CHAPTER VII.

VÆ VICTIS.

And now, it falls to our lot to record the most cruel passage in all

this history; to relate the mournful and terrible fate which befel

the wretched Huguenots taken at the capture of La Caroline, and the

sanguinary deed by which the Spanish chief, through a gloomy fanaticism,

stained foully the honorable fame which his skill and courage in arms

might have ensured to his memory. All resistance having ceased on the

part of the Huguenots of La Caroline, the standard of Castile was

unrolled from its battlements, instead of the white folds and the

smiling lilies of France. The name of the fortress was solemnly changed

to San Matheo, the day on which they found themselves in its possession

being that which was dedicated to the honor of that saint. The arms of

France and of Coligny, which surmounted the gateways of the place, were

erased and those of Spain were graven there instead, and the keeping of

the fortress was assigned to a garrison of three hundred men, under the

command of Gonzalo de Villaroël. These duties occupied but little time,

and did not interfere with other performances of the Adelantado, which

he thought not the less conspicuous among the duties required at his

hands. His prisoners were brought before him. These were, perhaps, not

so numerous, though forming a fair proportion of the number left by

Ribault in the garrison. It is perhaps fortunate that no greater number

had been left, since, in all probability, the same want of watch and

caution by which the fortress had been lost, would have equally been

shown, with any numbers, under such an easy commandant as Laudonniere,

and in the particular circumstances which had taken place. Of these

prisoners many were women and children. We have seen that Laudonniere

succeeded in rescuing some twenty persons. Several had fled to the

forests and taken shelter with the tribes of neighboring Indians. In

some few instances, the red-men protected them with fidelity. But in

the greater number of cases, terrified by the sudden appearance and the

strength of the Spaniards, they had yielded up the fugitives at the

fierce demand of the Adelantado. Others of the miserable Huguenots,

warned by the Indians that they could no longer harbor, were shot down

by the pursuing Spaniards, as they fled in terror through the forests.

Twenty perished in this manner, offering no resistance, and long after

the struggle in La Caroline had ended.

The surviving prisoners were then brought before the conqueror. They

were manacled, and presented a spectacle which must have moved the

sympathies of any ordinary nature. But Pedro de Melendez was not of

an ordinary nature. The natural sympathies had given way to a morbid

passion amounting to insanity, by which his judgment was confounded. The

sight of weeping, and trembling women and children; of captives naked,

worn, exhausted, enfeebled by years, by disease, by cruel wounds--all

pleading for his mercy--only seemed to strengthen him in the most

cruel resolution. "The groans of the heretic, are music in the ears of

heaven!" Upon this maxim he designed an appropriate commentary.

"Separate these women from the other prisoners."

It was done.

"Now detach from these last, all children under fifteen years."

His command was obeyed. The women and children thus set apart were

consigned to slavery. Of their farther fate the historian knows nothing.

The young and tender were probably persuaded to the Roman Catholic

altars, and thus finally achieved their deliverance. The more stubborn,

we may reasonably assume, perished in their bonds, passing from one

condition of degradation to another. Of the rest the history is terribly

definite. Fixing his cold, dark eye upon the male captives upon whose

fate he had yet said nothing, he demanded--

"Is there among ye any who profess the faith of the Holy Catholic

Church?"

Two of the prisoners answered in the affirmative.

"Take these Christians away, and let their bonds be removed. The Holy

Father, Salvandi, will examine them in the faith of Mother Church. For

the rest, are there any among ye, who, seeing the error of your ways,

will renounce the heresy of Luther, and seek once more communion with

the only true church?"

A drear silence followed. The captives looked mournfully at each other,

and at the Adelantado; but in his face there was no encouragement, and

nothing but despair was expressed in the aspects of their fellows.

"Be warned!" continued the Adelantado. "To those who seek the blessings

of the true church, she generously openeth her arms. To those who turn

away, indifferently or in scorn, she decrees death temporal and death

eternal. Hear ye!--and now say."

The silence was unbroken.

"Are ye obdurate? or do ye not comprehend that your lives rest upon your

speech? Either ye embrace the safety which the church offers, by an

instant renunciation of that of the foul heretic Luther, or ye die by

the halter!"

One sturdy soldier advanced from the group--a bold, high-souled

fellow--his brows lifted proudly with the conscious impulse which worked

within his soul.

"Pedro de Melendez, we are in your power. You are master of our mortal

bodies, but with the death before us that you threaten, know that we

are members of the reformed Church of Christ, which ye name to be of

Luther--that, holding it good to live in this faith, we deem it one in

which it will not be amiss to die!"

And the speaker looked round him, into the faces of his fellows, and

they lightened up with a glow of cheerfulness and pride, though no word

was spoken.

"Speaks this man for the rest of ye?" demanded Melendez.

For a moment there was silence. At length a matelit advanced--a common

sailor--a man before the mast.

"Ay! ay! captain! what he says we say! and there's no use for more

palaver. Let there be an end of it. We are of the church of Messer

Luther, and no other; if death's the word, we're ready. We're not the

men, at the end of the reckoning, to belie the whole voyage!"

"Be it it even as ye say!" answered Melendez coldly, but sternly, and

without change of accent or show of passion: "Take them forth, and let

them be hung to yonder tree!"

Then rose the shrieks of women and the cries of children; women seeking

to embrace their husbands and children clinging to the knees of their

doomed sires. But these produced no relentings. The parties were

separated by the strong hand, and the unhappy men were hurried to the

fatal tree. The priest stood ready to receive their recantations. His

exhortations were not spared; but soldier and sailor had equally spoken

for the resolute martyrdom of the whole. The reverend father preached to

them, and promised them in vain. Amidst cries and curses, the victims

were run up to the wide-spreading branches of a mighty oak, dishonored

in its employment for such a purpose, and perished in their fidelity to

the faith which they professed. Their bodies were left hanging in the

sun and wind, destined equally as trophies of the victor, and warnings

to the heretic. A monument was instantly raised beneath the tree, upon

which was printed in large characters--

"These do not suffer thus as

Frenchmen, but as

Heretics and

Enemies

to God!"

XXIII.

THE FORTUNES OF RIBAULT.

CHAPTER I.

Having thus rendered himself master of La Caroline, effectually

displacing the Huguenots from the region which they had acquired, and

maintained so long through so many vicissitudes, Melendez prepared to

hurry back to his camp on the banks of the Selooe. He but lingered to

review the force of the garrison, and with his own hands, fresh reeking

with the blood of his slaughtered victims, to lay the foundations of a

church dedicated to the God of Mercy, when he set forth with the small

body of troops, which he reserved to himself from the number that

accompanied his expedition, scarcely a hundred men, impatient for

return, lest Ribault, escaping from the storm, should visit upon his

settlement at St. Augustine the same wrath which had lighted upon La

Caroline. The heavy torrents from which he had already suffered so much

continued to descend as before, and the whole face of the country was

inundated; his people suffered inconceivably upon the march, but the

Adelantado was superior to the sense of suffering. He felt himself too

much the especial favorite of God, to suffer himself to doubt that the

toils and inconveniences of such a progress as that before him, were

anything but tests of his fidelity, and the means by which the Deity

designed to prepare him properly for the holy service which was expected

at his hands. He reached his camp in safety. His arrival was the source

of a great triumph and an unexpected joy. Here he had been reported as

having perished, with all his army, at the hands of the French. The

deserters, who had abandoned him on the route, in certain anticipation

of this fate, had not scrupled to spread this report by way of excusing

their own inconstancy and fears. His people accordingly passed instantly

from the extremity of terror to that of joy and triumph. They marched

out, _en masse_, at his approach, to welcome him as the vanquisher of

the heretics; the priests at their head, bearing the cross of Christ,

the conqueror, and chanting _Te Deum_, in exultation at the twofold

conquest which he had won, at the expense equally of their own, and the

enemies of the church.

His triumphs were not without some serious qualifications. In the midst

of their joy, an incendiary, as he supposed, had reduced to ashes the

remaining vessels in the harbor. A portion of his garrison, a little

after, showed themselves in mutiny against their officers, this spirit

having been manifested before his departure for La Caroline. He was

apprised also of a mishap to one of his greater ships, the San Pelayo,

which had been sent to Hispaniola, filled with captive Frenchmen taken

at different periods, and who were destined to suffer the question as

heretics in the Inquisition of the mother country. These had risen upon

the crew, overpowered them, captured the vessel, and carried her safely

into Denmark.

While meditating, and seeking to repair some of these mishaps, Melendez

received intelligence of Ribault and his fleet, which caused him some

inquietude. His own shipping being destroyed, his future safety depended

wholly upon the condition of Ribault's armament, since, with their

small vessels, his harborage might be entered at any moment, and his

sole means of defence lay with his troops upon the land, where his

entrenchments were not yet sufficiently advanced to offer much, if any

obstacle, to a vigorous assailant. But farther advices, brought him by

the savages, relieved him measurably from any apprehensions from the

shipping of his enemy. In this respect the condition of the French was

no better than his own. The unfortunate Ribault, driven before the

hurricane, had been wrecked with all his squadron, upon the bleak and

unfriendly shores of Cape Cannaverel; his troops were saved, with

the exception of the crew and armament of one vessel, containing a

detachment under the Sieur de la Grange, all of whom perished but the

captain. Dividing his troops into two or more bodies, Ribault advanced

along the shore, proceeding northerly, in the direction of La Caroline,

and one of his detachments had reached the inlet of Matanzas, when

Melendez was first advised of their approach. He was told by the

Indians that about four leagues distant, a large body of white men were

embarrassed in their progress by a bay, over which they had no means

to pass. Upon this intelligence, the Adelantado, taking with him forty

picked soldiers, proceeded with all despatch to the designated place.

