In Search of Mademoiselle

The safety of Mademoiselle was first in my thoughts and made me almost happy as I stood there, though for myself there seemed little chance that I should come out of the adventure alive. De Baçan had won, it seemed. If there were a chance of escape I should not be slow to take it; but if I were to die I would show no white feather to this Spaniard whom I hated, – and now hate, even that he is dead, as I think no man was ever hated before.

My comrades of the Trinity gave no sign of fear, though they felt the nearness of their doom as keen as I. The Admiral stood erect, his head high in air. Bourdelais had been pinioned and bound, and stood near his chief, helpless but determined that no supplication for pity should escape his lips. My heart went out to the Sieur de la Notte, for he was white as death and so weak that two soldiers carried him. His livid, delicate face looked this way and that as though his mind wandered and were unconscious of it all. I wanted to speak to him one last word – to tell him that Mademoiselle was alive and might be among the people of Satouriona; he might have died happy. The pity of it! But I could not, for my mouth was bandaged tightly and it was impossible for me to make a sound above a murmur.

At length all the Frenchmen of Ribault had come upon this shore and stood or lay bound and helpless among the sand-hills. Then Menendez de Avilés came to Admiral Ribault and said again,

“Is there any one among you who will go to confession?”

Ribault turned his head, closing his eyes and answered calmly,

“I and all here are of the Reformed Faith.”

Then he looked upward as though making one last mute appeal for the lives of the men whom he had unwittingly led to this martyrdom. His face shone with a new beauty as he gazed upward, and the heavens smiled back at him. The brightness, and glory of the day were wonderful, and that made the contrast the stranger. It even seemed as though the sun, the sea, the sky and all the wonders of God’s earth and firmament were sullied and polluted by the touch of these atrocities. There, upon the lonely sand-spit in the hands of these fanatics, we were forgotten of God.

Then Ribault raised his voice in a chant which mingled softly with the roar of the surf and melted into the air like the passing of a soul. It was the Psalm “Domine memento mei” and one by one the Huguenots, some kneeling, but most standing upright, fearlessly took it up until a great and holy prayer went up to God. There was something greater than the things of earth in that grand chorus, and in the faces of these martyrs was the look which must be borne by those already within the gates of Paradise.

As I saw Menendez de Avilés and his butchers come forward, closing in, two men took me from the rear, dragging me behind a sand-hill, throwing me upon the beach and tightly binding my feet and legs with ropes and arquebus cords. They fastened my handkerchief over the bandage upon my mouth to make it the more secure, and passed this closely over my ears so that now only sight remained to me. But this assisted me little, for my neck was bound so tight that I could not turn my head. They threw me face downward upon the sand and so left me.

I lay there I know not how long, expecting each moment to receive the point of a pike between the shoulders. I have thanked God many times since then that in those dreadful moments he made me powerless to see and hear. So great was the agony of mind that more than once I prayed that all might soon be ended. The sufferings through which I was passing had made me well-nigh distraught; but it was only a temporary lunacy like that upon the beach after the wreck. And I have come to this day, at a ripe age, in full possession of all my faculties. Death was not yet for me.

In a while there came two of these fiends reeking and drunk with slaughter; unbinding my feet, they bade me follow on behind their fellows who had gone before toward San Augustin, carrying their bloody trophies. The lives of four others beside mine own had been spared; and we prisoners, – De Brésac, a fifer, a drummer and a trumpeter were tied together for our better security, and in single line were marched up the beach. Each looked at the heels of the man in front, fearing to raise his eyes upon some new barbarity. Toward noon there was a rest and these butchers fed us upon biscuit and preserved fruits, giving each a draught of eau de vie. It seemed from this that they meant for the present to save us further physical suffering. The drink set new life coursing through my veins, and by afternoon I had steeled my memory in some sort against the things which had been, and had prepared my spirit against the new and, like enough, more desperate trials of mind and body which must surely come.

