The Lily and the Totem; or, The Huguenots in Florida
by William Gilmore Simms · English · Gutenberg #44337 · 837,762 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Lily and the Totem; or, The Huguenots in Florida
Author: William Gilmore Simms
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LILY AND THE TOTEM; OR, THE HUGUENOTS IN FLORIDA ***
THE
LILY AND THE TOTEM,
OR,
THE HUGUENOTS IN FLORIDA.
A SERIES OF SKETCHES, PICTURESQUE AND HISTORICAL, OF THE
COLONIES OF COLIGNI, IN NORTH AMERICA.
1562-1570.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE," "LIFE OF MARION,"
"LIFE OF BAYARD" ETC.
NEW YORK:
BAKER AND SCRIBNER,
145 NASSAU STREET AND 36 PARK ROW.
1850.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ.
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
C. W. BENEDICT,
_Stereotyper_,
201 William st.
EPISTLE DEDICATORY.
TO THE
HON. JAMES H. HAMMOND,
OF
SOUTH CAROLINA.
MY DEAR HAMMOND:
I very well know the deep interest which you take in all researches
which aim to develope the early history of our State and country, and
sympathize with you very sincerely in that local feeling which delights
to trace, on your own grounds, and in your own neighborhood, the
doubtful progresses of French and Spaniard, in their wild passion for
adventure or eager appetite for gold. I have no doubt that the clues are
in your hands which shall hereafter conduct you along a portion of the
route pursued by that famous cavalier, Hernando de Soto; and I am almost
satisfied that the region of Silver Bluff was that distinguished in the
adventures of the Spanish Adelantado, by the presence of that dusky but
lovely princess of Cofachiqui, who welcomed him with so much favor
and whom he treated with an ingratitude as unhandsome as unknightly.
But I must not dwell on a subject go seductive; particularly, as I
entertain the hope, in some future labor, to weave her legend into
an appropriate, and I trust not unworthy history. For the present,
inscribing these pages to you, as a memorial of a long and grateful
intimacy, and of inquiries and conjectures, musings and meditations,
enjoyed together, which, it is my hope, have resulted no less profitably
to you than to myself, I propose briefly to give you the plan of the
volume in your hands.
The design of the narrative which follows, contemplates, in nearly equal
degree, the picturesque and the historical. It belongs to a class of
writings with which the world has been long since made familiar, through
a collection of the greatest interest, the body of which continues to
expand, and which has been entitled the "Romance of History." This name
will justly apply to the present sketches, yet must not be construed to
signify any large or important departure, in the narrative, from the
absolute records of the Past. The romance here is not suffered to
supersede the history. On the contrary, the design of the writer has
been simply to supply the deficiencies of the record. Where the author,
in this species of writing, has employed history, usually, as a mere
loop, upon which to hang his lively fancies and audacious inventions,
embodying in his narrative as small a portion of the chronicle as
possible, I have been content to reverse the process, making the fiction
simply tributary, and always subordinate to the fact. I have been
studious to preserve all the vital details of the event, as embodied in
the record, and have only ventured my own "graffings" upon it in those
portions of the history which exhibited a certain baldness in their
details, and seemed to demand the helping agency of art. In thus
interweaving the history with the fiction, I have been solicitous always
of those proprieties and of that _vraisemblance_, in the introduction
of new details, which are essential to the chief characteristics of the
history; seeking equally to preserve the general integrity of the record
from which I draw my materials, and of that art which aims to present
them in a costume the most picturesque. My labor has been not to make,
but to perfect, a history; not to invent facts, but to trace them out
to seemingly inevitable results;--to take the premise and work out the
problem;--recognize the meagre record which affords simply a general
outline; and endeavor, by a severe induction, to supply its details and
processes. I have been at no such pains to disguise the chronicle,
as will prevent the reader from separating,--should he desire to do
so,--the _certain_ from the _conjectural_; and yet, I trust, that I have
succeeded in so linking the two together, as to prevent the lines of
junction from obtruding themselves offensively upon his consciousness.
Upon the successful prosecution of this object, apart from the native
interest which the subject itself possesses, depends all the merit of
the performance. It is by raising the tone of the history, warming it
with the hues of fancy, and making it dramatic by the continued exercise
of art, rather than by any actual violation of its recorded facts, that
I have endeavored to awaken interest. To bring out such portions of the
event as demand elevation--to suppress those which are only cumbrous,
and neither raise the imposing, nor relieve the unavoidable; and to
supply, from the _probable_, the apparent deficiencies of the _actual_,
have been the chief processes in the art which I have employed. What is
wholly fictitious will appear rather as episodical matter, than as a
part of the narrative; and a brief historical summary, even in regard
to the episode, shall occasionally be employed to determine, for the
reader, upon how much, or how little, he may properly rely as history.
The experiment of Coligny, in colonizing Florida, is one of those
remarkable instances in the early settlement of this country, which
deserve the particular attention of our people. Its wild and dark
events, its startling tragedies, its picturesque and exciting incidents,
long since impressed themselves upon my imagination, as offering
suitable materials for employment in romantic fiction. In the
preparation of the work which follows, I have rather yielded to the
requisitions of publishers and the public, than followed the suggestions
of my own taste and judgment. Originally, I commenced the treatment
of this material, in the form of poetry; but the stimulus to a
keen prosecution of the task was wanting: not so much, perhaps, in
consequence of my own diminished interest in the subject, as because of
the indifference of readers; who, in all periods have determined the
usual direction of the writer. Hereafter, I may prosecute the experiment
upon this history in still another fashion. I do not regard this work as
precluding me from trying the malleability of its subject, and from
seeking to force it into a mould more grateful to the dictates of my
imagination. In abandoning the design, however, of shaping it to the
form of narrative poetry, I may, at least, submit to the reader such
portions of the verse as are already written. My purpose, as will be
seen, by the fragmentary passages which follow (in the _Appendix_ at the
close of the volume) was to seize upon the strong points of the subject,
and exhibit the whole progress of the action, in so many successive
scenes; as in the plan adopted by Rogers in his "Columbus"--the one
scene naturally forming the introduction to the other, and the whole, a
complete and single history. To these fragments let me refer you. With
these, my original design found its limit; the spirit which had urged me
thus far, no longer quickening me with that impatient eagerness which
can alone justify poetic labors. The plan is one which I am no longer
likely to pursue. It will no doubt have a place of safe-keeping and
harborage in some one of Astolpho's mansions. It need not be deplored on
earth. I shall be but too happy if those who read the performance which
follows, shall forbear the wish that it had shared the same destiny. To
you, at least, I venture to commend it with a very different hope.
Very truly yours, as ever,
THE AUTHOR.
CHARLESTON, S. C., }
_May 1, 1850_. }
CONTENTS.
I.
The First Voyage of Ribault, 1
II.
The Colony under Albert, 29
III.
The Legend of Guernache, Chap. I. 37
IV.
The Legend of Guernache, Chap. II. 44
V.
The Legend of Guernache, Chap. III. 59
VI.
The Legend of Guernache, Chap. IV. 71
VII.
Lachane, the Deliverer, 81
VIII.
Flight, Famine, and the Bloody Feast of the Fugitives, 100
IX.
The Second Expedition of the Huguenots to Florida, 110
X.
Historical Summary, 123
XI.
The Conspiracy of Le Genré--Historical Summary, 131
XII.
The Conspiracy of Le Genré, 133
XIII.
Historical Summary, 164
XIV.
The Sedition at La Caroline, 166
XV.
The Mutineers at Sea, 185
XVI.
The Adventure of D'Erlach, 193
XVII.
The Narrative of Le Barbu, 218
XVIII.
Historical Summary, 251
XIX.
Captivity of the Great Paracoussi, 263
XX.
Iracana, 294
XXI.
Historical Summary, 310
XXII.
The Fate of La Caroline, 321
XXIII.
The Fortunes of Ribault, 364
XXIV.
Alphonse D'Erlach, 387
XXV.
Dominique de Gourgues, 414
Appendix, 463
THE LILY AND THE TOTEM.
I.
THE FIRST VOYAGE OF RIBAULT.
Introduction--The Huguenots--Their Condition in France--First
Expedition for the New World, under the auspices of the Admiral
Coligny, Conducted by John Ribault--Colony Established in Florida,
and confided to the charge of Captain Albert.
The Huguenots, in plain terms, were the Protestants of France. They were
a sect which rose very soon after the preaching of the Reformation had
passed from Germany into the neighboring countries. In France, they
first excited the apprehensions and provoked the hostility of the Roman
Catholic priesthood, during the reign of Francis the First. This prince,
unstable as water, and governed rather by his humors and caprices than
by any fixed principles of conduct--wanting, perhaps, equally in head
and heart--showed himself, in the outset of his career, rather friendly
to the reformers. But they were soon destined to suffer, with more
decided favorites, from the caprices of his despotism. He subsequently
became one of their most cruel persecutors. The Huguenots were not
originally known by this name. It does not appear to have been one of
their own choosing. It was the name which distinguished them in the days
of their persecution. Though frequently the subject of conjecture, its
origin is very doubtful. Montluc, the Marshal, whose position at the
time, and whose interests in the subject of religion were such as might
have enabled him to know quite as well as any other person, confesses
that the source and meaning of the appellation were unknown. It is
suggested that the name was taken from the tower of one Hugon, or Hugo,
at Tours, where the Protestants were in the habit of assembling secretly
for worship. This, by many, is assumed to be the true origin of the
word. But there are numerous etymologies besides, from which the reader
may make his selection,--all more or less plausibly contended for
by the commentators. The commencement of a petition to the Cardinal
Lorraine--"_Huc nos_ venimus, serenissime princeps, &c.," furnishes a
suggestion to one set of writers. Another finds in the words "_Heus
quenaus_," which, in the Swiss _patois_, signify "seditious fellows,"
conclusive evidence of the thing for which he seeks. Heghenen or
Huguenen, a Flemish word, which means Puritans, or Cathari, is
reasonably urged by Caseneuve, as the true authority; while Verdier
tells us that they were so called from their being the _apes_ or
followers of John Hus--"_les guenons de Hus_;"--_guenon_ being a young
ape. This is ingenious enough without being complimentary. The etymology
most generally received, according to Mr. Browning, (History of the
Huguenots,) is that which ascribes the origin of the name to "the word
_Eignot_, derived from the German _Eidegenossen_, q. e. federati. A
party thus designated existed at Geneva; and it is highly probable that
the French Protestants would adopt a term so applicable to themselves."
There are, however, sundry other etymologies, all of which seem
equally plausible; but these will suffice, at least, to increase the
difficulties of conjecture. Either will answer, since the name by which
the child is christened is never expected to foreshadow his future
character, or determine his career. The name of the Huguenots was
probably bestowed by the enemies of the sect. It is in all likelihood a
term of opprobrium or contempt. It will not materially concern us, in
the scheme of the present performance, that we should reach any definite
conclusion on this point. Their European history must be read in other
volumes. Ours is but the American episode in their sad and protracted
struggle with their foes and fortune. Unhappily, for present inquiry,
this portion of their history attracted but too little the attention of
the parent country. We are told of colonies in America, and of their
disastrous termination, but the details are meagre, touched by the
chronicler with a slight and careless hand; and, but for the striking
outline of the narrative,--the leading and prominent events which
compelled record,--it is one that we should pass without comment, and
with no awakening curiosity. But the few terrible particulars which
remain to us in the ancient summary, are of a kind to reward inquiry,
and command the most active sympathies; and the melancholy outline of
the Huguenots' progress, in the New World, exhibits features of trial,
strength and suffering, which render their career equally unique in both
countries;--a dark and bloody history, involving details of strife, of
enterprise, and sorrow, which denied them the securities of home in the
parent land, and even the most miserable refuge from persecution in
the wildernesses of a savage empire. Their European fortunes are amply
developed in all the European chronicles. Our narrative relates wholly
to those portions of their history which belong to America.
It is not so generally known that the colonies of the Huguenots, in
the new world, were almost coeval with those of the Spaniards. They
anticipated them in the northern portions of the continent. These
settlements were projected by the active genius of the justly-celebrated
French admiral, Gaspard de Coligny, one of the great leaders of the
Huguenots in France. His persevering energies, impelled by his sagacious
forethought, effected a beginning in the work of foreign colonization,
which, unhappily for himself and party, he was not permitted to
prosecute, with the proper vigor, to successful completion. His sagacity
led him to apprehend, from an early experience of the character of the
Queen-mother, in the bigoted and brutal reign of Charles the Ninth, that
there would, in little time, be no safety in France for the dissenters
from the established religion. The feebleness of the youthful
Prince, the jealous and malignant character of Catharine--her utter
faithlessness, and the hatred which she felt for the Protestants, which
no pact could bind, and no concession mollify,--to say nothing of the
controlling will of Pius the Fifth, who had ascended the Papal throne,
sworn to the extermination of all heresies,--all combined to assure the
Protestants of the dangers by which their cause was threatened. The
danger was one of life as well as religion. It was in the destruction of
the one, that the enemies of the Huguenots contemplated the overthrow
of the other. Coligny was not the man to be deceived by the hollow
compromises, the delusive promises, the false truces, which were all
employed in turn to beguile him and his associates into confidence,
and persuade them into the most treacherous snares. He combined a fair
proportion of the cunning of the serpent with the dove's purity, and,
maintaining strict watch upon his enemies, succeeded, for a long period,
in eluding the artifices by which he was overcome at last. Availing
himself of the influence of his position, and of a brief respite from
that open war which preceded the famous Edict of January, 1562, by which
the Huguenots were admitted, with some restrictions, to the exercise of
their religion, Coligny addressed himself to the task of establishing
a colony of Protestants in America. He readily divined the future
importance, to his sect, of such a place of refuge. The moment was
favorable to his objects. The policy of the Queen-mother was not yet
sufficiently matured, to render it proper that she should oppose herself
to his desires. Perhaps, she also conceived the plan a good one, which
should relieve the country of a race whom she equally loathed and
dreaded.[1] It is possible that she did not fully conjecture the
ultimate calculations of the admiral. The king, himself, was a minor,
entirely in her hands, who could add nothing to her counsels, or, for
the present, interfere with her authority; and, without seeking farther
to inquire by what motives she was governed in according to Coligny the
permission which he sought, it is enough that he obtained the necessary
sanction. Of this he readily availed himself. It was not, by the way,
his first attempt at colonization. Having in view the same objects by
which he was governed in the present instance, he had, in 1555, sent out
an expedition to Brazil under Villegagnon. This enterprise had failed
through the perfidy of that commander. Its failure did not discourage
the admiral. Though the full character of Catharine had not developed
itself, in all its cruel and heartless characteristics, it was yet
justly understood by him, and he never suffered himself to forget how
necessary to the sect which he represented was the desired haven of
security which he sought, in a region beyond her influence.
[1] Charlevoix expressly says, speaking, however, of Charles IX.,
"qu'il fut fort aise de voir que M. de Coligni n'employoit à cette
expédition que des Calvinistes, parce que c'étoit autant d'ennemis,
dont il purgeoit l'etat." Of Coligny's anxiety in regard to this
expedition and his objects, the same writer says: "Coligny had the
colony greatly at heart. It was, in fact, the first thing of which the
admiral spoke to the king when he obtained permission to repair to the
court."
From Brazil he turned his eyes on Florida. This _terra incognita_, at
the period of which we speak, was El Dorado to the European imagination.
It was the New Empire, richer than Peru or Mexico, in which adventurers
as daring as Cortes and Pizarro were to compass realms of as great
magnificence and wealth. Already had the Spaniard traversed it with his
iron-clad warriors, seeking vainly, and through numberless perils, for
the treasure which he worshipped. Still other treasures had won the
imagination of one of their noblest knights; and in exploring the wild
realm of the Floridian for the magical fountain which was to restore
youth to the heart of age, and a fresh bloom to its withered aspect,
Ponce de Leon pursued one of the loveliest phantoms that ever deluded
the fancy or the heart of man. To him had succeeded others; all seeking,
in turn, the realization of those unfruitful visions which, like
wandering lights of the swamp forest, only glitter to betray. Vasquez
d'Ayllon, John Verazzani, Pamphilo de Narvaez, and the more brilliant
cavalier than all, Hernando de Soto, had each penetrated this land of
hopes and fancies, to deplore in turn its disappointments and delusions.
With the wildest desires in their hearts, they had disdained the merely
possible within their reach. They had sought for possessions such as few
empires have been known to yield; and had failed to see, or had beheld
with scorn, the simple treasures of fruit and flower which the country
promised and proffered in abundance. This vast region, claimed equally
by Spain, France, and England, still lay derelict. "Death," as one of
our own writers very happily remarks, "seemed to guard the avenues of
the country." None of the great realms which claimed it as their domain,
regarded it in any light but as a territory which they might ravage.
Yet, well might its delicious climate, the beauty of its groves and
forests, the sweets of its flowers, which beguiled the senses of the
ocean pilgrim a score of leagues from land--to say nothing of the
supposed wealth of its mountains, and of the great cities hid among
their far recesses--have persuaded the enterprise, and implored the
prows of enterprise and adventure. To these attractions the previous
adventurers had not wholly shown themselves insensible. Ponce de Leon,
enraptured with its rich and exquisite vegetation, as seen in the spring
season of the year, first conferred upon it the name of beauty, which it
bears. Nor, had he not been distracted by baser objects, would he have
failed utterly to discover the salubrious fountains which he sought.
Here were met natives, who, quaffing at medicinal streams by which the
country was everywhere watered, grew to years which almost rival those
of the antediluvian fathers. Verazzani, the Florentine, unfolds a
golden chronicle of the innocence and delight which distinguished the
simple people by whom the territory was possessed, and whose character
was derived from the gentle influences of their climate, and the
exquisite delicacy, beauty, and variety of the productions of the soil.
He, too, had visited the country in the season of spring, when all
things in nature look lovely to the eye. But such verdure as blessed his
vision on this occasion, constituted a new era in his life, and seemed
to lift him to the crowning achievement of all his enterprises. The
region, as far his eye could reach, was covered with "faire fields and
plaines," "full of mightie great woodes," "replenished with divers
sort of trees, as pleasant and delectable to behold as is possible to
imagine;"--"Not," says the voyager, "like the woodes of Hercynia or the
wilde deserts of Tartary, and the northerne coasts full of fruitlesse
trees," but "trees of sortes unknowen in Europe, which yeeld most sweete
savours farre from the shoare." Nor did these constitute the only
attractions. The appearance of the forests and the land "argued drugs
and spicery," "and other riches of golde."
The woods were "full of many beastes, as stags, deere and hares, and
likewise of lakes and pooles of fresh water, with great plentie of
fowles, convenient for all kinde of pleasant game." The air was "goode
and wholesome, temperate between hot and colde;" "no vehement windes
doe blowe in these regions, and those that do commonly reigne are the
southwest and west windes in the summer season;" "the skye cleare and
faire, with very little raine; and if, at any time, the ayre be cloudie
and mistie with the southerne winde, immediately it is dissolved and
waxeth cleare and faire againe. The sea is calme, not boisterous,
and the waves gentle." And the people were like their climate. The
nature which yielded to their wants, without exacting the toil of
ever-straining sinews, left them unembittered by necessities which take
the heart from youth, and the spirit from play and exercise. No carking
cares interfered with their humanity to check hospitality in its first
impulse, and teach avarice to withhold the voluntary tribute which the
natural virtues would prompt, in obedience to a selfishness that finds
its justification in serious toils which know no remission, and a
forethought that is never permitted to forget the necessities of the
coming day. Verazzani found the people as mild and grateful as their
climate. They crowded to the shore as the stranger ships drew nigh,
"making divers synes of friendship." They showed themselves "very
courteous and gentle," and, in a single incident, won the hearts of the
Europeans, who seldom, at that period, in their intercourse with the
natives, were known to exhibit an instance so beautiful, of a humanity
so Christian. A young sailor, attempting to swim on shore, had overrated
his strength. Cast among the breakers, he was in danger of being
drowned. This, when the Indians saw, they dashed into the surf, and
dragged the fair-skinned voyager to land. Here, when he recovered from
his stupor, he exhibited signs of the greatest apprehension, finding
himself in the hands of the savages. But his lamentations, which were
piteously loud, only provoked theirs. Their tears flowed at his weeping.
