OF OUR ESCAPE.
As we sped up the wide path through the thicket, we could hear De Baçan
as he ran bellowing across the square. It was black darkness under the
branches, but as we accustomed ourselves we could make out the line of
the path ahead. Twigs and branches struck us in the face, but Goddard
thundered on with great confidence, setting for us a good round pace,
and De Brésac, who was a fleet runner, keeping close upon his heels.
In a moment there were loud cries from the buildings behind, but we
could hear plain above them all the great roars of Don Diego as the
soldiers came after us in full pursuit. Ignorant of the road as we were
we had the advantage of being in our sober senses, spurred, moreover,
by the love of life, which now at this chance came with a fulness to
nerve us for any desperateness. After all the suffering of mind and
body which had gone before, this freedom was sweet indeed, and in our
hearts we knew that we could not again fall alive into the hands of
these people. The fresh air of the forest tasted sweet to the throat,
and I drank it greedily into my lungs as I ran, following the gray
shadows ahead of me.
After a while, we heard the shouting of De Baçan no more, only the
cries of some of the soldiers who were speedily coming forward.
But the great speed told upon us, and the sea legs of Job Goddard,
which were not meant for such work as this, refused to move so rapidly
and he fell a little behind. De Brésac seemed imbued with new life and
ran with great agility, leaping over logs and twisting through the
bushes like one brought up to the crafts of the woods rather than the
courtesies and fantasies of the Court.
But it was uncertain and awkward progress at best. Goddard had a pike
and an arquebus, while De Brésac and I had each a poniard and a rapier.
Twice I fell prone to the ground over the tree trunks and bushes, and
once had overrun Goddard in the dark and we two had fallen, rolling
over in a monstrous tangle. The sound of the pursuit was growing
louder every minute; De Brésac paused, impatient at our awkwardness.
He could have got well away had he wished, but he only stood there as
we stumbled to our feet, the sound of men crashing through the bushes
showing how near were the more fleet-footed of these Spaniards. It was
desperate work for heavy men. Off we started once more, De Brésac
seizing the arquebus to lighten the burden of Goddard, who was swearing
and trying to rub his shin, which he had bruised most severely, with
his pike-handle.
We came to an open space two hundred yards or so in width in which the
Indians had planted a field of maize. But the crop had been garnered
and only the short stalks remained. The moon had come out and it
seemed hardly possible that we could get across this open and escape
discovery. Could we but reach the other side where the deeper forest
began there would seem to be less chance of immediate capture. Goddard
was well-nigh done, but managed to struggle on over the rough loam
toward an opening in the bush beyond. De Brésac had passed him and
entered the wood, and I had come to his side, when behind us there was
a loud shouting and two soldiers, stripped of their armor, emerged from
the forest and came toward us at the top of their speed.
De Brésac stopped and dropped down upon one knee, and I knew what he
meant to do. Goddard fell almost exhausted beside him and I crouched
behind a bush a little to the rear, awaiting the coming of our
adversaries. We were all breathing very hard, but De Brésac, full of
vitality, was crouched like a cat ready to spring.
“The one in front,” said he to me in a whisper, “I will account for the
other.”
On the Spaniards came, leaping from one hillock to another, their naked
weapons gleaming fitfully in the moonlight. The fellow in advance
was but a boy; his hair was fair and he was comely to see. My heart
misgave me as he came nearer, rushing onward fearlessly. But it was
his life or mine,--my life and Mademoiselle’s, perhaps--and so I did
not hesitate, rising just as he came into the shadow of the trees and
running him through with such force that the basket hilt of the weapon
struck against him and as he fell the blade broke short off against
the ground. The other man, seeing the fate of his comrade, paused for
a moment; but De Brésac was upon him like a flash and sent his sword
a-flying. After all, these lives in the heat of action were few enough
against those of all our friends who had been murdered in cold blood
before.
Then De Brésac, who was a man of ingenuity, drew the bodies under some
bushes and we started off along in the shadow of the woods at the edge
of the clearing toward the left--doubling in a way upon our own track
to throw our pursuers the more surely off in another direction.
