THE STORMING OF LA CAROLINE.
The preparations for departure were complete. The Adelantado himself
marched at the head of his vanguard, the immediate command of which
was confided to Señor Martin de Ochoa, with a troop of Biscayans and
Asturians, armed with axes, for clearing their pathway through the
forest. With these went the traitor, Francis Jean, who had abandoned his
religion and La Caroline together. He was watched closely, but proved
faithful to his new masters. Dreary, indeed, was the progress of
Melendez. The storm prevailed all the time. The rain soaked their
garments, and it was with difficulty they could protect their ammunition
and provisions. The fourth day of the march they were within five miles
of La Caroline, but arrested by an immense tract of swamp, in passing
which the water was up to their middles. The whole country was flooded,
and the _freshet_ momently increased, in consequence of the continued
rains. These had become more terrible in volume than ever. The windows
of heaven seemed again opened for another deluge. The hearts of the
Spaniards sunk, as their toils and sufferings increased. More than a
hundred slunk away, fell off on the route, and made their way over the
ground which they had trodden, reporting the worst of disasters to their
comrades, defeat and destruction, by way of excusing their cowardice.
But the indomitable courage and unbending will of the adelantado, his
presence and voice of command in every quarter, still prevailed to
bring his remaining battalions forward. It was in vain that his troops
muttered curses upon his head. Fernan Perez, an ensign of the company of
St. Vincent, was bold enough to say, that "he could not comprehend how
so many brave gentlemen should let themselves be led by a wretched
Asturian mountaineer--a fellow who knew no more about carrying on war on
land than a horse!"
The ensign had a great deal more to say of the same sort, of which
Melendez was not ignorant, but of which he took no notice. He was a sage
dissimulator who answered discontent with policy, and strengthened his
people's hearts by divine revelation. He called another council of his
officers. He told them of his prayers to and consultations of Heaven,
seeking to know the will of God only in the performance of his
work,--persuaded that each of them had made like prayers all night; that
they were accordingly in the very mood of mind to resolve what was to
be done in their extremity. He made this to appear as bad as possible,
describing them as "harrassed with fatigue, shorn of strength, without
bread, munitions or any human resource."
Some one counselled their retreat to St. Augustine before the Huguenots
should discover them.
"Very good advice," quoth Melendez, "but suffer me still another word.
The prospect is undoubtedly a gloomy one, but look you, there are the
portals of La Caroline. Now, it may be just as well to see how affairs
stand with our enemies. According to all appearances they are not in
force. We may not have the power to take the place, but it is well to
see whether the place can be taken. If we retreat now, we are not sure
that we shall do so securely. They will probably hunt us through the
forest, at every step of the way, encouraged by our show of weakness
and timidity. It is not improbable that we may surprise this fort. Men
seldom look either for friends or enemies in bad weather. I doubt if
they can sustain a bold assault; but if they do, and we fail, we have
the consolation at least of having done all that was possible for men."
The assault was agreed upon; and in a transport of joy, the Adelantado
sunk upon his knees, in the mire where he stood, and called upon his
troops to do likewise, imploring the succor of the God of battles.
He gave his orders with rapid resolution and according to a fixed design
already entertained. Taking with him Francis Jean, the renegade, he put
himself at the head of one division of his troops, and gave other bodies
to the Captains Martin de Ochoa, Francis Recalde, Andres Lopez Patino
and others, and, covered by the midnight darkness from observation--with
all sounds of drum and trumpet stilled--with the echoes of their
advancing squadrons hushed in the fall of torrents and the roar of
sweeping winds--the assailants made their way, slowly and painfully but
without staggering, toward the silent bastions of La Caroline.
Under the guidance of the renegade Frenchman the Spanish captains made
a complete reconnoissance of the fortress. A portion of it was still
unrepaired, and this they penetrated without difficulty. We have seen,
in a previous chapter, with what doubtful vigilance the lieutenants of
Laudonniere performed their duties. It will not be forgotten that,
on the night of the 19th September, the charge of the watch lay with
Captain de la Vigne; nor will it be forgotten with what pity that
amiable captain regarded the condition of his sentinels, exposed to
such unchristian weather. We left the fortress of La Caroline in most
excellent repose; the storm prevailing without, and the garrison asleep
within. It was while they slept that Don Pedro de Melendez was praying
to heaven that he might be permitted to assist them in their slumbers,
changing the temporary into an eternal sleep. Thus passed the night of
the 19th September over La Caroline. The dawn of the 20th found the
Spaniards, in several divisions, about to penetrate the fortress. Two of
their leaders, Martin de Ochoa and the master of the camp had already
done so. They had examined the place at their leisure, passing through
an unrepaired breach of one of the walls. Returning, with the view to
making their report, they had mistaken one pathway for another, and
encountered a drowsy Frenchman, who, starting at their approach,
demanded "_Qui vive?_" Ochoa promptly answered, "France," and the man
approached them only to receive a stunning blow upon the head. The
Frenchman recovered himself instantly, drew his sword, and made at the
assailant, but the master of the camp seconded the blow of Ochoa, and
the Frenchman was brought to the ground. The sword of the Spaniard was
planted at his throat, and he was forbidden to speak under pain of
death. He had cried aloud, but had failed to give the alarm, and this
pointed suggestion silenced him from farther attempts. He was conducted
to Melendez, who, determined to see nothing but good auguries, cried
out, without caring to hear the report--"My friends, God is with us! We
are already in possession of the fort." At these words the assault was
given. The captive Frenchman was slain, as the most easy method of
relieving his captors of their charge, and the Spaniards darted
pell-mell into the fort, the fierce Adelantado still leading in the
charge, with the cry--"Follow me, comrades, God is for us!" Two
Frenchmen, half-naked, rushed across his path. One of them he slew, and
Don Andres Patino the other. They had no time allowed them to give the
alarm; but just at this moment a soldier of the garrison who was less
drowsy than the rest, or more apprehensive of his duty, had sauntered
forth from the shelter of his quarters and stood upon the ramparts,
looking forth in the direction of a little "sandie knappe," or hill,
down which a column of the Spaniards were rushing in order of battle.