His proceedings were marked by subtlety and caution. With such a force,

he could hope to do nothing in open warfare against the numbers of

Ribault, which, after all casualties, were probably six or seven hundred

men. But nobody knew better than Melendez how to supply the deficiencies

of the lion with the arts of the fox. He concealed his troop in the

woods that bordered the inlet, and from the top of a tree surveyed the

scattered groups of Frenchmen, on the opposite shore. They were two

hundred in number, and some of them had been engaged in the construction

of a raft with which to effect their passage. But the roughness of the

waters, and the strength of the current forbade their reliance upon

so frail a conveyance, and while they were bewildered with doubt and

difficulties, Melendez showed himself alone upon the banks of the river.

When he was seen from the opposite shore, a bold Gascon of Saint Jean

de Luz plunged fearlessly into the stream, and succeeded in making the

passage.

"Who are these people?" demanded Melendez.

"We are Frenchmen, all, who have suffered shipwreck."

"What Frenchmen?"

"The people of M. Ribault, Captain-General of Florida, under commission

of the king of France."

"I know no right to Florida, on the part of France or Frenchmen. I am

here, the true master of the country, on behalf of my sovereign, the

Catholic king, Philip the Second. I am Pedro Melendez, adelantado of all

this Florida, and of the isles thereof. Go back to your general with my

answer, and say to him, that I am here, followed by my army, as I had

intelligence that he too was here, invading the country in my charge."

The Gascon returned with the speech, and soon after was persuaded again

to swim the stream, with a request for a safe conduct from the Spanish

general, on behalf of four gentlemen of the French, who desired to treat

with him. It was requested that a batteau which Melendez had brought

along shore with his provisions, and which was now safely moored beside

the eastern banks, might be sent to bring them over. To all this

Melendez readily consented. The arrangement suited him exactly. His

troop was still in reserve, covered rather than concealed within

the forest, and so disposed as to seem at a distance to consist of

overwhelming numbers. But six men were suffered to accompany the Spanish

commander. These, well armed, were quite equal to the four to whom he

accorded the interview. These soon made their appearance. Their leader

told the story of their melancholy shipwreck, the privations they had

borne, the wants under which they suffered, and implored his assistance

to regain a fortress called La Caroline, which the king, his master,

held at a distance of some twenty leagues.

Melendez replied--

"Señor, I have made myself the master of your fort. I have laid strong

hands upon the garrison. I have slain them all, sparing none but the

women, and such children as were under fifteen years."

The Frenchmen looked incredulous.

"If you doubt," he continued, "I can soon convince you. I have brought

hither with me the only two soldiers whom I have admitted to mercy. I

spared them, because they claimed to be of the Catholic faith. You shall

see them, and hear the truth from their own lips. In all probability you

know them, and will recognise their persons. Rest you here, while I send

you something to eat. You shall see your compatriots, with some of the

spoils taken at La Caroline. These shall prove to you the truth of what

I say."

With these words he disappeared. Soon after, refreshments were brought

to our Frenchmen, and when they had eaten, the two captives at La

Caroline, who had been spared on account of their faith, were allowed to

commune with them, and to repeat all the facts in the cruel history of

La Caroline. Nothing of that terrible tragedy was concealed. Melendez

had a policy too refined for concealment, when the revelation of his

atrocities was to be the means for their renewal. To strike the hearts

of the Frenchmen with such terror, as to have them at his mercy, was a

profound secret of success in dealing with the wretched, suffering, and

already desponding outcasts in his presence.

After an hour's absence he returned.

"Are you satisfied," he asked? "of the truth of the things which I have

told you."

"We can doubt no longer;" was the reply; "but this does not lessen our

claim upon your humanity as men, and your consideration as Frenchmen.

Our people are at peace, there is amity and alliance between our

sovereigns. You cannot deny us assistance, and the vessels necessary for

our return to France."

"Surely not, if you are Catholics, and if I had the means of helping you

to ships. But you are not Catholics. The alliance between our kings is

an alliance of members of the true Church, both sworn against heretics."

"We are members of the Reformed Church," was the reply of the officers;

"but we are men; human; made equally in the image of the Deity, and

serve the same God, if not at the same altars. Suffer us, at least, to

remain with you for a season, till we can find the means for returning

to our own country."

"Señor, it cannot be. As for sheltering heretics, that is impossible. I

have sworn on the holy sacrament, to root out and to extirpate heresy,

wherever I encounter it--by sea or land--to wage against the damnable

heresy which you profess a war to the utterance, as vindictive as

possible, to the death and to the torture; and in this resolution I

conceive myself to be serving equally the king of France as the king, my

sovereign. I am here in Florida for the express purpose of establishing

the Holy Roman Catholic Faith! I will assist no heretic to remain in the

country."

"Assist us to leave it, señor: that is in truth what we demand."

"Demand nothing of me. Yield yourselves to my mercy--at

discretion--deliver up your arms and ensigns, and I will do with you as

God shall inspire me. Consent to this--these are my only terms--or do

what pleases you. But you must hope nothing at my hands--neither truce

nor friendship."

With this cruel ultimatum, he quitted them, giving them opportunity to

return and report to their comrades. In two hours they reappeared, and

made him an offer from the two hundred men gathered on the opposite

banks, of twenty thousand ducats, only to be assured of their lives. The

answer was as prompt as it was characteristic.

"Though but a poor soldier, señor, I am not capable of governing

myself, in the performance of my duties, by any regard to selfish

interests. If I am moved to do an act of grace, it will be done from

pure generosity. But do not let these words deceive you. I tell you as

a gentleman, and an officer holding a high commission from the king of

Spain, that, though the heavens and the earth may mingle before my eyes,

the resolution which I once make, I never change!"

It will scarcely be thought possible that any body of men, having arms

in their hands, and still in possession of physical powers sufficient

for their use, would, under such circumstances, listen to such a demand.

But the forces of Ribault had been terribly demoralized by disaster

and disappointment. Privation had humbled their souls, and the utter

exhaustion of their spirits made them give credence to vain hopes of

mercy at the hands of their enemy, which at another period they could

never have entertained. The report of their envoy found them ready to

make any concessions. It required but half an hour to determine their

submission. The returning batteau brought over with four officers all

their ensigns, sixty-six arquebuses, twenty pistols, a large number of

swords and bucklers, casques and cuirasses, their whole complement of

munitions, and a surrender of the entire body at discretion. Melendez

gladly seized upon these spoils. He embarked twenty of his soldiers

in his batteau, with orders to bring over the Frenchmen, in small

divisions, and to offer them no insult; but, as they severally arrived

on the eastern side of the bay, they were conducted out of sight, and

under the guns of his arquebusiers. They were then given to eat, and

when the repast was ended, they were asked if any among them were

Catholics. There were but eight of the whole number who replied in the

affirmative. These were set apart, to be conducted to St. Augustine. The

rest frankly avowed themselves to be good Christians of the Reformed

Church. These were immediately seized, their arms tied behind their

backs, and in little squads of six, were conducted to a spot in the

background, where Melendez had traced, with his cane, a line upon the

sand. Here they were butchered to a man, each succeeding body sharing

the same fate, without knowing, till too late, that of their comrades.

There was no pause, no mercy, no relentings in behalf of any. All

perished, to the number of two hundred; and Pedro Melendez returned to

his camp at St. Augustine, again to be welcomed with _Te Deum_, and the

acclamation for good Christian service, from a Christian people.

CHAPTER II.

The congratulations of his people were yet resounding in his ears, when

the savages brought him further intelligence of Frenchmen gathered upon

the borders of that bay which had arrested the progress of the previous

detachment. They were represented to be more numerous than the first,

and Melendez did not doubt that they constituted the bulk of Ribault's

force under the immediate command of that leader. He proceeded to

encounter him as he had done the other party, but on this occasion he

increased his own detachment to one hundred and fifty men. These he

ranged in good order during the night, along the banks of the river,

which the Huguenots had begun their preparations to pass. They had been

at work upon the radeau or raft which had been begun by the preceding

party, but their progress had been unsatisfactory, and the prospect of

the passage, in such a vessel, over such an arm of the sea, was quite

as discouraging as to their predecessors. With the dawn, and when they

discovered the force of Melendez on the opposite shore, the drums

sounded the alarm, the royal standard of France was advanced, and the

troops were ranged in order of battle. Poor Ribault still observed the

externals of the veteran, if only to conceal the real infirmities which

impaired the moral of his command.

Seeing this display of determination, Melendez, with proper policy,

commanded his people to proceed to breakfast without any show of

excitement or emotion. He himself promenaded the banks of the river,

accompanied only by his admiral and two other officers, as indifferently

as if there had been no person on the opposite side. With this, the

clamors of the French tambours ceased--the fifes were allowed to take

breath--and in place of the warlike standard of their country, the

commander of the Huguenots displayed a white flag as sign of peace, and

his trumpets sounded for a parley. A response from the Spanish side of

the river, in similar spirit, caused one of the Frenchmen to advance

within speaking distance, upon the raft, who requested that somebody

might be sent them, as their radeau could not contend against the

current. A pirogue was finally sent by the Spaniard, which brought over

the sergeant-major of Ribault. This man related briefly the necessities

and desires of his commander. He was totally ignorant of all that had

taken place. He had been wrecked, and had lost all his vessels; that he

had with him three hundred and fifty soldiers; that he was desirous of

reaching his fortress, twenty leagues distant; and prayed the assistance

of the Spaniards, to enable him to do so. At the close, he desired to

know with whom he was conferring.

