Gibbs George
In Search of Mademoiselle
Ribault went to him, and the soldiers crowded around.
“Is it the Spaniards?” he asked.
“It is, your Excellency,” replied Bachasse shortly. He was stout and of a brusque manner – as brave a seaman as ever stood his watch.
“They came upon us late this afternoon, in five ships,” he said. “Captain Bourdelais wished me to report that we were not prepared for battle. Half of our crews are at the Fort.” He paused.
“Go on,” said Ribault, sternly. “Tell me all and omit nothing.”
“It was dark before they came upon us in earnest, our men were waiting at their guns. There was a trumpet from the Spanish flagship. Captain Bourdelais answered from the Trinity. We saw lanthorns and a figure upon the great vessel and we heard a strong voice say:
“‘Whence does this fleet come?’
“‘From France,’ Captain Bourdelais replied at once.
“‘What are you doing here?’
“‘We bring soldiers and supplies for a fort which the King of France has built and for many others which he will soon build.’
“‘Are you Catholics or Lutherans?’ said the voice.
“‘We are Lutherans! we are Lutherans! Who are you?’
“‘I am Pedro Menendez, general of the fleet of the King of Spain. At daybreak I will board your ships and every heretic shall die!’
“Then our men broke into laughter and jeering; ‘You are cowards,’ they shouted, ‘come at once.’
“Then they came down upon us. Captain Bourdelais ordered the cables cut, for we were at a disadvantage. All of the ships put to sea. My Captain has sent me to you. They fired upon this boat but we escaped. They are now fighting upon the sea – and this is my report.” When he had finished he bowed and stood silent.
The Admiral stroked his beard. The worst had happened and he saw that it would be war to the death. He told Bachasse to order his men upon deck and to make his boat fast to the stern of the Jesus. Then they came up carrying one who had been killed. So we sailed on down to the mouth of the river.
We saw no more gun-flashes and only now and then could we hear a sound far out to sea which told us where the ships were sailing. I doubted not that it was wise of Captain Bourdelais to slip his cable and run for the open; with a good wind he might escape. By and by we heard no sounds at all.
The Admiral was for going in pursuit of the flying ships, but called a consultation of his officers in the cabin and they advised against it. Fort Caroline would be without vessels or men to protect it, and the Spanish fleet might sail up within range and batter the bastions down. Their counsel at last prevailed, and at dawn the soldiers were landed upon the beach. The Jesus and three other vessels cast anchor in an arm of the sea behind the beach, broadside on, so that the soldiers might be protected by a brave cannon fire. Then the bowmen and arquebusiers dug into the sand, making trenches in which they might find protection from arrows and small pieces.
These were moments of great anxiety. It was not until the sun had mounted well into the sky that some sentinels who had been watching down the beach, reported a sail coming up with the brisk wind. By ten o’clock she was in plain sight and from her great bulk we made her out to be the Spanish flag-ship San Pelayo. She could not have been less than a thousand tons burthen; and came beautifully, sailing outside the outer bar just beyond the range of our long pieces. She wore three yellow streaks along her sides where her gun tiers were, and her sails, crossed with great red stripes and bars, never spilled a cupful as they bellied out into the wind and bore her onward, though she was dipping and pitching in the chop as she went by. Her bulwarks gleamed in the sunlight with the lines of polished helmets; and though I had no spying-glass I fancied that high up near her lanthorns I could make out the Adelantado and by his side the stalwart figure of Diego de Baçan. I bit my lips and hoped they might try to make the entrance of the river.
But they threw the ship up into the wind, where she courtesied disdainfully, and then a scornful puff of smoke came from her side and a shot struck in the first line of surf. She hung there a minute and then squared away down the beach again. The Adelantado was discreet as well as valiant. Late in the afternoon three other sail were sighted, and it was soon seen that they were French. At sunset they were near enough and a boat put off from the Gloire, Captain Cosette himself coming ashore through the surf to make his report. He had followed the Spaniards to San Augustin and had seen that they had landed their stores and negroes and were rapidly entrenching themselves.