For what else could De Baçan be saving me? Was it for a torture worse than the death of Ribault, La Notte and those other martyrs, my companions? What hideous devilry could he be devising? I thought of his sinister threat upon the San Cristobal, and I felt sure he was preparing to work his worst upon me. But even as I was, – helpless, in his power, – I had no fear of him; only hatred, which had driven out all other personal relation. There was no instrument that the Inquisition had devised which should provoke one groan, and no torture that he could invent which should wring one tribute to his devilish ingenuity. So long as Mademoiselle were not there to make my pulses tremble, he should have no sign. Nay, more, – I would escape. Mademoiselle alive, let them give me so much as half a hair’s breadth of license and I vowed that there were not enough Spaniards in all the Flowery Land to hold me a prisoner. And – why I knew not, – I was as sure she was alive as though she were there by my side. I would escape back to Europe to let the King of France and our own Queen Bess of England know what manner of fiends the King of Spain had let loose, to make a living hell of this great and good land across the water.

It was right that I should escape. There were none who were with Ribault when he was betrayed save me, and none who could give the lie to the tales this Spaniard Menendez would tell to his people and to the people of France. I determined that if God willed, I would be the instrument of justice upon them. And if the iron helm of fate were entrusted to my hands, I would seize it with no light grasp. For the moment, even the thought of Mademoiselle and all she had suffered and might still suffer vanished from my mind, and I wished nothing but vengeance for the murder of my comrades. I knew not until now how dear they had been to me. She would understand. She would know. They were of her religion; but like me, she had not the humility to bow meekly under such a blow. If I could first escape out of their intimate clutches I knew that I could get to France. There had been many ships on the Florida coast of late – English ships too – and Admiral Hawkins, or perhaps even Captain Hooper, might now be in those waters.

And so my mind planned and planned, as I trudged along toward San Augustin between the serried ranks of my captors. There was no chance of escape, for arquebusiers to the number of ten brought up the rear, and De Baçan had given them orders to shoot us in the back did we give the slightest sign or movement of a nature suspicious. In this fashion we walked until dark, De Baçan saying no word nor even coming near. Then we turned sharply through the dunes in-shore to the left, and came abruptly to the bay within the sand-spit and upon four large barges which had been brought to convey us across this arm of the sea.

It was not until then that I had a chance for words with Diego de Baçan. I determined that could I speak with him I would leave no effort of diplomacy unmade to secure his attention and approval. For this was no place for pride, and therein lay the way to safety. It so happened that in the boat his thwart was next to mine. With some display of good humor he addressed me: —

“Gratitude may not be one of your virtues, Sir Pirato.”

“I find little cause for gratitude, Don de Baçan,” said I.

“Not even that you have your life as a gift from the Adelantado? You are truly hard to please. Here have I saved you from a long wait in the bowels of hell, and you pay me with what? – not even a smile of thanks or welcome.”

“Then it is to you I owe my life?”

“For the present, Señor Killigrew.”

“And why have you spared me?”

“I know not. A whim, perhaps.”

“A happy whim for me.”

“Be not so sure of that, my bantam. I fancied you dead long since, you see, in spite of the Señorita La Notte. There was something of surprise that made me spare you the dagger – something of curiosity that made me beg your life of the Captain General – curiosity to see in what way it were best to kill men like you who die hard.”

“We can die but once,” I returned doggedly.

“I’m not so sure. You don’t die easy, my master. And you own such fine tough sinews it were a pity to have you foisted off upon the devil with such small display of resistance.”

“It is the torture then?” I asked.

“It will be, my friend, as the Adelantado shall decide. I have a fancy that in a short time thou wilt become a valiant servant of the Church. I have known a heretic rabid as thyself, turn speedily Christian at the stake.”

“Fire is a very excellent servant of the devil,” I returned, and so warmly that I regretted my petulance the moment after.

“Ah, you think I may not bend your spirit! Wait and see. Why, in our army we have a little soldier so skilful in mechanical toys that he can set his touch upon each particular nerve in the body, running his fingers over them as lightly as one would play the lute.”

“It ill becomes a fine, big man like you,” I returned, “a man who has little fear of aught upon the earth, to trifle with these petty contrivances.” I thought I would try him upon a new course.

