloch. “I glad you love them too, like me. Iracana woman good for too much love! They make great warrior forget his enemies.”
“Ha!” said one addressing D’Erlach, “You have beautiful women in your country, like Iracana, the Queen?”
But, we need not pursue these details. The hour of separation had arrived. Our Frenchmen had brought with them a variety of commodities grateful to the Indian eye, with which they designed to traffic; but the bounty of Iracana, which had anticipated all their wants, had asked for nothing in return. The treasures of the Frenchmen were accordingly distributed in gifts among the noble men and women of the place. Some of these Iracana condescended to take from the hands of Aphon. Her tears fell upon his offering. She gave him in return two small mats, woven of the finer straws of the country, with her own hands—wrought, indeed, while D’Erlach sat beside her in the shade of a great oak by the river bank—and “so artificially wrought,” in the language of the chronicle, “as it was impossible to make it better.” The poor Queen had few words—
“You will come to me, Aphon—you will? you will? I too much want you! Come soon, Aphon. Iracana will dance never no more till Aphon be come.”
“Aphon” felt, at that moment, that he could come without sorrow. He promised that he would. Perhaps he meant to keep his promise; but we shall see. The word was given to be aboard, and the trumpet rang, recalling the soldier who still lingered in the forest shadows, with some dusky damsel for companion. All were at length assembled, and with a last squeeze of her hand, D’Erlach took leave of his sorrowful queen. She turned away into the woods, but soon came forth again, unable to deny herself another last look.
But the Frenchmen were delayed. One of their men was missing. Where was Louis Bourdon? There was no answer to his name. The boats were searched, the banks of the river, the neighboring woods, the fields, the Indian village, and all in vain. The Frenchmen observed that the natives exhibited no eagerness in the search. They saw that many faces were clothed with smiles, when their efforts resulted fruitlessly. They could not suppose that any harm had befallen the absent soldier. They could not doubt the innocence of that hospitality, which had shown itself so fond. They conjectured rightly when they supposed that Louis Bourdon, a mere youth of twenty, had gone off with one of the damsels of Iracana, whose seductions he had found it impossible to withstand. D’Erlach spoke to the Queen upon the subject. She gave him no encouragement. She professed to know nothing, and probably did not, and she would promise nothing. She unhesitatingly declared her belief that he was in the forest, with some one that “he so much loved:” but she assured D’Erlach that to hunt them up would be an impossibility.
“Why you not stay with me, Aphon, as your soldier stay with the woman he so much love? It is good to stay. Iracana will love you too much more than other woman. Ah! you love not much the poor Iracana.”
“Nay, Iracana, I love you greatly. I will come to you again. I find it hard to tear myself away. But my people—”
“Ah! you stay with Iracana, and much love Iracana, and you have all these people. They will plant for you many fields of corn; you shall no more want; and we will dance when the evening comes, and we shall be so happy, Aphon and Iracana, to live together; Aphon the great Paracoussi, and Iracana to be Queen no more.”
It was not easy to resist these pleadings. But time pressed. Captain La Vasseur was growing impatient. The search after Louis Bourdon was abandoned, and the soldiers were again ordered on board. The anxieties of La Vasseur being now awakened, lest others of his people should be spirited away. Of this the danger was considerable. The Frenchman was a more flexible being than either the Englishman or Spaniard. It was much easier for him to assimilate with the simple Indian; and our Huguenot soldiers, who had very much forgotten their religion in their diseased thirst after gold, now, in the disappointment of the one appetite were not indifferent to the consolations afforded by a life of ease and sport, and the charms which addressed them in forms so persuasive as those of the damsels of Iracana. La Vasseur began to tremble for his command, as he beheld the reluctance of his soldiers to depart. He gave the signal hurriedly to Alphonso D’Erlach, and with another sweet single pressure of the hand, he left the lovely Queen to her own melancholy musings. She followed with her eyes the departing boats till they were clean gone from sight, then buried herself in the deepest thickets where she might weep in security.
Other eyes than hers pursued the retiring barks of the Frenchmen, with quite as much anxiety; and long after she had ceased to see them. On a little headland jutting out upon the river below, in the shade of innumerable vines and flowers, crouching in suspense, was the renegade, Louis Bourdon. By his side sat the dusky damsel who had beguiled him from his duties. While his comrades danced, he was flying through the thickets. The nation were, many of them, conscious of his flight; but they held his offence to be venial, and they encouraged him to proceed. They lent him help in crossing the river, at a point below; the father of the woman with whom he fled providing the canoe with which to transport him beyond the danger of pursuit. Little did our Frenchmen, as the boats descended, dream who watched them from the headland beneath which they passed. Many were the doubts, frequent the changes, in the feelings of the capricious renegade, as he saw his countrymen approaching him, and felt that he might soon be separated from them and home forever, by the ocean walls of the Atlantic. Whether it was that his Indian beauty detected in his face the fluctuations of his thoughts, and feared that, on the near approach of the boats, he would change his purpose and abandon her for his people, cannot be said; but just then she wound herself about within his arms, and looked up in his face, while her falling hair enmeshed his hands, and contributed, perhaps, still more firmly to ensnare his affections. His heart had been in his mouth; he could scarcely have kept from crying out to his comrades as the boats drew nigh to the cliff; but the dusky beauties beneath his gaze, the soft and delicate form within his embrace, silenced all the rising sympathies of brotherhood in more ravishing emotions. In a moment their boats had gone by; in a little while they had disappeared from sight, and the arms of the Indian woman, wrapped about her captive, declared her delight and rapture in the triumph which she now regarded as secure. Louis Bourdon little knew how much he had escaped, in thus becoming a dweller in the Floridian Eden.