Melendez answered as directly as he had done in the previous instance,

when dealing with the first detachment. He did not scruple to add to the

narrative of the capture of La Caroline, and the cruel murder of its

garrison, the farther history of the party whom he had encountered in

the same place with themselves.

"I have punished all these with death;" he continued; and, still further

to assure the officer of Ribault of the truth of what he said, he took

him to the spot where lay in a heap the exposed, the bleached and

decaying bodies of his slaughtered companions. The Frenchman looked

steadily at the miserable spectacle, and so far commanded his nerves as

to betray no emotion. He continued his commission without faltering; and

obtained from Melendez a surety in behalf of Ribault, with four or six

of his men, to cross the river for the purpose of conference, with the

privilege of returning to his forces at his leisure. But the adelantado

positively refused to let the Frenchmen have his shallop or bateau. The

pirogue, alone, was at their service. With this, the French general

could pass the strait without risk; and he was compelled to content

himself with this. The policy of Melendez was not willing to place any

larger vessel in his power.

Ribault crossed to the conference, accompanied by eight of his officers.

They were well received by the adelantado, and a collation spread for

them. He showed them afterwards the bodies of their slain companions.

He gave them the full history of the taking of La Caroline, and the

treatment of the garrison, and brought forward the two Frenchmen,

claiming to be Catholics, whose lives had been spared when the rest were

massacred. There was something absolutely satanic in the conduct of the

Spaniard, by which Ribault was confounded. He was not willing to believe

the facts that he could not question.

"Monsieur," said he to Laudonniere, "I will not believe that you design

us evil. Our kings are friends and brothers, and in the name of this

alliance between them, I conjure you to furnish us with a vessel for

returning to our country. We have suffered enough in this: we will

leave it in your hands entirely. Help us to the means necessary for our

departure."

To this Melendez replied in the very same language which he had used to

the preceding detachment:

"Our kings are Catholics both; they hold terms with one another, but not

with heretics. I will make no terms with you. I will hold no bonds with

heretics anywhere. You have heard what I have done with your comrades.

You hear what has been the fate of La Caroline. You behold the corses of

those who but a few days ago followed your banner; and now I say to you

that you must yield to my discretion, leaving it to me to do with you as

God shall determine me!"

Aghast and confounded, Ribault declared his purpose to return and

consult with his people. In a case so extreme, particularly as he had

with him many gentlemen of family, he could not undertake to decide

without their participation. Melendez approved this determination, and

the general of the French re-crossed the river.

For three hours was the consultation carried on in the camp of our

Huguenots. Ribault fully revealed the terrible history of what had

passed, of what he had heard and seen in the camp of the Spaniards.

The cold and cruel decision of Melendez in their case, as in that

of the previous troops, was unfolded without reserve. There were

no concealments, and, for a time, a dull, deep and dreary silence

overspread the assembly. But all had not been crushed by misfortune

into imbecility. There were some noble and fierce spirits whose hearts

rose in all their strength of resolution, as they listened to the

horrible narrative and the insolent exaction.

"Better perish a thousand deaths, in the actual conflict with a thousand

enemies, than thus submit to perish in cold blood from the stroke of the

cowardly assassin!"

Such was the manly resolution of many. Others, again, like Ribault, were

disposed to hope against all experience. The fact that Melendez had

treated them so civilly, that he had placed food and drink before them,

and that his manners were respectful and his tones were mild, were

assumed by them to be conclusive they were not to suffer as their

predecessors had done.

"They were beguiled with the same arguments," said young Alphonse

D'Erlach; "arguments which appealed to their hunger, their thirst, their

exhaustion, and their spiritless hearts--arguments against truth, and

common sense and their own eyes. He who listens to such arguments will

merit to fall by the hands of the assassin."

We need not pursue the debate which continued for three hours. At the

end of this time, Ribault returned to the landing.

"A portion of my people," he said, "but not the greater number, are

prepared to surrender themselves to you at discretion."

"They are their own masters," replied Melendez; "they must do as they

please; to me it is quite indifferent what decision they make."

Ribault continued:

"Those who are thus prepared to yield themselves have instructed me to

offer you twenty thousand ducats for their ransom; but the others will

give even a greater sum, for they include among them many persons of

great wealth and family;--nay, they desire further, if you will suffer

it, to remain still in the country."

"I shall certainly need some succors," replied Melendez, "in order to

execute properly the commands of the king, my master, which are to

conquer the country and to people it, establishing here the Holy

Evangel;--and I should grieve to forego any assistance."

This evasive answer was construed by Ribault according to his desires.

He requested permission to return and deliberate with his people, in

order to communicate this last response. He readily obtained what he

asked, and the night was consumed among the Huguenots in consultation.

It brought no unanimity to their counsels.

"I will sooner trust the incarnate devil himself, than this Melendez,"

was the resolution of Alphonse D'Erlach to his elder brother. "Go not,

_mon frére_, yield not: the savage Floridian has no heart so utterly

stony as that of this Spaniard. I will peril anything with the savage,

ere I trust to his doubtful mercy."

And such was the resolve of many others, but it was not that of Ribault.

"What!" exclaimed one of his friendly counsellors--"he has shown you our

slain comrades, butchered under the very arrangement which he accords to

us, and yet you trust to him?"

The infatuated leader, broken in spirit, and utterly exhausted in the

struggle with fate, replied:

"That he has freely shown me what he has done, is no proof that he

designs any such deeds hereafter. His fury is satiated. It is impossible

that he will commit a like crime of this nature. It is his pride that

would have us wholly in his power."

"He hath fed on blood until he craves it," cried Alphonse D'Erlach. "You

go to your death, Monsieur Ribault. The tiger invites you to a banquet

where the guest brings the repast."

He was unheard, at least by the Huguenot general.

"We will leave this man, my friends," cried Alphonse D'Erlach, the

strong will and great heart naturally rising to command in the moment

of extremity. "We will leave this man. _Quem Deus vult perdere prius

dementat._ He goes to the sacrifice!"

And when Ribault prepared in the morning to lead his people across

the bay, he found but an hundred and fifty of all the force that he

commanded during the previous day. Two hundred had disappeared in the

night under the guidance of D'Erlach.

CHAPTER III.

The fates had the blinded Ribault in their keeping. He was ferried

across the stream for the last time, by the grim ferryman vouchsafed

him; and the trophies which he first laid at the feet of the adelantado

consisted of his own armor, a dagger, a casque of gold, curiously and

beautifully wrought; his buckler, his pistolet, and a secret commission

which he had received at the hands of Admiral Coligny himself. The

standards of France and of the Admiral were then lowered at the feet of

the Spaniard, then the banners of companies, and finally the sword of

the Huguenot general. Never was submission more complete and shameful.

The spirit of the veteran was utterly broken and gone. But this

degradation was not thus to end. Melendez gave orders that he and the

companions he had brought with him, eight in number, should be tied with

their hands behind their backs. The indignity brought the blush with

tenfold warmth into the cheeks of the old warrior. He foresaw the

inevitable doom before him, but he felt the shame only.

"Have I lived for this? Is it thus, Monsieur Melendez, that you treat a

warrior and a Christian?"

"God forbid that I should treat a Christian after this fashion. But

_are_ you a Christian, señor?"

"Of the Reformed Church, I am!" was the reply.

"I do not hold yours, señor, to be a church of Christ, but of Satan.

Bind him, my comrades, and take him hence."

A significant wave of the fatal staff, which had prescribed the line

upon the spot of earth selected as the chosen place of sacrifice--the

scene of a new _auto-da-fé_, as fearful as the preceding--finished his

instructions, and as the guards led the veteran away, he commenced, in

the well-known spirit of the time, to sing aloud the psalm "_Domine,

memento mei_, &c.," in that fearful moment well conceiving that there

was left him now but one source of consolation, and none of present

hope. He addressed no words of expostulation to his murderer; but as

they led him away, he calmly remarked--"From the earth we came, to the

earth we must return; soon or late, it is all the same; such must have

been the fate. It is not what we would, but what we must."

He renewed his psalm, the sounds of which grated offensively on the

bigot ears of Melendez, falling from such lips, and he impatiently made

the signal to his men to expedite the affair. The Huguenot general was

led off singing. One of the accounts before us--for there is a Spanish

and a French version of the history, differing in several minute, but

really unimportant particulars--describes the last scene of Ribault's

career, in a brief but striking manner. The eight which constituted

this party had each his assassin assigned him. Among the companions of

Ribault at the moment of execution, was Lieutenant Ottigny, of whom we

have heard more than once before in the history of La Caroline. They

were led into the woods, out of sight and hearing of the French on the

opposite side of the bay, all of whom were to be brought over, ten by

ten, to the same place of sacrifice. The soldier to whom Ribault had

been confided, when they had reached the spot strewn thickly with the

corses of his murdered people, said to him--

"Señor, you are the general of the French?"

"I am!"

"You have always been accustomed to exact obedience, without question,

from all the people under your command?"

"Without doubt!" replied Ribault, somewhat wondering at the question.

"Deem it not strange, then, señor," continued the soldier, "that I

execute faithfully the orders I have received from my commandant!"

And, speaking these words, he drove his poignard into the heart of the

victim, who fell upon his face, in death, without uttering a groan.

Ottigny and the others perished in like manner, and with no farther

preliminaries. Why pursue the details with the rest? In this manner each

unconscious band of the Huguenots, thus surrendering to the clemency of

Melendez, was simply ferried across the river to execution. And still

the boat returned for and with its little compliment of ten--it was only

a proper precaution that denied that more should be brought--and the

succeeding voyagers dreamed not, even as they sped, their comrades

were sinking one by one under the hands of their butchers. More than

a hundred perished on this occasion, but four of the number avowing

themselves to be of the Roman Catholic Church, and being spared

accordingly.

