Across the channel from time to time we fancied we could make out the twinkling of lights, small like stars; but whether they were glow-flies or lights of lanthorns or fires upon a distant beach we could not discover. Men were at once set to work building large rafts out of small trees, upon which when day dawned we might make our way across this channel. Slowly the dawn came up out of the sea, and a faint glow spread over the sky overhead, turning it to a color deep and fathomless. One by one the lines of foam on the bar came out of the darkness until the sea was dark against the lightening sky and the stars grew fainter in the glow of coming day. It was cool and frosty – the freshness of something new begun, and the dry grasses behind us were trembling together in the morning breeze. Never did the spur of new-born day find such ready response. For the blithe Frenchmen, hungry as they were, answering readily to the crisp call of the dawn, set about putting their weapons to rights and gathered together in their companies in fine fettle.
By and by we could plainly see the low-lying beach of a shore not far distant across the channel. We seemed on a kind of cape or sand-spit, for the bay lay far around to the left and was lost in the angle of the sand dunes. There were sand dunes there, across this channel, in plenty too and bushes and hills higher than those we had passed. The sergeant-major, La Caille, the Chevalier de Brésac, and Bachasse came and stood by me, waiting until we could clearly make out the line of the coast.
Presently, upon a hill, outlined clear against the sky, his arquebus upon his shoulder and his breastpieces and helmet catching the first glint of the morning light, a soldier appeared. I fancied that my mind had played my eyes some trick. But the sergeant-major saw him at the same time; and in a moment there followed two, three, five figures who stood besides the first one pointing at us and waving their arms.
Were they friends or enemies – Protestants or Catholics? I strained my eyes to find in their garb or manner some familiar sign.
We had not long to wait, for in a moment other soldiers appeared from behind the hills and out on the air there floated the ominous standard of Spain.
CHAPTER XII.
TRUCE
La Caille started and his cry was echoed from one end of the camp to the other. Officers and men, aroused by the commotion, started up, seizing their weapons, running here and there in bewilderment. The trumpets blared and there was a clanking of steel as the sick and starving men gladly arrayed themselves in the ranks of battle. Ribault, aroused for the moment by the martial sounds and sights, marched before the company, his eyes flashing and his sword bare, giving orders in so inspiring a way that the men took great heart and stood strong and reliant. The arquebusiers loaded their pieces and at an order from their captains, marched down the beach to the end of the sand-spit opposite the Spaniards, where they grounded their arms and waited.
But regardless of this warlike show upon our part, the Spaniards made no move to show their numbers or intentions. Many more men appeared upon the hills and others to the number of three-score or more came out of the bushy hollows between the sand dunes and stood unconcerned looking across at us. There seemed something portentous in this calmness and confidence, and this notion of mine was not quieted by the subsequent actions of the Spanish officers. For three or four of them came upon the beach and arm in arm walked calmly up and down, talking together, while their men sat themselves upon the ground and ate their morning meal.
This calmness of the enemy had its effect upon the companies of the Frenchmen. We could easily see that, sick, hungry and weak as we were, our men could prove no match for these hardy Biscayans, with the confidence born of full bellies and continued good fortune. Our men stood nervously, their hands to their waistbands and their eyes starting from their sunken sockets as they saw these gluttons across the channel contentedly munch their biscuits and drink some steaming stuff which was brought them in a great iron pot from the camp among the hills. The hunger, which during the two days had been reduced to a dull gnawing at the vitals and a general weakness of mind and body, now at the sight of this steaming potage, suddenly became most keen and poignant. As I looked, my mouth opened and my tongue came out from my lips. “Ventre bleu!” shouted De Brésac. “They tantalize us. It is not to be borne.”
Job Goddard, who was one of my company of seamen, made no concealment of his suffering, and leaned upon his pike with both hands, craning his neck, his mouth and eyes wide distended. Then without a word – which was the surer sign of his madness – and without changing his gaze or expression, he threw down his weapon and walked forward out of the ranks, down the beach toward the Spaniards, and into the water until the surface rose over his head. None among us had a notion of his intention until he came up sputtering, for he could not swim, drifting seaward with the tide. He must surely have been drowned had not one of the company fastened upon him from one of the rafts with a boat-hook.
Ribault then set the men at rest and called a conference of the officers, at which it was quickly decided to raise a white flag and call for a parley with those in authority among the Spaniards. A white shirt was thereupon fastened to a staff, and La Caille, the sergeant-major, went out upon a raft in plain sight of the enemy, waving this standard to and fro. Presently an officer emerged from the bushes on the other shore, replying. Then La Caille raising his voice so that it echoed plainly among the distant sand hills, shouted,
“We are Frenchmen, – company of Jean Ribault, Admiral of France. If you would parley, send an envoy.”
There was a pause before the answer came. In our ranks, so great was the interest, no word was spoken.
Then we heard in a harsh, commanding voice,
“You have a raft. Come yourselves!”
But the raft would have been of little avail in the current of this channel. So Brunel, the valiant swimmer who had gone first ashore from the Trinity, swam quickly to the opposite side, and seeing a canoe which lay there, entered it and paddled back to us unmolested. La Caille presently returned with him to the Spaniards as an envoy from the Admiral. We saw La Caille, who feared nothing, directly approach a group of the officers among the bushes, whom we could make out by reason of the swords they carried. These he saluted, and one in a cloak arose and acknowledged him courteously. Then he sat down and talked with them.