In this way they strove to "cheere him, and to give him courage." Nor
were they neglectful of other means. "They set him on the ground, at the
foot of a little hill against the sunne, and began to behold him with
great admiration, marveiling at the whitenesse of his fleshe;" "Putting
off his clothes, they made him warme at a great fire, not without one
great feare, by what remayned in the boate, that they would have rosted
him at that fire and have eaten him." But the fear was idle. When they
had warmed and revived the stranger, they reclothed him, and as he
showed an anxiety to return to the ship, "they, with great love,
clapping him fast about with many embracings," accompanied him to the
shore, where they left him, retiring to a distance, whence they could
witness his departure without awakening the apprehensions of his
comrades. These people were of "middle stature, handsome visage and
delicate limmes; of very little strength, but of prompt wit."
We need not pursue the details of these earlier historians. They suffice
to direct attention to Florida, and to persuade adventure with fanciful
ideas of its charming superiority over all unknown regions. But the
adventurers, until Coligny's enterprise was conceived, meditated the
invasion of the country, and the gathering of its hidden treasures,
rather than the establishment of any European settlements in its
glorious retreats. It was not till the eighteenth day of February, in
the Year of Grace, one thousand five hundred and sixty-two, that the
plan of the Admiral of France was sufficiently matured for execution.
On that day he despatched two vessels from France, well manned and
furnished, under the command of one John Ribault,[2] for the express
purpose of making the first permanent European establishment in these
regions of romance. The narrative of this enterprise is chiefly drawn
from the writings of René Laudonniere, who himself went out as a
lieutenant in the expedition. Laudonniere, in his narrative of their
progress, says nothing of the secret objects of Coligny, of which he
probably knew nothing. He ascribes to the King--the Queen-mother,
rather--a nobler policy than either of them ever entertained. "My Lord
of Chastillon," (Coligny) thus he writes,--"A nobleman more desirous of
the publique than of his private benefits, understanding the pleasure
of the King, his Prince, which was to discover new and strange
countries, caused vessels for this purpose to be made ready with all
diligence, and men to be levied meet for such an enterprise."
[2] Charlevoix describes Ribault as "un ancien officier de marine,"
and speaks of him as a man of experience and "Zélé Huguenot." Of his
vessels, on this expedition, he says that they belonged to the class
called "Roberges, et qui differoient peu des Caravelles Espagnoles."
This is merely courtly language, wholly conventional, and which, spoken
of Charles the Ninth,--a boy not yet in his teens--savors rather of the
ridiculous. There is no question that the expedition originated wholly
with Coligny; as little is it questionable, though Laudonniere says
nothing on this subject, that it was designed in consequence of that
policy which showed him the ever present danger of the Huguenots. It
does not militate against this policy that he made use of a pretext
which was suggested by the passion for maritime discovery common in
those days. By the assertion of this pretext, he was the more easily
enabled to persuade the Queen-mother to a measure upon which she
otherwise would never have suffered the ships of the Huguenots to weigh
anchor.
But this question need not detain us. Laudonniere speaks of the armament
as ample for the purpose for which it was designed--"so well furnished
with gentlemen and with oulde souldiers that he (Ribault) had meanes to
achieve some notable thing, and worthie of eternall memorie." This
was an exaggeration, something Spanish in its tenor,--one of those
flourishes of rhetoric among the voyagers of that day, which had already
grown to be a sound without much signification. The vessels were small,
as was the compliment of men dispatched. The objects of the expedition
were limited, did not contemplate exploration but settlement, and,
consequently, were not likely to find opportunity for great enterprises.
The voyage occupied two months; the route pursued carefully avoided that
usually taken by the Spaniards, whom already our adventurers had cause
to fear. At the end of this period, land was made in the latitude of St.
Augustine, to the cape of which they gave the name of St. François. From
this point, coasting northwardly, they discovered "a very faire and
great river"--the San Matheo of the Spaniards, now the St. John's, to
which Ribault, as he discovered it on the first of May, gave the name
of that month. This river he penetrated in his boats. He was met on the
shore by many of the natives, men and women. These received him with
gentleness and peace. Their chief man made an oration, and honored
Ribault, at the close, with a present of "chamois skinnes." On the
ensuing day, he "caused a pillar of hard stone to be planted within the
sayde river, and not farre from the mouth of the same, upon a little
sandie knappe," on which the arms of France were engraved. Crossing to
the opposite shores of this river, a religious service was performed in
the presence of the Indians. There the red-men, perhaps for the first
time, beheld the pure and simple rites of the genuine Christian. Prayers
were said, and thanks given to the Deity, "for that, of his grace, hee
had conducted the French nation into these strange places." This service
being ended, the Indians conducted the strangers into the presence of
their king,[3] who received them in a sitting posture, upon a couch
made of bay leaves and palmetto. Speeches were made between the parties
which were understood by neither. But their tenor was amicable, the
savage chieftain giving to Ribault, at parting, a basket wrought very
ingeniously of palm leaves, "and a great skinne painted and drawen
throughout with the pictures of divers wilde beastes; so livly drawen
and portrayed that nothing lacked life." Fish were taken for the
Frenchmen by the hospitable natives, in weirs made of reeds, fashioned
like a maze or labyrinth--"troutes, great mullets, plaise, turbots, and
marvellous store of other sorts of fishes altogether different from
ours." Another chief upon this river received them with like favors.
Two of the sons of this chief are represented as "exceeding faire and
strong." They were followed by troops of the natives, "having their
bowes and arrowes, in marveilous good order."
[3] Laudonniere, in Hakluyt, gives the regal title among the
Floridians as Paracoussi. Charlevoix writes the word Paraousti, or
Paracousti; "et ausquels les Castillans donnent le titre général de
Caciques." Mico, in subsequent periods, seems to have been the more
popular title among the Florida Indians, signifying the same thing,
or its equivalents, Chief, Prince, or Head Warrior.
From this river, still pursuing a northwardly course, Ribault came to
another which he explored and named the Seine, (now the St. Mary's,)
because it appeared to resemble the river of that name in France.[4] We
pass over the minor details in this progress--how he communed with the
natives--who, everywhere seemed to have entertained our Huguenots with
equal grace and gentleness, and who are described as a goodly people, of
lively wit and great stature. Ribault continued to plant columns, and to
take possession of the country after the usual forms, conferring names
upon its several streams, which he borrowed for the purpose from similar
well-known rivers in France. Thus, for a time, the St. Mary's became the
Seine; the Satilla, the Somme; the Altamaha, the Loire; the Ogechee, the
Garonne; and the Savannah, the Gironde. The river to which his prows
were especially directed, was that to which the name of Jordan had
been given by Vasquez de Ayllon, some forty years before. This is our
present Combahee. In sailing north, in this search, other smaller rivers
were discovered, one of which was called the Belle-a-veoir. Separated by
a furious tempest from his pinnaces, which had been kept in advance for
the purpose of penetrating and exploring these streams, Ribault, with
his ships, was compelled to stand out to sea. When he regained the coast
and his pinnaces, he was advised of a "mightie river," in which they had
found safe harborage from the tempest, a river which, "in beautie and
bignesse" exceeded all the former. Delighted with this discovery, our
Huguenots made sail to reach this noble stream.
[4] "A quatorze lienes de la Riviere de Mai, il en trouva une
troisiéme qu'il nomma la Seine."--_Charlevoix's New France._ Liv. 1,
p. 39.
The object of Ribault had been some safe and pleasant harborage, in
which his people could refresh themselves for a season. His desires were
soon gratified. He cast anchor at the mouth of a mighty river, to which,
"because of the fairnesse and largenesse thereoff," he gave the name of
Port Royale, the name which it still bears. The depth of this river is
such, that, according to Laudonniere, "when the sea beginneth to flowe,
the greatest shippes of France, yea, the argosies of Venice, may enter
there." Ribault, at the head of his soldiers, was the first to land.
Grateful, indeed, to the eye and fancy of our Frenchmen, was the scene
around them. They had already passed through a fairy-like region, of
islet upon islet, reposing upon the deep,--crowned with green forests,
and arresting, as it were, the wild assaults of ocean upon the shores of
which they appeared to keep watch and guard. And, passing between these
islets and the main, over stillest waters, with a luxuriant shrubbery on
either hand, and vines and flowers of starred luxuriance trailing about
them to the very lips of this ocean, they had arrived at an imperial
growth of forest. The mighty shafts that rose around them, heavy
with giant limbs, and massed in their luxuriant wealth of leaves,
particularly impressed the minds of our voyagers--"mightye high oakes
and infinite store of cedars," and pines fitted for the masts of "such
great ammirals" as had never yet floated in the European seas. Their
senses were assailed with fresh and novel delights at every footstep.
The superb magnolia, with its great and snow-white chalices; the
flowering dogwood with its myriad blossoms, thick and richly gleaming
as the starry host of heaven; the wandering jessamine, whose yellow
trophies, mingling with grey mosses of the oak, stooped to the upward
struggling billows of the deep, giving out odor at every rise and fall
of the ambitious wavelet,--these, by their unwonted treasures of
scent and beauty, compelled the silent but profound admiration of the
strangers. "Exceeding pleasant" did the "very fragrant odour" make the
place; while other novelties interposed to complete the fascinations of
a spot, the peculiarities of which were equally fresh and delightful.
Their farther acquaintance with the country only served to increase its
attractions. As they wandered through the woods, they "saw nothing but
turkey cocks flying in the forests, partridges, gray and red, little
different from ours, but chiefly in bignesse;"--"we heard also within
the woods the voices of stagges, of beares, of hyenas, of leopards, and
divers other sorts of beasts unknown to us. Being delighted with this
place, we set ourselves to fishing with nets, and caught such a number
of fish that it was wonderful."
The same region is still renowned for its fish and game, for the
monsters as well as the multitudes of the deep, and for the deer of
its spacious swamps and forests, which still exercise the skill and
enterprise of the angler and the hunter. This is the peculiar region
also, of the "Devil fish," the "Vampire of the Ocean," described by
naturalists as of the genus Ray, species Dio-don, a leviathan of
the deep, whose monstrous antennæ are thrown about the skiff of the
fisherman with an embrace as perilous as that wanton sweep of his mighty
extremities with which the whale flings abroad the crowding boats of his
hardy captors. Sea and land, in this lovely neighborhood, still gleam
freshly and wondrously upon the eye of the visitor as in the days of our
Huguenot adventurers; and still do its forests, in spite of the _cordon_
which civilization and society have everywhere drawn around them, harbor
colonies of the bear which occasionally cross the path of the sportsman,
and add to his various trophies of the chase.
With impressions of the scene and region such as realized to our
Frenchmen the summer glories of an Arabian tale, it was easy to
determine where to plant their colony. Modern conjecture, however,
is still unsatisfied as to the site which was probably chosen by our
voyagers. The language of Laudonniere is sufficiently vague and general
to make the matter doubtful; and, unhappily, there are no remains which
might tend to lessen the obscurity of the subject. The vessels had
cast anchor at the mouth of Port Royal River. The pilots subsequently
counselled that they should penetrate the stream, so as to secure a
sheltered roadstead. They ascended the river accordingly, some three
leagues from its mouth, when Ribault proceeded to make a closer
examination of the country. The Port Royal "is divided into two great
armes, whereof the one runneth toward the _west_, the other toward the
_north_." Our Huguenot captain chose the _western_ avenue, which he
ascended in his pinnace. For more than twelve leagues he continued this
progress, until he "found another arme of the river which ranne towards
the _east_, up which the captain determined to sail and leave the greate
current."
The red men whom they encounter on this progress are at first shy of
the strangers and take flight at their approach, but they are soon
encouraged by the gentleness and forbearance of the Frenchmen, who
persuade them finally to confidence. An amiable understanding soon
reconciles the parties, and the Floridian at length brings forward
his gifts of maize, his palm baskets with fruits and flowers, his
rudely-dressed skins of bear and beaver, and these are pledges of his
amity which he does not violate. He, in turn, persuades the voyagers to
draw near to the shore and finally to land. They are soon surrounded by
the delighted and simple natives, whose gifts are multiplied duly in
degree with the pleasure which they feel. Skins of the _chamois_--deer
rather--and baskets of pearls, are offered to the chief among the
whites, whom they proceed to entertain with shows of still greater
courtesy. A bower of forest leaves and shrubs is soon built to shelter
them "from the parching heate of the sunne," and our Frenchmen lingered
long enough among this artless and hospitable people to get tidings of
a "greate Indian Lorde which had pearles in great abundance and silver
also, all of which should be given them at the king's arrival." They
invited the strangers to their dwellings--proffering to show them a
thousand pleasures in shooting, and seeing the death of the stag.
Our Huguenots, excellent Christians though they were, were by no
means insensible to the tidings of pearl and gold. These glimpses of
treasures, already familiar to their imaginations, greatly increase, in
their sight, the natural beauties of the country. The narratives of the
red men, imperfectly understood, and construed by the desires of the
strangers, rather than their minds, were full of marvels of neighboring
lands and nations,--great empires of wealth and strength,--cities in
romantic solitudes,--high places among almost inaccessible mountains, in
which the treasures are equally precious and abundant. Listening to such
legends, our Frenchmen linger with the red men, until the approach of
night counsels them to seek the security of their ships.
But, with the dawning of the following day the explorations were
resumed. Before leaving his vessel, however, Ribault provides himself
with "a pillar of hard stone, fashioned like a column, whereon the armes
of France were graven," with the purpose of planting "the same in the
fairest place that he coulde finde." "This done, we embarked ourselves,
and sayled three leagues towards the west; where we discovered a little
river, up which wee sayled so long, that, in the ende, wee found it
returned into the great current, and in his return, to make a little
island separated from the firme lande, where wee went on shore, and by
commandment of the captain, because it was exceeding faire and pleasant,
there we planted the pillar upon a hillock open round about to the view
and environed with a lake halfe a fathom deepe, of very good and sweete
water."
We are particular in these details, in the hope that future explorers
may be thus assisted in the work of identifying the places marked by our
Huguenots. Everything which they see in the new world which surrounds
them, is imposing to the eye and grateful to the sense. They wander
among avenues of gigantic pines that remind them of the mighty
colonnades in the great cathedrals of the old world. They are at once
exhilarated by a sense of unwonted freshness and beauty in what they
behold, and by aspects of grandeur and vastness which solemnize all
their thoughts and fancies. With these feelings, when, in their
wanderings, they arouse from the shady covers where they browsed "two
stagges of exceeding bignesse, in respect of those which _they_ had
seene before," their captain forbids that they should shoot them, though
they might easily have done so. The anecdote speaks well for Ribault's
humanity. It was not wholly because he was "moved with the singular
fairenesse and bignesse of them," as Laudonniere imagines, but because
his soul was lifted with religious sentiment--filled with worship at
that wondrous temple of nature in which the great Jehovah seemed visibly
present, in love and mercy, as in the first sweet days of the creation.
To the little river which surrounded the islet, on which the pillar was
raised, they gave the name of "Liborne." The island itself is supposed
to be that which is now called Lemon Island. The matter is one which
still admits of doubt, though scarcely beyond the reach of certainty, in
a close examination from the guide posts which we still possess. It is a
question which may well provoke the diligence of the local antiquary.
"Another isle, not far distant from" that of the pillar, next claimed
the attention of the voyagers. Here they "found nothing but tall cedars,
the fairest that were seene in this country. For this cause wee called
it the Isle of Cedars."
This ended their exploration for the day. A few days were consumed in
farther researches, without leading to any new discoveries. In the
meantime, Ribault prepared to execute the commands of his sovereign,
in the performance of one of the tasks which civilization but too
frequently sanctions at the expense of humanity. He was commanded by
the Queen-mother to capture and carry home to France a couple of the
natives. These, as we have seen, were a mild race, maintaining among
themselves a gentle intercourse, and exercising towards strangers
a grateful hospitality. It was with a doubtful propriety that our
Frenchman determined to separate any of them from their homes and
people. But it was not for Ribault to question the decrees of that
sovereign whom it was the policy of the Huguenots, at present, to
conciliate. Having selected a special and sufficient complement of
soldiers, he determined "to returne once againe toward the Indians which
inhabiteth that arme of the river which runneth toward the West." The
pinnace was prepared for this purpose. The object of the voyage was
successful. The Indians were again found where they had been at first
encountered. The Frenchmen were received with hospitality. Ribault made
his desires known to the king or chief of the tribe, who graciously
gave his permission. Two of the Indians, who fancied that they were more
favored than the rest of their brethren, by the choice of the Frenchmen,
yielded very readily to the entreaties which beguiled them on board
one of the vessels. They probably misunderstood the tenor of the
application; or, in their savage simplicity, concluded that a voyage to
the land of the pale-faces was only some such brief journey as they were
wont to make, in their cypress canoes, from shore to shore along their
rivers--or possibly as far down as the great frith in which their
streams were lost. But it was not long before our savage voyagers
were satisfied with the experiment. They soon ceased to be pleased or
flattered with the novelty of their situation. The very attentions
bestowed upon them only provoked their apprehensions. The cruise wearied
them; and, when they found that the vessels continued to keep away from
the land, they became seriously uneasy. Born swimmers, they had no fear
about making the shore when once in the water: and it required the
utmost vigilance of the Frenchmen to keep them from darting overboard.
It was in vain, for a long time, that they strove to appease and to
soothe the unhappy captives. Their detention, against their desires, now
made them indignant. Gifts were pressed upon them, such as they were
known to crave and to esteem above all other possessions. But these they
rejected with scorn. They would receive nothing in exchange for their
liberty. The simple language in which the old chronicler describes the
scene and their sorrows, has in it much that is highly touching, because
of its very simplicity. They felt their captivity, and were not to be
beguiled from this humiliating conviction by any trappings or soothings.
Their freedom--the privilege of eager movements through billow and
forest--sporting as wantonly as bird and fish in both--was too precious
for any compensation. They sank down upon the deck, with clasped hands,
sitting together apart from the crew, gazing upon the shores with
mournful eyes, and chaunting a melancholy ditty, which seemed
to the watchful and listening Frenchmen a strain of exile and
lamentation--"agreeing so sweetly together, that, in hearing their
song, it seemed that they lamented the absence of their friendes."
And thus they continued all night to sing without ceasing.
The pinnace, meanwhile, lay at anchor, the tide being against them; with
the dawn of day the voyage was resumed, and the ships were reached in
safety where they lay in the roadstead. Transferred to these, the two
captives continued to deplore their fate. Every effort was made to
reconcile them to their situation, and nothing was withheld which
experience had shown to be especially grateful to the savage fancy. But
they rejected everything; even the food which had now become necessary
to their condition. They held out till nearly sunset, in their rejection
of the courtesies, which, with a show of kindness, deprived them of the
most precious enjoyment and passion of their lives. But the inferior
nature at length insisted upon its rights. "In the end they were
constrained to forget their superstitions," and to eat the meat which
was set before them. They even received the gifts which they had
formerly rejected; and, as if reconciled to a condition from which they
found it impossible to escape, they put on a more cheerful countenance.
"They became, therefore, more jocunde; every houre made us a thousand
discourses, being marveillous sorry that we could not understand them."
Laudonniere set himself to work to acquire their language. He strove
still more to conciliate their favor; engaged them in frequent
conversation; and, by showing them the objects for which he sought their
names, picked up numerous words which he carefully put on paper. In a
few days he was enabled to make himself understood by them, in ordinary
matters, and to comprehend much that they said to him. They flattered
him in turn. They told him of their feats and sports, and what pleasures
they could give him in the chase. They would take food from no hands but
his; and succeeded in blinding the vigilance of the Frenchmen. They were
not more reconciled to their prison-bonds than before. They had simply
changed their policy; and, when, after several days' detention, they
had succeeded in lulling to sleep the suspicions of their captors, they
stole away at midnight from the ship, leaving behind them all the gifts
which had been forced upon them, as if, to have retained them, would
have established, in the pale-faces, a right to their liberties--thus
showing, according to Laudonniere, "that they were not void of reason."