CHAPTER IV.

OF THOSE WHO REFUSED TO FOLLOW THE FORTUNES OF RIBAULT.

We have seen that two hundred of the followers of Ribault had refused

to submit to the arrangement, by which that unhappy commander had

sacrificed himself and all those who accompanied him into the camp of

Melendez. These two hundred had been counselled to the more manly course

which they had taken, by the youthful but sagacious lieutenant, Alphonse

D'Erlach. This young man well understood their enemy. His counsel, if

followed by Ribault, would probably have resulted in conquest rather

than misfortune.

"We are strong,"--said D'Erlach to his companions--"strong enough to

maintain ourselves in any position, which we may take and hold with

steadfastness. We have three hundred and fifty soldiers, all with arms

in their hands, and it requires only that we shall use our arms and

maintain our independence. Why treat at all with the Spaniards? They

may assist us across this strait, but why cross it at all? To gain La

Caroline? That, according to his own showing, is already in his hands.

Indeed, of this, you tell us, there can be no question. What then?

Of what avail to seek the post which he has garrisoned, and which,

properly fortified, is beyond our utmost strength. It is evident that,

fortifying La Caroline and his new post on the banks of the Salooe, he

has no available force with which he dares assail us. In the meantime,

let us leave this position. Let us retire further to the south, regain

the coast upon which our vessels were wrecked, rebuild them, or one

at least, in which, if your desire is to return to France, we can

re-embark; or, as I would counsel, retire to a remoter settlement, where

we may fortify ourselves, and establish the colony anew, for which

we first came to Florida. Why abandon the country, when we are in

sufficient strength to keep it? Why forego the enterprises which offer

us gold and silver in abundance, a genial climate, a fertile soil,

a boundless domain, in which our fortunes and our faith may be made

equally secure. As for the savages of Florida, I know them and I fear

them not. They are terrible only to the timid and the improvident. With

due precautions, a proper courage, and arms in our hands, we shall mock

at their wandering bands, whose attacks are inconstant, and upon whom

the caprice of the seasons is forever working such evil as will prevent

them always from bringing large numbers together, or keeping them long

in one organization. But, hold the savages to be as terrible as you may,

they are surely less to be feared, are less faithless and less hostile,

than these sanguinary Spaniards. Do not, at all events, deliver

yourselves, bound hand and foot, in petty numbers, to be butchered in

detail, by this monstrous cut-throat!"

His counsels prevailed with the greater number. They left the camp of

Ribault at midnight, and commenced their silent march along the coast,

making for the bleak shores which had seen their vessels stranded. Here

they arrived after much toil and privation, and, cheered by the manly

courage of D'Erlach, they proceeded at once to build themselves a vessel

which should suffice for their escape from the country, or enable them

to penetrate without difficulty to regions not yet under the control

of the Spaniards. For the work before them they possessed the proper

facilities. The fragments of their shattered navy were within their

reach. The expedition had been properly provided with carpenters and

laborers; and in that day every mariner was something of a mechanic.

They advanced rapidly with their work, but at the end of three weeks

the clouds gathered once more about their heads. Once more the haughty

banners of the Spaniard were beheld, the vindictive enemy being resolved

to give them no respite, to allow of no refuge upon the soil, to afford

them no prospect of escape from the country.

Advised by the Indians that the surviving Frenchmen were at work at

Cannaverel, building themselves both fortresses and vessels, Melendez

sent an express to the Governor of San Matheo, late La Caroline, with

orders to send him instantly one hundred and fifty of his men. These

arrived at St. Augustine on the 23d of October, under the conduct of Don

Andres Lopez Patiño, and of Don Jean Velez de Medrano. To these troops

Melendez added a like number from his own garrison, and on the 26th

of the month, they commenced their march to the south, on foot. His

provisions and munitions were sent in two shallops along the shore, and

each night they came to anchor opposite his camp. On the first day of

November, they came in sight of the French. These, immediately abandoned

their work, and seizing their arms retired to a small sandy elevation

which they had previously selected as a place of refuge against attack,

and which they had strengthened by some slight defences. Here they

prepared for a desperate and deadly struggle. The force of their

assailants was one-third stronger than their own. They had the

advantage, also, of supplies and munitions, in which the Frenchmen were

deficient; but a sense of desperation increased their courage, and they

showed no disposition to entreat or parley. But Melendez had no desire

to compel them to a struggle in which even success would probably be

fatal ultimately to himself. His main strength was with him, but should

he suffer greatly in the assault, as it was very evident he must, the

French being in a good position, and showing the most determined front,

his army would be too greatly weakened, perhaps, even for their safe

return to St. Augustine, through a country filled with hostile Indians,

whom, as yet, he had neither conquered nor conciliated. Having

reconnoitred the position taken by the Frenchmen, he generously made

them overtures of safety. He proposed not only to spare their lives,

but promised to receive as many of them as thought proper, into his own

ranks as soldiers.

This offer led to a long and almost angry conference among the French.

Their councils were divided. Many of their leaders were men wholly

ignorant of the country, and disheartened by the cruel vicissitudes and

dangers through which they had passed. Many of them were persons of

wealth and family, who were anxious once more to find themselves in a

position which demanded no farther struggle, and which might facilitate

their return to the haunts of civilization. Others, again, were

Catholics, whose sympathies were not active in behalf of the Huguenots

with whom they now found themselves in doubtful connection. Others were

jealous of the sudden spring to authority, which, in those moments of

peril when all others trembled, had been made by the young adventurer,

Alphonse D'Erlach. It was in vain that he counselled them against giving

faith to the Spaniards.

"What is your security, my friends? His word? His pledge of mercy to

you, when he showed none to your brethren? Look at the hand which he

stretches out to you; it is yet dripping with the blood of your people,

butchered, in cold blood, at La Caroline, and the Bay of Matanzas. Trust

him not, if you would prosper--if ye would not perish likewise. Believe

none of his assurances, even though he should swear upon the Holy

Evangel."

"But what are we to do, Monsieur D'Erlach? We have small provisions

here. He hath environed us with his troops."

"We may break through his troops. We have arms in our hands, and if

we have but the heart to use them, like men, we may not only save

ourselves, but avenge our butchered comrades."

His entreaties and arguments were unavailing. It was sufficient for

our broken-spirited exiles that Melendez had volunteered to them those

guaranties of safety which he had denied to their brethren. They

prepared to yield.

"Go not thou with these people, my brother," said Alphonse D'Erlach, to

that elder brother whom we have seen, with himself, a trusted lieutenant

of Laudonniere. He flung himself tenderly upon the bosom of the other,

as he prayed, and the moisture gathered in his eyes. The elder was

touched, but his inclinations led him with the rest.

"He hath sworn to us, Alphonse, that life shall be spared us, and that

we shall be free to enter his service or return to France."

"Would you place life at his mercy?"

"It is so now!"

"No! never! while the hand may grasp the weapon. If we would defy him

as men, we should rather have his life at ours. Oh! would that we were

men. Enter his service! Dost thou think of this? Wouldst thou receive

commands from the lips of him who hath murdered thy old commander!"

"No! surely, I shall never serve Melendez. I seek this only as the mean

whereby to return to France."

"And wherefore return to France? What hath France in reserve for us but

the shot, the torture, and the scourge. Here, brother, here, with the

wild Floridian, let us make our home. Let us rather put on the untamed

habits of the savage, his garments torn from bear and panther; let us

anoint our bodies with oil; let us stain our cheeks with ocre; and

taking bond with the Apalachian and Floridian, let us haunt the

footsteps of the Spaniard with death and eternal hatred, till we leave

not one of them living for the pollution of the soil. This is my

purpose, brother, though I go forth into the wilderness alone!"

"Thou shalt not go alone, Alphonse. We will live and die together."

The brothers embraced. The bond was knit between them, whatever might

be the event; and when, at morning, the main body of the Frenchmen

surrendered themselves to the Spanish adelantado, the Erlachs were

not among them. They, with twenty others, all Huguenots, who detested

equally the power and feared the savage fanaticism of Melendez, had

disappeared silently in the night, leaving as a message for the Spanish

chief, that they preferred infinitely to be devoured by the savages,

than to receive his mercy. Melendez looked anxiously to the dark forests

in which they had shrouded themselves from his pursuit. He would gladly

have penetrated their depths of shadow and their secret glooms, in

search of victims, whom he certainly never would have spared if caught;

but the object was too small for the peril which it involved; and having

destroyed the fort and shipping which they had been building, content

with having broken up the power of the French in the country, he

returned with his captives to St. Augustine. He kept his faith with

them. Many of them joined themselves to his troops, and accompanied his

expeditions, and others who were Huguenots found new favor with him by

undergoing conversion to his faith. With this chapter fairly ends the

history of the Huguenot colonies of Coligny in Florida; but other

histories followed which will require other chapters.

XXIV.

ALPHONSE D'ERLACH.

The dawn of the morning after the separation of D'Erlach with his few

companions from the great body of the French, found the former emerging

from a dense thicket which they had traversed through the night. They

were still but a few miles from their late encampment. A bright and

generous sun, almost the first that had shone for several weeks in

unclouded heavens, seemed to smile upon their desperate enterprise. The

cries of wild fowl awaking in the forests, with occasionally the merry

chaunt of some native warbler, arousing to the day, spake also in the

language of encouragement. On the borders of a little lake, they found

some wild ducks feeding, which they approached without alarming them,

and the fire of a couple of arquebuses gave them sufficient food for the

day. A small supply of maize, prepared after the Indian fashion, was

borne by each of the party, but this was carefully preserved for use in

a moment of necessity. Assuming the possibility of their being pursued,

the youthful leader urged their progress until noon, when they halted

for repose, in a dense thicket, which promised to give them shelter.

