[Illustration: “THEN I LEFT HER.”]
IN SEARCH OF
MADEMOISELLE
[Illustration]
By
GEORGE GIBBS
HENRY T COATES
& CO.
PHILADELPHIA
1901
Copyright, 1901, by
HENRY T. COATES AND COMPANY.
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._
TO THE MEMORY
OF
MY FATHER
THE LATE MEDICAL INSPECTOR
Benjamin Franklin Gibbs,
UNITED STATES NAVY.
NOTE.
There were no more vivid episodes in the colonization of the New World
than those resulting from the attempts of the French people to gain a
permanent foothold on our shores. This fact has long been recognized
by sober historians as well as by the writers of fiction, for all the
fascination of romance holds over the whole field of inquiry.
The most thrilling chapter in all this history, strangely neglected or
overlooked by the romantic writers, is that of the struggle between the
Spanish and French colonists for dominion over our own land of Florida.
To me, whose profession it is to see pictures in the words of other
men and to produce them, this historic page has appealed very strongly
as the proper setting for a human drama--an inviting canvas upon which
the imagination may paint a moving picture of the emotions, desires and
passions--the loves and hates--of men and women like ourselves--against
the somber and sometimes lurid background of historic fact.
I have tried, so far as I have used history, to be scrupulously exact.
I have carefully read the original or authorized editions of the
writings of Hakluyt, Réné de Laudonnière, and a number of others; but
there is little to be found in them which will not also be found much
more vividly depicted in the writings of Mr. Francis Parkman. Some of
the names will be recognized. Jean Ribault, Laudonnière, Menendez, the
Indians Satouriona, Olotoraca and Emola, and others, were all real men.
As for those others who are of the imagination--as for Mademoiselle
and those who searched for her, it is to be hoped that they will not
be found at odds with the events and scenes in which they are placed.
These things, or others like them, must have been, for the writer of
historic fiction may rely on the fact that human nature remains much
the same, no matter how great the lapse of years.
G. G.
Bryn Mawr, March, 1901.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. OF MY MEETING WITH MASTER HOOPER 1
II. OF THE TAKING OF THE CRISTOBAL 10
III. MADEMOISELLE 29
IV. OF MY BOUT WITH DE BAÇAN 39
V. DIEPPE 51
VI. IN WHICH I LEARN SOMETHING 65
VII. IN WHICH I FIND NEW EMPLOYMENT 81
VIII. WE REACH THE NEW LAND 95
IX. WE PUT TO SEA 110
X. THE HERICANO 124
XI. WHAT BEFELL US UPON THE SAND-SPIT 135
XII. TRUCE 150
XIII. THE LINE UPON THE SAND 164
XIV. THE MARTYRDOM 174
XV. THE LODGE OF SELOY 189
XVI. OF OUR ESCAPE 204
XVII. IN WHICH WE JOURNEY TO PARIS 219
XVIII. THE POET KING 235
XIX. I MEET THE AVENGER 252
XX. WE SET FORTH AGAIN 267
XXI. WE FORM AN ALLIANCE 281
XXII. OLOTORACA 298
XXIII. THE MOON-PRINCESS 314
XXIV. WE ADVANCE 329
XXV. THE DEATH OF THE WOLF 344
XXVI. AND LAST 361
ILLUSTRATIONS.
By GEORGE GIBBS.
“THEN I LEFT HER.” (Page 115) _Frontispiece._
PAGE
“A MOI! A MOI!” 24
“A LINE IN THE SAND!” 170
“QUICK AS HE WAS, MY HAND WAS EVER QUICKER.” 357
IN SEARCH OF MADEMOISELLE.
CHAPTER I.
OF MY MEETING WITH MASTER HOOPER.
It has ever been my notion that apology is designed to conceal a
purpose rather than to express it; that excuse is not contrition but
only self-esteem. Therefore it seems ill-fitting to begin my narration
thus, especially as there are many Spaniards who will say that I lie
in all that I have written. But this will matter little to me, for I
have had good confirmation in the writings of their own priests and
chroniclers. Before many years are gone, I will rest peaceful in the
churchyard at Tavistock and the ranting of any person, of whatever
creed will avail little to disturb my bones. I shall die believing in
God Almighty; that is enough for me.
These blind fanatics think themselves privileged to commit any crime in
His name. They speak of God as though they owned Him; as though none
other were in a position even to think of Him with any understanding.
But indeed there is little to choose between the madmen of any races.