Ribault was not dissatisfied with this result of his endeavor to comply
with the commands of the Queen-mother. His sense of justice probably
revolted at the proceeding; and the escape of the Indians, who would
report only the kindness of their treatment, would, in all likelihood,
have an effect favorable to his main enterprise,--the establishment of
a colony. This design he now broached to his people in an elaborate
speech. He enlarged upon the importance of the object, drawing numerous
examples from ancient and modern history, in favor of those virtues in
the individual which such enterprise must develope. There is but one
passage in this speech which deserves our special attention. It is
that in which he speaks to his followers of their inferior birth and
condition. He speaks to them as "known neither to the king nor to the
princes of the realme, and, besides, descending from so poore a stock,
that few or none of your parents, _having ever made profession of
armes_, have beene knowne unto the great estates." This is in seeming
conflict with what Laudonniere has already told us touching the
character and condition in society of the persons employed in the
expedition. He has been careful to say, at the opening of the narrative,
that the two ships were "_well furnished with gentlemen_ (of whose
number I was one) and old soldiers."[5] The apparent contradiction may
be reconciled by a reference to the distinction, which, until a late
period, was made in France, between the noblesse and mere gentlemen. The
word gentleman had no such signification, in France, at that period, as
it bears to-day. To apply it to a nobleman, indeed, would have been, at
one time, to have given a mortal affront, and a curious anecdote is on
record, to this effect in the case of the Princess de la Roche Sur Yon,
who, using the epithet "gentilhomme" to a nobleman, was insulted by him;
and, on demanding redress of the monarch, was told that she deserved the
indignity, having been guilty of the first offence.
[5] Charlevoix seems to afford a sufficient sanction for the claim
of Laudonniere, in behalf of the gentle blood among the followers
of Ribault. He says "Il avoit des esquipages choisis, et plusieurs
volontaires, parmi lesquels il y avoit _quelques gentilshommes_." And
yet Ribault should have known better than anybody else the quality of
his armament. Certainly, the good leaven, as the result showed, was in
too small a proportion to leaven the whole colony.
But Ribault's speech suggested to his followers that their inferior
condition made nothing against their heroism. He, himself, though a
soldier by profession, from his tenderest years, had never yet been
able to compass the favor of the nobility. Yet he had applied himself
with all industry, and hazarded his life in many dangers. It was his
misfortune that "more regard is had to birth than virtue." But this
need not discourage _them_, as it has never discouraged him from the
performance of his duties. The great examples of history are in _his_
eyes, and should be in _theirs_.
"Howe much then ought so many worthy examples move you to plant here?
Considering, also, that hereby you shall be registered forever as the
first that inhabited this strange country. I pray you, therefore, all
to advise yourselves thereof, and to declare your mindes freely unto
me, protesting that I will so well imprint your names in the King's
eares, and the other princes, that your renowne shall hereafter shine
unquenchable through our realm of France."
Ribault was evidently not insensible to fame. Had his thoughts been
those of his sovereign, also, how different would have been the history!
His soldiers responded in the proper spirit, and declared their
readiness to establish a colony in the wild empire, the grandeur and
beauty of which had already commended it to their affections. Delighted
with the readiness and enthusiasm of his men, he weighed anchor the very
next day, in order to seek out the place most fit and convenient for
his settlement. "_Having sayled up the great river on the north side, in
coasting an isle which ended with a sharpe point toward the mouth of the
river;--having sailed awhile he discovered a small river which entered
into the islande, which hee would not faile to search out, which done,
he found the same deep enough to harbour therein gallies and galliots
in good number. Proceeding farther, he found an open place joyning upon
the brinke thereof, where he went on land, and seeing the place fit to
build a fortresse in, and commodious for them that were willing to
plant there, he resolved incontinently to cause the bignesse of the
fortification to be measured out._" The colony was to be a small one.
Twenty-six persons had volunteered to establish it; as many, perhaps, as
had been called for. The dimensions of the fort were small accordingly.
They were taken by Laudonniere, and one Captain Salles, under Ribault's
directions. The fort was at once begun. Its length was sixteen fathoms,
its breadth thirteen, "with flanks according to the proportion thereof."
Then, for the first time, the European axe was laid to the great shafts
of the forest trees of America, waking sounds, at every stroke, whose
echoes have been heard for three hundred years, sounding, and destined
to resound, from the Atlantic to the Pacific seas; leaving no waste of
wood and wild, unawakened by this first music of civilization.
The site thus chosen by Ribault for his colony, though no traces have
been left of the labor of his hands, is scarcely doubtful to the present
possessors of the country. All the proofs concur in placing Fort Charles
somewhere between North Edisto and Broad River, and circumstances
determine this situation to be that of the beautiful little town of
Beaufort, in South Carolina. The _Grande Riviere_ of the French is our
Broad River.[6] It was at the mouth of this river, in an island with a
safe and commodious port, that the fort was established; and of the
numerous islands which rise everywhere along the coast in this region,
as a fortress to defend the verdant shores from the assaults of ocean,
there is none which answers so well as this all the requisitions of this
description. Besides, it is actually in the very latitude of the site,
as given by Laudonniere; and the tradition of the Indians, as preserved
by our own people, seems to confirm and to conclude the conjectures on
this subject. They state that the first place in which they saw the pale
faces of the Europeans was at Coosawhatchie, in South Carolina. Now, the
Coosawhatchie is the principal stream that forms the _Grande Riviere_ of
the Frenchmen; and was, questionless, the first of the streams that was
penetrated by the pinnace of Ribault. It is highly probable that it bore
the name of Coosawhatchie through its entire course, until it emptied
itself into the ocean. The testimony of the Indians, based simply upon
their tradition, is of quite as much value as that of any other people.
It is well known with what tenacity they preserve the recollection
of important events, and with what singular adherence to general
truthfulness. The island upon which Beaufort now stands was most
probably that which yielded the first American asylum to the Huguenots
of France!
[6] Charlevoix, in his "Fastes Chronologiques," preparatory to his
work on New France, locates Charles Fort, under Ribault, near to the
site of the present city of Charleston. In his "Histoire Generale,"
and in the map which illustrates this narrative, however, he concurs
in the statement of the text. He also names the North Edisto the St.
Croix.
Our Frenchmen travailed so diligently that, in a short space, the
fortress was in some sort prepared for the colonists. It was soon in a
defensible condition. "Victuals and warlike munition" were transferred
from the shipping to the shore, and the garrison were furnished with all
things necessary for the maintenance of their fortress and themselves.
The fort was christened by the name of Charles, the King of France;
while the small river upon which it was built received the name of
Chenonceau. All things being provided, the colonists marched into their
little and lovely place of refuge. They were confided to the charge of
one Captain Albert, to whom, and to whose followers, Ribault made a
speech at parting. His injunctions were of a parental and salutary
character. He exhorted their Captain to justice, firmness and moderation
in his rule, and his people to obedience; promising to return with
supplies from France, and reinforcements before their present resources
should fail them. But these exhortations do not seem to have been much
regarded by either party. It will be for us, in future chapters, to
pursue their fortunes, and to pluck, if possible, from the unwritten
history, the detailed events of their melancholy destiny. Sad enough
will it have been, even if no positive evil shall befall them,--that
severance from their ancient comrades--that separation from the old
homes of their fathers in _La Belle France_--that lonesome abode, on the
verge of "ocean's gray and melancholy waste," on the one hand, and the
dense, dark, repelling forests of Apalachia on the other;--doubtful
of all they see,--in spite of all that is fresh and charming in
their sight;--apprehensive of every sound that reaches them from the
wilderness,--and filled with no better hope than that which springs up
in the human bosom when assured that all hope is cut off--that one
hope excepted, which is born of necessity, and which blossoms amid the
nettles of despair. The isolation was the more oppressive and likely to
be grievous, as we have reason to doubt that, though founding a colony
for the refuge of a religious and persecuted people, they brought any
becoming sense of religion with them. Our progress thus far with the
adventurers has shown us but few proofs of the presence among them of
any feelings of devotion. Ribault himself was but a soldier, and his
ambition was of an earthly complexion. Had they been elevated duly
by religion, they would have been counselled and strengthened in the
solitude by God. Unhappily, they were men only, rude, untaught, and full
of selfish passions,--badly ruled and often ill-treated, and probably
giving frequent provocation to the pride and passions of those who had
them under rule. But they began their career in the New World with
sufficient cheerfulness. Its climate was delicious, like that of their
own country. Its woods and forests were of a majesty and splendor beyond
any of which their wildest fancies had ever dreamed; and the security
which the remoteness of the region promised them, and the novelty which
invested every object in their eyes made the parting from their comrades
a tolerably easy one. They heard with lively spirits the farewell shouts
of their companions, and answered them with cheers of confidence and
pride. The simple paragraph which records the leave-taking of the
parties, is at once pleasing and full of pathos. "Having ended his
(Ribault's) exhortations, we took our leaves of _each_ of them, and
sayled toward our shippes. We hoysed our sayles about ten of the
clocke in the morning. After wee were ready to depart, Captain Ribault
commanded to shoote off our ordnance, to give a farewell unto our
Frenchmen; which fayled not to do the like on their part. This being
done, wee sayled toward the north." That last shout, that last sullen
roar of their mutual cannon, and the great waves of the Atlantic rolled,
unbroken by a sail, between our colonists and _La Belle France_.
II.
THE COLONY UNDER ALBERT.
The Colonists, thus abandoned by their countrymen, proceeded to make
themselves secure in their forest habitations. Day and night did they
address themselves to the completion of their fortress. They have seen
none of the natives in the immediate neighborhood of the spot in which
they had pitched their tents; but, aware of the wandering habits of the
red-men, they might naturally look for them at any moment. Their toils,
quickened by their caution, enabled them to make rapid progress. While
they labored, they felt nothing of their loneliness. The employments
which accompanied their situation, and flowed from its necessities,
might be said to exercise their fancies, and to subdue the tendency to
melancholy which might naturally grow out of their isolation. Besides,
the very novelty of the circumstances in which they found themselves had
its attractions, particularly to a people so lively as the French. Our
Huguenots, at the outset, were very sensible to the picturesque beauties
of their forest habitation. For a season, bird, and beast, and tree,
and flower, presented themselves to their delighted eyes, in guises of
constantly varying attraction. The solitude, itself, possessed its
charm, most fascinating of all,--until it became monotonous--to
those who had been little favored of fortune in the crowded world of
civilization; and, with the feeling of a first freshness in their
hearts, and, while in the performance of duties which were equally
necessary to their safety, and new to their experience, the whole
prospect before them was beheld through that rose-colored atmosphere
which the fancy so readily flings before the mind, beguiling the soberer
thought into forgetfulness. During this period they toiled successfully
upon their fortifications. They raised the parapet, they mounted the
cannon for defence; built rude dwellings within the walls, and in their
boundless contiguity of shade, with the feeling that they were in some
sort "monarchs of all they beheld;" they felt neither loneliness nor
fear.
Their homes built, their fortifications complete, they proceeded, in
small detachments to explore the neighboring streams and woods. They
had, so far, finished all their tasks without meeting with the natives.
They did not shrink from this meeting. They now desired it from motives
of policy. They had no reason to believe, from the specimens of the
red-men whom they had already encountered, that they should have any
difficulty in soothing any of the tribes; and they were justified in
supposing that the impression already made upon those whom they met,
would operate favorably upon their future intercourse. Boldly, then, our
Frenchmen darted into the adjacent forests, gathering their game and
provisions in the same grounds with the proprietors. But the latter were
never to be seen. They were shy of the strangers, or they had not yet
discovered their settlement. One day, however, a fortunate chance
enabled a party of the Huguenots to discover, and to circumvent an
Indian hunter, upon whom they came suddenly in the forests. At first the
poor fellow was exceedingly dismayed at the encounter; but, subduing his
fears, he submitted with a good grace to the wishes of his captors, and
was conducted to the fortress. Here he was treated with consideration,
and made happy by several trifles which were given him. His confidence
was finally won, and his mouth was opened. He became communicative,
and described his people and their territories. He avowed himself the
subject of a great monarch, whom he called Audusta,[7]--a name, in
which, under the corruptions of a French pronunciation, we recognize the
well-known modern name of Edisto. He described the boundaries of empire
belonging to this forest chieftain; and gave a general and not incorrect
idea of the whole surrounding country.
[7] The name in Charlevoix is written A_n_dusta, but this is most
probably an error of the press. Laudonniere in Hackluyt uniformly uses
the orthography which we adopt, and which furnishes a coincidence so
really striking in the preservation of a name so nearly the same in
sound, to this very day, in the same region.
Captain Albert was exceedingly delighted with his acquisition. It was
important that he should open an intercourse with the natives, to whose
maize-fields and supplies of venison his necessities required he should
look. He treated the hunter with liberality and courtesy, dismissing him
at night-fall with many presents, of a kind most grateful to the savage
taste. These hospitalities and gifts, it was not doubted, would pave
the way for an intercourse equally profitable and pleasant to both the
parties. Suffering a few days to elapse after the departure of the
hunter, Albert prepared to follow his directions, and explore the
settlements of King Audusta. He did so, and was received with great
kindness by the stately savage. The Indian hunter had made a favorable
report of the Frenchmen, and Audusta adopted them as his friends and
allies. He promised them provisions and assistance, and the friendship
of four other chiefs or princes, his tributaries, whose names are given
as Mayou, Hoya, Touppa, and Stalamè.[8] These were all, in turn,--except
the last,--visited by Albert, who found a frank and generous welcome
wherever he came. He consumed several days in these visits; and the
intercourse, in a little while, between the French and red-men, grew so
great, "that, in a manner, all things were soon common between them."
Returning to Audusta, Albert prepared to visit Stalamè, whose country
lay north of Fort Charles some fifteen leagues. This would make his
abode somewhere on the Edisto, near Givham's, perhaps; or, inclining
still north, to the head of Ashley River. Sailing up the river, (the
Edisto probably,) they encountered a great current, which they followed,
to reach the abode of Stalamè. He, too, received the strangers with
hospitality and friendship. The intercourse thus established between
the party soon assumed the most endearing aspect. The Indian kings took
counsel of Albert in all matters of importance. The Frenchmen were
called to the conference in the round-house of the tribe, quite as
frequently as their own recognized counsellors. In other words, the
leaders of the Huguenots were adopted into the tribe, that being the
usual mode of indicating trust and confidence. Albert was present at all
the assemblages of state in the realm of Audusta; at all ceremonials,
whether of business or pleasure; at his great hunts; and at the singular
feasts of his religion. One of these feasts, that of TOYA,[9] which
succeeded the visit of Albert to the territories of Audusta and the four
tributary kings, will call for an elaborate description hereafter, when
we narrate the legend of Guernache, upon whose fate that of the colony
seems to have depended.
[8] A remark of Charlevoix, which accords with the experience of all
early travellers and explorers among the American Indians, is worthy
to be kept in remembrance, as enabling us to account for that frequent
contradiction which occurs in the naming of places and persons among
the savages. He records distinctly that each canton or province of
Florida bore, among the red-men, the name of the ruling chief. Now, as
a matter of course where the tribes are nomadic, the names of places
continually underwent change, according to that of the tribe by which
the spot was temporarily occupied.
[9] According to Charlevoix, Toya was the name of the Floridian god,
and not that of the ceremonies simply. "Elle se célébroit en l'honneur
d'une Divinité nommée _Toya_."
The intercourse of our Huguenots with Audusta was of vital importance to
the former. In the form of gifts, he yielded them a regular tribute of
maize and beans, (corn and peas, in modern parlance,) and was easily
persuaded to do so by the simple trifles, of little value, which the
colonists proffered in return. It is not difficult to win the affections
of an inferior people, where the superior is indulgent. Kindness will
disarm the hostility of the savage, and justice will finally subdue the
jealousy of conscious ignorance. Sympathy in sports and amusements,
above all things, will do much towards bringing together tribes who
differ in their laws and language, and will make them forgetful of all
their differences. The French have been usually much more successful
than any other people in overcoming the prejudices of the red-men of
America. The moral of their nation is much more flexible than that of
the Englishman and Spaniard;--the former of whom has always subdued, and
the latter usually debased or destroyed, the races with which they came
in conflict.
The policy of Albert did not vary from that which usually distinguished
his countrymen in like situations. The French Protestant was, by no
means, of the faith and temper of the English Puritan. In simplifying
his religion, he did not clothe his exterior in gloom; he did not deny
that there should be sunshine and blossoms in the land. Our colonists at
Fort Charles did not perplex the Indians with doctrinal questions. It is
greatly to be feared, indeed, that religion did not, in any way, disturb
them in their solitudes. At all events, it was not of such a freezing
temper as to deny them the indulgence of an intercourse with the
natives, which, for a season, was very agreeable and very inspiriting
to both the parties.
But smiles and sunshine cannot last forever. The granaries of the
Indians began to fail under their own profligacy and the demands of
the Frenchmen. The resources of the former, never abundant, were soon
exhausted in providing for the additional hungry mouths which had come
among them. Shrinking from labor, they addressed as little of it as they
well could, to the cultivation of their petty maize fields. They
planted them, as we do now, a couple of grains of corn to each hill,
at intervals of three or four square feet, and as the corn grew to a
sufficient height, peas were distributed among the roots, to twine
about the stalks when the vines could no longer impair its growth. They
cropped the same land twice in each summer. The supplies, thus procured,
would have been totally inadequate to their wants, but for the abundant
game, the masts of the forest, and such harsh but wholesome roots as
they could pulverize and convert into breadstuffs. Their store was thus
limited always, and adapted to their own wants simply. Any additional
demand, however small, produced a scarcity in their granaries. The
improvidence of Audusta, or his liberality, prevented him from
considering this danger, until it began to be felt. He had supplied
the Frenchmen until his stock was exhausted; no more being left in his
possession than would suffice to sow his fields.
"For this reason,"--such was the language of the savage monarch--"we
must retire to the forests, and live upon its mast and roots, until
harvest time. We are sorry that we can supply you no longer; you must
now seek the granaries of our neighbors. There is a king called COUEXIS,
a prince of great might and renown in this country, whose province lies
toward the south. His lands are very fertile. His stores are ample at
all seasons. He alone can furnish you with food for a long time. Before
you approach the territories of Couexis, there is his brother, king
Ouade, who is scarcely less wealthy. He is a generous chief, who will
be very joyful if he may but once behold you. Seek out these, and your
wants shall be supplied."
The advice was taken. The Frenchmen had no alternative. They addressed
themselves first to Ouade. His territories lay along the river Belle,
some twenty-five leagues south of Port Royal. He received them with
the greatest favor and filled their pinnace with maize and beans. He
welcomed them to his abode with equal state and hospitality. His house
is described as being hung with a tapestry richly wrought of feathers.
The couch upon which he slept, was dressed with "white coverlettes,
embroidered with devises of very wittie and fine workmanship, and
fringed round about with a fringe dyed in the colour of scarlet." His
gifts to our Frenchmen were not limited to the commodities they craved.
He gave them six coverlets, and tapestry such as decorated his couch and
dwelling; specimens of a domestic manufacture which declare for tastes
and a degree of art which seems, in some degree, to prove their intimacy
with the more polished and powerful nations of the south. In regard to
food hereafter, king Ouade promised that his new acquaintance should
never want.
Thus was the first intercourse maintained by our Huguenots with their
savage neighbors. It was during this intimacy, and while all things
seemed to promise fair in regard to the colony, that the tragical events
took place which furnish the materials for the legend which follows, the
narrative of which requires that we should mingle events together, those
which occurred in the periods already noted, and those which belong to
our future chapters. Let it suffice, here, that, with his pinnace stored
with abundance, the mil (meal), corn and peas, of Ouade, Albert returned
in safety to Fort Charles.
III.
THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. I.
Showing how Guernache, the Musician, a great favorite with our
Frenchmen, lost the favor of Captain Albert, and how cruelly he
was punished by the latter.
