A NIGHT OF TERROR
Immediately after landing Menendez and his soldiers, with their
supplies, at San Augustin, the ships of the fleet, which on account of
their size had been unable to enter the river, sailed away for Spain,
leaving only a few small vessels at anchor inside the bar. Thus
apparently all was favorable to the bold enterprise of Admiral Ribault,
who, with his six ships, and all the troops from Fort Caroline, had
determined to attack, and if possible to destroy, the newly founded
city before it could be fortified.
When he arrived off the mouth of the river the tide was so low on the
bar that his ships could not pass it. So they stood off and on,
waiting for it to rise, and the Spaniards on shore, seeing them, were
filled with great consternation. Of a sudden, almost without warning,
there came a terrible blast of wind out of the north-east. It was
followed by another and another, until such a gale was raging as had
never been seen by white men on that coast. In vain did the French
ships struggle against it, and against the huge billows that towered as
high as their tallest masts. They could do nothing against its fury,
and soon the Spaniards were filled with joy at seeing them drift
helplessly down the coast towards certain wreck and destruction.
Then Menendez made up his mind, in spite of the terrible gale, to march
overland to the attack of Fort Caroline, thus deprived of its
defenders. Followed by five hundred picked men, he set forth, and for
three days, beaten and drenched by the pitiless storm, he wandered
through over-flowed swamps and tangled forests. He had compelled
several of the Seloy Indians to go with him and act as guides; but
finally, believing that they were purposely leading him astray, he put
them to death with great cruelty, and trusted to his own knowledge to
lead him to the great river. At length he reached it, and following
its course, came during the night to a high bluff, from which he looked
down upon the few twinkling lights of Fort Caroline beneath him.
Meantime the raging of the elements had caused the greatest anxiety to
those who remained within the fort, for they were fearful of its effect
upon the ships of Admiral Ribault; and though they of course knew
nothing of their fate, they were already beginning to regard them as
lost.
Under Simon, the armorer, as captain of the guard, Réné de Veaux had
done duty with the few old men and invalids who were pressed into
service as sentinels, and he had manfully shouldered his cross-bow, and
paced the walls through many long hours of storm, rain, and darkness.
Although, in his pride at thus performing the duties of a real soldier,
the boy allowed no word of complaint to escape him, he felt what the
others expressed openly--that this guard duty, now that the Spaniards
and savages had departed, and in the midst of a storm so terrible that
it did not seem possible for mortals to face it, was an unnecessary
hardship. So when, towards morning of the fourth night, after two
hours of wearily pacing the walls in the cold, drenching rain, he was
relieved, and flung himself, all wet as he was, upon a couch in his own
quarters, he determined to remonstrate with Simon upon the subject.
In spite of his feelings, Réné had been absolutely faithful to his
duty, which, alas! the soldier who relieved him was not. After a few
turns upon the parapet, during which he neither saw nor heard anything
to disquiet him, this sentinel sought shelter from the beatings of the
storm in an angle of the walls, where he soon fell into a doze.
Even then the Spaniards were at the gates, awaiting the signal to make
an attack. It was given, and Réné had hardly dropped into a troubled
sleep when he was rudely awakened by a crash, a rending of wood, the
wild scream of agony with which the unfaithful sentinel yielded up his
life, and the triumphant yells of the enemy, who had forced an entrance
through the little unguarded postern-gate.
Réné sprang to the door, and for an instant stood motionless, petrified
by terror at the awful sights that greeted his gaze. Already flames
were bursting from many of the tents and barracks, and by the light
thus given he saw men, women, and children, almost naked as they had
sprung from their beds, flying in every direction before the pitiless
Spaniards. Wherever they turned the fugitives were met by long pikes,
gleaming swords, and keen daggers, and above the howlings of the storm
rose their shrill screams of terror and quickly stifled cries of mortal
agony.
For an instant only did Réné gaze upon these awful scenes, and then,
remembering his uncle, he rushed to the commandant's dwelling which the
Spaniards had not yet reached. He found, Laudonniere, pale and
trembling, but as calm and collected as becomes the brave soldier even
in the presence of death, standing beside his bed, while the faithful
Le Moyne endeavored to assist him into his armor.
Breathlessly Réné explained that there was no time to lose, and no hope
of saving the fort. "All is lost!" he cried, "and if ye would save
your own lives, follow me without an instant's delay. I, and I alone,
know of a way of escape."
It was only then that Réné had bethought himself of the underground
passage of which Has-se had taught him the secret.
Reassured by his confident words, the two men followed him out of the
house, and to their great surprise were led beneath it among the stone
piers of its foundations. They were not a moment too soon, for as they
disappeared, some Spanish soldiers, who had learned that this was the
dwelling of the commandant, burst into it with savage cries, and
proceeded to search its every corner in the hope of capturing the
greatest prize of all in the person of the Huguenot leader.
Their hour of triumph was imbittered by not finding him, for even as
they searched his chamber he, preceded by Réné de Veaux and followed by
Le Moyne, the artist, was making his way through the narrow tunnel
beneath them towards the river-bank beyond the walls of the fort.