Many of these facts have been set forth in the writings of the Captain Laudonnière, and of Challeux the carpenter; and some stories have been written by the Spaniard Barcia and by Mendoza, the priest. Yet it is proper that everything bearing upon the events which are to follow should be known to all Christians, that they may rightly judge between these people and us.
CHAPTER IX.
WE PUT TO SEA
After waiting all night and part of the next day we returned to the Fort, leaving a guard upon the beach, with cannon to assist the ships should they be attacked.
That night there was a council of war. Laudonnière was sick in his bed, so we went to his chamber, standing and sitting at the bedside. There were La Grange, Sainte Marie, Ottigny, Visty, Yonville, De Brésac and others. The Admiral spoke boldly and at some length. He outlined his plan, which was nothing less than an immediate attack by sea upon San Augustin, before the Spaniards had time to well entrench themselves against attack. His eye flashed as he spoke and he was good to see, for there is naught so fine as the light of battle in the eyes of a man of years. The younger men were with him body and heart, for the very boldness of the plan was to their liking.
When he had finished, Laudonnière answered, favoring the plan of remaining at Fort Caroline to fortify it against attack. La Grange and Sainte Marie got upon their feet and spoke briefly to the same effect. They all said that having lived in these parts for nearly two years, they were better qualified to speak of these things; they thought it dangerous to venture upon that coast in the month of September or October, for the storms came with terrible swiftness and devastation.
Ribault reproved them for their timidity, asking whether they were valiant sailor-men of France or dogs of Spaniards? Then he read a letter from Admiral Coligny which he took to be an order to attack this same Admiral Pedro Menendez if he ventured within the dominions of New France. By sea, the distance was short and the route explored. It was the proper strategy. With a sudden blow we would capture or destroy the Spanish ships, and master the troops on shore before their companions upon the sea could arrive.
Laudonnière, having been superseded in his command, had no actual control in the matter, and though the Admiral spoke kindly to him and to the other officers, the orders were at once issued for the expedition. In order that there might be no possibility of miscarriage, the most of the available men of the Fort as well as of the ships were to be taken. Not only were all the officers and soldiers of the new expedition to go but also La Caille, Laudonnière’s sergeant-major, his Ensign – Arlac, De Brésac a friend of La Caille, Ottigny, La Grange and the very pick of his men.
This was little to my liking. With these men gone and Laudonnière ill, the Fort lay practically at the mercy of the enemy, were they Spaniards or Indians. The Sieur de la Notte would come upon the Trinity in spite of all that I could urge, for though not born to the command of men, he had a love for play with the steel and went where he felt his duty strongest.
I could not conceal my fears, even from the Vicomte de la Notte. All that was for me in this world would be left behind in a crumbling fort with no one to defend. Of those to remain, but seventeen men of Laudonnière and nine or ten of Ribault were in condition to bear arms, and some of these were servants, one of them being the Admiral’s cook and two others his dog-boys. There was an old carpenter of threescore named Challeux, two shoemakers, an old cross-bow maker, a player upon the spinet and four valets – a beggarly array of fighting men surely to defend the one hundred and fifty women, children and camp-followers the Admiral would leave behind! I went to him, but he would not listen to me. His mind was made to carry out all these plans, he said; and so I left him. La Grange and Ottigny went to him again; but we saw that it was useless. I then sought Madame and Mademoiselle in their chamber in the living quarters.
We had only a short time, but Mademoiselle and I went out upon the bastion and stood by the breeching of one of the cannon, looking out to sea. The air was close and sultry and not a breath stirred the trees to the back of us or rippled the surface of the river that flowed, deep and sluggish, below. The leaves, half turned in color and wet by a rain-storm during the night, hung sere and motionless. The standard above our heads hung closely about the staff, drooped and faded. The ships in the river were shaking out their sails, which fell heavily and hung from their yards in straight and listless folds to the deck. The men moved down from the Fort to the boats as though they had no joy in the undertaking. There was no gleam upon their breastpieces, for the sun did not shine that morning, and never the rollicking song that means so much to the man-at-arms. I was in no cheerful disposition, and there was a reflection of my mood in the manner of Mademoiselle.