Twenty years have barely passed since Thomas Cobham sewed eight and
forty Spaniards in their own mainsail and cast them overboard. Not long
agone certain English soldiers in Mexico filled a Jesuit priest with
gunpowder, blowing him to pieces.
I do not attempt to justify my part in the happenings of which I am to
write, and the terrible retribution brought upon the Spaniards. I can
only say that my own intimate life and love were so twined into these
events that I followed where my wild heart led, as one distraught. It
is enough that I loved--and now love--Diane better than woman was ever
loved, and that I hated Diego with a hate which has outlived death
itself.
Being but a blunt mariner and God-fearing man, with a knowledge of
the elements rather than any great learning of the quiet arts, the
description of these happenings lacks the readiness of the skilled
writer, from whose quill new quips and phrases easily pass. Yet, what
I, Sydney Killigrew, am to write has virtue in its reality; and its
strangeness may even exceed those tales written by the sprightly wits
of London, whom I am told it is the fashion of Her Majesty to gather
about her.
For although a true report of the people of Florida has been made by
Admiral Jean Ribault, the story of the great deception practised upon
him by that Spaniard, Menendez de Avilés is now for the first time to
be truly written by one who was with the Frenchmen at that time. And
in view of the English settlements which may shortly be made by Her
Majesty to the northward, it seems proper and valuable that this should
be written.
The more do I deem this my duty when I consider the cruel wars which
men have fought for the modes by which the good God may be worshiped.
Reformist, New Thinker, or whatever I may be, these events have only
convinced me of the truth of the saying of my father, “Live thy _life_
right, my young mariner, and thy mode of faith will be forgiven.” That
great, good father--naval commander of his king, Councilor of the
Realm, noble in life as in lineage--upon whose talents and genius every
half-hearted earl in the kingdom had laid a claim! For whatever he
may have lacked in wisdom for the betterment of his own estate in the
world, he had ever the wit to advise others to their great good fortune
and happiness.
As I stood against a pile on the great dock at Plymouth and looked
across the fine harbor through the network of rigging, I thought of the
days of the Great Henry when good ships well manned and victualed, and
commanded by men of valor and ingenuity, were ready at all hours to
uphold the dignity of their king upon the water.
Now all was changed. The mighty fleets that lay off in Plymouth Sound
in Henry’s day, had rotted in anchorage and not a halliard had been
rove on a ship of the line for fifteen years. Discipline on royal ships
was a matter of no account, for no man knew what change the week to
come might work in his command. Even now the coasts of England lay open
to the attack of any foreign ships that might choose to run in and fire
the broadsides of their great new pieces of ordnance. Here in Plymouth
harbor lay but four revenue ships of one hundred tons, and three
converted merchant brigs which had been lightly armed. At London there
were perhaps as many more, and these were all,--all that great fair
England had in her harbors to ward off danger from the Spaniards, ever
ready and watchful across the channel! There was naught for a seaman to
do; and if a Bible or prayer-book chanced to be found on board any ship
in Papist waters, she would be confiscate forthwith and her company of
seamen would be carried to the prisons of the Inquisition.
A voyage in the narrow seas, from which I had returned but a few days
before, more than anything else had given me the desire to see service
with some foreign nation where a stout arm had more value than a heart
set on “paternosters” or psalm books.
In truth, though this trouble was partly of my own making, I had had
enough of the merchant service. To go back to Tavistock was not to my
liking; for though I had a taste for peace among men I had no stomach
for a life of idleness. I had been bred by my father to the sights and
smells of the sea, the voice of which was more grateful to my ears
than the sounds of the wood-birds which had ever seemed to me mere
shrill and noisy pipings. And though in no manner a brawler, a life of
enterprise suited me mightily.
As I labored in this quandary, a hand was laid upon my shoulder and
a rough voice at my side said heartily, “Why,--is not this Sydney
Killigrew of Tavistock?” And turning I saw Master David Hooper, my
father’s friend, who went as Master Commander in the last cruise of the
_Great Harry_.
“None other, Captain Hooper!” said I, grasping with great joy his hairy
fist. He held me off at arm’s length and looked at me carefully, noting
my great stature with evident enjoyment.
“The very image of thy father--though, by my faith, thou’rt built upon
a more sumptuous scale. But, lad, what’s wrong? You’ve the air of a
farmer’s boy two days from land.”
And with that, after other exchanges of compliments, I told him how the
world had gone with me; how our estates had fallen from bad to worse
and how little chance there seemed of pursuing the calling upon the
ocean I loved and wished for. He heard me through, tapping the while
thoughtfully with his fingers upon the pier head.