So surprised was Laudonniere at this underground passage leading into
the very heart of his fort, of the existence of which he had never
until that moment even dreamed, that when they emerged on the
river-bank he forgot all else in his curiosity concerning it.
"Whence comes this passage that has proved of such wonderful service to
us, and how came thou by a knowledge of it?" he asked of his nephew.
Even then Réné would not betray the solemn promise of secrecy given to
Has-se, but answered,
"Let us not now stop to talk of these matters, I pray thee, oh mine
uncle. Thy precious life is still in great danger. Let us first
perfect thy escape, and another time I will answer thee concerning this
secret passage. For the present I beg of thee to make thy way,
accompanied by the good Master Le Moyne, as speedily and secretly as
may be, down the river to its mouth, where do still lie the two small
ships left behind by Admiral Ribault. Let me, who am young, strong,
and active, tarry here for a short time, that perchance I may aid
others of our people to effect an escape by means of this same tunnel.
I will delay but shortly, and will overtake and rejoin thee long ere
thy feebleness shall have permitted thee to reach the river's mouth."
Although Laudonniere was most reluctant to part with his nephew at such
a time, he deemed that it would be an exhibition of selfishness on his
part to compel his attendance upon himself when it was possible that by
remaining he might save the lives of some of the unfortunates within
the fort. Therefore he reluctantly gave his consent that Réné should
remain behind for a short time, but charged him not to unnecessarily
expose himself to danger. Then both men embraced the lad fervently,
gave him their blessing, and departed, full of the hope of speedily
meeting with him again--a hope that was destined to be sadly deferred.
After their departure Réné again entered the tunnel and made his way
back to its inner terminus. There he cautiously drew himself up from
its mouth, crept to the edge of the building beneath which it lay, and
watched and listened for what he might discover.
He had not been there a minute when he was startled by hearing a
smothered groan close at hand. Listening attentively, he heard it
again; and feeling confident that he who uttered it must be one of his
own countrymen, he began to creep carefully, and without betraying his
presence by the slightest sound, in the direction from which it
proceeded. At length he heard a third groan, so close to him that he
instinctively drew back for fear of coming into contact with the person
who uttered it. Then, in the lightest of whispers, he inquired,
"Who is there? I am Réné de Veaux."
For answer came the whisper, "Heaven help thee, Master Réné, if thou
art in like plight with myself! I am thy old friend Simon, sorely
wounded, and with no hope save that of falling into the hands of these
fiends of Spaniards when daylight shall enable them to make a thorough
search of the premises."
"Cheer up, good Simon, and speak not thus dolefully," whispered Réné.
"If thou canst walk, or even crawl, I can save thee. Where lies thy
wound?"
"Not so that it interferes with my crawling or even walking; for though
it seems to lie in several portions of my body at once, it affects not
my legs. If thou hast knowledge of a chance of escape, however
slender, lead on, and I will gladly follow thee, for hopes I have none
in remaining here."
So Réné guided Simon very slowly and cautiously to the mouth of the
tunnel. Through it the old man forced his way, and with much
difficulty and many groans, until he too reached the river-bank in
safety, and was sent on to join Laudonniere and Le Moyne, and with them
to make an effort to reach the ships.
Then once more did the brave lad make his way back through the narrow
tunnel and to the outer edge of the house above its inner entrance.
Here, as before, he listened and awaited in the hope of discovering
other unfortunates whom he might aid to escape.
As he lay there watching, he listened with a swelling heart to the
triumphant songs and shouts of the Spaniards, and the cries of the
victims, whose hiding-places were still occasionally discovered, and
who were instantly put to death. Suddenly the smouldering embers of a
fire near by were fanned into a momentary blaze that caused him to
withdraw hastily beneath the building lest he should be discovered. As
he did so his eye lighted on a pile of books and papers that had been
tossed from the windows of the building beneath which he was concealed.
Even in that glance he recognized them as belonging to his uncle, and
being the same that he had helped to pack when the fort was abandoned.
Realizing their importance, and despairing of being able to afford
further aid to any of the recent occupants of the fort, Réné determined
to attempt to save these papers. It was a bold undertaking, for to
reach them he was obliged to leave the shelter of the building and
advance some distance into the open, where at any moment he might be
revealed to his enemies by flashes of firelight from the smouldering
timbers near by. Fully realizing the risk he ran, but undismayed by
it, the brave boy made several trips to and from the pile of books and
papers. He had removed nearly all of them to the tunnel, which he felt
to be the only safe place for them, when he suddenly became aware that
morning was near at hand, and that the rapidly increasing light of day
had made his task doubly dangerous.
Knowing, however, that all that were left could be carried on one more
trip, he determined to make it. Just as he gathered into his arms the
last of the papers to save which he was risking his life, a yell of
delight announced that he was discovered. A quick glance revealed two
Spanish soldiers rushing towards him with levelled pikes, and gleaming
eyes that were red and bloodshot as those of the tiger who has tasted
blood.