This vision brought him to the full possession of all his faculties. He
gave the _cri de guerre_, the signal of battle, but as he wheeled about
to procure his weapons, he beheld other detachments of the Spaniards
making their way through the unrepaired and undefended breaches in the
wall. Still he cried aloud, even as he fled, and Laudonniere started
from his slumbers only to hear the startling cry--"To arms! to arms! The
enemy is upon us!"
The warning came too late. The amiable weakness which withdrew the
sentinels from the walls because of the weather, was not now to be
repaired by any energy or courage. The garrison was aroused, but not
permitted to rally or embody themselves. Melendez with his troop
had reached the _corps de garde_ quite as soon as Laudonniere. The
latter--lately supposed to have usurped royal honors--was very soon
convinced that the only object before him was the safety of his own
life. With the first alarm, he caught up sword and buckler, and rushed
valiantly enough into the court. But he only appeared to be made
painfully conscious that everything was lost. His appeals to his
soldiers only brought his enemies about him, who butchered his men as
they approached their guns, and who now appeared in numbers on every
side, in full possession of the fortress. The magazines were already in
their hands, and a desperate effort of Laudonniere's artillerists to
recover them, was followed only by their own destruction. The most
vigorous resistance, hand to hand, was made on the south-west side
of the fort. Here the Frenchmen opposed themselves with cool and
determined courage, to the entrance of the enemy. Hither Laudonniere
hurried, crying aloud to his men in the language of encouragement, and
doing his utmost, by the most headlong valor, to repair the mischiefs
of his feeble rule and most unhappy remissness of authority. Verily,
to those who saw how well he carried himself in this the moment of his
worst despair, the past errors of the unhappy Laudonniere had been
forgiven if not forgotten. But the struggle, on the part of any valor,
was utterly in vain. The Spaniards had won a footing already too secure
for dispossession. Led on by Pedro Melendez, with ever and anon his
fanatic war-cry--"God is with us, my comrades," ringing in their ears,
now thoroughly excited by the earnest of success which they enjoyed, in
overwhelming numbers and in the full faith that they fought the battles
of Holy Church, the Spaniards were irresistible. They mocked the tardy
valor of our Huguenots, their feeble force, and purposeless attempts.
At length the party led by Melendez confronted Laudonniere. The Spanish
chieftain knew not the person of his enemy. But the renegade Frenchman,
Francis Jean, discovered his ancient leader, and the desire for revenge,
which had led to his treachery, filled his heart with exultation at the
prospect of the gratification of his passion. He cried to Melendez:
"That is he! That is the captain of the heretics--that is Laudonniere!"
"Ah, traitor! Is it thou?" cried Laudonniere. "Let me but live to slay
thee, and I care nothing for the rest."
With these words he sprang upon the traitor guide, and would have slain
him at a stroke, but for the interposition of Melendez. He thrust
back the renegade, and confronted the captain of the Huguenots. But
Laudonniere shrank from the conflict, for Melendez was followed by his
troop; and, saving one man, a stout soldier named Bartholomew, who
fought manfully with a heavy partizan, he stood utterly alone and
unsupported. He gave back, or rather was drawn back by Bartholomew; but
now that Melendez and his people had seen the particular prey whom they
had been seeking, they rushed with fiercer appetite than ever to make
him captive. The efforts of the Spaniards were then redoubled. The
fierce bigot Pedro Melendez himself--a stalwart warrior, clad in
heavy black armor of woven mail, with a great white cross upon his
breast--made the most desperate efforts to bring Laudonniere to the last
passage at arms; and for a time the Frenchman, though quite too light
and enfeebled by sickness for the contest with such a champion, was
eager to indulge him. He struggled with the friendly arm which perforce
drew him away, and great was his rage, though impotent, when the rush of
a number of his own fugitives passing between at this moment, hurried
him onward as by the downward rush of a torrent, to the safety of his
life if not to the increase of his honor. At that moment Laudonniere
had gladly redeemed by a glorious death, at the hands of the fierce
Asturian, the errors and the failures of his life. But this was denied
him, and, vainly struggling against the tide of fugitives, he was swept
with them in the direction of the _corps de garde_. Laudonniere yielded
in this manner only foot by foot, striking at the foe and at his own
runagates alike, and receiving upon his shield, with the dexterity of an
accomplished cavalier, the assault of a score of pikes which pressed
beyond the heavy blade of Melendez. When at length the retreating
Frenchmen had reached the court of the fortress, they scattered
headlong, finding themselves confronted by new and consolidated masses
of the enemy, and each of them sought incontinently his own method
of escape. "_Sauve qui peut!_" was the cry, and the crowd by which
Laudonniere had hitherto been borne unwillingly along, now melted away
on every hand, leaving him again almost alone in the presence of the
Spaniard. And still the faithful fellow, Bartholomew, clung to his
superior, saving him from the rashness which would only have flung away
his own life without an object. He hurried along his unhappy and now
reckless captain, taking his way into the yard of Laudonniere's lodging.