We saw two, and then six more, of them go flying across the clearing,
following the track of our boots in the soft earth; but they did not
pause, going crashing through and shouting to one another until the
sounds were lost in the many voices of the night. We were free--at
least for the present.
We looked around the one to the other, and long breaths burst at the
same moment from the three of us.
“Phew! Master Sydney,” said Goddard, pulling his beard, which had
been glued to his cheeks, “’tis little I thought I’d ever get up in
this _dis_-guise, sir. Odds bobs, but I’m done! I’ve been feedin’
up this night, to last a week, sir,--an’ me stommick--is somethin’
feeble--since--this--smoke--suckin’.” He fell to the ground, breathing
like a bellows, and vowed he would move no more.
Then De Brésac planned quickly. “If we go to the beach,” he said, “they
will surely take us. There they can drive us into the sea, or prison
us on one of these sand-spits, and take us at their ease. Let us keep
among the woods and the swamps. There we can retreat at will, and may
support life until we can find a friend, or come to the great inland
channel of which they speak. We may come upon the canoes of the Indians
of Satouriona, for the Potanous are far to the west, and the Thimagoas
of Outina are to the south.”
We saw that what he said was wise, for Menendez, now thinking the beach
his natural shambles, would certainly try again to find us there.
At any rate, where we were was no comfortable neighborhood, for some
stray Spaniard might at any moment be stumbling upon us, and then there
would surely be more killing, and I was sick at the sight of blood, and
wanted no more of it. So in some fashion, when he had got his breath,
we put Goddard on his feet and moved steadily forward, pausing only now
and then to listen for the signs of pursuit. In this way we moved for
two hours through the moss-hanging forest. We talked but little, having
need of all our strength and breath.
Goddard managed to tell his story. He had been struck upon the head
and had fallen for dead under a pile of corpses. When he had come to
himself it was dark, and the Spaniards had gone. He had come across the
bay at night in a canoe he found at the landing-place. He possessed
himself of the arms and weapons of a Spaniard who was sleeping in the
woods,--and who sleeps there yet; cutting off the soldier’s beard
and fastening the hair of it upon himself with tree-gum. Then making
a detour, he had come in at nightfall, following in the footsteps
of a detachment of the soldiery who had marched down from Fort San
Mateo, and in the confusion and debauchery of the camp, by simulating
dumbness, escaped detection, taking the sentry duty with little
difficulty. It was a most wonderful thing; but Goddard would say little
further than this, only smiling when he spoke of the Spaniard in the
woods. He took off his morion and mopped the sweat from his brow.
“Master Sydney, I saw Jem Smith die, sir,” he said. “He went to join
his martyrs with a smile on his lips. He wore his velvet suit o’ black,
an’ he was beautiful to see. I saw him die, sir,--cut down like a
dog afore my eyes. An’, sir, I saw the man as did it.” He tapped the
Spanish morion with a significant gesture, and then grimly,--“’Twas
him!”
We had covered a distance of perhaps three leagues when we came to a
body of water, which seemed a kind of river, but not so wide as the
River of May; only a hundred yards across to the thither bank. There
we stopped to plan, for Goddard could not swim. It looked but a short
time before the day, for the heavens were brightening through the great
trees behind us. If we could place Job Goddard upon the trunk of a
tree, then we might push him across the stream; there was one floating
out in the current. De Brésac had removed his boots to swim for it,
and had even taken a step down into the slime of the bank, when, as
we looked, the log began sluggishly to move, but against the current,
and then we saw the thing was alive. De Brésac rushed out upon high
ground in terror, for the log was no log at all, but one of those great
horny lizards, which Admiral Hawkins has since reported, and which
are called _crocodiles_, or _alligartos_. If the Spaniards had come
upon us at that moment, they could have taken us without a fight, for
this beast was of such a great size and length, so ugly moreover and
slimy, that we stood with knees trembling upon the bank. But by and by
Job Goddard, plucking his courage up, cast a stone at it, and as the
missile fell in the water the great beast, with a flurry and a splash
of its tail, went plowing down the stream more frightened even than we.