The glowing accounts of the delights of the Floridian Eden which were brought by our returning voyagers, were not sufficient to persuade the garrison to forego their anxious desire to return to France. The home-sickness under which they labored had now reached such a height as to suffer no appeal or opposition. Nothing but the stern decree of authority could have silenced the discontents; and the authority lay neither in the will nor in the numbers under the control of Laudonniere. To such a degree of impatience had this passion for their European homes arisen, that, when it was found that the building of the vessel for their deportation would be delayed beyond the designated period, in consequence of the death, in battle with the savages, of two of the carpenters, the multitude rose in mutiny setting upon Jean de Hais, the master-carpenter,—who had innocently declared the impossibility of doing the work within the given time,—with such ferocity, as to make it scarcely possible to save his life. With this spirit prevailing among his garrison, Laudonniere was compelled to abandon the idea, altogether, of building the ship; and to address all his energies to the repair, for the desired purpose, of the old brigantine, which had been brought back to La Caroline, by the returning pirates. To work, with this object, all parties were now set with the utmost expedition. The houses which had been built without the fort were torn down, in order that the timber should be converted into coal for the uses of the forge; this being a labor much easier than that of using the axe upon the trees of the forest. The palisade which conducted from the fort to the river was torn down also by the soldiery, for the same purpose, in spite of the objections of Laudonniere. It was their policy to make their determination to depart inevitable, by rendering the place no longer habitable. The fort, itself, it was determined to destroy, when they were ready to sail, “lest some new-come guest should have enjoyed and possessed it.” Our Frenchmen were very jealous of the designs of the English queen. They well knew that the haughty and courageous Elizabeth was meditating a British settlement in the New World; and though, after their own voluntary abandonment of the country, they had no right to complain that another should occupy the waste places, yet their jealousy was too greatly that of the dog in the manger, to behold, with pleased eye, the possession by another of the things which they themselves had been unable to enjoy. “In the meanwhile,” says Laudonniere—seeking to excuse his own unwise management and feeble policy—“In the meanwhile, there was none of us to whome it was not an extreme griefe to leave a country wherein wee had endured so greate travailes and necessities, to discover that which wee must forsake through our owne countrymen’s default. For if wee had beene succoured in time and place, and according to the promise that was made unto us, the war which was between us and Utina had not fallen out, neither should wee have had occasion to offend the Indians, which, with all paines in the world, I entertained in good amitie, as well with merchandize and apparel, as with promise of greater matters; and with whome I so behaved myself, that although sometimes I was constrained to take victuals in some few villages, yet I lost not the alliance of eight kings and lords, my neighbours, which continually succoured and ayded me with whatever they were able to afford. Yea, this was the principal scope of all my purposes, to winne and entertaine them, knowing how greatly their amitie might advance our enterprise, and principally while I discovered the commodities of the country, and sought to strengthen myself therein. I leave it to your cogitation to think how neare it went to our hearts to leave a place abounding in riches (as we were thoroughly enformed thereof) in coming whereunto, and doing service unto our prince, we lefte our owne countrey, wives, children, parents and friends, and passed the perils of the sea, and were therein arrived as in a plentiful treasure of all our heart’s desire.”