Thither they were closely pursued, and, but for a tent that happened to
be standing in the place, they must have been taken. But, passing behind
this tent, while the Spaniards were busied in groping within it, or
cutting away the cords,
"Hither, now, Monsieur René," cried Bartholomew, grasping the commandant
by the wrist and drawing him along; "follow me now and we shall surely
escape. They have left the breach open by the west, near to the lodging
of Monsieur D'Erlach, and by that route shall we gain the thickets."
"Ah!" cried Laudonniere, long and grateful recollections of a tried
fidelity, to which he had not always done justice, extorting from him a
groan; "Ah! this had never happened had Jean Ribault left me Alphonse!"
And the tears gushed from his eyes, and he paused and thrust the point
of his sword into the earth with vexation and despair.
"We have not a moment, Monsieur René," cried the soldier with
impatience; "the tent is down; the Spaniards are foiled for a moment
only. They will be sure to seek you in the breach."
"There! there! indeed!" cried the commandant bitterly, "there should
they have found me at first; but now!--Lead on! lead on! my good fellow.
As thou wilt!"
Soon our fugitives had cleared the breach, and were now without the
walls. The misty shroud which covered the face of nature, and enveloped
as with a sea the thickets to which they were making, favored their
escape. The unhappy Laudonniere found himself temporarily safe in the
forests; but if remote from present danger, they were not so far from
the fortress as to be insensible to the work of death and horror which
was in progress there, the evidence of which came to their ears in the
shrieks of women for mercy, and the groans and cries of tortured men.
"Slay! slay! Smite and spare not!" was the dreadful command of Melendez.
"The groans of the heretic make music in the ears of Heaven!"
Laudonniere shut his ears, and with his companion plunged deeper into
the forests. Here he found other fugitives like himself, and others
subsequently joined him; some were wounded even unto death, others
slightly; all were terror-stricken, shuddering with horror, incapable
from wo and agony. What had they beheld, what endured, and what was the
prospect before them but of massacre? A hasty council was convened
among the party, and the advice of Laudonniere--he could command no
longer--was, that they should bury themselves among the reeds and within
the marshes which lay along the river, out of sight, until they could
make their small vessels, by which the mouth of the river was still
guarded, aware of their situation. But this council was agreeable to a
part only, of that bewildered company. Another portion preferred to push
for one of the Indian villages, at some little distance in the forests,
where, hitherto, they had found a friendly reception. They persevered
in this purpose, leaving Laudonniere and a few others in the marshes.
Hither, then, these hapless fugitives sped, till they could go no
farther; and until their commandant himself, still unrecovered from the
chill and fever which had seized him at the first coming on of autumn,
declared his inability to go deeper into the thicket, though it promised
him the safety which he sought. He was already up to his neck in water,
and such was his weakness, that he was about to yield to his fate. But
for the faithful and unwearied support of one of his soldiers, Jean du
Chemin, who held him above the water when he would have sunk, and who
stuck by him all the rest of that day, and through the long and dreary
night which followed, he must have perished. Meanwhile, two of his
soldiers swam off in the direction of the vessels. Fortunately for those
swimmers, those in the vessels had been already apprized of the taking
of the fort by Jean de Hais, the master carpenter, who had made his
escape the first, by dropping down the river in a shallop. The boats
of the vessels were immediately pushed up the stream, and succeeded in
picking up the swimmers, and, finally, when Laudonniere and his faithful
companions were both about to sink, in extricating them from their
marshy place of refuge. Eighteen or twenty of the fugitives (among whom
was the celebrated painter, Jaques le Moyne de Morgues, to whom we owe
mostly the illustrations of Floridian scenery, costume, and lineaments
preserved in De Bry and other collections) were rescued in this manner,
and conveyed on board the ships. These, with Laudonniere, subsequently
made their way, after many disasters, perils of the sea and land, a
detention in England, where they were again indebted to the humanity
of the English for succor and sympathy. An artful attempt was made by
Melendez to obtain possession of these vessels, but he was baffled.
They sailed from the river of May on the 25th September, 1565, thus
abandoning forever the design of planting themselves and their religion
permanently in Florida. Let us now look to the farther proceedings of
the conquerors in possession of their prize!