In Search of Mademoiselle

But the devil was not ready yet. It was too pleasant a torture to have been ended so soon. He thrust his sword back until it rung in the scabbard and folded his arms, laughing.

“You wish proofs,” he then said quickly. “Very well, you shall have them!”

And going to the edge of the bushes he gave some orders, while we stood horror-stricken. In a while came three soldiers bringing some weapons and a sack. Arlac the Ensign, with a look of dismay upon his face, seized upon a sword which was thrust toward him.

“Par la bonté de Dieu,” he cried. “It is La Vigne’s very own!”

And then we saw dishes and platters bearing the Arms of Réné de Laudonnière, two axes, dark-stained and broken at the handle, but bearing the name of a maker of Dieppe, a canteen, a cross-bow – all of which were known of De Brésac and La Caille. I pray that never again may any man upon the earth be given such sufferings of mind as began for me from that moment.

Diane – Diane! —

No, no, I would not believe it! The Sieur de la Notte, who had been looking vacantly from La Caille to Arlac the Ensign, fell heavily to the beach uttering a moan which sounded more like that of some poor beast than of a man. I thought that he was dead. He made no move though we dashed water at his head again and again. At last his breathing came with difficulty and when some wine had been poured down his throat he lifted his head and tried to speak.

“Señor Adelantado,” he cried, trembling and halting at every word, – at the terror of uttering it, – “my daughter – Diane – Diane de la Notte – she is not – dead – dead. For the love of God – say that – she is not – dead!” And the love he bore her in that speech welded his soul and mine so tight together that not even death could draw us apart.

But the Adelantado would give no answer, only standing there with folded arms gloating upon our misfortune like some great snake upraised to strike, yet sure of his prey and charming by his venomousness. Surely it was the very perfection of cruelty; for the old man lifted himself to a sitting posture with both hands upraised and then fell back upon the sand making no sound. Lifting the poor gentleman in my arms I carried him down the beach to the canoe, where I laid him upon a boat-cloak.

But that was not all. Fearful of some new discovery, yet bewitched and trusting in the word of this Spaniard we followed him and his officers up the beach. One horror but waited upon another. The Spaniards made no concealment of it, and now I knew the reason of the dread horror that had hung upon me. Not only did I see dismembered human legs, half covered with sand, but here and there a body bearing no longer any human semblance. The Adelantado walked a little in advance, swerving neither to the right nor to the left for the dreadful things which his boots frequently touched, regardless, – familiar. Once he stumbled in the sand and cursing, like to have fallen as he uncovered a human head which rolled over until it sat upon its neck, the beard spreading out fan-wise upon the sand and the face through the matted hair grinning fiercely. Arlac and the Admiral, being in front, fell back shuddering, turning whiter even than the sand and holding each other by the arms. I looked at the dreadful object and my blood turned to water. The thing was Verdier!

The Admiral would now go no further, saying that he had seen enough and wished only to go away from it all. But Menendez, in great good humor, smiled, saying it were better to see and know all that could be known. And we believed him. We were heedless of treachery – or aught else, for it seemed to matter little now whether we lived or died, and there was a horrible fascination which seemed to lead us on in spite of ourselves. And so we followed, trembling.

We had gone a distance of a gunshot or more from the end of the sand-spit when we came to two sand hills larger than those we had passed. They lay in two curves, the one toward the other, making an enclosed place which at the two entrances and on the sides was thickly grown up with grass and bushes. To the nearest of these entrances Menendez led us, then stopped and turning grimly to the Admiral,

“Here, Juan Ribao,” he said, “is the company of the Gloire!”

And entering by the pathway he motioned us to follow.

But a terror had fallen upon us as at the dread of something supernatural. There was no wind and a silence heavy and oppressive hung about the place, the more appalling for the distant roar of the waves upon the beach.

Overhead high in the sky several vultures were idly wheeling. I looked at the faces of the others. La Caille was livid, but his jaw was set and his eye was glassy like that of the dead. Arlac was white as marble, and hung upon me cold and nerveless. The Admiral had clasped his hands together before him and bent his head to his breast. His eyes were closed. He was praying.