Here, having himself undertaken the watch, Alphonse D'Erlach counselled

his people to seek for a renewal of their strength in slumber. They

followed his counsel without scruple, though not without a struggle on

the part of his brother, and others among them, to share his watch. This

he would not permit, alleging his inability to sleep, but promising,

when he felt thus disposed, to devolve his present duty upon others.

Long and sweet was the slumbers which they enjoyed, and unbroken by any

alarm. When they awakened, the sun had sloped greatly in the western

heavens, and but two or three marching hours remained of the day. These

they employed with earnestness and vigor. The night found them on the

edge of a great basin, or lake, thickly fenced in with great trees, and

a dense and bewildering thicket. As the day closed, immense flocks of

wild fowl, geese, ducks, and cranes, alighted within the waters of the

lake, and again did the arquebusiers, with a few shot, provide ample

food for the ensuing day. Here they built themselves a fire, around

which the whole party crouched, a couple only of their number being

posted as sentinels on the hill side, from which alone was it reasonable

to suppose that an enemy would appear. Again did they sleep without

disturbance, arising with the dawn, again to resume their progress. But

before they commenced their journey, a solemn council was held as to

the course which they should pursue. On this subject the mind of their

youthful leader had already adopted a leading idea. His experience in

the country, as well as that of his brother, during frequent progresses,

had enabled them to form a very correct notion of the topography of the

region. Besides, several of their followers, were of the first colonies

of Ribault, and had accompanied Laudonniere, Ottigny, and both the

Erlachs on various expeditions among the Indians.

"We are now upon the great promontory of the Floridian," said Alphonse,

"a region full of dense thickets and impenetrable swamps. These we

should labor to avoid, as well as any approach in the direction of the

Spaniards. By pursuing a course inclining to the north-west for a while,

we shall be enabled to do so, and this done, gradually steering for the

north-east, we shall be enabled to reach the great mountains of the

Apalachia. This is a region where, as we know, the red-men are more

mild and gentle, more laborious, with larger fields of grain, and more

hospitably given than those which inhabit the coasts. It may be that

having sufficiently ascended the country, it will be our policy to leave

the mountains on our left, following at their feet, until we shall have

passed the territories in the immediate possession of the Spaniard. Then

it will be easy to speed downwards to the eastern coasts, where the

people always received us with welcome and affection. We may thus renew

our intercourse with the tribes that skirt the bay of St. Helena--the

tribes of Audusta, Ouade, Maccou and others of which ye wot. But,

whether we take this direction or not, our present course should be as

I have described it. When we have reached the country where the land

greatly rises, it will be with us to choose our farther progress. There

is gold, as we know, in abundance in these mountains of the Apalachian;

and it may be our good hap even to attain to the great city of the

mountains of which Potanou and others have spoken, and to which certain

travellers have given the name of the Grand Copal, of the existence of

which I nothing doubt. This, they report as but fifteen or twenty

days' march from St. Helena, north-westward. It will, follow, if this

description be true, that we are quite as near to this place, as to St.

Helena. Here is adventure and a marvellous discovery open to us, my

comrades and we shall, perhaps, in future days, bless the cruelty of the

Spaniards which hath thus driven us on the road to fortune. At least, we

should have reason to rejoice that we are here, when our comrades lie

stark and bleeding on the shores of Cannaverel. We are few, but we are

true; we have health and vigor; we have arms in our hands, and are quite

equal to any of the small bands of Indians that infest the country. We

shall seek to avoid encounters with them, but shall not fear them if we

meet; and all that I have seen of the red-man inclines me to the faith,

that they who deal with him justly will mostly find justice, nay, even

reverence in return. What remains, but that we steadily pursue our

progress, heedful where we set our feet, keeping our minds in patience,

never hurrying forward blindly, and never being too eager in the

attainment of our object. Our best strength will lie in our patience.

This will save us when our strength shall fail."

This counsel found no opposition. There was much discussion of details,

and the leading suggestion of his mind being adopted, Erlach readily

yielded much of the minutiæ to others. We shall not follow the daily

progress of our adventurers. Enough that for twenty-seven days they

travelled without suffering disaster. There were small ailments of the

party--some grew faint and feeble, others became slightly lamed; and

occasionally all hearts drooped; but on such occasions the troop went

into camp, chose out some secure thicket, built themselves a goodly

fire, and while the invalids lay around it, the more vigorous hunted and

brought in game. Wild turkeys were in abundance. Sometimes they roosted

at night upon the very trees under which our Frenchmen slept. On such

occasions the hunters rose at dawn, and with well-aimed arquebuses shot

down two or more; the very fatness of the birds being such, as made them

split open as they struck the earth. Anon, a wandering deer crossed

their path, and fell a victim to their shot. In this way they gradually

advanced into the hilly country. Very seldom had they met with any of

the red-men, and never in any numbers. These treated them with great

forbearance, were civil, shared with them their slender stock of

provisions, and received a return in trinkets, knives, or rings of

copper, and little bells, a small store of which had been providentally

brought by persons of the party. Sometimes, these Indians travelled

with them, camped with them at night, and behaved themselves like good

Christians. From these, too, they gathered vague intelligence of the

great city which lay among the mountains. This was described to them, in

language often heard before, as containing a wealth of gold, and other

treasures in the shape of precious gems, which, assuming the truth

of the description given by the red-men, our Frenchmen assumed to be

nothing less than diamonds, rubies and crystals. But they were told that

this country was in possession of a very powerful people, fierce and

warlike, who were very jealous of the appearance of strangers. The city

of Grand Copal was described as very populous and rich, a walled town,

which it would be difficult to penetrate.

These descriptions contributed greatly to warm the imaginations of our

Frenchmen, but as the several informants differed in regard to the

direction in which this great city lay, it so happened that parties

began to be formed in respect to the route which should be pursued.

Opinion was nearly equally divided among them. Alphonse D'Erlach was for

pursuing a more easterly course than was desired by some ten or more of

the party. He was influenced by information previously derived from the

Indians, when he went into the territories of Olata Utina, and beyond.

But the more recent testimony was in favor of the west, and this he

was disposed to disregard. For a time, the discussion led to nothing

decisive. His authority was still deferred to and the course continued

upon which he had begun. But as the winter began to press more severely

upon the company, and as their usual supplies of game began to diminish

from the moment that they left the lakes, and great swampy river margin

of the flat country, from that moment, as if justified by suffering, the

Frenchmen lessened in their deference to a leader who was at once so

youthful and so imperative. Alphonse D'Erlach beheld these symptoms with

apprehension and misgiving. He well knew how frail was the tenure by

which he held his authority, from the moment that self-esteem began to

be active in the formation of opinion. He felt that a power for coercion

was wanting to his authority, and resorted to all those politic arts by

which wise men maintain a sway without asserting it. He would say to

them:

"My comrades, there are but twenty-two of us in a world of savages.

Hitherto, for more than thirty days, we have traversed the wildernesses

in safety. This is solely due to the fact that we have suffered no

differences to prevail among us. If you feel that I have counselled and

led you in safety, you may also admit that I have led you rightly; for

safety has been our first object. We are as fresh and vigorous now, as

when we left the dreary plains of Cannaverel. Not one has perished.

We have not suffered from want of food, though frequently delayed in

obtaining it. Methinks, that you have no reason to complain of me. But

if there be dissatisfaction with my authority, choose another leader.

Him will I obey with good will; but do not suffer yourselves to

disagree, lest ye separate, and all parties perish."

This rebuke was felt and had its effect for a season; but when, after a

week of farther and seemingly unprofitable wandering--when they had

attained no special point--when they rather continued to skirt the

mountains, pressing to the northward, than to ascend them--the spirit

of discontent was re-awakened. The circumstance which rather gratified

Alphonse D'Erlach, for the present, that they had met so few of the

natives, none in large numbers, and had succeeded mostly in avoiding

their villages, was the circumstance that led to dissatisfaction among

his followers. They were eager to have their hopes fortified by daily or

nightly reports from those who might be supposed to know; they desired,

above all, to gather constant tidings of the great city of the

mountains--to receive intimations of its proximity; and this, they began

to assert, was impossible, so long as they should forbear to penetrate

the mountains themselves. Against this desire their young leader strove

for many reasons. It is not improbable that he himself doubted the

existence of the marvellous city of Grand Copal. At all events, he well

knew that to penetrate the mountains, during winter, which already

promised to be one of intense rigor, would subject his party to great

suffering, and, should food fail them even partially in the unfriendly

solitudes, would terminate in the destruction of the whole. By following

the mountains, along the east for a certain distance, he knew he should

finally arrive at the heads of the streams descending to the sea in the

neighborhood of the first settlements made by the Huguenots; that he

should there find friendly and familiar nations, and perhaps secure a

home for his people, and found a new community in the happy territories

of Iracana, the Eden of the Indians, of the beautiful and loving Queen,

whereof, he began to have the tenderest recollections. He also knew

that, only by pursuing his way along the mountains, aiming at this

object, could he be secure from the Spaniards in the possession of La

Caroline, as well as St. Augustine, who, he did not doubt, were already

preparing for exploration of the golden territories of which they had

heard, as well as the French.