Guernache, the drummer, was one of the finest fellows, and the
handsomest of our little colony of Frenchmen. Though sprung of very
humble origin, Guernache, with a little better education, might have
been deemed to have had his training among the highest circles of the
Court. He was of tall and erect figure, and of a carriage so noble and
graceful that, even among his associates, he continued to be an object
of admiration. Besides, he was a fellow of the happiest humor. His
kindness of heart was proverbial. His merriment was contagious. His eye
flashed out in gayety, and his spirit was ever on the alert to seize
upon the passing pleasure, and subject it to the enjoyment of his
companions. Never was fellow so fortunate in finding occasion for
merriment; and happy, indeed, was the Frenchman who could procure
Guernache as a comrade in the performance of his daily tasks. The toil
was unfelt in which he shared--the weight of the task was dissipated,
and, where it wore heavily, he came to the succor of his drooping
companion, and his superior expertness soon succeeded in doing that
which his pleasantry had failed to effect. He was the best fisherman
and hunter--was as brave as he was light-hearted--was, altogether, so
perfect a character, in the estimation of the little band of Albert,
that he found no enemy among his equals, and could always choose his
companion for himself. His successes were not confined to his own
countrymen. He found equal favor in the sight of the Indians. Among his
other accomplishments, he possessed the most wonderful agility--had
belonged, at one time, to a company of strolling players, and his skill
on tight and slack rope--if we are to credit old stories--would put to
the blush the modern performances of the Ravels and Herr Cline. It was
through his means, and partly by his ingenuity, that the Indian hunter
was entrapped and brought into the fort,--through whose agency the
intimacy had been effected with the people of Audusta and the other
chiefs; and, during this intimacy, Guernache had proved, in various
ways, one of the principal instruments for confirming the favorable
impressions which the Indian had received in his intercourse with the
Frenchmen. He was everywhere popular with the red men. Nothing, indeed,
could be done without him. Ignorant of his inferior social position
among the whites, the simple savages sent for him to their feasts and
frolics, without caring for the claims of any other person. He had but
to carry his violin--for, among his other accomplishments, that of
fiddling was not the smallest--to secure the smiles of the men and the
favors of the women; and it was not long before he had formed, among the
savages, a class for dancing, after the European fashion, upon the banks
of the Edisto. Think of the red men of Apalachia, figuring under a
Parisian teacher, by night, by torch-light, beneath the great oaks
of the original forest! Such uncouth antics might well offend, with
never-lessening wonder, the courtly nymphs of the Seine and the Loire.
But the Indians suffered from no conventional apprehensions. They were
not made to feel their deficiencies under the indulgent training of
Guernache, and footed it away as merrily, as if each of their damsels
sported on a toe as light and exquisite as that of Ellsler or Taglioni.
King Audusta, himself, though well stricken in years, was yet seduced
into the capricious mazes which he beheld with so much pleasure, and,
for a season, the triumph of Guernache among the palms and pines of
_Grande Riviere_, was sufficiently complete, to make him wonder at times
how his countrymen ever suffered his departure from the shores of La
Belle France!
At first, and when it was doubtful to what extent the favor of the
red-men might be secured for the colony, Captain Albert readily
countenanced the growing popularity of his fiddler among them. His
permission was frequently given to Guernache, when king Audusta
solicited his presence. His policy prompted him to regard it as highly
fortunate that so excellent an agent for his purposes was to be found
among his followers; and, for some months, it needed only a suggestion
of Guernache, himself, to procure for him leave of absence. The worthy
fellow never abused his privileges--never was unfaithful to his
trust--never grew insolent upon indulgence. But Captain Albert, though
claiming to be the cadet of a noble house, was yet a person of a mean
and ignoble nature. Small and unimposing of person, effeminate of habit,
and accustomed to low indulgences, he was not only deficient in the
higher resources of intellect, but he was exceedingly querulous and
tyrannical of temper. His aristocratical connexions alone had secured
him the charge of the colony, for which nature and education had equally
unfitted him. His mind was contracted and full of bitter prejudices;
and, as is the case commonly with very small persons, he was always
tenacious, to the very letter, of the nicest observances of etiquette.
After a little while, and when he no longer had reason to question the
fidelity of the red men, he began to exhibit some share of dislike
towards Guernache; and to withhold the privileges which he had hitherto
permitted him to enjoy. He had become jealous of the degree of favor in
which his musician was held among the savages, and betrayed this change
in his temper, by instances of occasional severity and denial, the
secret of which the companions of Guernache divined much sooner than
himself. Though not prepared, absolutely, to withhold his consent, when
king Audusta entreated that the fiddler might be spared him, he yet
accorded it ungraciously; and Guernache was made to suffer, in some way,
for these concessions, as if they had been so many favors granted to
himself.
They were, indeed, favors to the musician, though, to what extent,
Albert entertained no suspicion. It so happened that among his other
conquests, Guernache had made that of a very lovely dark-eyed damsel, a
niece of Audusta, and a resident of the king's own village. After the
informal fashion of the country, into which our Frenchmen were apt
readily to fall, he had made the damsel his wife. She was a beautiful
creature, scarcely more than sixteen; tall and slender, and so naturally
agile and graceful, that it needed but a moderate degree of instruction
to make her a dancer whose airy movements would not greatly have
misbeseemed the most courtly theatres of Paris. Monaletta,--for such was
the sweet name of the Indian damsel,--was an apt pupil, because she was
a loving one. She heartily responded to that sentiment of wonder--common
among the savages--that the Frenchmen should place themselves under the
command of a chief, so mean of person as Albert, and so inferior in
gifts, when they had among them a fellow of such noble presence as
Guernache, whose qualities were so irresistible. The opinions of her
head were but echoes from the feelings in her heart. Her preference for
our musician was soon apparent and avowed; but, in taking her to wife,
Guernache kept his secret from his best friend. No one in Fort Charles
ever suspected that he had been wived in the depth of the great
forests, through pagan ceremonies, by an Indian Iawa,[10] to the lovely
Monaletta. Whatever may have been his motive for keeping the secret,
whether he feared the ridicule of his comrades, or the hostility of his
superior, or apprehended a difficulty with rivals among the red men, by
a discovery of the fact, it is yet very certain that he succeeded in
persuading Monaletta, herself, and those who were present at his wild
betrothal, to keep the secret also. It did not lessen, perhaps, the
pleasure of his visits to the settlements of Audusta, that the peculiar
joys which he desired had all the relish of a stolen fruit. It was now,
only in this manner that Monaletta could be seen. Captain Albert, with
a rigid austerity, which contributed also to his evil odor among his
people, had interdicted the visits of all Indian women at the fort. This
interdict was one, however, which gave little annoyance to Guernache.
A peculiar, but not unnatural jealousy, had already prompted him
repeatedly to deny this privilege to Monaletta. The simple savage had
frequently expressed her desire to see the fortress of the white man, to
behold his foreign curiosities, and, in particular, to hearken to the
roar of that mimic thunder which he had always at command, and which,
when heard, had so frequently shaken the very hearts of the men of her
people.
[10] Iawa was the title of the priest or prophet of the Floridian.
The word is thus written by Laudonniere in Hakluyt. It is probably a
misprint only which, in Charlevoix, writes it "Iona."
In this relation stood the several parties, when, one day, a messenger
came to Fort Charles from King Audusta, bearing a special invitation to
Captain Albert to attend, with the savage tribes, the celebration of the
great religious "feast of _Toya_." He was invited to bring as many of
his men as he thought proper, but, in particular, not to forget their
favorite Guernache. The feast of Toya, seems to have constituted the
great religious ceremonial of the nation. It took place about the
middle, or the close of summer, and seems to have been a sort of annual
thanksgiving, after the laws of a natural religion, for the maturing
of their little crops. Much of the solemnities were obvious and
ostentatious in their character. Much more, however, was involved and
mysterious, and held particularly sacred by the priesthood. The occasion
was one, at all events, to which the Indians attached the greatest
importance; and, naturally anxious to acquire as great a knowledge as
possible of their laws, customs and sentiments, Captain Albert very
readily acceded to the invitation,--preparing, with some state, to
attend the rustic revels of Audusta. He took with him a fair proportion
of his little garrison, and did not omit the inimitable Guernache.
Ascending the river in his pinnace, he soon reached the territories
of the Indian monarch. Audusta, with equal hospitality and dignity,
anticipated his approach, and met him, with his followers, at the river
landing. With a hearty welcome, he conducted him to his habitations, and
gave him, at entrance, a draught of the cassina beverage, the famous tea
of the country. Then came damsels who washed their hands in vessels of
water over which floated the leaves of the odorous bay, and flowers of
rare perfume; drying them after with branches of plumes, scarlet and
white, which were made of the feathers of native birds of the most
glorious variety of hue. Mats of reed, woven ingeniously together by
delicate wythes of all colors, orange and green, and vermillion, dyed
with roots of the forest, were then spread upon the rush-strewn floor of
the royal wigwam; and, with a grace not unbecoming a sovereign born in
the purple, Audusta invited our Frenchmen to place themselves at ease,
each according to his rank and station. The king took his place among
them, neither above the first, nor below the last, but like a friend
within a favorite circle, in which some might stand more nearly than
others to his affections. They were then attended with the profoundest
deference, and served with the rarest delicacies of the Indian
_cuisine_. As night came on, fresh rushes were strewed upon the floor,
and they slept with the cheerful music of songs and laughter, which
reached them at intervals, through the night, from the merry makers in
the contiguous forests. With the dawning of the next day, preparations
for the great festival were begun.
IV.
THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. II.
THE FESTIVAL OF TOYA.
Being a continuation of the legend of Guernache; showing the
superstitions of the Red-Men; how Guernache offended Captain
Albert, and what followed from the secret efforts of the Frenchmen
to penetrate the mysteries of Toya!
It would be difficult to say, from the imperfect narratives afforded
us by the chroniclers, what were the precise objects of the present
ceremonials;--what gods were to be invoked;--what evil beings
implored;--what wrath and anger to be deprecated and diverted from the
devoted tribes. As the Frenchmen received no explanation of their mystic
preparations, so are we left unenlightened by their revelations. They do
not even amuse us by their conjectures, and Laudonniere stops short in
his narrative of what did happen, apologizing for having said so much
on so trifling a matter. We certainly owe him no gratitude for his
forbearance. What he tells us affords but little clue to the motive of
their fantastic proceedings. The difficulty, which is at present ours,
was not less that of Albert and his Frenchmen. They were compelled to
behold the outlines of a foreign ritual whose mysteries they were not
permitted to explore, and had their curiosity provoked by shows of a
most exciting character, which only mocked their desires, and tantalized
their appetites. On the first arrival of Albert, and after he had been
rested and refreshed, Audusta himself had conducted him, with his
followers, to the spot which had been selected for the ceremonies of the
morrow. "This was a great circuit of ground with open prospect and round
in figure." Here they saw "many women roundabout, which labored by all
means to make the place cleane and neate." The ceremonies began early
on the morning of the ensuing day. Hither they repaired in season, and
found "all they which were chosen to celebrate the feast," already
"painted and trimmed with rich feathers of divers colours." These led
the way in a procession from the dwelling of Audusta to the "place of
Toya." Here, when they had come, they set themselves in new order under
the guidance of three Indians, who were distinguished by plumes, paint,
and a costume entirely superior to the rest. Each of them carried a
tabret, to the plaintive and lamenting music of which they sang in
wild, strange, melancholy accents; and, in slow measures, dancing the
while, they passed gradually into the very centre of the sacred circle.
They were followed by successive groups, which answered to their
strains, and to whose songs they, in turn, responded with like echoes.
This continued for awhile, the music gradually rising and swelling from
the slow to the swift, from the sad to the passionate, while the moods
of the actors and the spectators, also varying, the character of
the scene changed to one of the wildest excitement. Suddenly, the
characters--those who were chief officiators in this apparent hymn of
fate--broke from the enchanted circle--darted through the ranks of the
spectators, and dashed, headlong, with frantic cries, into the depths of
the neighboring thickets. Then followed another class of actors. As if
a sudden and terrible doom overhung the nation, the Indian women set up
cries of grief and lamentation. Their passion grew to madness. In their
rage, the mothers seized upon the young virgins of the tribe, and, with
the sharp edges of muscle shells, they lanced their arms, till the blood
gushed forth in free streams, which they eagerly flung into the air,
crying aloud at every moment, "He-to-yah! He-to-yah! He-to-yah!"[11]
[11] Adair likens the cry of the Southern Indians to the sacred
name among the Jews--"Je-ho-vah." He writes the Indian syllables
thus--"Yo-he-wah," and it constitutes one of his favorite arguments
for deducing the origin of the North American red-men from the ancient
Hebrews.
These ceremonies, though not more meaningless, perhaps, in the eyes of
the Christian, than would be our most solemn religious proceedings in
those of the Indian, provoked the laughter of Albert and some of
his Frenchmen. This circumstance awakened the indignation of their
excellent friend, Audusta. His displeasure was now still farther
increased by a proceeding of Captain Albert. It was an attempt upon
their mysteries. That portion of the officiating priesthood--their
Iawas--who fled from the sacred enclosure to deep recesses of the woods,
sought there for the prosecution, in secret, of rites too holy for the
vulgar eye. Here they maintained their _sanctum sanctorum_. This was
the place consecrated to the communion of the god with his immediate
servants--the holy of holies, which it was death to penetrate or pass.
Albert suffered his curiosity to get the better of his discretion.
Offended by the laughter of the Frenchmen, at what they had already
beheld, and fearing lest their audacity should lead them farther, the
king, Audusta, had gathered them again within the royal wigwam, where he
sought, by marked kindness and distinction, to make them forgetful
of what had been denied. They had seen, as he told them, the more
impressive portions of the ceremonial. There were others, but not of a
kind to interest them. But the fact that there was something to conceal,
stimulated the curiosity of Albert. In due degree with the king's
anxiety to keep his secret, was that of the French captain's to fathom
it. Holding a brief consultation with his men, accordingly, he declared
his desire to this effect; and proposed, that one of their number should
contrive to steal forth, and, finding his way to the forbidden spot,
should place himself in such a position as would enable him to survey
all the mysterious proceedings. To this course, Guernache frankly
opposed his opinions. His greater intimacy with the red-men led him
properly to conceive the danger which might ensue, from their discovery
of the intrusion. He had been well taught by Monaletta, the degree of
importance which they attached to the security of their mystic rites.
Arguing with the honesty of his character, he warned his captain of
the risk which such unbecoming curiosity would incur--the peril to the
offender, himself, if detected; and the hazards to the colony from
the loss of that friendship to which they had been already so largely
indebted. But the counsels of Guernache were rejected with indignity.
Prepared, already, to regard him with dislike and suspicion, Albert
heard his suggestions only as so much impertinence; and rudely commanded
him not to forget himself and place, nor to thrust his undesired
opinions upon the consideration of gentlemen. The poor fellow was
effectually silenced by this rebuke. He sank out of sight, and presumed
no farther to advise. But the counsel was not wholly thrown away.
Disregarded by Albert, it was caught up, and insisted on, by others, who
had better conventional claims to be heard, and the proposition might
have been defeated but for the ready interposition of one Pierre Renaud,
a young fellow, who, perceiving the captain's strong desire to seek out
the mystery, and anxious to ingratiate himself with that person, boldly
laughed at the fears of the objectors, and volunteered, himself, to
defy the danger, in his own person, in order to gratify his chief. This
silenced the controversy. Albert readily availed himself of the offer,
and Pierre Renaud was commanded to try his fortune. This he did, and,
notwithstanding the surveillance maintained over them by Audusta and his
attendants, "he made such shift, that, by subtle meanes, he gotte out of
the house of Audusta, and secretly went and hid himselfe behinde a
very thick bush, where, at his pleasure, he might easily descry the
ceremonies of the feaste."
We will leave Renaud thus busy in his espionage, while we rehearse the
manner in which the venerable Audusta proceeded to treat his company.
A substantial feast was provided for them, consisting of venison, wild
fowl, and fruits. Their breadstuffs were maize, batatas, and certain
roots sodden first in water, and then prepared in the sun. A drink was
prepared from certain other roots, which, though bitter, was refreshing
and slightly stimulant. Our Frenchmen, in the absence of the beverages
of Italy and France, did not find it unpalatable. They ate and drank
with a hearty relish, which gratified the red-men, who lavished on them
a thousand caresses. The feast was followed by the dance. In a spacious
area, surrounded by great ranks of oaks, cedars, pines, and other trees,
they assembled, men and women, in their gayest caparison. The men were
tatooed and painted, from head to foot, and not inartistically, in the
most glowing colors. Birds and beasts were figured upon their breasts,
and huge, strange reptiles were made to coil up and around their legs
and arms. From their waists depended light garments of white cotton, the
skirts being trimmed with a thick fringe of red or scarlet. Some of them
wore head-dresses consisting of the skins of snakes, or eagles, the
panther or the wild cat, which, stuffed ingeniously, were made to sit
erect above the forehead, and to look abroad, from their novel place of
perch, in a manner equally natural and frightful. The women were habited
in a similarly wild but less offensive manner. The taste which presided
in their decorations, was of a purer and a gentler fashion. Their cheeks
were painted red, their arms, occasionally but slightly tattooed, and
sometimes the figure of a bird, a flower or a star, might be seen
engrained upon the breast. A rather scanty robe of white cotton
concealed, in some degree, the bosom, and extended somewhat below the
knees. Around the necks of several, were hung thick strands of native
pearls, partially discolored by the action of fire which had been
employed to extricate them from the shells. Pearls were also mingled
ingeniously with the long tresses of their straight, black hair;
trailing with it, in not unfrequent instances, even to the ground.
Others, in place of this more valuable ornament, wore necklaces, anklets
and tiaras, formed wholly of one or other of the numerous varieties
of little sea shells, by which, after heavy storms, the low and sandy
shores of the country were literally covered. Strings of the same shell
encircled the legs, which were sometimes of a shape to gratify the
nicest exactions of the civilized standard. The forms of our Indian
damsels were generally symmetrical and erect, their movements at once
agile and graceful--their foreheads high, their lips thin, and, with a
soft, persuasive expression, inclining to melancholy; while their eyes,
black and bright, always shone with a peculiar forest fire that seemed
happily to consort with their dark, but not unpleasing complexions.
Well, indeed, with a pardonable vanity, might their people call them the
"Daughters of the Sun." He had made them his, by his warmest and fondest
glances. These were the women, whose descendants, in after days, as
Yemassees and Muscoghees and Seminoles, became the scourge of so large
a portion of the Anglo-American race.
When the Frenchmen beheld this rude, but really brilliant assemblage,
and saw what an attractive show the young damsels made, they were
delighted beyond measure. Visions of the rout and revel, as enjoyed in
_La Belle France_, glanced before their fancies; and the lively capering
that followed among the young Huguenots, informed Captain Albert of the
desire which was felt by all. In stern, compelling accents, he bade
Guernache take his violin, and provide the music, while the rest
prepared to dance. But Guernache excused himself, alleging the want of
strings for his instrument. These were shown, in a broken state, to
his commander. He had broken them, we may state _en passant_, for the
occasion. His pride had been hurt by the treatment of his captain.
He felt that the purpose of the latter was to degrade him. Such a
performance as that required at his hands, was properly no part of his
duty; and his proud spirit revolted at the idea of contributing, in any
way, to the wishes of his superior, when the object of the latter was
evidently his own degradation. Albert spoke to him testily, and with
brows that did not seek to subdue or conceal their frowns. But Guernache
was firm, and though he studiously forebore, by word or look, to
increase the provocation which he had already given, he yet made no
effort to pacify the imperious nature which he had offended. The excuse
was such as could not but be taken. There was the violin, indeed, but
there, also, were the broken strings. Albert turned from the musician
with undisguised loathing; and the poor fellow sunk back with a secret
presentiment of evil. He but too well knew the character of his
superior.