It was while distressing himself with these cogitations that Laudonniere, on the 3d of August, 1565, took a walk, “as was his custom of an afternoon,” to the top of a little eminence, in the neighborhood of the fort, which afforded a distant prospect of the sea. Here, looking forth with yearning to that watery waste which he was preparing to traverse, he was suddenly excited, as he beheld four sail of approaching vessels. At first, the tidings made the soldiers of the garrison to leap for joy. The vessels were naturally supposed to be those of their own countrymen; and such was the gladness inspired by this supposition, that “one would have thought them to be out of their wittes, to see them laugh and leap.” But, something in the behavior of the strange ships, after a while, rendered our Frenchmen a little doubtful of their character. Instead of boldly approaching, they were seen to cast anchor and to send out one of their boats. A prudent fear of the Spaniards made Laudonniere get his soldiers in readiness; while Captain La Vasseur, with a select party, advanced to the river side to meet the visitors. They proved to be Englishmen—a fleet under the command of the celebrated John Hawkins; and had on board one Martin Atinas, of Dieppe; a Frenchman, who had been one of the colonists of Fort Charles,—one of those who, returning to France, had been taken up at sea and carried into England. He had guided the English admiral along the coast, and his information had contributed to prompt the voyage of exploration which Hawkins had in hand. But the object of the British admiral was quite pacific, and his conduct exceedingly generous and noble. His ostensible purpose in putting into May River was to procure fresh water. Laudonniere permitted him to do so. Hawkins, perceiving the distressed condition of the Frenchmen, relieved them with liberal supplies of bread, wine and provisions. Apprised of their desire to return to France, he, with greater liberality and a wiser policy, offered to transport the whole colony. But Laudonniere was still jealous of the Englishman, and was apprehensive that, while he carried off the one colony, he would instantly plant another in its place. He declined the generous offer, but bargained with him for one of his vessels, for which Laudonniere chiefly paid by the furniture of the fortress,—the cannon, &c.,—viz.: “two bastards, two mynions, one thousand of iron (balls), and one thousand (pounds) of powder.” These items included only a portion of the purchase consideration, in earnest of the treaty. Moved with pity at the wretched condition of the Frenchmen, the generous Englishman offered supplies for which he accepted Laudonniere’s bills. These the subsequent misfortunes of the latter never permitted him to satisfy. In this way our colonists procured “twenty barrels of meale, six pipes of beanes, one hogshead of salt, and a hundred (cwt.?) of waxe to make candles. Moreover, forasmuch as hee saw my souldiers goe barefoote, hee offered me besides fifty paires of shoes, which I accepted.” “He did more than this,” says Laudonniere. “He bestowed upon myselfe a great jarre of oyle, a jarre of vinegar, a barell of olives, a great quantitie of rice, and a barell of white biscuit. Besides, he gave divers presents to the principal officers of my company according to their qualities: so that, I may say, that we received as many courtesies of the Generall as was possible to receive of any man living.”
Here, we are fortunately in possession of the narrative of Hawkins himself, and his report of the encounter with our Frenchmen. It affords a good commentary upon the bad management of Laudonniere, and the worthless character of his followers; the sturdy Englishmen seeing, at a glance, where all the evils of the colony lay. He describes their first settlement as gathered from their own lips; their numbers, the period they had remained in the country, their frequent want, and the modes resorted to for escaping famine. His details comprise all the facts of our history, as already given. Of their discontents and rebels, he speaks as of a class, “who would not take the paines so much as to fishe in the river before their doores, but would have all thinges put in their mouthes. They did rebell against the Captaine, taking away first his armour, and afterwards imprisoning him, &c.” The narrative of Hawkins gives the subsequent history of the rebels, their piracy, capture and fate. He mentions one particular, which we do not gather from Laudonniere, showing the sagacity of the Floridian warriors. Finding that the Frenchmen, in battle, were protected by their coats of mail, or escaupil, and the bucklers in familiar use at the time, they directed their arrows at the faces and the legs of their enemies, which were the parts in which they were mostly wounded. At the close of this war, according to our Englishmen, Laudonniere had not forty soldiers left unhurt. After detailing the supplies accorded to the colonists from his stores, he adds, “notwithstanding the great want that the Frenchmen had, the ground doth yield victuals sufficient, if they would have taken paines to get the same; but they being souldiers, desired to live by the sweat of other men’s browes.” Here speaks the jealous scorn of the sailor. “The ground yieldeth naturally great store of grapes, for in the time the Frenchmen were there they made twenty hogsheads of wine.” Our poor Huguenots could seek gold and manufacture wine, but could not raise provisions. They were of too haughty a stomach to toil for any but the luxuries of life. “Also,” says Hawkins, “it (the earth) yieldeth roots passing good, deere marvellous store, with divers other beastes and fowle serviceable to man. These be things wherewith a man may live, having corne or maize wherewith to make bread, for maize maketh good savory bread, and cakes as fine as flowre; also, it maketh good meale, beaten and sodden with water, and nourishable, which the Frenchmen did use to drink of in the morning, and it assuageth their thirst, so that they have no need to drink all the day after. And this maize was the greatest lack they had, because they had no labourers to sowe the same; and therefore, to them that should inhabit the land, it were requisite to have labourers to till and sowe the ground; for they, having victuals of their owne, whereby they neither spoil nor rob the inhabitants, may live not only quietly with them, who naturally are more desirous of peace than of warre, but also shall have abundance of victuals proffered them for nothing, &c.” The testimony of Hawkins is as conclusive in behalf of the Floridians as it is unfavorable to our Frenchmen. He speaks in the highest terms of the qualities and resources of the country, as abounding in commodities unknown to men, and equal to those of any region in the world. He tells us of the gold procured by the Huguenot colonists, one mass of two pounds weight being taken by them from the Indians, without equivalent. The latter he describes as having some estimation of the precious metals; “for it is wrought flat and graven, which they wear about their necks, &c.” The Frenchmen eat snakes in the sight of our Englishmen, to their “no little admiration;” and affirm the same to be a delicate meat. Laudonniere tells Hawkins some curious snake stories, which could not well be improved upon, even in the “Hunter’s Camp,” on a “Lying Saturday.” “I heard a miracle of one of these adders,”—snakes a yard and a half long,—“upon the which a faulcon (hawk) seizing, the sayd adder did claspe her taile about her; which, the French captaine seeing, came to the rescue of the faulcon, and took her,—slaying the adder.” There is no improbability in this story; but we shall be slow to give our testimony in behalf of that which follows: “And the Captaine of the Frenchmen saw also a serpent with three heads and foure feet, of the bignesse of a great spaniel, which, for want of a harquebuse, he durst not attempt to slay.” Laudonniere had evidently some appreciation of the marvellous; but only four feet to three heads was a monstrous disproportion. The account which Hawkins gives of the abundance of fish in the neighborhood of the garrison, is no exaggeration, and only adds to the surprise that we feel at the wretched indolence and imbecility of the colonists, who, with this resource “at their doores,” depended for their supply upon the Floridians.