“My muscles, like yours, are good enough for most of the purposes of this life; but with careful feeding you might best me again. You see, I acknowledge you. Nay, my bantam, you cannot again touch my vanity. I fight you no more.”

“You will not fight me in your own camp?” said I, unwilling to drop the question so easily. “Surely, there will be little danger to yourself.”

“Who spoke of danger?” he said irritably, and then laughing, “Ha! ha! I fear no danger. Why should I fight you? I can see my soldiers take your spirit out by slow inches. And I will view the spectacle with great serenity – in company with a lady of your acquaintance who has been pleased – ”

“You devil!” I cried, unable to restrain myself. “You liar and blasphemer!” and with a leap I hurled myself against him until he fell against the gunwale, and we all but went overboard. I striking at him with my bound hands and elbows. The boat rocked from this side to that, and we seemed like to capsize. Several men were striking at me with boat-hooks and oars, and at length they dragged me off and threw me down in the bottom of the boat.

“As God lives – I will kill you now!” he said fiercely; and rising he drew his dagger. But he thought better of it before he touched me, for he thrust the weapon back and sat quietly down on his thwart.

“We will wait,” he said calmly.

Thus ended my diplomacy! What a fool I was; perhaps every chance of escape was lost. That was all there was of it. They would take us to the camp at San Augustin and there kill us like dogs.

CHAPTER XV.

THE LODGE OF SELOY

At the landing-place we were met by a large concourse of soldiers and priests, who crowded about with waving flambeaux, shouting and bidding the victors welcome. Then a half-dozen of the priests, with De Solis, took position at the head of the column and we marched toward the Lodge of Seloy, the priests chanting the Te Deum as we marched. And when we had come to an open place, a chaplain called Mendoza, who seemed a person of importance, – the same who has since written of this expedition, – came walking to meet the Adelantado, holding forward a crucifix in his hand.

When Menendez de Avilés reached the spot where the chaplain stood, he fell down upon his knees and most of his followers with him and gave a thousand thanks for his victory. Then Mendoza raised his voice and said, “We owe to God and His mother, more than to human strength, this victory over the adversaries of the holy Catholic religion. The greatest profit of this victory is the triumph which our Lord has granted us, whereby His holy Gospel will be introduced into this country, a thing so needful for saving so many souls from perdition.”2

What a dreadful sacrilege it seemed that these brutal men, dripping yet with the blood of human creatures they had put to death, should call upon their God in thanksgiving, asking Him to be an accomplice in the murders they had done!

By and by we were taken to the great Lodge of Seloy, which had been converted into a general council chamber and meeting-place. It was a huge barn-like structure, strongly framed of entire trunks of trees and thatched with palmetto leaves. Around it, entrenchments and fascines of sand had been thrown up so that it was very capable of defense. In one corner of this place there was a small cabin, used as a dungeon; it had a door leading out to the square and another leading into the large hall. But there were no windows, the light coming in the daytime from an aperture in the roof and in the night from a fire burning on the sandy floor. They threw us upon some cots of bark and skins and mounted a guard of three soldiers over us – far too many, I thought, since we were tightly bound.

I looked about me, along the sides, trying to pierce the duskiness, which a torch and the burning fire dimly served to lighten, to get my bearings in case any fortunate event should give a chance for escape. But I could see nothing to give hope now, and despondency came over me as I thought of what had been. Could it be that only a day had passed since I had been with my company of the Trinity alive and well upon the sand-spit? It seemed a hundred years.

One by one the events of the last few days passed in view and I found myself marveling not a little at the actions of Diego de Baçan. He wished to torture me, no doubt; but as I thought of his manner, it seemed that he held me in a certain awe. The way in which his life and mine seemed intertwined, the one with the other, was strange indeed. I could not believe that I was to die as he had intended – before Mademoiselle. In spite of his boasts, I believed that she was not there at the Camp of San Augustin, nor yet at Fort Caroline, – now blood-christened San Mateo. I recalled the vision when half-distracted I lay upon the sands after the wreck, and I remembered the look in the eyes of Mademoiselle as she balanced the poniard upon her fingers. I had heard some of the guards speak of certain women who had been saved from Fort Caroline, but they were servants and wives of artisans, and I had not the courage to ask further. Had I done so they would doubtless have insulted her and demeaned me, or perhaps brutally have told me of her death. So I thought it wise to hold my peace, though my heart seemed bursting within me. I watched the light flicker upon the breastpiece of the guard beside the fire, and wondered what the morrow would bring forth. Then the anguish and struggle of the day told, and I fell into deep and merciful sleep.