For myself I seemed to have no further fear or dread, only a curiosity which fascinated. Leaving Arlac, I walked forward with La Caille and entered. At first I could see nothing, for bushes grew about the place. And God’s pure sand, which had unwillingly drunk up the blood of this reeking sacrifice, had mercifully blown in upon it and tenderly made a white coverlet here and there which hid the freshness of the barbarity.

I halt at the horror of it, and I cannot write more of the scene. It is enough to say that the men of the Gloire’s company had been led to this place in small parties, their hands bound behind their backs with the match-cords of their own arquebuses. Menendez de Avilés with his cane had drawn a line across the entrance. When they had passed within they were set upon by these savage people like tigers and, defenseless, were slaughtered like sheep. They were about two hundred in number and of these not one was left alive. Menendez told us these things calmly, as one who recites that of which he has been told.

Then he turned once more to the Admiral, saying somewhat softly as though to atone a little in our eyes for the deeds he had acknowledged, “It is sad that human beings should be enemies and I would not pursue war relentlessly. But I believe that this is a just fate for all heretics. All Catholics I will befriend; but as you are of the New Sect, I hold you as enemies, and wage deadly war against you. And this I will do with all cruelty (crueldad) in this country, where I command as Viceroy and Captain-General for my King. I am here to plant the Holy Gospel, that the Indians may be enlightened and come to a knowledge of the faith.”

The Admiral made no reply and so he turned back and we followed him.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE LINE UPON THE SAND

As I write, the memory of these scenes comes back to me as if the years that are gone were but as yesterday. There is much that is too dreadful to set down and the things of which I speak are told only in order that they may be truthfully known of all honest men of whatever creed or faith. I am told that the artist Le Moyne has related much that happened at Fort Caroline and, as I have said, Nicholas Challeux, the carpenter, has added more. But saving the short story of Christophe Le Breton, there is nothing to my knowledge written down by any survivor from the wrecked vessels of the French fleet. And though the acts of one generation, or indeed a shorter period, may not be lightly judged by another, it can be truthfully said that no deeds of savagery among heathen peoples have ever surpassed those of Menendez for blood-letting and ferocity. It has been told me that the Indians of Outina, seeing in this Spaniard a cruelty and murder-love more marvelous than anything they themselves had known or dreamed, fell straightway to worshiping him as a god, aiding him in his devilries and hanging upon his orders with a greater devotion than that displayed by his own men. Whether this be true or not I do not know. I can better relate the things of which I was a witness.

When we came back to the landing-place the Admiral had succeeded in mastering his despair.

The Spaniard, Menendez, his hand upon his sword hilt listened to him coldly:

“We are wrecked upon this barren shore,” Ribault was saying. “A death from hunger threatens more even than your pikes and ordnance. We can only throw ourselves on your pity. What has befallen us may one day befall you.”

“That were indeed a misfortune,” replied De Avilés.

“I beseech you,” continued Ribault, “in the name of the friendship between the Kings of France and Spain, who are brothers and close friends, to aid me in conveying my followers home.”

Menendez paused a while. Then he said, slowly and deliberately, “Of that I cannot say. If you will give up your arms and banners and place yourselves at my mercy, you may do so; and I will act towards you as God shall give me grace.”1

“I cannot be sure my followers will do that,” returned the Admiral, “but there is little doubt that under this promise the greater part of my officers and men will surrender upon these terms as honorable prisoners of war. With your permission I will return and consult with those in command upon the other shore.”

“Do as you will. Other than this you can have neither truce nor friendship with me.” His manner after this was more cordial than before and left a good impression upon our minds.

With formal salutations on both sides, we returned to the canoe. As we were conveyed to our comrades upon the other shore the Sieur de la Notte lay against my knee, conscious, but more dead with grief than alive. I could say little save that I thought Mademoiselle was still living; but I could not tell why, and he took no comfort.

In spite of the sights we had seen and the massacre of the company of the Gloire it was plain to all who had heard him that the words and manner of Menendez contained an assurance of protection for such of us as would surrender; but few were in a mood to give up without a battle.