Hawkins’s account of the coast and characteristics of Florida is copious and full of interest, but belongs not to this narrative. He left the Huguenots, on the 28th July, 1565, making all preparations to follow in his wake; and on the fifteenth of August Laudonniere was prepared to depart also. The biscuit was made for the voyage, the goods and chattels of the soldiers were taken on board, and most of the water;—nothing delayed their sailing but head-winds;—when the whole proceeding was arrested by the sudden appearance of Ribault, with the long-promised supplies from France. The approach of Ribault was exceedingly cautious; so circumspect, indeed, that fears were entertained by the garrison that his ships were those of the Spaniards. The guns of the fortress were already trained to bear upon them when the strangers discovered themselves. The reasons for their mysterious deportment, as subsequently given, arose from certain false reports which had reached France, of the conduct of Laudonniere. He had been described, by letters from some of his malcontents in the colony, as affecting a sort of regal state—as preparing to shake off his dependence upon the mother-country—and setting up for himself, as the sovereign lord of the Floridas. Poor Laudonniere! living on vipers, crude berries and bitter roots, mocked by the savages on one hand, fettered and flouted by his own runagates and rebels on the other,—defied in his authority, and starving in all his state, was in no mood to affect royalty upon the River May. He was, no doubt, a vain and ostentatious person; but, whatever may have been his absurdities and vanities, at first, they had been sufficiently schooled by his necessities, we should think, to cure him of any such idle affectations. He had been subdued and humbled by defeat,—the failure of his plans, and the evident contempt into which he had sunk among his people. Yet of all this, the King of France and Monsieur de Coligny could have known nothing; and when we recollect that the colony was made up of Huguenots only, a people of whose fidelity the former might reasonably doubt, the suspicions of the Catholic monarch may not be supposed entirely unreasonable. At all events, Ribault was sent to supersede the usurping commander, and bore imperative orders for his recall. The armament confided to Ribault consisted of seven vessels, and a military force corresponding with such a fleet. We are also made aware that, on this occasion, the force which he commanded was no longer made up of Huguenots exclusively, as in the previous armament. A large sprinkling of Catholic soldiers accompanied the expedition, and the temporary peace throughout the realm enabled a great number of gentlemen and officers to employ themselves in the search after adventure in the New World. They accordingly swelled the forces of Ribault, and showed conclusively that the colonial establishment in Florida had grown into some importance at home. That Laudonniere should become a prince there, was calculated to exaggerate the greatness of the principality; and the jealousy of the French monarch, in all probability, for the first time, awakened his sympathy for the settlement. The same accounts which had borne the tidings of Laudonniere’s ambition, may have exaggerated the resources and discoveries of the country; and possibly some specimens of gold—the mass of two pounds described by Hawkins—had dazzled the eyes and excited the avarice of court and people. Enough that Laudonniere was to be sent home for trial, and that Ribault was to succeed him in the government.