In the morning they took us out manacled two and two and marched us up and down the square to keep the blood in circulation, that the withes might not bite too deep into the flesh before the time appointed; and this they did thereafter daily. They were fattening us like fowls. The soldiers came out and jostled and spurned us, tossing billets of wood at our heads so that we were dodging about, most of the time in a quandary.

The guards seemed to have no interest in the matter and watched composedly as the others danced about us, laughing merrily at any sally more witty than ordinary. But for my part, I found it better to my liking than to lie there in the dark shadows of the Lodge of Seloy trussed like pigs for the Tavistock market. I bore these taunts and gibes in rare good humor, for I was stretching my limbs and could feel my strength coming back to me unimpaired. On the second day they took away the other prisoners, leaving only De Brésac and me together. Why they had spared him he could not say, save only that Menendez himself, aiming a blow at him with a poniard and blood-befuddled missing his mark, had seen in that a sign of God’s displeasure, and so saved him until he might debate upon the subject.

On the third day De Baçan, in company of Menendez de Avilés, going the rounds of the barracks, came to where we lay. Menendez had on a costly suit of black velvet with a cap to match, silk trunks and boots of a fine leather. He began prodding at me with his cane. “So this is the English heretic of Dieppe,” he said, making an uncouth sound which might have been a laugh in any other.

“Señor,” said De Baçan, “this man has as many lives as a cat.”

“Ah! But no more! We must take him severally – one life after the other. Have you thought of the matter, Captain?”

“Nothing, your Excellency, save that the end for this one must be certain.”

“And the other? Can they not be made to confess in the Faith? ’Twould be a merciful work to set them aright.”

As they turned away, Menendez laughingly said,

“Have them well fattened, my good Captain, for I like not scrawny captives. But after all we owe this fellow much, and dog that he is – ” but I could not hear the rest of what he said. ’Twas no cheerful conversation for De Brésac and me.

At the end of this day a thing most curious happened. We were sitting bound by the fire, for after the dropping of the sun the night grew raw and chill. The guard had just been changed. The flames burned brightly within and made a yellow ghost of the sentinel at the door as he stood against the blackness without. A second guard sat within the lodge, and another could be seen down the path as he walked slowly to and fro. The face of the man at the door was held in the shadow of his morion, but I could see that he wore a great black beard which covered his face and that he was most stocky and strong of build, the muscles of his calves and thighs swelling out, much to my admiration, and his knotty fingers betokening great strength. ’Twould be no easy task to get by this fellow.

Suddenly, clear and distinct upon my ear, but not so loud as to seem out of ordinary, came that same low whistle I had heard once before in the prison at Dieppe – the call of the boatswain upon the Griffin! My heart stopped its beat, – I thought that I had been dreaming, it was so low and soft. Then it came again, and De Brésac would have spoken of it had I not laid my hand against his arm.

Whence did it come? I knew that I was not mistaken now, and my heart was beating high. Then the fellow at the door whom I had been watching, after looking at his fellow guards, raised his head and I saw the movement of his lips through the great black mustache. I heard the whistle for the third time. I looked around hastily at the guard in the lodge, but he was intent upon burnishing his breastpiece. Presently I said in English as though speaking with De Brésac:

“Welcome, Job Goddard, to San Augustin,” and I saw the shoulders of my sentinel shake in comprehension. Then he shouldered his arquebus and settled his sword in its sheath, walking up and down again. He made a threatening and ugly figure against the darkness, scowling as he walked, but he was so welcome a sight I could have shouted in glee. How in God’s providence had this seaman of mine been spared?