But his arguments failed to influence the impatient people under his

control. Sharp words and a warm controversy, one night, took place over

the camp-fires, and led to a division of the party in nearly equal

numbers. It was in vain that Alphonse D'Erlach and his brother employed

all their arguments, and used every appeal, in order to persuade his

people to cling together as the only means of safety. One Le Caille, a

sergeant, who was greatly endowed, in his own regards, as a leader among

men, and who had enjoyed some experience in Indian adventure under

Laudonniere, set himself in direct opposition to the two brothers. "We

are leaving the route, entirely, to the great city. We are speeding from

it rather than towards. It lies back of us already, according to all the

accounts given us, and as we march now, we seek nothing. There is our

path, pointing to the great blue summits in the north-west, and thither

should we turn, if we seek for the Grand Copal."

He found believers and followers. So warm had grown the controversy,

that the two parties separated that very night, and camped apart, each

having its own fires. The greater number, no less than thirteen, went

with Le Caille, leaving but nine to D'Erlach, including himself and

brother. The young leader brooder over the disaster, for such he

regarded it, in silence. He found that it was in vain that he should

argue, solely on the strength of his own conjectures, against any course

which they should take, when his own course, though maintaining them in

health and safety, had failed to bring them to any of the ends which

they most desired. They were now wearied of wandering--they craved a

haven where they might rest for a season; and were quite willing to

listen to any one who could speak with boldness and seeming certainty of

any such place. Thus it was that they followed Le Caille.

"Let us at least separate in peace and good-fellowship, _mes

camarades_," said Alphonse D'Erlach, passing over, with the dawn, to

that side of the thicket where the others had made their camp. They

embraced and parted, taking separate courses, like a stream that having

long journeyed through a wild empire, divides at last, only to lose

themselves both more rapidly in the embracing sea.

For more than two hours had they gone upon their different routes, the

one party moving straight for the mountains, the other still pursuing

the route along their bases, in the direction of the east, when Alphonse

D'Erlach said to his brother:

"It grieves me that these men should perish: they will perish of cold

and hunger, and by violence among the savages. This man Le Caille will

fight bravely, but he is a sorry dolt to have the conduct of brave men.

Besides, we shall all perish if we do not keep together. Perhaps it

is better that we should err in our progress--go wide from the proper

track--than that we should break in twain. Let us retrace our steps--let

us follow them, and unite with them for a season, at least, until their

eyes open upon the truth."

He spoke to willing listeners. His followers obeyed him through habit;

they acknowledged the authority of a greater will and a stronger genius;

but they had not been satisfied. They, too, hungered secretly for the

great city and the place of rest, and were impatient of the wearisome

progress, day by day, without any ultimate object in their eyes.

Cheerfully, and with renewal of their strength, did they turn at the

direction of their leader, and push forward to re-unite with their

comrades. They had a wearisome distance of four hours to overcome, but

they had hopes to regain their brethren by night, as they knew that

they would rest two hours at noon for the noonday meal, which, it was

resolved, should not, on this occasion, delay their progress, and by

moving with greater speed than usual, it was calculated that the lost

ground might be recovered.

Meanwhile, the party of Le Caille had crossed a little river which they

had to wade. The depth was not great, reaching only to their waists, but

it was very cold and it chilled them through. They halted accordingly on

the opposite side, and built themselves a fire. Here the rest taken and

the delay were unusually long, and contributed somewhat to the efforts

made by D'Erlach's party to overtake them. When, after a pause of

two hours, the troop of Le Caille was prepared again to move, it was

considerably past the time of noon. As they gathered up their traps,

one of their party who had gone aside from the rest, was suddenly

confounded to behold a red-man start up from the bushes where he had

been crouching, in long and curious watch over their proceedings. The

Frenchman, who was named Rotrou, was quite delighted at the apparition,

since they eagerly sought to gather from the Indians the directions for

their future progress, and none had been seen for many days. Rotrou

called to the Indian in words of good-nature and encouragement, but the

latter, slapping his naked sides with an air of defiance, started off

towards the mountains. Rotrou again shouted; the savage turned for a

moment and paused, then waving his hand with a significant gesture, he

responded with the war-whoop, and once more bounded away in flight. The

rash and wanton Frenchman immediately lifted his arquebuse, and fired

upon the fugitive. He was seen to stagger and fall upon his knee, but

immediately recovering himself, he set off almost at as full speed as

ever, making for a little thicket that spread itself out upon the right.

The party of Le Caille by this time came up. They penetrated the covert

where the red-man had been seen to shelter himself, and for a while they

tracked him by his blood. But at length they came to a spot where he had

evidently crouched and bound up his hurts. They found a little puddle

of blood upon the spot, and some fragments of tow, moss, and cotton

cloth, some of which had been used for the purpose. Here all traces

of the wounded man failed them; and they resumed their route, greatly

regretting that he should have escaped, but greatly encouraged, as

they fancied that they were approaching some of the settlements of the

natives.

It was probably an hour after this event when D'Erlach and his party

reached the same neighborhood, and found the proof of the rest and

repast which that of Le Caille had taken on the banks of the little

river. This sight urged them to new efforts, and though chilled also

very greatly by the passage of the stream, they did not pause in their

pursuit, but pressed forward without delay, having the fresh tracks of

their brethren before their eyes, for the guidance of their footsteps.

It was well they did so. In little more than an hour after this, while

still urging the forced march which they had begun, they were suddenly

arrested by a wild and fearful cry in the forests beyond, the character

of which they but too well knew, from frequent and fierce experience. It

was the yell of the savage, the terrible war-whoop of the Apalachian,

that sounded suddenly from the ambush, as the rattle of the snake is

heard from the copse in which he makes his retreat. Then followed the

discharge of several arquebuses, four or five in number, all at once,

and soon after one or two dropping shots.

"Onward!" cried Alphonse D'Erlach; "we have not a moment to lose. Our

comrades are in danger! On! Fools! they have delivered nearly or quite

all their pieces; and if the savage be not fled in terror, they are

at the mercy of his arrows. Onward, my brave Gascons! Let us save our

brethren."

The young captain led the advance, but though pushing forward with all

industry, he did not forego the proper precautions. His men were already

taught to scatter themselves, Indian fashion, through the forests, and

at little intervals to pursue a parallel course to each other, so as to

lessen the chances of surprise, and to offer as small a mark as possible

to the shafts of the enemy. The shouts and clamor increased. They could

distinguish the cries of the savages from those of the Frenchmen. Of the

latter, they fancied they could tell particular voices of individuals.

They could hear the flight of arrows, and sometimes the dull, heavy

sounds of blows as from a macana or a clubbed arquebuse; and a few

moments sufficed to show them the savages darting from tree to tree,

and here and there a Frenchman apparently bewildered with the number and

agile movements of his foes, but still resolute to seek his victim. At

this moment Alphonse D'Erlach stumbled upon a wounded man. He looked

down. It was the Sergeant, Le Caille himself. He was stuck full of

arrows; more than a dozen having penetrated his body, and one was yet

quivering in his cheek just below his eye. Still he lived, but his eyes

were glazing. They took in the form of D'Erlach. The lips parted.

"Le Grand Copal, Monsieur--eh!" was all he said, when the death-rattle

followed. He gasped, turned over with a single convulsion, and his

concern ceased wholly for that golden city, in the search for which he

had forgotten every other. D'Erlach gave but a moment's heed to the

dying man, then pushed forward for the rescue of those who might be

living. They were surrounded by more than fifty savages, and among these

were scattered groups of women and even children. In fact, Le Caille, in

his pursuit of the Indian wounded by Rotrou, had happened upon a village

of the Apalachians.

It was fortunate for D'Erlach that the savages were quite too busy with

the first, to be conscious of the second party. They had been brought

on quietly, and, scattered as they had been in the approach, they were

enabled to deliver their fire from an extensive range of front. It

appalled the Indians, even as a thunder burst from heaven. They had

gathered around the few Frenchmen surviving of Le Caille's party,

and were prepared to finish their work with hand-javelins and stone

hatchets. The Frenchmen were not suffered to reload their pieces, and

were reduced to the necessity of using them as clubs. They were about

to be overwhelmed when the timely fire of the nine pieces of D'Erlach's

party, the shout and the rush which followed it, struck death and

consternation into the souls of their assailants, and drove them from

their prey. With howls of fright and fury the red-men fled to deeper

thickets, till they should ascertain the nature and number of their new

enemies, and provide themselves with fresh weapons. But D'Erlach was not

disposed to afford them respite. His pieces were reloaded; those of the

Frenchmen of Le Caille--all indeed who were able--joined themselves to

his party, and the Indians were pressed through the thicket and upon

their village. To this they fled as to a place of refuge. Our Frenchmen

stormed it, fired it over the heads of the inmates, and terrible was the

slaughter which followed. The object of D'Erlach was obtained. He had

struck such a panic into the souls of the savages, that he was permitted

to draw off his people without molestation; but the inspection of the

fatal field into which the rashness of Le Caille had led his party,

left D'Erlach with few objects of consolation. Seven of them were slain

outright, or mortally wounded; three others were slightly wounded, and

but three remained unhurt. The survivors were brought off in safety,

greatly rejoicing in a rescue so totally undeserved. The party that

night encamped in a close wood, in a spot so chosen as to be easily

guarded. Two of the persons mortally wounded in the conflict died that

night; the third, next day at noon. They were not abandoned till their

cares and sufferings were at an end, and their comrades buried them,

piling huge stones about their corses. Repose was greatly wanting to

the party; but they were conscious that the Indians were about them.

D'Erlach knew too well the customs of the Apalachian race to doubt

that the runners had already sped, east and west, bearing _le baton

rouge_--the painted club of red, which summons the tribe to which it

is carried to send its young vultures to the gathering about the prey.