“There is no great danger,” I began, “and we will return within the week. I have asked your father to stay, as he can be of no great service in a culverin fight, or a fight of ships. But he will go.”
“If there is a battle,” she smiled, “it were difficult to keep him where the women and children are. He hath ever given a good account of himself.”
“Yes, Mademoiselle, but he should not go.”
I said it in a tone so convincing that she looked at me to get my meaning. I had not meant to betray my uneasiness to her, but with her woman’s wit she guessed my thought.
“You are thinking of us,” she said quietly.
I did not answer. I looked down at the ground, tapping my boot with my scabbard.
“I know not what it is, Mademoiselle, but my mind is deep in melancholy.”
She looked across to the pine barrens, sighing.
“It is the dying of the year or some movement of the elements,” she replied.
“Yes, doubtless that is it.”
And then we both sat silent again.
“Mademoiselle, you know that Don Diego de Baçan is there,” I said at last, pointing to the southward. “If anything should happen that we do not return so soon as we expect, promise me that you will yourself cause a private watch to be kept at the gates of Fort Caroline. If there are signs of attack, go at once with Madame to the woods. Forgive me, Mademoiselle, for asking you to bear a part of my uneasiness, but there are not many wise heads at Fort Caroline.”
She smiled a little at my eagerness.
“I have no fear of Diego de Baçan, or Menendez de Avilés,” she replied, “but I will do as you wish.” She then took from the breast of her gown a straight dagger, long and fine. As I looked at it a chill went over me and I held up my hands before my eyes.
“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!” I cried in anguish.
She held the weapon poised a moment on her finger-tips looking at it strangely, then slowly set it in its sheath and returned it to her breast. I looked her in the eyes and they were calm. I knew that she would do as she meant. She stood straight as any one of Satouriona’s warriors, smiling bravely at me, and I wished that I might take her in my arms and tell her all that I would before we parted. I looked up at her, my hands trembling to touch her, my eyes wide with adoration; and something came over her then that she knew how deep I loved her. For a great tear came to her eye and trickled down upon her cheek. But she brushed it away brusquely with the back of her hand. She thrust her fingers toward me, turning her head away; and I pressed them to my lips, kissing them blindly – blindly many times.
“God bless you, Mademoiselle!” I murmured.
Then I left her. That was the memory of Diane de la Notte I carried out to sea.
We entered pinnaces at about four of the afternoon and put out across the bar for the Trinity, which, swinging wide at her anchorage, rolled upon the glassy water, light as a feather. For the cargo was out of her and she sat high and proud, for all the world like a great swan. There was no air stirring and the surface of the sea was like oil, – I felt again the same ominous foreboding of impending evil. There had been a storm somewhere, for the waves rolled in and burst with a roar upon the beach below us. It was choppy over the bar, but beyond a wetting we got upon the ship safely enough. I liked not the looks of the sky and sea. Overhead the clouds hung dark and heavy, for though ’twas a full hour before sunset the sky was so gloomy that all the lanthorns below were lighted. We could see all around the horizon, for the air was most clear and the blue black line of it came strong against the coppery glow of the heavens to the east and southward. The sand upon the shore gleamed white by contrast against the dark green of the pines beyond, which cut across the sky-line so black that you could see with distinctness each particular needle and spur. The thunder of the surf was loud above the dip and murmur of the ship, and to the southward along the coast as far as the eye could reach the white lines of froth, growing smaller and smaller in the distance, rolled in from the outer bar.