The approach of Ribault with his fleet was exceedingly slow. Head-winds and storms baffled his progress, and as he reached the coast of Florida he loitered along its bays and rivers, seeking to obtain from the Indians all possible tidings of the colony, before venturing upon an encounter with the supposed usurper of the sovereignty of the country. When, at length, he drew nigh to La Caroline, so suspiciously did he approach, that he drew upon him the fire of Laudonniere’s men; and, but for the distance, and the seasonable outcry which was made by his followers, announcing who they were, a conflict might have ensued between the parties. To the great relief of Ribault, Laudonniere received him with submission. The former apprised him frankly of the reports in France to his discredit, and delivered him the letters of Coligny to the same effect. Laudonniere soon succeeded in convincing his successor that he had been greatly slandered—that he was entirely innocent of royalty, and almost of state, of any kind—that, however unfortunate he may have been—however incompetent to the duties he had undertaken, he was certainly not guilty of the extreme follies, the presumption, or the cruelty, which constituted the several points in the indictment urged against him. Ribault strove to persuade him to remain in the colony, and to leave his justification to himself. But this Laudonniere declined to do, resolving to return to France;—a resolution which, as we shall see hereafter, was only delayed too long,—to the further increase of the misfortunes of our captain. Meanwhile he fell sick of a fever, and the authority passed into the hands of Jean Ribault, whose return was welcomed by crowds of Indian chiefs, who came to the fortress to inquire after the newly-arrived strangers. They soon recognised the chief by whose hands the stone pillar had been reared, which stood conspicuous at the entrance of the river. He was easily distinguished, by many of them, by reason of the massy beard which he wore. They embraced him with signs of a greater cordiality than they were disposed to show to his immediate predecessor. The Kings Homoloa, Seravahi, Alimacani, Malica, and Casti, were among the first to recall the ties of their former friendship, and to brighten the ancient chain of union, by fresh pledges. They brought to Ribault, among other gifts, large pieces of gold, which, in their language, is called “sieroa pira,” literally “red metal,”—which, upon being assayed by the refiner, proved to be “perfect golde.” They renewed their offers to conduct him to the Mountains of Apalachia, where this precious metal was to be had for the gathering. Ribault was not more inaccessible to this attractive showing than Laudonniere had been; but before he could project the desired enterprise, in search of the mountains which held such glorious possessions, new events were in progress, involving such dangers as superseded the hopes of gain among the adventurers, by necessities which made them doubtful of their safety. The Spaniards, of whom they had long been apprehensive, were at length discovered upon the coast.
The fleet of Ribault consisted of seven vessels. The three smallest of these had ascended the river to the fortress. The four larger, which were men of war, remained in the open roadstead. Here they were joined on the fourth of September by six Spanish vessels of large size and armament. These came to anchor, and, at their first coming, gave assurance of amity to the Frenchmen. But Ribault had been warned, prior to his departure from France, that the Spaniards were to be suspected. The crowns of France and Spain, it is true, were at peace, but the Spaniards themselves contemplated settlements in Florida, to which they laid claim, by right of previous discovery, including, under this general title, territories of the most indefinite extent. Philip the Second, that cold, malignant and jealous despot, freed by the amnesty with France from the cares of war in that quarter, now addressed his strength and employed his leisure in extending equally his sway, with that of the Catholic faith, among the red-men of America. Prior to the settlements of Coligny, he had begun his preparations for this object. The charge of the expedition was confided to Don Pedro Melendez de Avilez, an officer particularly famous among his countrymen for his deeds of heroism in the New World. He himself, bore a considerable portion of the expense of the enterprise, and this was a consideration sufficiently imposing in the eyes of his sovereign, to secure for him the dignity of a Spanish Adelantado, with the hereditary government of all the Floridas. It was while engaged in the preparations for this expedition that tidings were received by the Spaniards of the settlements which had been begun by the Huguenots. The enterprise of Don Pedro de Melendez now assumed an aspect of more dignity. It became a crusade, and the eager impulse of ambition was stimulated by all the usual arguments in favor of a holy war. To extirpate heresy was an object equally grateful to both the legitimates of France and Spain; and the heartless monarch of France, Charles the Ninth, in the spirit which subsequently gave birth to the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew, it is reported—though the act may have been that of the Queen Mother—cheerfully yielded up his Protestant subjects in Florida, to the tender mercies of the Spanish propagandist. There is little doubt that the French monarch had signified to his Spanish brother, that he should resent none of the wrongs done to the colonies of Coligny; he himself being, at this very time, busied in the labor which was preparing for the destruction of their patron and brethren at home. Coligny well knew how little was the real sympathy entertained by the monarch for this class of his subjects, and he felt that there were sufficient reasons to fear, and to be watchful of, the Spaniards. He had some better authority than mere suspicion for his fear. Just as Ribault was about to take his departure from France, the Lord Admiral wrote him as follows, in a hasty postscript:—“As I was closing this letter, I received certain advices that Don Pedro Melendez departeth from Spain to go to the coast of New France, (Florida,) see that you suffer him not to encroach upon you, no more than you will suffer yourself to encroach on him.”
The preparations of Melendez began to assume an aspect of great and imposing magnificence. Clergy and laity crowded to his service. Nearly twenty vessels, some of very considerable force, were provided; and three thousand adventurers assembled under his command. But Heaven did not seem at first to smile upon the enterprise. His fleet was encountered by tempests as had been the “Grand Armada,” and the number of his vessels before he reached Porto Rico had been reduced nearly two thirds. Some doubt now arose in the minds of the Spanish captains, whether they were in sufficient force to encounter Ribault. The bigotry and enthusiasm of Melendez rejected the doubt with indignation. His fanaticism furnished an argument in behalf of his policy, imposing enough to the superstitious mind, and which his followers were sufficiently willing to accept. “The Almighty,” said the Adelantado, “has reduced our armament, only that his own arm might achieve the holy work.”