“Come,” said he at length, “let us go to some place where we can
discuss thy affairs at leisure.”
And he led the way from the dock up the street to the Pelican Inn,
where seafaring men such as ourselves were wont to go for a pot or so
of Master Martin Cockrem’s own brewing. Once seated there in the quiet
window seat overlooking the Sound, he questioned me closely as to my
disposition in religious and political affairs. Then finding that I
was not averse to taking up a true life of adventure upon the sea, he
unburdened himself of his own plans for the future.
“You know, lad, of the state of the Royal Navy. Nothing I can say
will make you feel that the merchant service is secure from injury at
foreign hands. _Great Harry_, the wonder of all Europe, lies rotting
her ribs yonder, and there are no capable ships afloat. France would
love well to see us all singing our _ave Marias_ and _salves_ in our
deck watches, yet she has no love for the greed of Philip. So I say,
lad, there is no present danger.”
“And yet,” said I, “our commerce has been reduced to less than fifty
thousand tons.”
“Softly, boy. Our carrying may not be so great as in the days of Harry,
but neither France nor Spain carry more. For our own brave fleet of
gentlemen cruisers has made sad havoc of their barques on the ocean,
and not a Papist ship dare show her nose within a dozen leagues of the
Scilly Isles.”
“But these free ships have no warranty from the Queen.”
“Marry, lad, you’ve the wit of a babe scarce out of swaddling clouts.
Can ye not see how the wind sits? The Queen knows well how much she
needs these independent ships of war. For reasons of state she may not
openly encourage our enterprises; but, laddie, I tell you she has a
secret love for them. As for warranty, what more would ye have than
that?”
And so saying, he put upon the bench between us a large parchment
bearing the Great Seal of State. I scanned the document in an uncertain
mood. For it set forth with many flourishes the rights “of one Master
David Hooper to trade upon the oceans and to use his best endeavors to
restrain by forcible or other means any enemies of Her Majesty from
doing hurt or offering hindrance to any English persons or vessels on
the high seas.”
“Why, then, Captain Hooper,” said I, “you are still in the Royal
Service.”
“We are all in the service of the Queen, lad. This license guarantees
nothing and is in fact, to ordinary eyes, but a license to trade; and
yet is it not of greater worth than a royal commission as captain in a
navy which does not exist? A license to trade! Ouns! and such a trade!
Why, lad, what is your ship’s cargo of wool stuffs to an after-castle
full of silver flagons and Spanish ducats--with a taste now and then
of good Papist wine to clear the gunpowder from your throat? Let them
prate. Their undoing will be the greater. I tell you, we gentlemen
adventurers stand yet between Spain and the mastery of the seas. It may
come to pass that one day they will try to cross the channel,--they
will never land, lad. All this and more the young Queen knows well. For
though she has a grievous way of looking displeasure at one minute, she
has as happy a one of winking merrily the next.
“So it is, ye see, that Drinkwater, together with Cobham, Tremayne,
Throgmorton, and others among us have survived both the prison and the
noose and put to sea again with no greater loss than the proportion
of the captured articles Her Majesty sees fit to take for the
replenishment of the Treasury. This then is how the matter stands; so
long as we masters may sail successfully, making no complications with
France or the other countries to the north and east, Queen Bess wishes
us a light voyage out and a heavy one home, and indeed delights in our
tales of fortune, to which she is wont to listen with sparkling eyes.
The bolder the deeds the better they are to her liking.”
I listened to this secret of state with eyes agog. Master Hooper paused
in his talk long enough to drain his pot, which he set down abruptly
upon the table.
“Come, Sydney,” said he with a smile, and stretching both hands toward
me, “what say ye to a voyage with David Hooper for a shipmate, in
a bottom staunch from batts-end to keelson, the wind and seas for
servants, and never a doubt but that to-morrow will be better than
yesterday! Or perhaps the gruntings of the swine at Tavistock hold
newer charms? What say ye?”
Were it in my mind to debate upon an immediate answer, the mention of
the pigs at Tavistock had done more to remove that uncertainty than
aught else the gallant captain might have said. So I told him that his
proposition was much to my liking, and, could I be of service, the
swine at Tavistock might be larded for a lout with better land-legs and
stomach than I.
Thus it was that I came to be the third in command of the _Great
Griffin_ on her fourth voyage out of Plymouth.