The horror which hung over us and the tidings of the fall of Fort Caroline had unnerved me. But the absence of Diego de Baçan I took for a favorable augury, and fancied that perhaps Mademoiselle had escaped to Satouriona and that De Baçan was searching for her. I knew that not all at Fort Caroline had been killed, for one of the officers had said as much. I could not believe Mademoiselle dead, for, that being so, I felt that some instinct should tell me of it and I should have no further wish for life. But back upon the shore my love of life returned to me tenfold. I wished to live to find Mademoiselle, and would perform any feat or strategy to save her and carry her back with me to England. If she were alive, my death would not help her; if she were dead, then my own life could be given in no better cause than in taking satisfaction against him who had slain her.

It was no easy matter to decide. Whether to stay upon the sand-spit to die of hunger or at the hands of the Indians, or to surrender to Menendez and be sent for life to the galleys, I could not determine. Either plan promised little enough. In the one case I was not sure that communication with the interior could be found, for dangerous swamps and quicksands ran this way and that, making progress almost impossible; and starvation was imminent. Before we could come to the domain of Satouriona there were miles of hostile country, the traversing of which would take many weeks, perhaps months. To surrender seemed equally desperate. We had seen the deeds of which this madman was capable; and in spite of his word of honor, which holds high among men of authority, and which he now wished to give under seal, his humor might change and our fate be that of those who had gone before. But by the one plan I could not hear of Mademoiselle for months; by the other I would be carried straightway to San Augustin by our enemies, and might see her within the week. The thought enthralled me.

By some ruse and skill I would effect her escape. De Baçan probably thought me dead; and unless Mademoiselle had told him, could not know that I was of this expedition. And the beard which had grown upon my face might well disguise me; so that until I was prepared to meet him on equal footing I would not let my presence be known.

In a little while the Admiral sent another messenger across the water offering a ransom of an hundred thousand ducats, and the answer which came back encouraged us much more. He would accept the ransom, he said, “it would much grieve him not to do so, for he had great need of it.” I felt that I could not do better than to become a captive, and so win my way most quietly to where the prisoners of Fort Caroline were confined.

Toward evening, the sun being about an hour from setting, the Admiral mounted upon a hummock of sand and addressed his desperate little army in the following terms:

“You have heard, mes braves, of the conditions which this Spanish general has set before us. Those among you who will render up your arms and surrender in peace, he will accept as honorable prisoners of war, to be done with as he shall deem most fitting. You have heard of the massacre of your comrades of the Gloire and must be the judge of your own actions. I would force no man to surrender against his will without a battle; but I do believe in the promises which now have been made to me by word of mouth and by writ. For no man professing any sort of religion, as this Spaniard does, were so hideous as to fall upon unarmed men after a given word which has put them in his power.”

There was a murmur among the seamen and several of them raised their voices, shouting,

“But he has done so! He has done so!”

“Perhaps, – my friends. I could not learn from the Spaniard how your comrades of the Gloire came to fall into his hands. But I cannot believe that he promised to them what he has promised me to-day. I have it from him in a writing which he has signed and sealed, and which he has sent me of his own free will; and I believe that he will keep these promises. On the morrow I shall surrender myself to him as an honorable prisoner of war to be sent to Spain, and by the grace of God, perhaps soon released.”

This last statement of the Admiral’s position raised a great hue-and-cry among the company, and many of them shouted loudly.

“No, we will not go! We will not surrender!” Others were silent, waiting for the Admiral to finish. He stood there upon the sand-hill, his tall figure straight as a spar, outlined sharp and clear against the western glow. His hands were clasped before him, a position in which we had often found him of late, and he waited composed until the strife should cease.

“My friends,” he said at last, and a deep and solemn silence fell around us, “we are in the hands of God. We have done what it has pleased Him to permit us to do toward building up in this great country the Church of Christ according to our religion. We have been pursued by every misfortune possible, and yet our faith in Him should not diminish one jot.”

“Amen! Amen!” murmured many with deep reverence.

Then the Admiral walked down from the hummock towards the ocean, drawing with his sword as he went, – a line in the sand! Then raising his hand, he said,

“To-morrow morning, my friends, I shall surrender. All of those who will accompany me will follow over upon the hither side of this line which I have marked. I make no compulsion. Those others of you who will not come must pass to the farther side.” And so saying he walked over to the side of the line toward the Spanish camp.