The warning of danger contained in the letter of the Lord Admiral to Ribault did not fall upon unheeding senses. Still, the French captain was quite unprepared for the rapidity of the progress made by the Spaniards. When, with six large vessels, they suddenly appeared in the roadstead of May River, Ribault was at La Caroline. His officers had been apprised of the propriety of distrusting their neighbors, and accordingly showed themselves suspicious as they drew nigh. It was well they did so. In the absence of Ribault, with three of the ships at La Caroline, they were inferior in force to the armament of Melendez, and were thus doubly required to oppose vigilance to fraud and force. Fortunately, the Spaniards did not reach the road till near evening, when they had too little time for efficient operations. Hence the civility of their deportment, and the pacific character of their assurances. They lowered sail, cast anchor, and forbore all offensive demonstrations. But one circumstance confirmed the apprehensions of the Frenchmen. In the brief conversation which ensued between the parties, after the arrival of the Spaniards, the latter inquired after the chief captains and leaders of the French fleet, calling them by their names and surnames, and betraying an intimate knowledge of matters, which had been judiciously kept as secret as possible in France. This showed, conclusively, that, before Melendez left Spain, he was thoroughly informed by those who knew, in France, of the condition, conduct, and strength of Ribault’s armament. And why should he be informed of these particulars, unless there were some designs for acting upon this information? The French captains compared notes that night, in respect to these communications, and concurred in the belief that they stood in danger of assault. They prepared themselves accordingly, to cut and run, with the first appearance of dawn, or danger. With the break of day, the Spaniards began to draw nigh to our Frenchmen; but the sails of these were already hoisted to the breeze. Their cables were severed, at the first sign of hostility, and the chase begun within the greatest animation. But, if the ships of the Huguenots were deficient in force, they had the advantage of their enemies in speed. They showed the Spaniards a clean pair of heels, and suffered nothing from the distant cannonade with which their pursuers sought to cripple their flight. The chase was continued through the day. With the approach of evening, the Spaniards tacked ship and stood for the River Seloy, or Selooe, called by the French, the River of Dolphins; a distance, overland, of but eight or ten leagues from La Caroline. Finding that they had the advantage of their enemies in fleetness, the French vessels came about also, and followed them at a respectful distance. Having made all the discoveries which were possible, they returned to May River, when Ribault came aboard. They reported to him that the great ship of the Spaniards, called “The Trinity,” still kept the sea; that three other ships had entered the River of Dolphins; that three others remained at its mouth; and that the Spaniards had evidently employed themselves in putting soldiers, with arms, munition, and provisions, upon shore. These, and further facts, reached him from other quarters. Emoloa, one of the Indian kings in amity with the French, sent them word that the Spaniards had gone on shore at Seloy in great numbers—that they had dispossessed the natives of their houses at that village; had put their “negro slaves, whom they had brought to labor,” in possession of them; and were already busy in entrenching themselves in the place, making it a regular encampment.
Not doubting that they meant to assail and harrass the settlement of La Caroline from this point, with the view to expelling the colonists from the country, Ribault boldly conceived the idea of taking the initiate in the war. He first called a council of his chief captains. They assembled in the chamber of Laudonniere, that person being sick. Here Ribault commenced by showing the relative condition of their own and the enemy’s strength. His conclusion, from his array of all the facts, was, that the true policy required that he should embark with all his forces, and seek the fleet of the Spaniards, particularly at a moment when it was somewhat scattered; when one great ship only kept the seas; when the rest were in no situation to support each other in the event of sudden assault, and when the troops of the Adelantado, partly on the shore, and partly in his vessels, were, very probably, not in proper order to be used successfully. His argument was not deficient in force or propriety. Certainly, with his own seven ships, all brought together, and all his strength in compact order and fit for service, he might reasonably hope to fall successfully upon the divided forces and scattered squadrons of his enemy, and sweep them equally from sea and land.