Meanwhile, the red men had resort to their own primitive music. Their
instruments consisted of simple reeds, which, bound together, were
passed, to and fro, beneath the lips and discoursed very tolerable
harmonies;--and a rude drum formed by stretching a raw deer skin over
the mouth of a monstrous calabash, enabled them, when the skin had been
contracted in the sun, to extort from it a very tolerable substitute for
the music of the tambourine. There were other instruments, susceptible
of sound if not of sweetness. Numerous damsels, none over fifteen, lithe
and graceful, carried in their hands little gourds, which were filled
with shells and pebbles, and tied over with skins, dried also in the
sun. With these, as they danced, they kept time so admirably as might
have charmed the most practised European master. Thus, all provided,
some with the drum, and others with flute-like reeds and hollow,
tinkling gourds, they only awaited the summons of their partners to
the area. Shaking their tinkling gourds, as if in pretty impatience
at the delay, the girls each waited, with anxious looks, the signal
from her favorite.
The Frenchmen were not slow in seeking out their partners. At the word
and signal of their captain, they dashed in among the laughing group of
dusky maidens, each seeking for the girl whose beauties had been most
grateful to his tastes. Nor was Captain Albert, himself, with all his
pride and asceticism, unwilling to forget his dignity for a season, and
partake of the rude festivities of the occasion. When, indeed, did
mirth and music fail to usurp dominion in the Frenchman's heart? Albert
greedily cast his eyes about, seeking a partner, upon whom he might
bestow his smiles. He was not slow in the selection. It so happened,
that Monaletta, the spouse of Guernache, was not only one of the
loveliest damsels present, but she was well known as the niece of King
Audusta. Her beauty and royal blood, equally commended her to the favor
of our captain. She stood apart from all the rest, stately and graceful
as the cedar, not seeming to care for the merriment in which all were
now engaged. There was a dash of sadness in her countenance. Her
thoughts were elsewhere--her eyes scarcely with the assembly, when the
approach of Albert startled her from her reverie. He came as Cæsar did,
to certain conquest; and was about to take her hand, as a matter of
course, when he was equally astounded and enraged to find her draw it
away from his grasp.
"You will not dance with _me_, Monaletta?"
"No," she answered him in broken French--"No dance with you--dance with
_him_!" pointing to Guernache.
Speaking these words, she crossed the floor, with all the bold
imprudence of a truly loving heart, to the place where stood our
sorrowful and unhappy violinist. He had followed the movements of
Albert, with looks of most serious apprehension, and his heart had sunk,
with a sudden terror, when he saw that he approached Monaletta. The
scene which followed, however grateful to his affections, was seriously
calculated to arouse his fears. He feared for Monaletta, as he feared
for himself. Nothing escaped him in the brief interview, and he saw, in
the vindictive glances of Albert, the most evil auguries for the future.
Yet how precious was her fondness to his heart! He half forgot his
apprehensions as he felt her hand upon his shoulder, and beheld her eyes
looking with appealing fondness up into his own. That glance was full of
the sweetest consolation,--and said everything that was grateful to his
terrified affections. She, too, had seen the look of hate and anger in
the face of Albert, and she joyed in the opportunity of rebuking the one
with her disdain, and of consoling the other with her sympathies. It was
an unhappy error. Bitter, indeed, was the look with which the aroused
and mortified Albert regarded the couple as they stood apart from all
the rest. Guernache beheld this look. He knew the meaning of that
answering glance of his superior which encountered his own. His looks
were those of entreaty, of deprecation. They seemed to say, "I feel that
you are offended, but I had no purpose or part in the offence." His
glance of humility met with no answering indulgence. It seemed, indeed,
still farther to provoke his tyrant, who, advancing midway across the
room, addressed him in stern, hissing accents, through his closed and
almost gnashing teeth.
"Away, sirrah, to the pinnace! See that you remain in her until I summon
you! Away!"
The poor fellow turned off from Monaletta. He shook himself free from
the grasp which she had taken of his hand. He prepared to obey the
wanton and cruel order, but he could not forbear saying reproachfully
as he retired--
"You push me too hard, Captain Albert."
"No words, sir! Away!" was the stern response. The submissive fellow
instantly disappeared. With his disappearance, Albert again approached
Monaletta, and renewed his application. But this time he met with a
rejection even more decided than before. He looked to King Audusta; but
an Indian princess, while she remains unmarried, enjoys a degree of
social liberty which the same class of persons in Europe would sigh for
and supplicate in vain. There were no answering sympathies in the king's
face, to encourage Albert in the prosecution of his suit. Nay, he had
the mortification to perceive, from the expression of his countenance,
that his proceedings towards Guernache--who was a general favorite--had
afforded not more satisfaction to him, than they had done to Monaletta.
It was, therefore, in no very pleasant mood with himself and those
around him, that our captain consoled himself in the dance with
the hand of an inferior beauty. Jealous of temper and frivolous of
mind--characteristics which are frequently found together--Albert was
very fond of dancing, and enjoyed the sport quite as greatly as any
of his companions. But, even while he capered, his soul, stung and
dissatisfied, was brooding vexatiously over its petty hurts. His
thoughts were busied in devising ways to revenge himself upon the humble
offender by whom his mortification originally grew. Upon this sweet and
bitter cud did he chew while the merry music sounded in his ears,
and the gaily twinkling feet of the dusky maidens were whirling in
promiscuous mazes beneath his eye. But these festivities, and his own
evil meditations, were destined to have an interruption as startling
as unexpected.
While the mirth was at its highest, and the merriment most contagious,
the ears of the assembly were startled by screams, the most terrible, of
fright and anguish. The Frenchmen felt a nameless terror seizing upon
them. The cries and shrieks were from an European throat. Wild was the
discord which accompanied them,--whoops of wrath and vengeance, which,
as evidently issued only from the throats of most infuriated savages.
The music ceased in an instant. The dance was arrested. The Frenchmen
rushed to their arms, fully believing that they were surrounded by
treachery--that they had been beguiled to the feast only to become its
victims. With desperate decision, they prepared themselves for the
worst. While their suspense and fear were at their highest, the cause
of the alarm and uproar soon became apparent to their eyes. Bursting,
like a wounded deer, suddenly, from the woods by which the dwelling of
Audusta was surrounded, a bloody figure, ghastly and spotted, appeared
before the crowd. In another moment the Frenchmen recognized the spy,
Pierre Renaud, who had volunteered to get at the heart of the Indian
mysteries--to follow the priesthood to their sacred haunts, and gather
all the secrets of their ceremonials.
We have already seen that he reached his place of watch in safety. But
here his good fortune failed him: his place of espionage was not one
of concealment. In the wild orgies of their religion,--for they seem
to have practised rites not dissimilar to, and not less violent and
terrible than those of the British Druids,--the priests darted over the
crouching spy. Detected in the very act, where he lay, "squat like a
toad," the Iawas fell upon him with the sharp instruments of flint
with which they had been lancing and lacerating their own bodies. With
these they contrived, in spite of all his struggles and entreaties, to
inflict upon him some very severe wounds. Their rage was unmeasured, and
the will to slay him was not wanting. But Renaud was a fellow equally
vigorous and active. He baffled their blows as well as he could, and at
length breaking from their folds, he took fairly to his heels. Howling
with rage and fury, they darted upon his track, their wild shrieks
ringing through the wood like those of so many demons suffering in
mortal agony. They cried to all whom they saw, to stay and slay the
offender. Others joined in the chase, as they heard this summons. But
fortune favored the fugitive. His terror added wings to his flight.
He was not, it seems, destined to such a death as they designed him.
He outran his pursuers, and, dodging those whom he accidentally
encountered, he made his way into the thick of the area, where his
comrades, half bewildered by the uproar, were breaking up the dance. He
sank down in the midst of them, exhausted by loss of blood and fatigue,
only a moment before the appearance of his pursuers.
The French instantly closed around their companion. They had not put
aside their weapons, and they now prepared themselves to encounter the
worst. The aspect of the danger was threatening in the last degree. The
Iawas were boiling with sacred fury. They were the true rulers of their
people. Their will was sovereign over the popular moods. They demanded,
with violent outcry, the blood of the individual by whom their sacred
retreats had been violated, and their shekinah polluted by vulgar and
profane presence. They demanded the blood of _all_ the Frenchmen, as
participating in the crime. They called upon Audusta to assert his
own privileges and theirs. They appealed to the people in a style of
phrenzied eloquence, the effects of which were soon visible in the
inflamed features and wild action of the more youthful warriors.
Already were these to be seen slapping their sides, tossing their hands
in air, and, with loud shrieks, lashing themselves into a fury like
that which enflamed their prophets. King Audusta looked confounded.
The Frenchmen were his guests. He had invited them to partake of his
hospitality, and to enjoy the rites of his religion. He was in some sort
pledged for their safety, though one of them had violated the conditions
of their coming. His own feelings revolted at giving any sanction for
the assault, yet he appeared unable or unwilling to resist the clamors
of the priesthood. But _he_ also demanded, though with evident
reluctance, the blood of the offender. He was not violent, though
urgent, in this demand. He showed indignation rather than hostility;
and he gave Albert to understand that in no way could the people or the
priesthood be appeased, unless by the sacrifice of the guilty person.
But Albert could not yield the victim. The French were prepared to
perish to a man before complying with any such demand. They were firm.
They fenced him in with their weapons, and declared their readiness to
brave every peril ere they would abandon their comrade. This resolution
was the more honorable, as Pierre Renaud was no favorite among them.
Though seriously disquieted by the event, and apprehensive of the issue,
Albert was man enough to second their spirit. Besides, Renaud had been
his own emissary in the adventure which threatened to terminate so
fatally. His denial was inferred from his deportment; and the clamor of
the Indians was increased. The rage of the Iawas was renewed with the
conviction that no redress was to be given them. Already had the young
warriors of Audusta procured their weapons. More than an hundred of
them surrounded our little band of Frenchmen, who were only thirteen
in number. Bows were bent, lances were set in rest, javelins were seen
lifted, and ready to be thrown; and the drum which had been just made to
sound, in lively tones, for the dance, now gave forth the most dismal
din, significant of massacre and war. Already were to be seen, in the
hands of some more daring Indian than the rest, the heavy war-club,
or the many-teethed macana, waving aloft and threatening momently to
descend upon the victim; and nothing was wanting but a first blow to
bring on a general massacre. Suddenly, at this perilous moment, the
fiddle of Guernache was heard without; followed, in a moment after,
by the appearance of the brave fellow himself. Darting in between the
opposing ranks, attended by the faithful Monaletta, with a grand crash
upon his instrument, now newly-strung, followed by a rapid gush of the
merriest music, he took both parties by the happiest surprise, and
instantly produced a revulsion of feeling among the savages as complete
as it was sudden.
"Ami! ami! ami!" was the only cry from an hundred voices, at the
reappearance of Guernache among them. They had acquired this friendly
epithet among the first words which they had learned at their coming,
from the French; and their affection for our fiddler had made its
application to himself, in particular, a thing of general usage. He
_was_ their friend. He had shown himself their friend, and they had a
faith in _him_ which they accorded to no other of his people. The people
were with him, and the priesthood not unfriendly. Time was gained
by this diversion; and, in such an outbreak as that which has been
described, time is all that is needful, perhaps, to stay the arm of
slaughter. Guernache played out his tune, and cut a few pleasant
antics, in which the now happy Monaletta, though of the blood royal,
readily joined him. The musician had probably saved the party
from massacre. The subsequent work of treaty and pacification was
comparatively easy. Pierre Renaud was permitted to depart for the
pinnace, under the immediate care of Guernache and Monaletta. The Iawas
received some presents of gaudy costume, bells, and other gew-gaws,
while a liberal gift of knives and beads gratified their warriors and
their women. The old ties of friendship were happily reunited, and
the calumet went round, from mouth to mouth, in token of restored
confidence and renewed faith. Before nightfall, happily relieved from
his apprehensions, Albert, with his detachment, was rapidly making his
way with his pinnace, down the waters of the swiftly-rolling Edisto.
V.
THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. III.
The Legend of Guernache is continued, showing how the Fortress of the
Huguenots was destroyed, and what happened thereafter to Guernache
the Musician.
The fidelity which Guernache had shown in the recent difficulty with
the Indians, did not appear to lessen in any degree the unfavorable
impressions which Capt. Albert had received of that worthy fellow.
Indeed, the recent and remarkable service which he had rendered, by
which, in all probability, the whole party had been preserved from
massacre, rather increased, if any thing, the hostile temper of his
superior. The evil spirit still raged within the bosom of Capt. Albert,
utterly baffling a judgment at no period of particular excellence, and
blinding every honorable sentiment which might have distinguished him
under other influences. He was now doubly mortified, that he should
be supposed to owe his present safety to the person he had wronged--a
mortification which found due increase as he remembered how much greater
had been the respect and deference of the savages for his drummer than
for himself. This recollection was a perpetual goad to that working
malice in his heart, which was already busied in devising schemes of
revenge, which were to salve his hurts of pride and vanity, by the
sufferings as well as humiliation of his subordinate. It will scarcely
be believed that, when fairly out of sight of the village of Audusta, he
rebuked Guernache sharply, for leaving the pinnace against his orders,
and even spoke of punishing him for this disobedience.[12] But the
murmurs of some of his officers, and, perhaps, a little lurking
sentiment of shame in his own bosom, prevented him from attempting any
such disgraceful proceeding. But the feeling of hostility only rankled
the more because of its suppression, and he soon contrived to show
Guernache and, indeed, everybody besides, that from that hour he was his
most bitter and unforgiving enemy, with a little and malignant spirit,
he employed various petty arts, which a superior of a base nature may
readily command on all occasions, by which to make the poor fellow feel
how completely he was at his mercy; and each day exposed him to
some little snare, or some stern caprice, by which Guernache became
involuntarily an offender. His tyrant subjected him to duties the most
troublesome and humiliating, while denying, or stinting him of all
those privileges which were yet commonly accorded to his comrades. But
all this would have been as nothing to Guernache, if he had not been
denied permission to visit, as before, the hamlet of Audusta, where his
princess dwelt. On the miserable pretext that the priesthood might
revenge upon him the misconduct of Renaud, Albert insisted upon his
abstaining wholly from the Indian territories. But this pretence
deceived nobody, and nobody less than Guernache. Little did the petty
tyrant of Fort Charles imagine that the object of his malice enjoyed a
peculiar source of consolation for all these privations. His comrades
were his friends. They treated him with a warmth and kindness,
studiously proportioned to the ill-treatment of his superior.
They assisted him in the severer tasks which were allotted him to
fulfil--gave him their company whenever this was possible, while he was
engaged in the execution of his most cheerless duties, and soothed his
sorrows by the expression of their almost unanimous sympathies. Nor
did they always withhold their bitter denunciations of the miserable
despotism under which he suffered, and which they feared. Dark hints of
remedy were spoken, brows frowned at the mention of the wrongs of their
companion, and the head shaken ominously, when words of threatening
significance were uttered--appealed gratefully to certain bitter desires
which had taken root in the mind of the victim. But these sympathies,
though grateful, were of small amount in comparison with another
source of consolation, which contributed to sustain Guernache in his
tribulation. This was found in the secret companionship of his young and
beautiful Indian wife. Denied to see him at the village of Audusta, the
fond and fearless woman determined to seek him at all hazards in his own
domain. She stole away secretly to the fortress of the Huguenots. Long
and earnest was the watch which she maintained upon its portals, from
the thickets of the neighboring wood. Here, vigilant as the sentinel
that momently expects his foe, she harbored close, in waiting for the
beloved one. Her quick instincts had already taught her the true cause
of his denial, and of her disappointment; and her Indian lessons had
made that concealment, which she now believed to be necessary to her
purpose, a part of the habitual policy of her people. She showed herself
to none of the people of the fortress. She suspected them all; she
had no faith but in the single one. And he, at length, came forth,
unaccompanied, in the prosecution of an occasional labor--that of
cutting and procuring wood. She suffered him to make his way into the
forests--to lose sight of the fortress, and, with a weary spirit and
a wounded soul, to begin his lonely labors with the axe. Then did she
steal behind him, and beside him; and when he moaned aloud--supposing
that he had no auditor--how startling fell upon his ear the sweet, soft
whisper of that precious voice which he had so lovingly learned to
distinguish from all others. He turned with a gush of rapturous delight,
and, weeping, she rushed into his arms, pouring forth, in a wild cry,
upon his breast, the whole full volume of her warm, devoted heart!
[12] Charlevoix thus describes Captain Albert: "Le Commandant
de Charles-Fort étoit un homme de main, et qui ne manquoit pas
absolument de conduite, mais il étoit brutal jusqu'à la férocité, et
ne sçavoit pas meme garder les bienséances........ Il punissoit les
moindres fautes, and toujours avec excès, &c."--N. France, Liv. 1, p.
51.
That moment, in spite of all his fears, was amply compensative to
Guernache for all his troubles. He forgot them all in the intensity of
his new delights. And when Monaletta led him off from his tasks to
the umbrageous retreat in the deeper woods where her nights had been
recently passed,--when she conducted him to the spot where her own hands
had built a mystic bower for her own shelter--when she declared her
purpose still to occupy this retreat, in the solitude alone,--that she
might be ever near him, to behold him at a distance, herself unseen,
when he came forth accompanied by others--to join him, to feel his
embrace, hear his words of love, and assist him in his labors when he
came forth unattended--when, speaking and promising thus, she lay upon
the poor fellow's bosom, looking up with tearful and bright eyes in his
wan and apprehensive countenance--then it was that he could forget
his tyrant--could lose his fears and sorrows in his love, and in the
enjoyment of moments the most precious to his heart, forget all the
accompanying influences which might endanger his safety.
But necessity arose sternly between the two, and pointed to the
exactions of duty. The tasks of Guernache were to be completed. His
axe was required to sound among the trees of the forest, and a certain
number of pieces of timber were required by sunset at his hands. It was
surprising as it was sweet to behold the Indian woman as she assisted
him in his tasks. Her strength did not suffice for the severer toils of
the wood-cutter, but she contrived a thousand modes for contributing to
his performances. Love lightens every labor, and invents a thousand arts
by which to do so. Monaletta anticipated the wants of Guernache. She
removed the branches as he smote them, she threw the impediments from
his way,--helped him to lift and turn the logs as each successive side
was to be hewn. She brought him water, when he thirsted, from the
spring. She spoke and sung to him in the most encouraging voice when
he was weary. He was never weary when with her.
Guernache combatted her determination to remain in the neighborhood
of the fortress; but his objections were feebly urged, and she soon
overcame them. He had not the courage to insist upon his argument, as
he had not the strength to resist the consolations which her presence
brought him. She soon succeeded in assuring him that there was little or
no danger of detection by their enemy. She laughed at the idea of the
Frenchmen discovering her place of concealment, surprising her in her
progress through the woods, or overtaking her in flight; and Guernache
knew enough of Indian subtlety readily to believe that the white was no
match for the dusky race in the exercise of all those arts which are
taught by forest life. "But her loneliness and privation, exposed to
the season's changes, and growing melancholy in the absence from old
associates?" But how could she be lonely, was her argument, when near
the spot where he dwelt--when she could see and hear and speak with him
occasionally? She wished no other communion. As for the exposure of her
present abode, was it greater than that to which the wandering life of
the red-man subjects his people at all seasons? The Indian woman is
quite as much at home in the forest as the Indian warrior. She acquires
her resources of strength and dexterity in his company, and by the
endurance of similar necessities and the employment of like exercises.
She learns even in childhood to build her own green bower at night,
to gather her own fuel, light her own fire, dress her own meat--nay,
provide it; and, weaponed with bow, and javelin and arrow, bring down
buck or doe bounding at full speed through the wildest forests. Her
skill and spirit are only not equal to those of the master by whom
she is taught, but she acquires his arts to a degree which makes her
sometimes worthy to be lifted by the tribe from her own rank into his.