It was a supreme moment. That mark in the sand which the winds and seas could sweep away at will seemed the dividing line between life and death, and none knew which side to choose. Not even a whisper came from the men, and the droning of the surf as it rolled in on the beach seemed ominous and loud in the stillness.

After a period of suspense which seemed interminable an old man with a gray beard, bowing his head as though in submission to a will over which he had no control, gathered his cloak about him and walked to where stood the Admiral. Bordelais followed. Then Arlac and three seamen passed to the opposite side. Bachasse, dutiful as ever, followed his captain, together with Ottigny and others to the number of ten. But many more moved to the opposite side. It was like a game. For, until the matter was settled, no man spoke. They came from the crowd in twos and threes, gravely until they reached their companions, when some of them patted the others upon the back, saying quietly, but with good cheer,

“We sink or swim together, mes gars!”

“There will at least be a fine fight, eh?”

“We are not yet ready for the sheep-market, mon Amiral!”

“There is still good wine to be drunk in San Augustin, and we’ve good use for our windpipes.”

And many other rude jests which reached only the ears of La Caille, De Brésac, myself and those few who were standing by them. For a moment I wavered. There was something much after my own heart in the way these brave fellows defied this Menendez, casting themselves out into the wilderness of forest and swamp where death would certainly find them. They had a fighting chance and La Caille, De Brésac and I would have gone with them; but I knew that the surer way to Mademoiselle was that which I had chosen, and so I wavered not for long.

By the time the sun was down the matter was settled, but few still standing aloof. About two hundred officers and men had gone to the further side, refusing to surrender, and were now forming into some kind of martial order under Arlac, a sea-lieutenant named Pierre Le Jeune and another called D’Alençon. The remainder, among them the Sieur de la Notte, La Caille, De Brésac, Bourdelais, Bachasse, Ottigny, Job Goddard, Salvation Smith, myself and many other soldiers and gentlemen as well as seamen, to the number of about one hundred and fifty, stood on the side of the Admiral.

With the vain hope that one of the French ships might yet appear unharmed to take us off, the Admiral determined to wait until the morning before crossing the channel, and so informed Menendez de Avilés by messenger.

The night fell chill and gusty, for it was well into the middle of October. That last night we remained together, those of one party sending messages by those of the other to any refugees from Fort Caroline who might be discovered, or friends in France whom they might not see again. Huge fires were lit upon the beach in order that any vessels sailing on the coast might see us and come to the rescue. Around these we sat or lay, some of us sleeping but most of us waking – until the dawn. When the stars began to pale a little, Le Jeune, Arlac and D’Alençon got their men in motion, taking as many arms with them as was needful, and marched down the beach in the direction from which we had come. And that was the last I saw of them.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MARTYRDOM

The morning of that dreadful day dawned cold and clear. In the east over the ocean the sky was bright and glorious as though the heavens were opening. But scan the sea as we might, not a sail appeared and all hope of thus saving ourselves from imprisonment was gone.

When the company of Arlac had disappeared around the point a league or so away to the southward, the Admiral arose from where he had been lying upon the beach by one of the fires and, calling about him those who would come, knelt down upon the sand and fervently prayed for the safety of those who had been spared until that day. Then rising he went down the beach and with La Caille, Bourdelais and myself, entered the canoe and we were rowed rapidly to the other shore. The Admiral, in order to keep his part of the compact with De Avilés, carried with him the royal standard and other flags, his sword, dagger, helmet, buckler and the official seal given him by Coligny.

Menendez, upon our approach, arose and stood waiting for the Admiral to speak.

“I have come in behalf of myself and one hundred and fifty persons of my command to surrender as honorable prisoners of war. I have brought these standards and my personal arms and seal in token of the good faith which shall therefore bear equally between us.”

Menendez motioned to one of his officers, who took from the hands of La Caille and me these things which we had brought.

“Two hundred of your men,” said the Spaniard, “have retreated from their position and I will wage a war against them with blood and fire. And you I shall treat as our Lord shall inspire.”