The heavens were well alight before we could persuade ourselves to
make the attempt to cross. Sure at last that there was no fording
place, we three got astride of a wide log and began the passage of this
treacherous stream, expecting each moment to have a leg nipped off at
the knee. We had long pieces of bark for paddles, and made a great
commotion, thinking thus to scare these monstrous animals away; and
finally we arrived upon the other bank, wet, and trembling with fright,
but safe.
Upon the third day the Chevalier shot at a furry wild animal which lay
in a ball at the top of a tree. He had the skill to carry away the twig
on which it swung. The beast fell to the ground snarling like a dog,
to be killed in a trice by Goddard, who pinned it to the earth with
his pike. We were most hungry and fell to upon this beast like wolves,
hardly waiting for the flesh to be cooked through. ’Twas little
enough, but kept us alive two days. On the morning of the fifth day
we saw the great inland channel, which we afterwards discovered was a
part of the River of May, and by good fortune came upon a hunting party
of Satouriona’s warriors. I have said that we came upon them, but it
were more truthful to say that they came upon us. For an arrow whirred
past and we looked around to see half a score of them coming from
the thicket. I held up my hand, shouting loudly “_Antipola! Antipola
bonnasson!_”--which means “friend”--and they came forward and welcomed
us with great rejoicing. They fed us on game which they had shot with
arrows, and took us at last in a canoe to their village. I had seen the
Paracousi--the “Chief,”--when we first came to Fort Caroline. He was
named Emola and entertained us in his lodge, sparing nothing for our
comfort.
De Brésac was tireless. Liberty was breath to his nostrils, and he went
about in the village inquiring and planning, making ready to continue
our pilgrimage to the coast when we should be rested.
For myself, with liberty came a reaction from those horrible days and
nights upon the ship, on the sand-spit and in the prison, when in my
deeper moods of despair I could see no hope to bring Mademoiselle out
of this country alive. In spite of the continuous dread at my heart,
there had come again in all its first eagerness the desire only to
find her and take her in my arms away from that dreadful Menendez, the
very nearness of whom befouled and polluted. I was certain of but one
thing--that she was not at San Augustin. Had she been there, in those
last days De Baçan would have lost no opportunity to bring us together
for his own pleasure, that he might gloat upon us the better and keep
his promise of torture to me. But where could she be? What had happened
that she was not a prisoner of De Baçan? For it seemed certain that she
had been saved from Fort Caroline. I was in a great quandary, and for
all my uncertainty I had not the will even to question the Indians upon
the subject, for in spite of my hopes I feared--feared the truth they
might tell me.
We sat about the lodge of this good Emola, looking out at the bright
forest, gaining back our strength and will. Well do I remember that
wonderful day with its great stillness and sadness. The Paracousi sat
by the open doorway, dark against the golden sunshine, smoking from a
great tobacco bowl which he offered to us one after the other. We each
took a swallow of it, this being the habit of these people when in
good will, and Goddard, bringing forth his own bowl and reed, helped
himself from the pouch of Emola and was soon puffing away valiantly to
the great satisfaction of the Chief. It was most curious to see these
two sucking upon the reeds like babes upon the breast, and puffing out
the smoke in curls and rings, regarding each other the while with great
solemnity.
“Ye see, Master Sydney,” said Goddard between puffs, “if once I can
get me stommick made good against the smoke suckin’, ’twill be a most
gratifyin’ achievin’. For though we may find an’ win no new lands--by
the beards of the martyrs, ’tis surely somethin’ we have done to make
the discovery of a new habitude, or taste, which has much of the vartue
an’ little of the inconvenciency of drinkin’.”
I could not but smile at this sally, for things most ridiculous have a
way of intruding themselves upon the most sad and melancholy moments of
life.
“To-morrow we will push onward to the sea,--is it not so?” asked De
Brésac abruptly.
This brought me to myself.
“I am most uncertain, monsieur,” I replied. “I hardly know in which
way my duty or desire lies. I have felt to this moment as though my
greatest wish were to find my way back to Europe and set the armies of
all civilized nations about the ears of this devil Menendez de Avilés.