Ribault meanwhile had gone back among the dunes, where many of those most religiously inclined had fallen upon their knees in prayer. It was not proper that he should have left the front of his command when a mission so delicate as this was trembling in the balance. It is not my desire to belittle the use of prayer at any time; since, if meet and fitting, such petitions are frequently heard, and the great God is very good. But it was little like this gallant man to give a public sign of his doubts to cope with any questions or adversaries. And such, perhaps, a prayer would not have been had not all his actions since the wrecking of the Trinity shown a timidity unaccountable. A great gloom had fallen upon those petitioners, but there were few of us who had not come under its ban. By and by they sang a hymn. The melancholy cadences rolled and echoed from one sand hill to another, until the sound sunk deep into our souls and made us weak and womanish. So dispirited were my men that I perforce gave out a few sharp orders of discipline, and so set them to rights.
The face of La Caille wore no great signs of encouragement as he returned. The Admiral met him upon the beach as the canoe touched the shore.
“Is it – ?” he began.
“It is Menendez de Avilés, the Adelantado,” said La Caille gravely.
“And his force?”
“Many hundreds, I should judge, your Excellency; so disposed that progress in this direction is impossible.”
Ribault put his hand to his brow as though a great pain were at his temples. “I thought as much,” he said.
La Caille went on. “I am bidden tell your Excellency that if you should desire to speak with this Spaniard you may go with four or six companions, and he pledges his word you shall come back safe.”
Ribault was in a great ferment of spirit. But he could not doubt that what the sergeant-major said was true, and so he called the Ensign Arlac, the Sieur de la Notte and myself, who with La Caille, De Brésac and one other entered the canoe and paddled to the opposite shore.
Upon our approach Menendez de Avilés arose, and with two officers and a priest walked down upon the beach to meet us. He stood very erect and bore his hand lightly upon the hilt of his sword. A black cloak thrown around his shoulders half hid his mouth and chin, but for all that I could mark the sinister smile and cruel lips, the sight of which had been burnt into my memory as I lay weak and helpless in the dungeon at Dieppe. His chaplain, De Solis, was at his heels. The officers were not ill-favored, only servile and full of fear of him. All four bowed low, doffing their morions and sweeping them to the Admiral, who acknowledged the courtesy in kind. Many compliments upon the reputation of each of these men were passed by the other, and it might have been thought that they were rather new-found friends than the deadliest enemies of their generation in this poor world.
De Avilés came well prepared to treat with starving men. He led us up to the bushes and bidding us be seated, caused wine and preserved fruits to be placed before us. Though it had seemed I had no mind to eat, we all partook of these things with great avidity. Were there great events to come, it were better, I thought, to borrow strength to meet them. There was little said; Ribault addressed to the Adelantado a few questions, yet these were for the most part unimportant. The silence of La Caille and the others was that of hungry men and not to be mistaken for fear or intimidation. I was using my eyes to as good an advantage as my teeth and let them travel from one bush and hummock to another, seeking to discover, if possible, more than La Caille of their disposition and force. Yet look as I might, everywhere did I see a breast-piece, morion, pike or arquebus. The bushes seemed fairly alive with soldiery and at least an hundred and fifty men were in plain sight from where we sat upon the sand. If this were but an advance guard, or escort from the army of Menendez, then surely the half-starved, illy-armed, dispirited three hundred and fifty cavaliers, seamen, soldiers and tinkers of Admiral Ribault had scant chance of fighting a victorious battle here or otherwhere.
Though I looked much at the scenes and persons about me, my eyes would ever return to a low lying bush some fifty feet away upon a sand dune. For in its shadow was a human leg, booted, the toe of which extended partly out into the sunlight. I thought it at first the member of some tired fellow asleep and so gave it no thought. But my gaze came back upon that foot with a sinister persistency. For follow the line of the leg into the shadow as I would I could find no companion to it, nor yet a body. It ended with horrid abruptness half above the knee.
Menendez de Avilés abruptly broke the silence.
“Captain Juan Ribao,” he said with an air of command which jarred strangely upon his courteous demeanor, “further subterfuge between us were now a sin and a lie before the face of God our Lord. Are you Catholics or Lutherans?”
“We are Lutherans of the New Faith,” returned Ribault, staunchly.
The Spaniard sucked in a long breath between his teeth.
“Gentlemen, your fort is taken and in it all are put to the sword.”
He spat the words out mercilessly and hatefully.
There was a dreadful stillness, and then we started up with one accord, looking around from the one to the other. The Sieur de la Notte tried to speak, but the words would not come forth from his throat, at which he clutched and would have gone to the ground had he not fallen back into my arms. The Admiral was bewildered. La Caille, only, did not tremble. He stood up, straight and fearless.
“Señor Pedro Menendez de Avilés,” he said calmly and distinctly, “it is my belief that you lie.”
Menendez seized his sword at this insult and the Spanish officers rushed forward. They thought surely the Adelantado would run the valiant Frenchman through the body.
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.