Monaletta reminded Guernache of all these things. She had the most
conclusive and convincing methods of argument. She reassured him on all
his doubts, and, in truth, it was but too easy to do so. It was unhappy
for them both, as we shall see hereafter, that the selfish passion of
the poor musician too readily reconciled him to a self-devotion on the
part of his wife, which subjected her to his own perils, and greatly
tended to their increase. With the evil eye of Albert upon him, he
should have known that safety was impossible for him in the event of
error. And error was inevitable now, with the pleasant tempter so near
his place of coventry. We must not wonder to discover now that Guernache
seldom sleeps within the limits of the fortress. At midnight, when all
is dark and quiet, he leaps over the walls, those nights excepted when
it is his turn of duty to watch within. His secret is known to some of
his comrades; but they are too entirely his friends to betray him to a
despot who had, by this time, outraged the feelings of most of those who
remained under his command. Guernache was now enabled to bear up more
firmly than ever against the tyranny of Albert. His, indeed, were
nights of happiness. How sweetly sped the weeks, in which, despite his
persecutions, he felt that he enjoyed a life of luxurious pleasures,
such as few enjoy in any situation. His were the honest excitements
of a genuine passion, which, nourished by privation and solitude, and
indulged in secresy, was of an intensity corresponding with the apparent
denial, and the real embarrassments of such a condition. His pleasures
were at once stolen and legitimate; the apprehension which attends their
pursuit giving a wild zest to their enjoyment; though, in the case of
Guernache, unlike that of most of those who indulge in stolen joys,
they were honest, and left no cruel memories behind them.
It was the subject of a curious study and surprise to Captain Albert,
that our musician was enabled to bear up against his tyranny with so
much equal firmness and forbearance. He watched the countenance of
Guernache, whenever they met, with a curious interest. By what secret
resource of fortitude and hope was it that he could command so much
elasticity, exhibit so much cheerfulness, bear with so much meekness,
and utter no complaint. He wondered that the irksome duties which he
studiously thrust upon him, and the frequently brutal language with
which his performances were acknowledged, seemed to produce none of the
cruel effects which he desired. His victim grew neither sad nor sullen.
His violin still was heard resounding merrily at the instance of his
comrades; and still his hearty, whole-souled laughter rang over the
encampment, smiting ungraciously upon the senses of his basely-minded
chief. In vain did this despot study how to increase and frame new
annoyances for his subordinate. His tyranny contrived daily some new
method to make the poor fellow unhappy. But, consoled by the peculiar
secret which he possessed, of sympathy and comfort, the worthy drummer
bore up cheerfully under his afflictions. He was resolved to wait
patiently the return of Ribault with the promised supplies for the
colony, and meanwhile to submit to his evil destiny without a murmur. It
was always with a secret sense of triumph that he reminded himself of
the near neighborhood of his joys, and he exulted in the success with
which he could baffle nightly the malice of his superior. But, however
docile, the patience and forbearance of Guernache availed him little.
They did not tend to mitigate the annoyances which he was constantly
compelled to endure. We are now to recall a portion of the preceding
narrative, and to remind our reader of the visit which Captain Albert
paid to the territories of Ouade, and the generous hospitalities of the
King thereof. Guernache had been one of the party, and the absence
of several days had been a serious loss to him in the delightful
intercourse with his dusky bride. He might naturally hope, after his
return from a journey so fatiguing, to be permitted a brief respite from
his regular duties. But this was not according to the policy of his
malignant superior. Some hours were consumed after arriving at the fort,
in disposing of the provisions which had been obtained. In this labor
Guernache had been compelled to partake with others of his companions.
Whether it was that he betrayed an unusual degree of eagerness in
getting through his task--showing an impatience to escape which his
enemy detected and resolved to baffle, cannot now be said; but to his
great annoyance and indignation, he was burdened with a portion of the
watch for the night--a duty which was clearly incumbent only upon those
who had not shared in the fatigues of the expedition. But to expostulate
or repine was alike useless, and Guernache submitted to his destiny with
the best possible grace. The provisions were stored, the gates closed,
the watches set, and the garrison sunk to sleep, leaving our unhappy
musician to pace, for several hours, the weary watch along the ramparts.
How he looked forth into the dense forests which harbored his Monaletta!
How he thought of the weary watch she kept! What were her fears, her
anxieties? Did she know of his return? Did she look for his coming?
The garrison slept--the woods were mysteriously silent! How delightful
it would be to surprise her in the midst of her dreams, and answer
to her murmurs of reproach--uttered in the sweetest fragmentary
Gallic--"Monaletta! I am here! Here is your own Guernache!"
The temptation was perilously sweet! The suggestion was irresistible;
and, in a moment of excited fancy and passion, Guernache laid down his
piece, and leaped the walls of the fortress. He committed an unhappy
error to enjoy a great happiness, for which the penalties were not slow
to come. In the dead of midnight, the garrison, still in a deep sleep,
they were suddenly aroused in terror by the appalling cry of "fire!" The
fort, the tenements in which they slept, the granary, which had just
been stored with their provisions, were all ablaze, and our Frenchmen
woke in confusion and terror, unknowing where to turn, how to work, or
what to apprehend. Their military stores were saved--their powder and
munitions of war--but the "mils and beanes," so recently acquired from
the granaries of King Ouade, with the building that contained them, were
swept in ashes to the ground.
This disaster, full of evil in itself, was productive of others, as it
led to the partial discovery of the secret of our drummer. Guernache was
not within the fort when the alarm was given. It is not improbable that,
had he not left his post, the conflagration would have been arrested in
time to save the fort and its provisions. His absence was noted, and he
was discovered, approaching from the forests, by those who bore forth
the goods as they were rescued from the flames. These were mostly
friends of Guernache, who would have maintained a generous silence; but,
unhappily, Pierre Renaud was also one of the discoverers. This person
not only bore him no good will,--though gratitude for the service
rendered him at the feast of Toya should have bound him forever to the
cause of Guernache,--but he was one who had become a gross sycophant and
the mere creature of the governor. He knew the hatred which the latter
bore to Guernache, and a sympathizing nature led him promptly to divine
the cause. Overjoyed with the discovery which he had made, the base
fellow immediately carried the secret to his master, and when the first
confusion was over, which followed the disaster, Guernache was taken
into custody, and a day assigned for his trial as a criminal. To him was
ascribed the fire as well as desertion from his post. The latter fact
was unquestionable--the former was inferred. It might naturally be
assumed, indeed, that, if the watch had not been abandoned, the flames
could not have made such fearful headway. It was fortunate for our
Frenchmen that the intercourse maintained with the Indians had been of
such friendly character. With the first intimation of their misfortune,
the kings, Audusta and Maccou, bringing with them a numerous train of
followers, came to assist them in the labor of restoration and repair.
"They uttered unto their subjects the speedy diligence which they were
to use in building another house, showing unto them that the Frenchmen
were their loving friends and that they had made it evident unto them
by the gifts and presents which they had received;--protesting that he
whosoever put not his helping hand to the worke with all his might,
should be esteemed as unprofitable." The entreaties and commands of the
two kings were irresistible. But for this, our Huguenots, "being farre
from all succours, and in such extremitie," would have been, in the
language of their own chronicler, "quite and cleane out of all hope."
The Indians went with such hearty good will to the work, and in such
numbers, that, in less than twelve hours, the losses of the colonists
were nearly all repaired. New houses were built; new granaries erected;
and, among the fabrics of this busy period, it was not forgotten to
construct a keep--a close, dark, heavy den of logs, designed as a
prison, into which, as soon as his Indian friends had departed, our
poor fiddler, Guernache, was thrust, neck and heels! The former were
rewarded and went away well satisfied with what they had seen and done.
They little conjectured the troubles which awaited their favorite. He
was soon brought to trial under a number of charges--disobedience of
orders, neglect of duty, desertion of his post, and treason! To all of
these, the poor fellow pleaded "_not guilty_;" and, with one exception,
with a good conscience. But he had not the courage to confess the truth,
and to declare where he had been, and on what mission, when he left the
fort, on the night of the fire. He had committed a great fault, the
consequences of which were serious, and might have been still more
so; and the pleas of invariable good conduct, in his behalf, and the
assertion of his innocence of all evil intention, did not avail. His
judges were not his friends; he was found guilty and remanded to his
dungeon, to await the farther caprices and the judgment of his enemy.
VI.
THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE.--Chap. IV.
THE DUNGEON AND THE SCOURGE.
Being the continuation of the melancholy Legend of Guernache.
The absence of Guernache from his usual place of meeting with
Monaletta, brought the most impatient apprehension to the heart of
the devoted woman. As the time wore away--as night after night passed
without his coming, she found the suspense unendurable, and gradually
drew nigh to the fortress of the Huguenots. More than once had he
cautioned her against incurring a peril equally great to them both. But
her heart was already too full of fears to be restrained by such dangers
as he alone could have foreseen; and she now lurked about the fort at
nightfall, and continued to hover around long after dawn, keeping watch
upon its walls and portal. So close and careful, however, was this
watch, that she herself remained undetected. One day, however, to her
great satisfaction, one of the inmates came forth whom she knew to be a
friend and associate of Guernache. This was one Lachane, affectionately
called _La Chere_[13] by the soldiery, by whom he was very much beloved.
Lachane was a sergeant, a good soldier, brave as a lion, but with as
tender a heart, when the case required it, as ever beat in human bosom.
He had long since learned to sympathize with the fate of Guernache,
and had made frequent attempts to mollify the hostile feelings of his
captain, in behalf of his friend. To the latter he had given much good
counsel; and, but for _his_ earnest entreaties and injunctions, he would
have revealed to Albert the true reason for the absence of Guernache
from his post. But Guernache dreaded, as well he might, that the
revelation would only increase the hate and rage of his superior, and,
perhaps, draw down a portion of his vengeance upon the head of the
unoffending woman. Lachane acquiesced in his reasoning, and was silent.
But he was not the less active in bringing consolation, whenever he
could, to the respective parties. He afforded to Monaletta, whose
approach to the fort he suspected, an opportunity of meeting with him;
and their interviews, once begun, were regularly continued. Day by day
he contrived to convey to her the messages, and to inform her of the
condition of the prisoner; to whom, in turn, he bore all necessary
intelligence, and every fond avowal which was sent by Monaletta. But
the loving and devoted wife was not satisfied with so frigid a mode of
intercourse; and, in an evil hour, Lachane, whose own heart was too
tender to resist the entreaties of one so fond, was persuaded to admit
her within the fort, and into the dungeon of Guernache. We may censure
his prudence and hers, but who shall venture to condemn either? The
first visit led to a second, the second to a third, and, at length,
the meetings between the lovers took place nightly. Lachane, often
entreating, often exhorting, was yet always complying. Monaletta was
admitted at midnight, and conducted forth by the dawn in safety; and
thus meeting, Guernache soon forgot his own danger, and was readily
persuaded by Monaletta to believe that she stood in none. The hours
passed with them as with any other children, who, sitting on the shores
of the sea, in the bright sunset, see not the rising of the waters, and
feel not the falling of the night, until they are wholly overwhelmed.
They were happy, and in their happiness but too easily forgot that there
was such a person as Captain Albert in their little paradise.
[13] The names are thus written by Laudonniere in Hakluyt. But in
Charlevoix there is only one given to this personage, and that is
"Lachau."
But the pitcher which goes often to the well, is at last broken. They
were soon destined to realize the proverb in their own experience.
Something in the movements of Lachane, awakened the suspicions of Pierre
Renaud, whose active hostility to Guernache has been shown already.
This man now bore within the fortress the unenviable reputation of
being the captain's spy upon the people. This miserable creature, his
suspicion's once awakened, soon addressed all his abilities to the task
of detecting the connection of Lachane with his prisoner; and it was not
long before he had the malignant satisfaction of seeing him accompany
another into the dungeon of Guernache. Though it was after midnight when
the discovery was made, it was of a kind too precious to suffer delay
in revealing it, and he hurried at once to the captain's quarters,
well aware that, with such intelligence as he brought, he might safely
venture to disturb him at any hour. But his eagerness did not lessen his
caution, and every step was taken with the greatest deliberation and
care. Albert was immediately aroused; but, unwilling, by a premature
alarm, to afford the offenders an opportunity to escape, or to place
themselves in any situation to defy scrutiny, some time was lost in
making arrangements. The progress of Albert, and his satellites, going
the rounds, was circuitous. The sentries were doubled with singular
secrecy and skill. Such soldiers as were conceived to be most
particularly bound to him, were awakened, and placed in positions most
convenient for action and observation;--for Albert and Renaud, alike,
conscious as it would seem of their own demerits, had come to suspect
many of the soldiers of treachery and insurrection. These, perhaps, are
always the fears most natural to a tyranny. Accordingly, with everything
prepared for an explosion of the worst description, Captain Albert, in
complete armor, made his appearance upon the scene.
Meantime, however, the proceedings of Renaud had not been carried on
without, at length, commanding the attention and awakening the fears of
so good a soldier as Lachane. Having discovered, on his rounds, that the
guards were doubled, and that the sentinel at the sally-port had not
only received a companion, but that the individual by whom Monaletta had
been admitted was now removed to make way for another, he hurried
away to the dungeon of Guernache. Here, whispering hurriedly his
apprehensions, he endeavored to hasten the departure of the Indian
woman. But his efforts were made too late. He was arrested, even while
thus busied, by the Commandant himself, who, followed by Renaud and two
other soldiers, suddenly came upon him from the rear of the building,
where they had been harboring in ambush. Lachane was taken into
immediate custody. An uproar followed, the alarm was given to the
garrison, torches were brought, and Guernache, with the devoted
Monaletta, were dragged forth together from the dungeon. She was wrapped
up closely in the cloak of Lachane, but when Renaud waved a torch before
her eyes, in order to discover who she was, she boldly threw aside the
disguise, and stood revealed to the malignant scrutiny of the astonished
but delighted despot. Upon beholding her, the fury of Albert knew no
bounds. The secret of Guernache was now apparent; and the man whose
vanity she had outraged, by preferring another in the dance, was now in
full possession of the power to revenge himself upon both offenders. In
that very moment, remembering his mortification, he formed a resolution
of vengeance, which declared all the venom of a mean and malignant
nature. He needed no art beyond his own to devise an ingenious torture
for his victim. A few words sufficed to instruct the willing Renaud in
the duty of the executioner. He commanded that the Indian woman should
be scourged from the fort in the presence of the garrison. Then it was
that the sullen soul of Guernache shuddered and succumbed beneath his
tortures. With husky and trembling accents, he appealed to his tyrant
in behalf of the woman of his heart.
"Oh! Captain Albert, as you are a man, do not this cruel thing.
Monaletta is innocent of any crime but that of loving one so worthless
as Guernache. She is my wife! Do with me as you will, but spare
her--have mercy on the innocent woman!"
"Ah! you can humble yourself now, insolent. I have found the way, at
last, to make you feel. You shall feel yet more. I will crush you to the
dust. What, ho! there, Pierre Renaud! Have I not said? the lash! the
lash! Wherefore do ye linger?"
"Do not, Captain Albert! I implore you, for your own sake, do not lay
the accursed lash upon this young and innocent creature. Remember!
She is a woman--a princess--a blood relation of our good friend,
King Audusta. Upon me--upon my back bestow the punishment, but spare
her--spare her, in mercy!"
But the prayers and supplications of the wretched man were met only by
denunciation and scorn. The base nature of Albert felt only his own
mortification. His appetite for revenge darkened his vision wholly. He
saw neither his policy nor humanity; and the creatures of his will were
not permitted to hesitate in carrying out his brutal resolution. Armed
with little hickories from the neighboring woods, they awaited but his
command, and with its repeated utterance, the lash descended heavily
upon the uncovered shoulders of the unhappy woman. With the first
stroke, she bounded from the earth with a piercing shriek, at once of
entreaty, of agony, and horror. Up to this moment, neither she, nor,
indeed, any of the spectators, except Renaud, and possibly Guernache
himself, had imagined that Albert would put in execution a purpose so
equally impolitic and cruel. But when the blow fell upon the almost
fair and naked shoulders of the woman--when her wild, girlish, almost
childlike shriek rent the air, then the long suppressed agonies of
Guernache broke forth in a passion of fury that looked more like the
excess of the madman than the mere ebullition, however intense, of a
simply desperate man. He had struggled long at endurance. He had borne,
hitherto, without flinching, everything in the shape of penalty which
his petty tyrant could fasten upon him--much more, indeed, than the
ordinary nature, vexed with frequent injustice, is willing to endure.
But, in the fury and agony of that humiliating moment, all restraints
of prudence or fear were forgotten, or trampled under foot. He flung
himself loose from the men who held him, and darting upon the individual
by whom the merciless blow had been struck, he felled him to the earth
by a single blow of his Herculean fist. But he was permitted to do no
more. In another instant, grappled by a dozen powerful arms, he was
borne to the earth, and secured with cords which not only bound his
limbs but were drawn so tightly as to cut remorselessly into the flesh.
Here he lay, and his agony may be far more easily conceived than
described, thus compelled to behold the further tortures of the woman of
his heart, without being able to struggle and to die in her defence. His
own tortures were forgotten, as he witnessed hers. In vain would his
ears have rejected the terrible sound, stroke upon stroke, which
testified the continuance of this brutal outrage upon humanity. Without
mercy was the punishment bestowed; and, bleeding at every blow from the
biting scourge, the wretched innocent was at length tortured out of the
garrison. But with that first shriek to which she gave utterance, and
which declared rather the mental horror than the bodily pain which
she suffered from such a cruel degradation, she ceased any longer to
acknowledge her suffering. Oh! very powerful for endurance is the
strength of a loving heart! The rest of the punishment she bore with the
silence of one who suffers martyrdom in the approving eye of heaven; as
if, beholding the insane agonies of Guernache, she had steeled herself
to bear with any degree of torture rather than increase his sufferings
by her complaints. In this manner, and thus silent under her own pains,
she was expelled from the fortress. She was driven to the margin of the
cleared space by which it was surrounded. She heard the shouts which
drove her thence, and heard nothing farther. She had barely strength to
totter forward, like the deer with a mortal hurt, to the secret cover of
the forest, when she sank down in exhaustion;--nature kindly interposing
with insensibility, to save her from those physical sufferings which she
could no longer feel and live!
With the morning of the next day, Guernache was brought before the
judgment-seat of Albert. The charges were sufficiently serious under
which he was arraigned. He had neglected his duty--had permitted, if
not caused, the destruction of the fort by fire--had violated the laws,
resisted their execution, and used violence against the officer of
justice! In this last proven offence all of these which had been alleged
were assumed against him. He was convicted by the rapid action of
his superior, as a traitor and a mutineer; and, to the horror of his
friends, and the surprise of all his comrades, was condemned to
expiate his faults by death upon the gallows. Few of the garrison had
anticipated so sharp a judgment. They knew that Guernache had been
faulty, but they also knew what had been his provocations. They felt
that his faults had been the fruit of the injustice under which he
suffered. But they dared not interpose. The prompt severity with which
Captain Albert carried out his decisions--the merciless character of his
vindictiveness--discouraged even remonstrance. Guernache, as we have
shown, was greatly beloved, and had many true friends among his people;
but they were taken by surprise; and, so much stunned and confounded by
the rapidity with which events had taken place, that they could only
look on the terrible proceedings with a mute and self-reproachful
horror. The transition from the seat of judgment to the place of
execution was instantaneous. Guernache appealed in vain to the justice
of Ribault, whose coming from France was momently expected. This denied,
he implored the less ignoble doom of the sword or the shot, in place of
that upon the scaffold. But it did not suit the mean malice of Albert to
omit any of his tortures. Short was the shrift allowed the victim;--ten
minutes for prayer--and sure the cord which stifled it forever. In deep
horror, in a hushed terror, which itself was full of horror, his gloomy
comrades gathered at the place of execution, by the commands of their
petty despot. There was no concert among them, by which the incipient
indignation and fury in their bosoms might have declared itself in
rescue and commotion. One groan, the involuntary expression of a terror
that had almost ceased to breathe, answered the convulsive motion which
indicated the last struggle of their beloved comrade.[14] Then it was
that they began to feel that they could have died for him, and might
have saved him. But it was now too late; and prudence timely interposed
to prevent a rash explosion. The armed myrmidons of Albert were about
them. He, himself, in complete armor, with his satellite, Pierre Renaud,
also fully armed, standing beside him; and it was evident that every
preparation had been made to quell insubordination, and punish the
refractory with as sharp and sudden a judgment as that which had just
descended upon their comrade.