He sped away accordingly, re-crossing the little river where the party

of Le Caille had encountered the Indian spy, and pressing forward upon

the route which he had been before pursuing. Day and night he travelled

with little intermission, in the endeavor to put as great a space as

possible between his band and their enemies. But the toil had become too

severe for his people. They began to falter, and were finally compelled

to halt for a rest of two or more days, in a snug and pleasant valley,

such as they could easily defend. Here they suffered several disasters.

One of his men, drying some gunpowder before the fire, it exploded, and

he was so dreadfully burnt that he survived but a day, and expired

in great agony. Another, who went out after game, never returned. He

probably fell a victim to his own imprudence, or sunk under the

arrows of some prowling savage. The camp was broken up in haste and

apprehension, and the march resumed. Their force was now reduced to

thirteen men, and these were destined to still further reduction. The

cold had become excessive. The feet of the Frenchmen grew sore from

constant exercise; and at length, despairing of the long progress still

before them before they could reach the sea, Alphonse D'Erlach yielded

to the growing desire of his people to ascend the mountains and seek a

nearer spot of refuge, or at least of temporary repose. He began to give

ear more earnestly to the story of the great city of the mountains; or,

he seemed to do so. At all events,--such was the suggestion--'we can

shelter ourselves for the winter in some close valley of the hills; here

we can build log dwellings, and supply ourselves with game as hunters.'

The Frenchmen had acquired sufficient experience of Indian habits to

resort to their modes of meeting the exigencies of the season. They knew

what were the roots which might be bruised, macerated, and made into

bread; and they had been fed on acorns more than once by the Floridian

savages. They began the painful ascent, accordingly, which carried them

up the heights of Apalachia, that mighty chain of towers which divide

the continent from north to south. They had probably reached the region

which now forms the upper country of Georgia and South Carolina.

It was in the toilsome ascent of these precipitous heights that they

encountered one of those dangers which D'Erlach had striven so earnestly

to elude. This was a meeting with the Indians, in any force. A body of

more than forty of them were met descending one of the gorges up which

the Frenchmen were painfully making their way. The meeting was the

signal for the strife. The war-whoop was given almost in the moment when

the parties discovered each other. The Indians had the superiority as

well in position as in numbers; being on an elevation considerably above

that of the Frenchmen. They were a large, fine-limbed race of savages,

clad in skins, and armed with bows and stone-hatchets. They had probably

never beheld the white man before, and knew nothing of his fearful

weapons. They were astounded by the explosion of the arquebuse, and when

their chief tumbled from the cliff on which he stood, stricken by an

invisible bolt, they fled in terror, leaving the field to the Frenchmen.

But, three of the latter were slain in the conflict, and three others

wounded. The path was free for their progress, but they went forward

with diminished numbers, and sinking hearts. The survivors were now

but ten, and these were hurt and suffering from sore, if not fatal,

injuries. The cold increased. The savages seemed to have housed

themselves from the fury of the winds, that rushed and howled along the

bleak terraces to which the Frenchmen had arisen. They buried themselves

in a valley that offered them partial protection, built their fires,

raised a miserable hovel of poles and bushes for their covering, and

sent out their hunters. Two parties, one of two, the other of three men,

went forth in pursuit of a bear whose tracks they had detected; leaving

five to keep the camp, three of whom were wounded men. Of these two

parties, one returned at night, bringing home a turkey. They had failed

to discover the hiding-place of the bear. The other did not reappear all

night. Trumpets were sounded and guns fired from the camp to guide their

footsteps, but without success; and with the dawn Alphonse D'Erlach set

forth with his brother and another, one Philip le Borne, to seek the

fugitives. Their tracks were found and followed for a weary distance;

lost and again found. Pursued over ridge and valley, in a zigzag and

ill-directed progress, showing that the lost party had been distracted

by their apprehensions. This pursuit led the hunters greatly from the

camp; but D'Erlach had made his observations carefully at every step,

and knew well that he could regain the spot. He had provided himself

well with such food as they possessed, and his little party was well

armed. He refused to discontinue the search, particularly as they still

recovered the tracks of the missing men. For two days they searched

without ceasing, camping by night, and crouching in the shelter of some

friendly rock that kept off the wind, and building themselves fires

which guarded their slumbers from the assaults of wolf and panther; the

howls of the one, and the screams of the other, sounding ever and anon

within their ears, from the bald rocks which overhung the camp. On the

morning of the third day the fugitives were found, close together, and

stiffened in death. They had evidently perished from the cold.

Very sadly did the D'Erlachs return with their one companion to the camp

where they had left their comrades. But their gloom and grief were not

to suffer diminution. What was their horror to find the spot wholly

deserted. The ashes were cold where they had made their fires: the

probability was that the place had been fully a day and night abandoned.

No traces of the Frenchmen were left--not a clue afforded to their

brethren of what had taken place. Alphonse D'Erlach, however, discovered

the track of an Indian moccasin in the ashes, but he carefully

obliterated it before it was beheld by his companions. It was apparent

to him that his people had suffered themselves to be surprised; but

whether they had been butchered or led into captivity was beyond his

conjecture. His hope that they still lived was based upon the absence of

all proofs of struggle or of sacrifice.

To linger in that spot was impossible; but whither should they direct

their steps.

"We are but three, now, my comrades," said the younger D'Erlach,--"we

must on no account separate. We must sleep and hunt together, and suffer

no persuasions to part us. Let us descend from this inhospitable

mountain, and, crossing the stretch of valley which spreads below,

attempt the heights opposite. We may there find more certain food, and

better protection from these bleak winds."

"Better that we had perished with our comrades, under the knife of

Melendez," was the gloomy speech of the elder D'Erlach.

"It is always soon enough to die," replied the younger. "For shame, my

brother!--it is but death, at the worst, which awaits us. Let us on!"

And he led the way down the rugged heights, the others following

passively and in moody silence.

They crossed the valley, through which a river went foaming and

flashing over huge rocks and boulders, great fractured masses from the

overhanging cliffs, that seemed the ruins of an ancient world. The

stream was shallow though wild; and crossing from rock to rock they made

their way over without much trouble or any accident. The ascent of the

steep heights beyond was not so easy. Three days were consumed in making

a circuit, and finding a tolerable way for clambering up the mountain.

Cold and weary, hungry and sick at heart, the elder D'Erlach and Philip

le Borne, were ready to lie down and yield the struggle. Despair had set

its paralyzing grasp upon their hearts; but the considerate care, the

cheerful courage, the invigorating suggestion, of the younger D'Erlach,

still sufficed to strengthen them for renewed effort, when they were

about to yield to fate. He adopted the legend of the great city. These

rocks were a fitting portal to such a world of empire and treasure. He

dwelt with emotion upon its supposed wonders, and found reasons of great

significance for assuming it to be near at hand. And they toiled after

him up the terrible heights, momently expecting to hear him cry aloud

from the summit for which they toiled--"Eureka! Here is the Grand

Copal!" In this progress the younger D'Erlach was always the leader;

Philip le Borne struggled after him, though at a long distance, and,

more feeble than either, the elder D'Erlach brought up the rear.

Alphonse had nearly reached the bald height to which he was climbing,

when a fearful cry assailed him from behind. He looked about instantly,

only in time to see the form of le Borne disappear from the cliff,

plunging headlong into the chasm a thousand feet below. The victim was

too terrified to cry. Life was probably extinguished long before his

limbs were crushed out of all humanity amongst the jagged masses of

the fractured rocks which received them. The cry was from the elder

D'Erlach. He saw the dreadful spectacle at full; beheld his companion

shoot suddenly down beside him, with outstretched arms, as if imploring

the succor for which he had no voice to cry. He saw, and, overcome with

horror, sank down in a convulsion upon the narrow ledge which barely

sufficed to sustain his person. Alphonse D'Erlach darted down to his

succor, and clung to him till he had revived.

"Where is Philip?" demanded the elder brother.

"We are all that remain, my brother," was the reply.

The other covered his eyes with his hands, as if to shut out thought;

and it was some time before he could be persuaded to re-attempt the

ascent. Alphonse clung to his side as he did so; never suffered him to

be beyond reach of his arm, and, after several hours of the greatest

toil, succeeded in placing him safely upon the broad summit of the

mountain. And what a prospect had they obtained--what a world of wonder,

of beauty and sublimity--fertile realms of forest; boundless valleys of

verdure; illimitable seas of mountain range, their billowy tops rolling

onward and onward, till the eye lost them in the misty vapors of the sea

of sky beyond.

But the eyes of our adventurers were not sensible to the sublimity

and beauty of the scene. They beheld nothing but its wildness, its

stillness, its coldness, its loneliness, its dread and dreary solitude.

"We are but two, my brother, two of all," said the elder D'Erlach. "Let

us die together, my brother."

"If fate so pleases," was the reply--"well! But let us hope that we may

live together yet."

"I am done with hope. I am too weary for hope. My heart is frozen. I

see nothing but death, and in death I see something very sweet in the

slumber which it promises. Why should we live? It is but a prolongation

of the struggle. Let us die. Oh! Alphonse, your life is not less

precious to me than mine own. I would freely give mine, at any moment,

to render yours more safe; yet, if you agree, my hand shall strike the

dagger into your heart, if yours will do for mine the same friendly

office."

"No more, my brother! Let us not speak or think after this fashion. Our

frail and feeble bodies are forever grudgeful of the authority which

our souls exercise upon them. If they are weary, they would escape from

weariness, at sacrifices of which they know not the extent; would they

sleep, they are not unwilling that the sleep should be death, so that

they may have respite from toil. My brother, I will not suffer my body

so to sway my soul if I can help it. I will still live, and still toil,

and still struggle onward, and when I perish it shall be with my

foot advanced, my hand raised, and my eye guiding, in the progress

onward--forever onward. It will be time enough to think of death when

death grapples us and there is no help. But, till that moment, I mock

and defy the tempter, who would persuade me to rest before my limbs are

weary and my strength is gone."