Calling to some of his soldiers, he directed two of them to enter the canoe and bring over the Frenchmen, who stood waiting upon the opposite bank. It seemed that they were to come in companies of ten and, as they arrived, would be made prisoners by an equal number of the Spanish soldiers and led toward San Augustin.

Then Menendez came again to where we stood at the edge of the bushes. He was surrounded by a number of his soldiers and he motioned to us to move behind the sand-hills; this, unsuspecting, we did, out of sight of the other shore.

Then for the first time I took notice of the face of the Adelantado. If it were hard and cruel of ordinary, the look it now wore was like nothing so much as that of a wild beast; his under jaw and lip projected hideously, but under the brows, in spite of their ferocity, there was the gleam of intelligence and cunning which made the whole expression the more sinister and dreadful. He came close to the Admiral, looking him in the face: —

“Juan Ribao,” he said, “you and all of your company are now in my power, and I shall do with you —as God shall give me grace!”

As God should give him grace! I looked around me at the bearded faces of the soldiery, who were now closing in upon us, and the menace of those words, – the very same that he had uttered in his promise of yesterday, – first dawned upon me with its terrible meaning.

The Admiral looked him in the eyes, still unknowing. “I am ready to go with you,” he replied calmly.

But two soldiers came up from behind, seizing his arms and then – and not till then – the scales fell from the eyes of all of us and we saw that we had been duped, – trapped, by this arch fiend and traitor.

La Caille and I exchanged glances and turning about made one desperate spring for liberty. La Caille fell full upon the point of a pike and so died, making not even an outcry. A sword scratched my arm and I pitched upon the figure of the man who wielded it. The sword flew from his hand, but his arms closed about me tightly and over and over we rolled among the bushes, the soldiers dodging about trying to get their weapons home upon my body, but fearing to hurt their fellow. He was strong and I weak from lack of food; in a few moments he had me undermost, while he was striving to draw a poniard. Another man here fell upon my legs, while still another was running forward with a partisan.

I gave myself up for lost. Hoping to warn those who had not yet been conveyed across the channel, I let forth a loud cry. Then my adversary leaned down on me, clapping his hand across my mouth. I bit into his finger fiercely and thought the dagger was coming down.

But I saw his face at the same moment that he saw mine; and knew why I had been so easily overcome, for it was Don Diego de Baçan! I watched the point of the dagger; but it did not fall. His surprise was so great that his hand remained suspended in mid-air, and he drew in a quick breath of fright as though he had seen a phantom. His soldiers, noting his discomfiture, did not strike, but stood waiting. In a moment a knowledge of the truth came to him.

Then, perhaps in a spirit of fair play, remembering a time when I had set him free, he lowered his weapon and bade his men bind and gag me and set me on my feet.

He stood in front of me holding his sides, alternately laughing and sucking his bitten finger.

“Well, well, Sir Pirato, the dead hath come to life of a verity. And this is no miracle but a clear process of reasoning. It would have grieved me much to see thee die just now, for I have rarely met a man of such honest thews. It doth me good to see thy face again. Though by my conscience I have always sworn that I like not a beard upon the countenance of Englishmen, which to my mind should ever be round and hairless like the sucklings that they are.”

I listened composedly to his banter, glad of the chance to rid my mind of the horror which was to come.

“It is a pity, my fledgling cock, that Mademoiselle de la Notte did not inform me – ah! you start. Yes, yes, she lives – in very excellent health and would have bidden you farewell, had she known. She will mourn when you’re dead, Sir Pirato, for she thinks of you with great kindness.” And so he went on adding one insult to another, veiling them under this thin coating of humor, so that they might cut the deeper. But I saw from his surprise and from the manner in which he spoke that Mademoiselle had told him nothing. He was lying in his throat. If she were alive she was safe also from him – that I knew. But I trembled with rage at his manner and innuendos and would have killed him if I could. I remembered the chance I had upon the Cristobal and felt accursed for having let such a thing as he continue to live upon the earth. I saw him go over to the Adelantado and talk earnestly, pointing toward me as though asking some favor. The Adelantado shook his head in refusal, but at last wavering, seemed to give assent.