But now that I am free--well, monsieur--I will tell you.”
Whereupon I told him briefly of the love I bore for Diane de la Notte,
of the hope I had of her escape from death and of my fears for her
safety, saying at the last that I could not leave the vicinity of San
Augustin until I was sure that she was not in the power of Diego de
Baçan.
As I told my story his face saddened. “I suspected as much,” he said.
“There is a great bond between us, monsieur; I too have loved--the
sister of La Caille was my betrothed. When she died, I vowed I would
look no more upon the face of woman, and so I came here to this savage
land to lose my sorrow in adventure and perhaps in death. And I have
come only to lose him I loved best after his sister.” He spoke of La
Caille. “No, monsieur, I cannot forget--and it is fated that I shall
not die. That is my story.”
I wrung him silently by the hand.
“Monsieur, monsieur,” he went on quickly, “there is a duty which you
and I owe to our God--a duty stronger than any earthly tie. A foul
deed has been done which has no equal in the history of the world.”
He paused a moment. “Forgive me if I seem to bring more grief to your
heart. But I know that there is no chance upon this earth to see again
the one you love. Believe me, what I say is true. It is the love that
is in your heart which makes you wilful not to ask and to believe the
thing you most dread.”
I buried my face in my hands, for it was so and I was a coward.
“Monsieur, listen,” he continued softly. “Do not blind yourself further
to these facts. For you will but add one more life to those which have
already been recklessly thrown away. And with your doubts at rest, your
life should be given to Justice.”
“Ah, but my heart can never again be satisfied until I have found her!”
“Then I must tell you the truth, mon ami, whatever may come. I have
spoken with these Indians in such manner as it was possible, and I
know most of the things that have happened since the massacre. I have
seen articles which came from the Fort, and I know that there are no
women there at this time. Many of them were cut down and killed. A few
only were taken towards San Augustin; with them was Mademoiselle de la
Notte.”
I started up. “Diane--and how----”
“Ah, monsieur! calm yourself and listen with a stout heart--for I have
dreadful news. She was of a party of women. There were Spanish soldiers
with them. When these women got to a certain place they would go no
further. The soldiers then killed them as they had done the others.”
“But this is mere hazard--how do you know? What proofs have you?” I
cried in anguish.
“Only this,” he said solemnly; “I have myself beheld it and you will
know.” And going to Emola he made a motion towards his hand. The
Paracousi produced from his belt a bit of gold and De Brésac placed
it in my hands. It was the finger ring with the ancient setting which
Diane had worn!
I took the bauble from him silently, stupidly, and then unconsciously
bore it to my lips. Slowly the cruel truth dawned upon me as I looked
at the jewel. It seemed as though my breast were bursting with the
emotions that flooded up from that secret corner in my soul in which
man hides the things he holds most holy. What would I not have given
for woman’s tears to have wept out upon it all the tenderness in
my heart? I could only bend over it reverently, dry-eyed, mutely
suffering. But I had undergone all this torture before, and the
certainty now that she had died seemed to make no further enduring
wound. I sat at last, looking at Emola as he told how the ring had come
to him from one of his braves, who had exchanged it for some silver
neck-pieces. After the first shock of this dreadful discovery, I seemed
rather stupefied than aught else, with no capacity for great grief nor
any great sensation of any kind.
When he understood, the Paracousi came and put his hand upon my
shoulder, and this aroused me. He indicated by pointing that he would
give me the ring which I still held in my hand. I thanked him with
a look and a hand-clasp and got upon my feet, stretching my limbs,
arising from my grief-stupor.
When he had finished speaking I turned to the Chevalier De Brésac,
saying to him:
“My friend, I will follow wherever you will lead.”
He took me by one hand joyfully, and Job Goddard with gruff heartiness
seized the other. Then we three, of no religion, but made one by
suffering and the loss of those three persons we loved the best, took
an oath, with the grave Paracousi for witness, that not while we lived
would we rest until we had seen our enemies visited with vengeance by
fire and the sword.