But Laudonniere had his argument also, and it was not without its significance. He opposed the scheme of Ribault entirely; representing the defenceless condition of the fortress, and the danger to the fleet at sea, and upon the coast, during a season proverbially distinguished by storms and hurricanes. His counsel was approved of by other captains; but Ribault, an old soldier and sea captain, was too eager to engage the enemy to listen to arguments that seemed to partake of the pusillanimous. It was very evident that he did not regard Laudonniere as the best of advisers in the work of war. He took his own head accordingly, and commanded all soldiers that belonged to his command to go on board their vessels. Not satisfied with this force, he lessened the strength of the garrison by taking a detachment of its best men, leaving few to keep the post but the invalids, who, like Laudonniere, were suffering, or but just recovering, from the diseases of the climate in midsummer. Laudonniere expostulated, but in vain, against this appropriation of his garrison. On the eighth of September, Ribault left the roadstead in pursuit of the Spaniards, and Laudonniere never beheld him again. That very day the skies were swallowed up in tempests. Such tempests were never beheld before upon the coast. The storms prevailed for several days, at the end of which time, apprehending the worst, Laudonniere mustered his command, and proceeded to put the fortress in the best possible condition of defence. To repair the portions of the wall which had been thrown down, to restore the palisades stretching from the fortress to the river, was a work of equal necessity and difficulty; which, with all the diligence of the Frenchmen, advanced slowly, in consequence of the violence and long continuance of the stormy weather. The whole force left in the garrison consisted of but eighty-six persons supposed to be capable of bearing arms. Of their doubtful efficiency we may boldly infer from these facts. Several of them were mere boys, with sinews yet unhardened into manhood. Some were old men, completely hors de combat from the general exhaustion of their energies; many were still suffering from green wounds, got in the war with Olata Utina, and others again were wholly unprovided with weapons. Relying upon the assumption that he should find his enemy at sea and in force, Ribault had stripped the garrison of its real manhood. His vessels being better sailers than those of the Spaniards, he took for granted that he should be able to interpose, at any moment, for the safety of La Caroline, should any demonstration be made against it. This was assuming quite too much. It allowed nothing for the caprices of wind and wave; for the sudden rising of gales and tempests; and accorded too little to the cool prudence, and calculating generalship of Pedro Melendez, one of the most shrewd, circumspect and successful of the Spanish generals of the period: nor, waiving these considerations, was the policy of Ribault to be defended, when it is remembered that he had been specially counselled that the Spaniards had made their lodgments in force upon the shores of Florida, not many leagues, by land, from the endangered fortress. His single virtue of courage blinded him to the danger from the former. He calculated first to destroy the fleet of the enemy, thus cutting off all resource and all escape, and then to descend upon the troops on land, before they could fortify their camp, and overwhelm them with his superior and unembarrassed forces. We shall see, hereafter, the issue of all these calculations. In all probability his decision was influenced quite as much by his fanaticism as his courage. He hated the Spaniards as Catholics, quite as much as they hated him and his flock as heretics. This rage blinded the judgment of the veteran soldier, upon whom fortune was not disposed to smile.
The condition of things at La Caroline, when Ribault took his departure, deplorable enough as we have seen, was rendered still worse by another deficiency, the fruit of this decision of the commander. The supplies of food which were originally brought out for the garrison, were mostly appropriated for the uses of the fleet, allowing for its possibly prolonged absence upon the seas. This absorbed the better portion of the store which was necessary for the daily consumption at La Caroline. A survey of the quantity in the granary of the fortress, made immediately after the departure of the fleet, led to the necessity of stinting the daily allowance of the garrison. Thus, then, with provisions short, with Laudonniere sick, and otherwise incompetent,—with the men equally few and feeble, improvident hitherto, and now spiritless,—the labors of defence and preparation at La Caroline went forward slowly; and its watch was maintained with very doubtful vigilance. We have seen enough, in the previous difficulties of the commandant with his people, to form a just judgment of the small subordination which he usually maintained. His government was by no means improved with the obvious necessity before him, and the hourly increase of peril. Alarmed, at first, by the condition in which he had been left, Laudonniere, as has been stated, proceeded with the show of diligence, rather than its actual working, to repair the fortress, and put himself in order for defence. But, with the appearance of bad weather, his exertions relaxed; his people, accustomed to wait upon Providence and the Indians,—praying little to the One and preying much upon the others—very soon discontinued their unfamiliar and disagreeable exertions. They could not suppose—averse themselves to bad weather—that the Spaniards could possibly expose themselves to chills and fevers during an equinoctial tempest, under any idle impulses of enterprise and duty; and their watch was maintained with very doubtful vigilance. On the night of the nineteenth of September, Monsieur de La Vigne was appointed to keep guard with his company. But Monsieur de La Vigne had a tender heart, and felt for his soldiers in bad weather. Seeing the rain continue and increase, “he pitied the sentinels, so much moyled and wet; and thinking the Spaniards would not have come in such a strange time, he let them depart, and, to say the truth, hee went himself into his lodging.” But the Spaniards appear to have been men of inferior tastes, and of a delicacy less sympathising and scrupulous than Monsieur de La Vigne. Bad weather appeared to agree with them, and we shall see that they somewhat enjoyed the very showers, from the annoyance of which our French sentinels were so pleasantly relieved. We shall hear of these things hereafter. In the meanwhile, let us look in upon the Adelantado of Florida, Pedro Melendez, a strong, true man, in spite of a savage nature and a maddening fanaticism,—let us see him and the progress of his fortunes, where he plants the broad banner of Spain, with its castellated towers, upon the lonely Indian waters of the Selooe, that river which our Huguenots had previously dignified with the title of “the Dolphin.”