Making no sign of aught unusual I talked on with De Brésac, telling him who this man was and how, God willing, we might make a break for liberty. I bethought me of a plan to have a sign with Goddard. I poured the water from the pitcher in a corner behind the skins and then raising my voice I cried in Spanish,

“Hey, señor the guard! Is it not possible to have some water fresh from the spring? We die soon enough, in all conscience.”

But Goddard made no sign, only walking up and down and looking out into the night.

I was perplexed. What could be the matter with the man? Could he not see the advantage I had prepared?

“Hola, there!” I cried again, pointing to the pitcher, “our throats are parched. Water! water!” But he made no motion of having understood.

Then the other fellow came forward grumbling.

“You Frenchmen have throats of flint,” he growled, “but you may shout at that fellow till you die of weariness and he will not hear, for he has lost both speech and hearing. Patiño must think you safe enough. A fine fashion, I say, to leave the eyes and ears for me.”

“Ah, he hears not?” said I, comprehending.

“He is of a detachment from Fort San Mateo that came down to-night. I do not know him.”

And taking the pitcher he went out past Goddard, jostling him with an oath, and so toward the spring that was at the corner of the building. No sooner had he gone than Goddard – being sure the third guard could not see – sprang with a bound to where we were lying.

“You must get away to-night, Master Sydney,” he whispered hoarsely. “To-morrow they’ll find me out.”

“Yes, yes,” said I, starting up in excitement, “cut me loose!”

“No! – not now! The square is full of soldiers. To-night! The scuts are drinking brandy brought from the Fort, sir. Before the change of the watch, I’ll have weapons an’ help ye both. Sh – ” and he moved back to his post, for the third sentinel had come to the path.

In a moment the surly fellow who had gone for water returned, and set the pitcher down between us. He found us talking with unconcern; though I felt my temples throbbing so that I feared he would discover me, and I was glad enough to raise the pitcher to my lips to conceal my excitement. De Brésac kept countenance well; and, unsuspecting, the guard returned to the task of cleaning the spots from his plates and morion.

We could now hear plainly the shouts of the soldiers as they sang and danced in the square, though for an angle in the doorway we could not see them. They were making a fine festival over their feats of butchery!

“’Tis fortunate,” whispered De Brésac, “for we may yet make a good running fight for it.”

“Aye, Chevalier. ’Tis better to be spitted outright than to die at intervals. I think we may give some account of ourselves.”

“If I had but a piece of steel,” he groaned, – “but a piece of steel – I would make carrion of the fellow with the morion there!”

“Aye, and you haven’t! Wait a little. Something may happen.”

But like most plans of the like, this one came to naught; and I saw our hopes of escape upon that night go glimmering. For at about three hours from sunset who should come into the hut but Don Diego de Baçan with a quarrelsome disposition of mind and a swaggering body. He had been drinking freely and still carried a jug of eau-de-vie, from which he drank at intervals while he talked. With him were two officers, by name Vincente and Patiño. Patiño, a thin black fidgety shadow of a man, was captain of the watch. He had been upon the San Cristobal and I remembered him well. Fortunately, he, too, had drunk more than was good, for otherwise he was just such a squirming worm to pry into all small affairs with most profit, and I trembled lest Job Goddard should betray himself. They had us carried into the main hall, where a fire of logs was built; and then when chairs and table had been brought, they set upon us in every conceivable fashion to try the temper; to the end that in a short while De Brésac, whose nerves were near the surface, was touched to the very quick of his honor and lay foaming, speechless with rage.

It suited the humor of De Baçan to offer us drink; of which, since it came from his own jug, I took a little, though it was not needful for the business I had in hand, and I never had a habit of much drinking.

“Well, my petticoat hunter,” he jeered at last, “you have made a fine mess of this business, sure enough.”

“I must confess, Señor,” I replied, smiling up at him, “that I am none so comfortable as I might be.”

“Comfort is ever the desire of old women and Englishmen, Sir Pirato!”

“But we have no chance to exercise – to stretch our limbs – ” I began.

“Stretch indeed!” put in little Patiño. “There is a rack in the camp; it can stretch you out to ten feet at least, my friend.”