[14] Says Charlevoix:--"Il pendit lui-même un soldat, qui n'avoit
point merité la mort, il en dégrada un autre des armes avec aussi peu
de justice, puis il l'exila, et l'on crut que son dessein étoit de le
laisser mourir de faim et de misere, etc." But we must not anticipate
the revelations of the text.
The poor Monaletta, crouching in the cover of the woods, recovered from
her stupor in the cool air of the morning, but it was sunset before she
could regain the necessary strength to move. Then it was, that, with the
natural tendency of a loving heart, curious only about the fate of him
for whom alone her heart desired life, she bent her steps towards that
cruel fortress which had been the source of so much misery to both. Very
feeble and slow was her progress, but it was still too rapid; it brought
her too soon to a knowledge of that final blow which fell, with worse
terrors than the scourge, upon the soul. She arrived in season to behold
the form of the unfortunate Guernache, abandoned by all, and totally
lifeless, waving in the wind from the branches of a perished oak,
directly in front of the fortress. The deepest sorrows of the heart are
those which are born dumb. There are some woes which the lip can never
speak, nor the pen describe. There are some agonies over which we draw
the veil without daring to look upon them, lest we freeze to stone in
the terrible inspection. There is no record of that grief which seized
upon the heart of the poor Indian woman, Monaletta, as she gazed upon
the beloved but unconscious form of her husband. She approached it not,
though watching it from sunset till the gray twilight lapsed away into
the denser shadows of the night. But, with the dawn of day, when the
Frenchmen looked forth from the fortress for the body of their comrade,
it had disappeared. They searched for it in vain. From that day
Monaletta disappeared also. She was neither to be found in the
neighboring woods, nor among the people of her kindred. But, long
afterwards they told, with shuddering and apprehension, of a voice
upon the midnight air, which resembled that of their murdered comrade,
followed always by the piercing shriek of a woman, which reminded them
of the dreadful utterance of the Indian woman, when first smitten upon
the shoulders by the lash of the ruffian. Thus endeth the legend of
Guernache, and the Princess Monaletta.
VII.
LACHANE, THE DELIVERER.
But the sacrifice of Guernache brought no peace to the colony. Our
Huguenots were scarcely Christians. They were of a rude, wild temper,
to which the constant civil wars prevailing in France had brought
a prejudicial training. Our chronicler tells us nothing of their
devotions. We hear sometimes that they prayed, but rather for the
benefit of the savages than their own. Their public religious services
were ostentatious ceremonials, designed to impress the red-men with an
idea of their superior faith and worship. Laudonniere, who writes
for them, and was one of their number, seldom deals in a religious
phraseology, which he might reasonably be expected to have done as one
of a people leaving their homes for the sake of conscience. But there is
good reason to suppose that, with our Huguenots, as in the case of the
New England Puritans, the idea of religion was more properly the idea of
party. It was a struggle for political power that moved the Dissenters,
as well in France as England, quite as much as any feeling of denial
or privation on the score of their religion. This pretext was made
to justify a cause which might have well found its sanction in its
intrinsic merits; but which it was deemed politic to urge on the higher
grounds of conscience and duty to God. Certain it is that we do not
anywhere see, in the history of the colony established by Coligny, any
proofs of that strong devotional sentiment which has been urged as the
motive to its establishment. Doubtless, this was a prevailing motive,
along with others, for Coligny himself; but the adventurers chosen
to begin the settlement for the reception of the persecuted sect in
Florida, were evidently not very deeply imbued with religion of any
kind. They were a wild and reckless body of men, whose deeds were wholly
in conflict with the pure and lovely profession of sentiment which has
been made in their behalf. How far their deeds are to be justified by
the provocations which they received, and the tyrannies which they
endured, may be a question; but there can be no question with regard to
the general temper which they exhibited--the tone of their minds--the
feelings of their hearts--by all of which they are shown as stubborn,
insubordinate and selfish. It is not denied that they had great
provocation to violence; but Laudonniere himself admits that they were,
in all probability, "not so obedient to their captain as they should
have been." "Misfortune," he adds, "or rather the just judgment of God
would have it that those which could not bee overcome by fire nor water,
should be undone by their ownselves. This is the common fashion of
men, which cannot continue in one state, and had rather to overthrow
themselves, than not to attempt some new thing dayly."
Not only was no peace in the colony after the execution of Guernache,
but the evil spirit, in the mood of Captain Albert, was very far from
being laid. "His madness," in the language of the chronicler, "seemed to
increase from day to day." He was not content to punish Guernache; he
determined to extend his severities to the friends and associates of
the unhappy victim. Some of these he only frowned upon and threatened;
but his threats were apt to be fulfilled. Others he brought up for
punishment;--sympathy with his enemy, being a prime offence against the
dignity and safety of our petty sovereign. Among those who had thus
rendered themselves obnoxious, Lachane was necessarily a conspicuous
object. In the same unwise and violent spirit in which he had pursued
Guernache, Captain Albert was determined to proceed against this man,
who was really equally inoffensive with Guernache, and quite as much
beloved among the people. But the aspect of the two cases was not
precisely the same. The friends of Lachane, warned by the fate of
Guernache, were somewhat more upon their guard,--more watchful and
suspicious,--and inclined to make the support and maintenance of the
one, a tribute to the manes of the other. Besides, Pierre Renaud, who
had some how been the deadly enemy of Guernache, had no hostility to
Lachane. The latter, too, had not so singularly offended the _amour
propre_ of Captain Albert, by his successful rivalry among the damsels
of Audusta. They had not so decidedly shown the preference for him as
they had for the fiddler, over his superior. No doubt he was preferred,
for he, too, like Guernache, was a person very superior in form and
physiognomy to Albert. But, if they felt any preference for the former,
they had not so offensively declared it, as the indiscreet Monaletta had
done; and, with these qualifying circumstances, in his favor, Lachane
was brought up for judgment. His offence, such as it was, did not admit
of denial. Some palliation was attempted by a reference to the claims
of Guernache, the excellence of his character, his usefulness, and the
general favor he had found equally among the red-men and his own people.
These suggestions were unwisely made. They censured equally the justice
and the policy of the tyrant, and thus irritated anew his self-esteem.
He thought himself exceedingly merciful, accordingly, in banishing the
offender, whom it was just as easy and quite as agreeable to him, to
hang. Lachane was accordingly sentenced to perpetual exile to a desert
island along the sea. To this point he was conducted in melancholy
state, by the trusted creatures of the despot.
It is not known to us at the present day, though the matter is still,
probably, within the province of the antiquarian, to which of the
numerous sea islands of the neighborhood the unhappy man was banished.
It was one divided from the colony, and from the main, by an arm of
the sea of such breadth, and so open to the most violent action of the
waves, that any return of the exile by swimming, or without assistance
from his comrades, was not apprehended or hoped for. His little desolate
domain is described as about three leagues from Fort Charles, as almost
entirely barren, a mere realm of sand, treeless and herbless, without
foliage sufficient to shelter from sun and storm, or to provide against
famine by its fruits. Should this island ever be identified with that of
Lachane's place of exile, it should receive his name to the exclusion of
every other.
Here, then, hopeless and companionless, was the unhappy victim destined
to remain, until death should bring him that escape which the mercy of
his fellows had denied. Yet he was not to be abandoned wholly; a certain
pittance of provisions was allowed him that he might not absolutely
die of famine. This allowance was calculated nicely against his merest
necessities. It was to be brought him on the return of every eighth day,
and this period was that, accordingly, on which, alone, could he be
permitted to gaze upon the face of a fellow being and a countryman.
Certainly, a more cruel punishment, adopted in a mere wanton exercise
of despotic power, could not have been devised for any victim by the
ingenuity of any superior. Death, even the death by which Guernache had
perished, had been a doom more merciful; for if, as was the case, the
colonists at Fort Charles themselves had already begun to find their
condition of solitude almost beyond endurance--if they, living as they
did together, cheered by the exercise of old sports and homely converse,
the ties and assurances of support and friendship, the consciousness
of strength--duties which were necessary and not irksome, and the
interchange of thoughts which enliven the desponding temper;--if,
with all these resources in their favor, they had sunk into gloomy
discontent, eager for change, and anxious for the returning vessels of
Ribault, that they might abandon for their old, the new home which they
found so desolate; what must have been the sufferings and agonies of him
whom they had thus banished, even from such solace as they themselves
possessed--uncheered even by the familiar faces and the well-known
voices of his fellows, and deprived of all the resources whereby
ingenuity might devise some methods of relief, and totally unblessed by
any of those exercises which might furnish a substitute for habitual
employments. No sentence, more than this, could have shown to our
Frenchmen so completely the utter absence of sympathy between themselves
and their commander; could have shown how slight was the value which he
put upon their lives, and with what utter contempt he regarded their
feelings and affections. Albert little dreamed how actively he was at
work, while thus feeding his morbid passions, in arousing the avenging
spirit by which they were to be scourged and punished.
These rash and cruel proceedings of their chief produced a great and
active sensation among the colonists--a sensation not the less deep and
active, because a sense of their own danger kept them from its open
expression. Had Albert pardoned Lachane, or let him off with some slight
punishment, it is not improbable that the matter would have ended there;
and the cruel proceedings against Guernache might have been forgiven if
not forgotten. But these were kept alive by those which followed against
their other favorite; and some of the boldest, feeling how desperate
their condition threatened to become, now ventured to expostulate with
their superior upon his wanton and unwise severities. But they were
confounded to find that they themselves incurred the danger of Lachane,
in the attempt to plead against it. It was one of the miserable
weaknesses in the character of Captain Albert, to suppose his authority
in danger whenever he was approached with the language of expostulation.
To question his justice seemed to him to defy his power--to entreat for
mercy, such a showing of hostility as to demand punishment also. He
resented, as an impertinence to himself, all such approaches; and his
answer to the prayers of his people was couched in the language of
contumely and threat. They retired from his presence accordingly, with
feelings of increased dislike and disgust, and with a discontent which
was the more dangerous as they succeeded most effectually in controlling
its exhibition.
But if such was the state of the relations between Albert and his
people, how much worse did they become, when, at the close of the first
eighth day after the banishment of Lachane, it was discovered that the
orders for providing him with the allowance of food had been suspended,
or countermanded. The captain was silent; and no one, unless at his
bidding, could venture to carry the poor exile his allotted pittance.
The eighth day passed. The men murmured among themselves, and their
murmurs soon encouraged the utterance of a bolder voice. Nicholas Barré,
a man of great firmness and intelligence, one of their number, at length
presented himself before the captain. He boldly reminded him of the
condition of Lachane, and urged him to hasten his supplies of food
before he perished. But the self-esteem and consequence of Albert, under
provocation, became a sort of madness. He answered the suggestion with
indignity and insult.
"Begone!" he exclaimed, "and trouble me no more with your complaints.
What is it to me if the scoundrel does perish? I mean that he shall
perish! He deserves his fate! I shall be glad when ye can tell me that
he no longer needs his allowance. Away! you deserve a like punishment.
Let me hear another word on this subject, and the offender shall share
his fate!"
The insulting answer was accompanied by all the tokens of brute anger
and severity. The most furious oaths sufficed equally to show his
insanity and earnestness. His, indeed, was now an insanity such as
seizes usually upon those whom God is preparing for destruction. Barré
deemed it only prudent to retire from the presence of a rage which it
was no longer politic to provoke; but, in his soul, the purpose was
already taking form and strength, which contemplated resistance to a
tyranny so wild and reckless. He was not alone in this purpose. The
sentiment of resistance and disaffection was growing all around him, and
it only needed one who should embody it for successful exercise. But,
for this, time was requisite. To decide for action, on the part of a
conspiracy, it is first required that what is the common sentiment shall
become the common necessity.
"Meanwhile," said Barré, "our poor comrade must not starve!"
This was said to certain of his associates when they met that night
in secret. When two or three get together to complain of a tyranny,
resistance is already begun. They echoed his sentiments, and
arrangements were at once made for transmitting provisions to the
exile. A canoe was procured for this purpose, and Barré, with one other
comrade, set forth secretly at midnight on their generous and perilous
mission.
The night was calm and beautiful--the sea, unruffled by a breeze, lay
smooth as a mirror between the lonely island and the main. Though
barren, and without shrub or tree, the island looked lovely also--a
very realm of faery, in the silver smiling of the moon. With active and
sinewy limbs, cheered by the sight, our adventurous comrades pulled
towards it, reaching it with little effort, the current favoring their
course. What, however, was their surprise and consternation, when, on
reaching the islet, there was no answer to their summons. Drawing their
boat upon the shore, they soon compassed the little empire with hasty
footsteps; but they found nothing of the exile. The islet lay bare and
bright in the unshadowed moonlight, so that, whether asleep or dead,
his prostrate form must still have been perceptible. What bewildering
imaginations seized upon the seekers? What had become of their comrade?
Had he been carried off by the savages, by a foreign vessel, or, in
his desperation, had he cast himself into the devouring sea? What more
probable? Yet, as there was no answer to their questioning, there was no
solution of their doubts. Hopeless of his fate, after a frequent and a
weary search, and dreading the worst, they re-entered their canoe, and
re-crossed the bay in safety--their hearts more than ever filled with
disgust and indignation at the cruelty and malice of their commander.
But their quest was not wholly hopeless. When they had reached the main,
and while approaching the garrison, they were greatly surprised by the
sudden appearance of a human form between the fortress and the river.
They remembered the poor Guernache, and, for a moment, a fearful
superstition fastened upon their hearts. At first, the fugitive seemed
to be approaching them; but, in an instant, wheeling about, as if in
panic, he darted into the woods, and sought concealment in the thicket.
This re-inspired them. They gave chase instantly. The efforts of the
pursued were feebly made, and they soon overtook him. To their great
relief and surprise, they found him to be the person they had been
seeking--the banished and half-starved Lachane!
His story was soon told. He was nearly perished of hunger. Beyond the
crude berries and bitter roots which he had gathered in the woods, he
had not eaten for three days. The food which had been furnished him from
the garrison had been partly carried from him by birds or beasts--he
knew not which--while he slept; and, in the failure of his promised
supplies, he had become desperate.
"For that matter," said the wretched exile, "I had become desperate
before. Food was not my only or my chief want. I wanted shade from the
desolating sun. I wanted rescue from the heavy hand of fire upon my
brain; and, by day, I could scarcely keep from quenching the furnace
that seemed boiling in my blood, by plunging deep down into the bowels
of the sea. By night, when the fiery feeling passed away, then I
yearned, above all, for the face and voice of man. It was this craving
which made me resolve to brave the death which threatened me which-ever
way I turned--that, if I perished, it should still be in the struggle
once more to behold the people of my love."
How closely did they press the poor fellow to their hearts!
"You should not have perished," said Nicholas Barré, boldly. "I, for
one, have become tired of this tyranny, under which we no longer breathe
in safety. I am resolved to bear it no longer than I can. There are
others who have resolved like me. But of this hereafter. Tell us,
Lachane, how you contrived to swim across this great stretch of sea?"
"By the mercy of God which made me desperate--which made the seas
calm--which gave me a favoring current, and which threw yon fragment
of a ship's spar within my reach. But I nearly sunk. Twice did I feel
the waters going over me; but I thought of France, and all, and the
strength came back to me. I can say no more. I am weak--very weak. Give
me to eat."
A flask of generous wine with which they had provided themselves,
cheered and inspirited the sufferer. They laid him down at the foot of a
broad palmetto, while one of them brought food from the canoe. Much it
rejoiced them to see him eat. Ere he had satisfied his hunger, Lachane
spoke again as follows:
"I rejoice to hear that you, and others, have resolved to submit no
longer to this tyranny. It was not the desire of food, or friendship,
only, that strengthened me to throw myself into the sea, in the
desperate desire to see the garrison once more. But while my head flamed
beneath the sun's downward blaze upon that waste of sand, while mine
eyes burned like living coals fresh from the furnace, and my blood
leaped and bounded like a mad thing about my temples and in all my
veins, I saw all the terrible sufferings of our poor Guernache anew. I
heard his voice--his bitter reproaches--and then the terrible scream of
the poor Indian woman when the heavy rods descended upon her shoulder.
Then I felt that I had not done what my soul commanded!--that I had
abandoned my innocent comrade like a lamb to the butcher. I swore to do
myself justice--to seek the garrison at Fort Charles, if, for no other
purpose, to have revenge upon Albert. I verily believe, _mes amis_, that
it was that oath that strengthened me in the sea--that lifted me when
the waves went over me, and my heart was sinking with my body. I thought
of the blows which might yet be struck for vengeance and freedom. I
thought of Guernache and his murderer,--and I rose,--I struck out. I had
no fear! I got a strength which I had not at the beginning; and I am
here; the merciful God be praised forever more--ready to strike a fair
blow at the tyrant, though I die the moment after!"
"That blow must now be struck very soon," said Nicholas Barré. "We are
no longer safe. Albert rules us just as it pleases him, by his mere
humor, and not according to the laws or usages of France. Every day
witnesses against him. Some new tyranny--some new cruelty--adds hourly
to our afflictions, and makes life, on such terms, endurable no longer.
We are not men if we submit to it."
"Hear me," said Lachane; "you have not laid the plan for his overthrow?"
"Not yet! But we are ready for it. All's ripe. The proper spirit is at
work."
"Let it work! All right; but look you, comrades, it is for this hand to
strike the blow. I demand the right, because Guernache was my closest
friend. I demand it in compensation for my own sufferings."
"It is yours, Lachane! You have the right!"
"Thanks, _mes amis_! And now for the plan. You have resolved on none
yourselves. Hearken to mine."
They lent willing ears, and Lachane continued. His counsel was that
Captain Albert should be advised of an unusual multitude of deer on
one of the "hunting islands" in the neighborhood. These islands are
remarkable--some of them--for the luxuriance and beauty of their
forests. Here, the deer were accustomed to assemble in great numbers,
particularly when pressed by clouds of Indian hunters along the main;
nor were they loth to visit them at other seasons, when the tides were
low and the seas smooth. Swimming across the dividing rivers, and arms
of the sea, at such periods, in little groups of five or ten, they found
here an almost certain refuge and favorite browsing patches. To one of
these islands, Barré, or some other less objectionable person, was to
beguile Captain Albert. His fondness for the chase was known, and was
gratified on all convenient occasions. He was to be advised of numerous
herds upon the island, which passed to it the night before. They had
been seen crossing in the moonlight from the main. Lachane, meanwhile,
possessing himself of the canoe which his friends had just employed,
armed with weapons which they were to provide, was to place himself in
a convenient shelter upon the island, and take such a position as would
enable him to seize upon the first safe opportunity for striking the
blow. Numerous details, not necessary for our purpose, but essential to
that of the conspirators, were suggested, discussed, and finally agreed
upon, or rejected. Lachane simply concluded with repeating his demand
for the privilege of the first blow--a claim farther insisted upon,
as, in the event of failure, he who had already incurred the doom
of outlawry, and had offended against hope, might thus save others
harmless, who occupied a position of greater security. We need not
follow the arrangement of the parties. Enough, that, when they were
discussed fully, the three separated--Barré and his companion to regain
the fort, and Lachane to embark in the canoe, ere day should dawn, for
the destined islet where he was equally to find security and vengeance.
Everything succeeded to the wishes of the conspirators. Albert, who
was passionately fond of the chase, was easily persuaded by the
representations of Barré and his comrades. The pinnace was fitted out
at an early hour, and, attended by the two conspirators, and some half
dozen other persons, the greater number of whom were supposed to be
as hostile to the tyrant as themselves, the Captain set forth, little
dreaming that he should be the hunted instead of the hunter. Pierre
Renaud, by whom he was also accompanied, was the only person of the
party upon whom he could rely. But neither his creature nor himself had
the slightest apprehension of the danger. The jealousies of the despot
seemed for the moment entirely at rest, and, as if in the exercise of a
pleasant novelty, Albert threw aside all the terrors of his authority.