With a rare presence of mind, and without dropping his precious bundle,
Réné darted, not under the house, but into it through the main
entrance. Running through the long hall, which was still shrouded in
complete darkness, he sprang out of an open window at its rear end. As
he did so he heard his pursuers enter the house and begin an eager
search of its rooms, at the same time calling others of their comrades
to their assistance.
Breathlessly creeping beneath the building, Réné reached the
underground passage in safety, and deposited within it the papers for
which he had dared so much. After drawing the slab of bark carefully
over the entrance above his head, he removed all the books and papers
to the very middle of the tunnel, where they nearly blocked the narrow
way and rendered it impassable. With the other things, he had brought
away a small iron box, banded and locked, and this he took especial
pains to effectually conceal.
While he was thus working like a mole beneath the ground, the baffled
Spaniards above his head were becoming more and more enraged and
perplexed. Their thorough search of the building into which they had
seen their would-be victim enter, but which no one had seen him leave,
failed to discover not only him, but any traces of the great pile of
books and papers which they had collected for the purpose of burning.
Finally they became convinced that the building contained some secret
chamber that they were unable to detect, and by order of Menendez
himself it was set on fire and burned to the ground. Thus the
Spaniards felt sure that they had destroyed not only the books and
papers, but the unknown enemy who had so daringly risked his life to
recover and save them. At the same time they were greatly astonished
that he should have quietly permitted the fire to destroy him without
making an effort to escape, or allowing a single cry of pain or anguish
to betray his presence. After much consideration of the matter they
finally concluded that so many of the Huguenots had suffered martyrdom
at the stake that they had all learned to endure the torture of burning
in silence.
When Réné had finished storing the books and papers as carefully as the
circumstances would permit, he at last found time to consider his own
safety. Going to the end of the tunnel, and peering cautiously out to
make sure that he was not observed, he replaced the bark door beneath
its curtain of vines, and began to work his way very slowly and with
many a backward glance down the river. It was now broad daylight, and
for fear of being seen from the fort, he crept close under shelter of
the bank, sometimes crawling on his hands and knees, and often wading
in water up to his waist.
At length, by several hours' hard labor, which, coming after his
exertions of the preceding night, completely exhausted him, he reached
the high bluff which has already been described as commanding a view of
several miles both up and down the river. Wearily the tired boy
climbed to its summit, from which, as he gazed up the river, he saw
with a heavy heart the yellow banner of Spain flaunting itself above
the walls of Fort Caroline. As its folds glistened in the bright
sunshine, for the storm of the past four days had passed away with the
night, they seemed to him like those of some huge and venomous serpent,
and he turned from the sight with a shudder.
On the other hand, in the far distance, he saw, still lying at anchor,
the two small ships which he believed to be, as they were, the only
representatives of the power of France now left in the New World. On
these he placed all his hopes of escape, of future happiness, and of
life itself.
Anxious as he was to reach the ships and to rejoin his uncle, the poor
lad's exhausted frame could withstand the terrible strain upon it no
longer. It pleaded for a rest so effectually that Réné flung himself
upon a pile of wet moss, determined to snatch an hour's sleep before
attempting to proceed farther.
As the boy slept he was visited by troublous dreams that caused him to
toss his arms and moan pitifully; and no wonder, after the horrid
scenes of which he had so recently been a spectator; no wonder, too,
when new and terrible dangers threatened him closely even as he slept.
Had he been awake he would have noticed the approach of a small band of
Indians, who, appearing on the edge of the forest, made their way
directly towards the bluff. It was a party of Seminole warriors, led
by their chief the gigantic Cat-sha. With him was Chitta the Snake,
and behind them walked three bound prisoners. Two of these were
Frenchmen, and the third was an Indian lad who had escaped with his
chief from the doomed village of Seloy, only to share the fate of the
equally doomed fort in which he had sought shelter. These had thrown
themselves from the walls of the fort upon its capture by the
Spaniards, and had reached the forest unharmed.
There they had fallen into the hands of these Seminoles who had not
fled from this part of the country upon the return of the French, as
the latter had supposed, but had lingered in the hope of capturing any
white men who might incautiously stray beyond the protecting walls.
They desired to capture these that their tortures might form part of
the festivities with which they proposed to celebrate their return to
their stronghold in the great swamp, and to which the rest of the band,
bearing the plunder taken from Fort Caroline after it was abandoned,
had already gone. The Seminoles, rejoicing greatly over the fortune
that had thrown three victims thus easily into their hands, were now on
their way to their canoes, which they had hidden near the foot of this
high bluff.
Directing the others to proceed to where the canoes lay, Cat-sha,
accompanied by Chitta, ascended the eminence for the purpose of taking
a sweeping view of the river and the surrounding country. As they
gained the summit Réné's moanings warned them of his presence.
Stealing to the spot where he lay with the noiseless footfalls of wild
beasts, the two Indians stood for a moment gloating over the
unconscious lad. They fully realized the value of this unexpected and
welcome prize, for both of them recognized the young white chief the
moment their eyes lighted upon him. In another minute the poor lad had
awakened with a wild cry of terror, to find himself bound hand and
foot, and lying at the mercy of those whom he knew to be his bitterest
and most unrelenting enemies.