"But, Alphonse, my limbs are weary, and my strength is gone."

"Let your heart be strong; keep your soul from weariness, and your limbs

will receive strength. Sleep, brother, under the shelter of this great

rock, while I kindle fire at your feet, and prepare something for you to

eat."

And while the elder brother slept, the other watched and warmed him,

and some shreds of meat dried in the sun, and a slender supply of meal

corns, parched by the fire, with a vessel of water, was prepared and

ready for him at awakening.

But he awakened in no better hope than when he had laid down. He ate and

was not strengthened. The hope had gone out from his heart, the fire

from his eye, his soul lacked the cheerful vigor necessary to exertion,

and his physical strength was nearly exhausted.

"Would that I had not awakened!" was his mournful exclamation, as his

eyes opened once more to the dreary prospect from the bald eminence of

that desolate mountain-tower. "Would that I might close mine eyes and

sleep, my brother, sleep ever, or awake to consciousness only in a

better world."

"This world is ours, my brother," responded the younger, impetuously;

"and, if we are men, if we had no misgivings--if we could feel only as

we might--that the weariness of this day would find a wing to-morrow; we

should conquer it, and be worthy of better worlds hereafter. But he who

gives himself up to weariness, will neither find nor deserve a wing.

Thou hast eaten--thou hast drunken,--thou shouldst be refreshed. I have

neither eaten nor drunken, since we set off at dawn this morning for our

progress across the valley."

"Reproach me not, Alphonse," replied the other; "thou hast a strength

and a courage both denied to me."

"Believe it not; be resolute in thy courage, and thy strength will

follow. It is the heart, verily, that is the first to fail."

"Mine is dead within me!"

"Yet another effort, _mon frére_,--yet one more effort! The valley

below us looks soft and inviting. There shall we find shelter from the

bleak winds that sweep these bald summits."

"It is cold! and my limbs stiffen beneath me," answered the other, as

he rose slowly to resume a march which was more painful to his thoughts

than any which he had of death. But for his deference to the superior

will of the younger brother, he had surely never risen from the spot.

But he rose, and wearily followed after the bold Alphonse, who was

already picking his way down the steep sides of the mountain.

* * * * *

We need not follow the brothers through the painful details of a

progress which had few varieties to break its monotony, and nothing to

relieve its gloom. Two days have made a wonderful difference in the

appearance of both. Wild, stern and wretched enough before in aspect,

there was now a grim, gaunt, wolf-like expression in the features of

Alphonse D'Erlach, which showed that privation and labor were working

fearfully upon the mind as well as the body. He was emaciated--his eyes

sunken and glossy, staring intensely yet without expression--his

hair matted upon his brows, and his movements rather convulsive than

energetic. His soul was as strong as ever--his will as inflexible; but

the tension of the mind had been too great, and nature was beginning to

fail in the support of this rigor. He now strove but little in the work

of soothing and cheering his less courageous brother. He had no longer a

voice of encouragement, and he evidently began to think that the death

for which the other had so much yearned would perhaps be no unwelcome

visitor. Still, as if the maxims which we have heard him utter were a

portion of his real nature, his cry was forever "On," and still his hand

was outstretched towards blue summits that seemed to hide another world

in the gulfs beyond them.

"I can go no farther, Alphonse. I will go no farther. The struggle is

worse than any death. I feel that I must sleep. I feel that sleep would

be sweeter than anything you can promise."

"If you sleep, you die."

"I shall rejoice!"

"You must not, brother. I will help you. I will carry you."

He made the effort as he spoke--for a moment raised up the failing form

of his brother--staggered forward, and sank himself beneath the burden.

"Ha! ha!" he laughed hoarsely; "that we should fail with the Golden

Copal in sight! But if we rest, we shall recover. Let us rest. Let us

kindle here a fire, my brother, for my limbs feel cold also."

"It is death, Alphonse."

"Death! Pshaw! We cannot fail now; now that we are nearly at the summit.

I tell you, brother, we are almost at the portals of that wondrous city.

Once I doubted there were such city, but I have seen glimpses of towers,

and methought but now I beheld the window in a turret from which a fair

woman was looking forth. See now! Look you to the right--there where you

see the mountain sink as it were, then suddenly rise again, the slopes

leading gently up to a tower and a wall. The evening sunlight rests upon

it. You see it is of a dusky white, and the window shows clearly through

the stone, and some one moves within it. Dost thou see, my brother?"

"I see nothing but the sky and ocean. It is the waters that roll about

us."

"It is the winds that you hear, as they sweep down from yonder

mountains. But where I point your eyes is certainly a tower, a great

castle--no doubt one that commands the ascent to the mountains."

"Brother, this is so sweet!"

"What?"

"Ah! what a blessed fortune! Escaped from the bloody Spaniard, afar from

the inhospitable land of the Floridian, to see once more these sweet

waters and the well-known places."

"What waters? What places?"

"Do you know them not--our own Seine and the cottage, Alphonse? Ha! ha!

there they are! I knew they would come forth. Old Ulrich leads them; and

Bertha is there, and brings little Etienne by the hand. And, ah! ha! ha!

Joy, mother, we are come again!"

"He dreams! he dreams! If thus he dies, with such a dream, there can be

no pain in it. Let him dream! let him dream!"

And Alphonse D'Erlach hastened to kindle the flames, and he tore from

his own body the garment to warm his dying brother; and he clasped his

hands convulsively as he listened to the faint and broken words that

fell from his lips, subsiding at last into,

"Mother, we are come!"

And then he lay speechless. The younger brother turned away, and looked

yearningly to the mountains.

"If I can only reach yon castle, he should be saved. It is not so far!

but this valley to cross--but that low range of rocks to overcome. It

shall be done. I will but cover him warmly with leaves and throw fresh

brands upon the fire, and before night I shall return with help."

And he did as he said. He threw fresh brands upon the fire; he wrapped

the senseless form of his brother in leaves and moss; and, stooping

down, grasped his hand and printed a long, last kiss upon his lips.

The eyes of the dying man opened, but they were fixed and glassy. But

Alphonse saw not the look. His own eyes were upon the castellated

mountain. He sped away, feebly but eagerly, and as he descended into

the valley, he looked back ever and anon; and as he looked, his voice,

almost in whispers, would repeat the words--"Keep in heart, brother. I

will bring you help;" and thus he sped from the scene.

* * * * *

The day waned rapidly, but still the young Alphonse sped upon his

mission. He crossed the plain; he urged his progress up the ridgy masses

that formed the foreground to the great cliffs from which the castled

towers still appeared to loom forth upon his sight. He cast a momentary

glance upon the sun, wan, sinking with a misty halo among the tops of

the great sea-like mountains that rolled their blue and billowy summits

in the east, circumscribing his vision, and he murmured--

"I shall be in time. Do not despair, my brother. I will soon be with you

and bring you succor."

And thus he ascended the stony ridges, height upon height gradually

ascending, till he came to a sudden gorge--a chasm rent by earthquake

and convulsion from the bosom of the great mountain for which he sped.

He looked down upon the gorge, and as he descended, he turned his eye

to the lone plateau upon which his brother had been laid to dream, and

cried:

"I go from your eyes, my brother, but I go to bring you help."

And he passed with tottering steps, and a feebleness still increasing,

but which his sovereign will was loth to acknowledge, down into the

chasm, and was suddenly lost from sight.

* * * * *

Scarcely had he thus passed into the great shadow of the gorge, when the

howl of wolves awakened the echoes of the valley over which he had gone.

And soon they appeared, five in number, trotting over the ground which

he had traversed, and, with their noses momently set to earth, sending

up an occasional cry which announced the satisfaction of their scent.

Now they ascend the stony ridges. For a moment they halt and gather upon

the verge of the great chasm; then they scramble down into its hollows,

and howling as they go and jostling in the narrow gorges, they too pass

from sight into the obscurity of the mountain shadows.

* * * * *

Another spectacle follows in their place. Sudden, along the rocky ledges

of the high precipices which overhang the gorge, darts forth a graceful

and commanding form. It is a woman that appears, young and majestic,

lofty in carriage, yet winning in aspect. She belongs to the red races

of the Apalachian, but she is fairest among her people. The skin of

a panther forms her mantle, and her garments are of cotton, richly

stained. She carries a bow in her hand, and a quiver at her back. Her

brows are encircled by a tiara of crimson cotton, from which arise the

long white plumes of the heron. She claps her hands, and cries aloud to

others still in the shadows of the mountain. They dart out to join her,

a group of graceful-looking women and of lofty and vigorous men. She

points to the gorge beyond, and fits an arrow to her bow. The warriors

do likewise, and her shaft speeds upon its mission of death, shot down

amidst the shadows of the gorge. A cry of pain from the wolf,--another

and another, as the several shafts of the warriors speed in the same

direction. Then one of the warriors hurls a blazing torch into the

abyss, and the wounded wolves speed back through the gorges, and the

hunters dart after them with shafts, and blazing torches, and keen

pursuit. Meanwhile, the Apalachian princess descends the precipice with

footsteps wondrous sure and fast. Her damsels follow her with cries of

eagerness, and soon they disappear--all save the hunters, who pursue the

wolves with well-aimed darts, till they fall howling one by one, and

perish in their tracks. Then the warriors scalp their prey and turn

back, pass through the gorge, and follow in the footsteps of their

princess. The sun sinks, the night closes upon the valley, and all is

silent.

XXV.

DOMINIQUE DE GOURGUES.

I.--EARLY HISTORY OF GOURGUES.