He could jest when the fit was on him. He, too, had his moments of play;
a sort of feline faculty, in the exercise of which the cat and the tiger
seem positively amiable. His jests were echoed by his men, and their
laughter gratified him. But there was one exception to the general
mirth, which arrested his attention. Nicholas Barré alone preserved a
stern, unbroken composure, which the gay humor of his superior failed
entirely to overcome. Nothing so much vexes superiority as that it
should condescend in vain; and the silence and coldness of Barré, and
the utter insensibility with which he heard the good things of his
captain, and which occasioned the ready laughter of all the rest,
finally extorted a comment from Albert, which gave full utterance to
his spleen.
"By my life, Lieutenant Barré,"--such was the rank of this
conspirator--"but that I know thee better, I should hold thee to be one
of those unhappy wretches to whom all merriment is a hateful thing--to
whom a clever jest gives offence only, and whom a cheerful laugh sends
off sullenly to bed. Pray, if it be not too serious a humor, tell us the
cause of thy present dullness."
"Verily, Captain Albert," replied the person addressed, fixing his eyes
steadily upon him, and speaking in the most deliberate accents, "I was
thinking of the deer that we shall strike to-day. Doubtless, he is even
now making as merry as thyself among his comrades--little dreaming that
the hunter hath his thoughts already fixed upon the choice morsels of
his flanks, which, a few hours hence, shall be smoking above the fire.
Truly, are we but little wiser than the thoughtless deer. The merriest
of us may be struck as soon. The man hath as few securities from the
morrow as the beast that runs."
Captain Albert was not the most sagacious tyrant in the world, or the
moral reflections of our conspirator might have tended to his disquiet.
He saw no peculiar significance in the remark, though the matter of it
was all well remembered, when the subsequent events came to be known.
Little, indeed, did the victim then dream of the fate which lay in wait
for him. He laughed at the shallow reflection of Barré, which seemed so
equally mistimed and unmeaning, and his merriment increased with every
stroke of the oar which sent the pinnace towards the scene chosen for
the tragedy. All his severities were thrown aside; never had he shown
himself more gracious; and, though his good humor was rather the
condescension of one who is secure in his authority, and can resume
his functions at any moment, than the proof of any sympathy with his
comrades, yet he seemed willing for once that it should not lose any of
its pleasant quality by any frequent exhibition of his usual caprice.
But for an occasional sarcasm in which he sometimes indulged, and by
which he continued to keep alive the antipathies of the conspirators,
the gentler mood in which he now suffered them to behold him, might have
rendered them reluctant to prosecute their purpose. They might have
relented, even at the last moment, had they been prepared to believe
that his present good humor was the fruit of any sincere relentings
in him. But he did not succeed to this extent, and, with a single
significant look to his comrades, the stern Nicholas Barré showed to
them that he, at least, was firm in the secret purpose which they
had in view. His silence and gravity for a time served to amuse his
superior, who exercised his wit at the expense of the sullen soldier,
little dreaming, all the while, at what a price he should be required to
pay for his temporary indulgence. But as Barré continued in his mood,
the pride of the haughty superior was at length hurt; and, when they
reached the shore, the insolence of Albert had resumed much of its old
ascendancy.
Albert was the first to spring to land. He was impatient to begin the
chase, of which he was passionately fond. The sport, as conducted in
that day and region, was after a very simple fashion. It consisted
rather in a judicious distribution of the hunters, at various places of
watch, than in the possession of any particular skill of weapon or speed
of foot. The island was small--the woods not very dense or intricate,
and the only outlet of escape was across the little arm of the sea which
separated the island from the main. The hunters were required to watch
this passage, with a few other avenues from the forest. We need not
observe their order or arrangement. It will be enough to note that Barré
chose as the sentinel left in charge of the boat one of the firmest of
the conspirators. This was a person named Lamotte--a small but fiery
spirit--a man of equal passion and vindictiveness, who had suffered
frequent indignities from Albert, which his own inferior position as a
common soldier had compelled him to endure without complaint. But he was
not the less sensible of his hurts, because not suffered to complain
of them; and his hatred only assumed a more intense and unforgiving
character, because it seemed cut off from all the outlets to revenge.
The arrangements of the hunters all completed, they began to skirt
slowly the woody region by which the centre of the island was chiefly
occupied. Gradually separating as they advanced, they finally, one by
one, found their way into its recesses. A single dog which they carried
with them, was now unleashed, and his eager tongue very soon gave notice
to the hunters that their victim was afoot. As the bay of the hound
became more frequent, the blood of Albert became more and more excited,
and, pressing forward, in advance of all his companions, the sinuosities
of the route pursued soon scattered the whole party. But this he did
not heed. The one consciousness,--that which appealed to his love of
sport,--led to a forgetfulness of all others; and it was no disquiet to
our captain to find himself alone in forests where he had never trod
before, particularly when his eager eye caught a glimpse of a fine herd
of the sleek-skinned foresters, well-limbed, and nobly-headed, darting
suddenly from cover into the occasional openings before him. A good shot
was Captain Albert. He fired, and had the joy to see tumbled, headlong,
sprawling, in his tracks, one of the largest bucks of the herd. He
shouted his delight aloud;--shouted twice and clapped his hands!
His shouts were echoed, near at hand, by a voice at once strange and
familiar! His instinct divined a sudden danger in this strange echo.
He stopped short, even as he was about to bound forward to the spot
in which the deer had fallen. Another shout!--but this was to his
companions! He was now confounded at the new echo and the fearful vision
which this summons conjured up. At his side, and in his very ears,
rose another shout--a shriek rather--much louder than his own--a wild,
indescribable yell,--which sent a thrill of horror through his soul.
At the same instant, a gaunt, wild man--a half-naked, half-famished
form--darted from the thicket and stood directly before him in his path!
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" howled the stranger.
"Guernache!" was the single word, forced from the guilty soul of the
criminal!
"Guernache! Yes! Guernache, in his friend Lachane! Both are here! See
you not? Look! Ho! Captain Albert,--look and see, and make yourself
ready. Your time is short. You will hang and banish no longer!"
Wild with exulting fury was the face of the speaker--terrible the
language of his eyes--threatening the action of the uplifted arm. A keen
blade flashed in his grasp, and the discovery which Albert made, that,
in the wild man before him, he saw the person whom he had so wantonly
and cruelly decreed to perish, sufficed to make him nerveless. The
surprise deprived him of resource, while his guilty conscience enfeebled
his arm, and took all courage from his soul. His match-lock was already
discharged. The _couteau de chasse_ was at his side; but, before this
could be drawn, he must be hewn down by the already uplifted weapon of
his foe. Besides, even if drawn, what could he hope, by its employment,
against the superior muscle and vigor of Lachane? These thoughts passed
with a lightning-like rapidity through the brain of Albert. He felt that
he had met his fate! He shrunk back from its encounter, and sent up a
feeble but a painful cry for his creature,--"Pierre Renaud!"
"Ha! ha! you cry for him in vain!" was the mocking answer of Lachane.
"Renaud, that miserable villain--that wretch after thy own heart and
fashion--hath quite as much need of thee as thou of him! Ye will serve
each other never more to the prejudice of better men. Hark! hear you
not? Even now they are dealing with him!"
And, sure enough, even as he spoke, the screams of one in mortal terror,
interrupted by several heavy blows in quick succession, seemed to
confirm the truth of what Lachane had spoken. In that fearful moment
Albert remembered the words, now full of meaning, which Nicholas Barré
had spoken while they set forth. The hunter had indeed become the
hunted. Lachane gave him little time for meditation.
"They have done with him! Prepare! To your knees, Captain Albert! I give
you time to make your peace with God--such time as you gave my poor
Guernache! Prepare!"
But, though Albert had not courage for combat, he yet found strength
enough for flight. He was slight of form, small, and tolerably swift
of foot. Flinging his now useless firelock to the ground, he suddenly
darted off through the forests, with a degree of energy and spirit
which it tasked all the efforts of the less wieldy frame of Lachane to
approach. Life and death were on the event, and Albert succeeded in
gaining the beach where the boat had been left before he was overtaken.
But Lamotte, to whom the boat had been given in charge, pushed off, with
a mocking yell of laughter, at his approach! His cries for succor were
unheeded. Lamotte himself would have slain the fugitive but that he
knew Lachane had claimed for himself this privilege. His spear had
been uplifted as Albert drew nigh the water, but the shout of Lachane,
emerging from the woods, warned him to desist. He used the weapon to
push the pinnace into deep water, leaving Albert to his fate!
"Save me, Lamotte!" was the prayer, of the tyrant in his desperation,
urged with every promise that he fancied might prove potent with the
soldier. But few moments were allowed him for entreaty, and they were
unavailing. Lamotte contented himself with looking on the event, ready
to finish with his spear what Lachane might leave undone. Albert gazed
around him, and as Lachane came, with one shriek of terror, darted into
the sea. The avenger was close behind him. The water rose to the waist
and finally to the neck of the fugitive. He turned in supplication, only
to receive the stroke. The steel entered his shoulder, just below the
neck. He staggered and fell forwards upon the slayer. The blade snapped
in the fall, and the wounded man sunk down irretrievably beneath the
waters. Lachane raised the fragment of his sword to Heaven, while, with
something of a Roman fervor, he ejaculated--
"Guernache! dear friend, behold! the hand of Lachane hath avenged thee
upon thy murderer!"
VIII.
FLIGHT, FAMINE, AND THE BLOODY FEAST OF THE FUGITIVES.
The assassination of Captain Albert restored peace, at least, to the
little colony of Fort Charles. He had been the chief danger to the
garrison, by reason of his vexatious tyranny, fomented ever by the
miserable malice and espionage of Pierre Renaud. Both of these had
perished, and a sense of new security filled the hearts of the
survivors. They had also gratified all revenges. The sequel of the
narrative may be told, almost in the very words of the simple chronicle
from which our facts are mostly drawn.
"When they (the conspirators) were come home againe, they assembled
themselves together to choose one to be Governor over them." In this
selection there was no difficulty. Jealousies and dissensions had ceased
to exist, and the choice naturally fell upon Nicholas Barré,[15] whose
former position, as Lieutenant under Albert, and whose recent connection
with the party by which he was slain, had naturally given him a large
influence among the colonists. He was equal to his new duties. He "knewe
so well to quite himself of this charge that all rancour and dissention
ceased among them, and they lived peaceably one with another." But,
though harmony was restored among them, it was a harmony without hope.
They had been abandoned by their countrymen. The supplies which Ribault
had promised them had utterly failed. They had never, indeed, been
levied. Ribault returned to France only to find it convulsed with a
renewal of the civil war, under the auspices of that incarnate mischief,
Catherine de Medicis, and her fatherless and cruel son, in whose name
she swayed the country to its ruin. Coligny, the father of the colony,
had enough to do in fighting the battles of the Huguenots at home.
He could do nothing for those whom he had sent abroad. The peace of
Longjumean had been of short duration, and there had been really no
remission of hostilities on the part of the Catholics. In the space of
three months more than two thousand of the former fell victims to the
rage of the populace; and, though reluctantly, the Prince of Condé and
Coligny were forced into a resumption of arms for the safety of their
own persons. The immediate necessities of their situation were such
as to defeat their efforts in behalf of the remote settlement at Fort
Charles. They needed all their soldiers and Huguenots in France. Feeling
themselves abandoned--they knew not why--the colonists in Florida ceased
to behold a charm or solace in their solitary realm of refuge. Its
securities were no longer sufficient to compensate for its loneliness.
Better the strife, perhaps, than this unmeaning and unbroken silence.
They were too few for adventure, and the discouragements resulting from
their domestic grievances were enough to paralyze any such spirit. But
for this there had been no lack of the necessary inducements. In their
second voyage to King Ouade, seeking "mil and beans," they had learned
some of the secrets of the country which made their eyes brighten. They
had discovered that there was gold in the land, and that the gold of the
land was good. This prince had freely given them of his treasure. He had
bestowed on them pearls of the native waters, stones of finest chrystal,
and certain specimens of silver ore, which he described, in reply to
their eager inquiries, as having been gathered at the foot of certain
high mountains, the bowels of which contained it in greatest quantity.
These were the mountains of Apalachia, and the truth of Ouade's
revelations have been confirmed by subsequent discovery. The
intelligence had greatly gladdened the hearts of our Frenchmen, and
nothing but the feebleness of the garrison prevented Albert from
prosecuting a search which promised so largely to gratify the lusts of
avarice. His subsequent errors and fate put an end to the desire among
his followers. They longed for nothing now so much as home. They had
been temporarily abandoned by the Indians whose granaries they had
emptied, and who had been compelled to wander off to remote forests
in search of their own supplies. The gloom of the Frenchmen naturally
increased in the absence of their allies, who had furnished them equally
with food and recreation. Their provisions again began to fail them.
Their resources in corn and peas were quite exhausted; and no more
could be procured from the red-men, who had preserved a supply barely
sufficient for the planting of their little fields. In this condition of
want, with this feeling of destitution and abandonment, it was resolved
among the Huguenots, to depart the colony. With a fond hope once more of
recovering the shores of that country, still most beloved, which had
so unkindly cast them forth, they began to build themselves a vessel
sufficiently large to bear their little company. "And though there
were no men among them," says the chronicle, "that had any skill,
notwithstanding, necessitye, which is the maistresse of all sciences,
taught them the way to build it." But how were they to provide the
sails, the tackle and the cordage? "Having no meanes to recover these
things they were in worse case than at the first, and almost ready to
fall into despayre." They were succored, when most desponding, by the
help of Providence. "That good God, which never forsaketh the afflicted,
did favor them in their necessitie." The Indians, who had been for
some time absent, seeking, by the chase, in distant forests, to supply
themselves with provisions in place of those which they had yielded
to the white men, now began to reappear; and, in the midst of their
perplexities, they were visited by the Caciques, Audusta and Maccou,
with more than two hundred of their followers. These, our Frenchmen
went forth to meet, with great show of satisfaction; and had they been
sufficiently re-assured by the return of their red friends--had they not
been too much the victims of _nostalgia_, or homesickness, the cloud
might have passed from their fortunes, and the little colony might have
been re-established under favoring auspices. But their only thought
was of their native land. They declared their wishes to the Indian
chieftains, and, showing in what need of cordage they stood, they
were told that this would be provided in the space of a few days. The
Caciques kept their word, and, in little time, brought an abundance of
cordage. But other things were wanted, and "our men sought all meanes
to recover rosen in the woodes, wherein they cut the pine trees round
about, out of which they drew sufficient reasonable quantitie to bray
the vessel. Also they gathered a kind of mosse, which groweth on the
trees of this countrie, to serve to caulke the same withall. There now
wanted nothing but sayles, which they made of their own shirtes and of
their sheetes." Thus provided with the things requisite, our Frenchmen
hastened to finish their brigantine, and "used so speedie diligence,"
that they were soon ready to launch forth upon the great deep. They gave
to their Indian friends all their surplus goods and chattels, leaving to
them all the merchandise of the fort which they could not take away;--a
liberality which gave the red-men the "greatest contentation in the
worlde." But they re-embarked their forge, their artillery and other
munitions of war. Unhappily, they were too impatient to begin their
journey. In the too sanguine hope of reaching France, with a speed
proportioned to their eager desires, they laid in no adequate provision
for a long voyage. "In the meane season the wind came so fit for their
purpose, that it seemed to invite them to put to sea. Being drunken with
the too excessive joy which they had conceived for their returning into
France, or rather deprived of all foresight and consideration:--without
regarding the inconsistencie of the winds which change in a moment, they
put themselves to sea, and, with so slender victuals, that the end of
their enterprise became unlucky and unfortunate."
[15] "Il fallut songer ensuite à lui donner un successeur, et le choix
que l'on fit, fut plus sage, qu'on ne devoit l'attendre de gens, dont
les mains fumoient encore du sang de leur Chef. Ils mirent à leur tête
un fort honnête homme, nommé Nicholas Barré, lequel par son adresse et
sa prudence rétablit en peu de tems la paix et le bon ordre dans la
colonie."--_Charlevoix_, _N. Fran._, Liv. 1.
They had not sailed a third part of the distance, when they were
surprised with calms, which so much hindered their progress that, during
the space of three weeks, they had not advanced twenty-five leagues. In
this period their provisions underwent daily diminution. In a short time
their stock had sunk so low that it was necessary to limit the allowance
to each man. We may conceive their destitution from this allowance.
"Twelve grains of mill by the day, which may be in value as much as
twelve peason!" But even this poor quantity was not long continued. It
was "a felicity," in the language of the chronicle, which was of brief
duration. Soon the "mill" failed them entirely--all at once--and they
"had nothing for their more assured refuge, but their shoes and leather
jerkins, which they did eate." But their misfortune was not confined to
their food. Their supplies of fresh water failed them also. Never had
adventurers set forth upon the seas with such wretched provision. Their
beverage finally became the water of the ocean--the thirst-provoking
brine. Such beverage as this increased their miseries--atrophy and
madness followed--and death stretched himself out among them on every
side. Nor were they suffered to escape from the most painful toils while
thus contending against thirst and famine. Their wretched vessel sprang
a-leak. The water grew upon them. Day and night were they kept busy in
casting it forth, without cessation or repose. Each day added to their
griefs and dangers. Their shoes and jerkins they had already devoured
in their desperation, and where to look for other material to supply the
materiel of distension, puzzled their thoughts. While thus distressed
by their anxieties, with their comrades dying about them, a new danger
assailed them, as if fortune was resolved to crush them at a blow, and
thus conclude their miseries. The winds rose, the seas were lashed into
fury by the storm. Their vessel, no longer buoyant, "in the turning of a
hand" shipped a fearful sea, and was nearly swamped--"filled halfe full
of water, and bruised in upon the one side." This was the last drop in
the cup of misfortune which finally makes it overflow. Then it was that
the hearts of our Frenchmen sunk utterly within them. They no longer
cared to contend for life. They gave themselves up to despair. "Being
now more out of hope than ever to escape out of this extreme peril, they
cared not for casting out of the water which now was almost ready to
drown them; and as men resolved to die, everie one fell downe backwarde,
and gave themselves over, altogether unto the will of the waves."
It was at this moment of extreme despondency, that Lachane tried to
cheer them with new hope, and to new exertions. He encouraged them by
various assurance, to hold out against fate, and struggle manfully to
the last. He told them "how little way they had to sayle, assuring them
that if the winde helde, they should see land within three dayes." "At
worst," he added, "we can die when we can do no better. It will be
always time enough for that. But this necessity is not now. We can
surely put it off for some time longer. At present, let us live!"
Speaking thus, in the most cheerful manner, the brave fellow set them a
proper example by which to dissipate their fears and to provide against
them. He began to bail and cast out the water in which, in their extreme
indifference to their fate, they either sat or lay. They took heart
as they beheld him, and joined in the labor with new vigor, and that
elastic spirit which is so characteristic of Frenchmen. But, when the
three days had gone by, and still their eyes were unblessed with the
sight of the promised land--when they had consumed every remnant of shoe
and jerkin, and nothing more was left them to consume, they turned their
eyes in bitter reproach upon the man who had persuaded them to live.
He met their reproachful glances with a smile, and instantly devised a
remedy for their fears and weaknesses, through one of those terrible
thoughts which, at any other period, would revolt, with extremest
loathing, the humanity of the man, however little human.
"My comrades!" said the noble fellow, "you hunger--you starve! You will
perish unless you can get some food. I see it in your eyes. They have
no lustre, and the courage seems to have gone out entirely from your
hearts. You must not die! You must not lose your courage. You _shall_
not. You shall drink life and courage out of my breast. I have enough
there for all who thirst and faint. You shall feed upon my heart--you
shall drink the blood of a brave man, and live for your friends and
country. I have few friends, and my country can spare me. Better that
one of us should die than that all should perish. I am ready to die for
you! What! You shake your heads--you would not have it so--but it shall
be so! You have loved me--you have suffered for me. Well, Lachane loves
you in return--he will die for you. You shall remember him hereafter,
when our own dear France receives you again in safety. You will bless
his memory!"
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