It was on the twenty-eighth of August, the day on which the Spaniards celebrated the festival of St. Augustine, that the Adelantado entered the mouth of the Selooe or Dolphin River. He was attracted by the aspect of the place, and here resolved to establish a settlement and fortress. He gave the name of the Saint to the settlement. Having landed a portion of his forces, he found himself welcomed by the savages, whom he treated with kindness and who requited him with assurances of friendship. From them he learned something of the French settlements, and of their vessels at the mouth of the May River, and he resolved to attempt the surprise of his enemies. We have seen the failure of this attempt. Disappointed in his first desire, like the tiger who returns to crouch again within the jungle from which he has unsuccessfully sprung, Melendez made his way back to the waters of the Selooe, where he proposed to plant his settlement, and which his troops were already beginning to entrench. Here he employed himself in taking formal possession in the name of the King of Spain, and having celebrated the Divine mysteries in a manner at once solemn and ostentatious, he swore his officers to fidelity in the prosecution of the expedition, upon the Holy Sacrament.
It was while most busy with his preparations, that the fleet of Ribault made its appearance at the mouth of the river. The two heaviest of the Spanish vessels, being relieved of their armament and troops, which had been transferred to the land, had been despatched, on the approach of the threatened danger, with all haste to Hispaniola. The two other vessels, at the bar or entrance of the harbor, were unequal to the conflict with the superior squadron of Ribault. Melendez was embarked in one of them, and the three lighter vessels of the French, built especially for penetrating shallow waters, were pressing forward to the certain capture of their prey, for which there seemed no possibility of escape. Melendez felt all his danger, but he had prepared himself for a deadly struggle, and was especially confident in the enthusiastic conviction that himself and his design were equally the concern of Providence. It would seem that fortune was solicitous to justify the convictions of so much self-esteem. Ribault’s extreme caution in sounding the bar to which his vessels were approaching, lost him two precious hours; but for which his conquest must have been certain. There was no hope, else, unless in some such miraculous protection as that upon which the Spanish general seemed to count. Had these two vessels been taken and Melendez a prisoner, the descent upon the dismayed troops on shore, not yet entrenched, and in no preparation for the conflict with an equal or superior enemy, and the annihilation of the settlement must have ensued. The consequence of such an event might have changed the whole destinies of Florida, might have established the Huguenot colonies firmly upon the soil, and given to the French such a firm possession of the land, as might have kept the fleur-de-lis waving from its summits to this very day. But the miracle was not wanting which the Spanish Adelantado expected. In the very moment when the hands of Ribault, were stretched to seize his prizes, the sudden roar of the hurricane came booming along the deep. The sea rose between the assailant and his prey,—the storm parted them, and while the feebler vessels of Melendez, partially under the security of the land, swept back towards the settlement which he had made on shore, the brigantines and bateaux of Ribault were forced to rejoin their greater vessels, and they all bore away to sea before the gale. Under the wild norther that rushed down upon his squadron, Ribault with a groan of rage and disappointment, abandoned the conquest which seemed already in his grasp.
Melendez promptly availed himself of the Providential event, to insist among his people upon the efficiency of his prayers. They had previously been desponding. They felt their isolation, and exaggerated its danger. The departure of their ships for Hispaniola, their frequent previous disasters, the dispersion of nearly two thirds of the squadron with which they had left the port of Cadiz, but three months before; the labors and privations which already began to press upon them with a novel force; all conspired to dispirit them, and made them despair of a progress in which they were likely to suffer the buffetings only, without any of the rewards of fortune;—and when they beheld the approaching squadron of the French, in force so superior as to leave no doubt of the capture of their only remaining vessels, they yielded themselves up to a feeling of utter self-abandonment, to which the stern, grave self-reliance of Melendez afforded no encouragement. But when, with broad sweep of arm, he pointed to the awful rising of the great billows of the sea, the wild raging of cloud and storm in the heavens, the scudding flight of the trembling ships of Ribault, their white wings gradually disappearing in distance and darkness like feeble birds borne recklessly forward in the wild fury of the tempest, he could, with wonderful potency, appeal to his people to acknowledge the wonders that the Lord had done for them that day.
“Call you this the cause of our king only, in which we are engaged my brethren? Oh! shallow vanity! And yet, you say rightly. It is the cause of our king—the greatest of all kings—the king of kings; and he will make it triumphant in all lands, even though the base and the timid shall despair equally of themselves and of Him! We shall never, my brethren, abandon this cause to which we have sworn our souls, in life and death, without incurring the eternal malediction of the Most High God, forever blessed be his name! We are surrounded by enemies, my friends; we are few and we are feeble; but what is our might, when the tempest rises like a wall between us and our foes, and in our greatest extremity, the hand of God stretches forth from the cloud, and plucks us safely from the danger. Be of good heart, then; put on a fearless courage; believe that the cause is holy in which ye strive, and the God of Battles will most surely range himself upon our side!”