It was no pleasant berth for a ship of our size upon a lee shore. She could not go into any of the rivers as the Pearl and the Jesus could, and I was for putting to sea at once, where in the open we could clew up everything and run for it if a storm were brewing. The Admiral and the Captain Bourdelais were upon the after-castle in conversation and looking at the sky or up the river toward the Fort, where the Captain La Grange, with one of the vessels of Laudonnière, still tarried. It was plain to be seen that they liked the looks of the weather no better than I, for in a little while orders were passed forward to secure everything for sea, and the anchor was hove up to a short cable. Before dark La Grange appeared, and as a light breeze had sprung up, signals were flashed and we put out to sea under all plain sail. As soon as the sheets had been trimmed aft and the course had been set down the coast, I took a lanthorn and lay below decks with one of the midship’s men of the watch to see that all was secure in the hold and cabins.
When I went under the half deck and opened the hatch to the quarters of the men, a cloud of blue smoke rolled out and I thought there must be a fire. There, upon a sea-chest, sitting most disconsolate, was my Englishman, Job Goddard. Around him in a half-moon was a crowd of the French bowmen and arquebusiers holding their sides and laughing at his plight. For while I looked he put his hand upon his stomach, retching and groaning like a person ill unto death.
“Why, how now, Job Goddard,” I laughed – for the ship was pitching – “is this your maiden voyage?”
But Goddard only bent the further forward, and the bowmen laughed the more. At this I feared ’twas serious, for Goddard was no man to be laughed at by any Frenchman.
I went over to him and clapped my hand upon his shoulder. “Chut, man,” said I half angrily, “what is it? Speak up!”
And with that he turned toward me the sorriest look and wryest face I have ever beheld upon mortal man. But he made no sign that he heard me or indeed that he was aware of my presence, only gripping his middle and groaning the louder. I made a shrewd guess that ’twas no vital sickness that had come upon him, and remembering how I had once before seen a man cured of some such an ailment, without further ado I fetched him a resounding whack upon the thigh.
I had not counted upon so speedy a recovery, for I had scarce time to spring behind him when he flew into the air and in the very thick of the Frenchmen – striking this way and that with feet and hands, until two of the arquebusiers measured their length upon the floor and the rest of them were flying in all directions before the fury of his onslaught. Unable longer to restrain myself I burst into a fit of laughter, which even my sense of authority could not withhold.
It was not until then that Goddard espied me. His countenance fell and he looked around him as though to gather his wits. But in a moment he walked over to his sea-chest, and I saw that he had been sucking upon one of these tobacco reeds which Vasseur had described to me. He looked at the packet and bowl a moment stupidly and then, with a sudden motion, dashed them upon the deck, where they broke into a hundred pieces.
Then and not until then would he speak.
“Blow me, sir,” said he, “if I bean’t sick at me stomick.” The expression of his face at this unaccustomed sensation was so comical that I could not blame the Frenchmen, and I laughed as loud as the best of them.
The next morning when within but two leagues of San Augustin the wind fell again to the same dead, sluggish calm of the day before, and we could make no progress; but plain to the naked eye behind the sand spit at the entrance showed the vessels of the Spaniards, where they had anchored to receive us.
The weather by now was growing thicker and thicker, and in an hour we saw that a squall would strike us. We had barely time to get our canvas in when down it came with great force and away we rode trying to bear up against it. Close as we hauled we could not get to the harbor and give battle; and so the Admiral, seeing that some of the smaller vessels would be blown ashore, signaled for all to follow, and under storm-sails stood off until the tempest should abate. Had we held on so close to that lee shore some of our vessels must surely have fallen into the hands of the Spaniards.
But the storm showed no sign of abating. Before noon the wind increased to such a force that the vessels could wear but their very lightest canvas; and heavy gusts of wind came now and then, in which those sails cracked and strained, the ship groaning like a thing in pain.
Bourdelais stood upon the poop glancing first at the slatting canvas and then at the Spanish vessels within the harbor, growing every moment more indistinct in the wrack and mist under our lee. De Brésac, who had stood fingering his sword-hilt impatiently, awaiting the beginning of the battle, had railed so openly at the Admiral’s decision to put to sea, that he had been sent below, like a sulky boy, to recover his usual tepor. Salvation Smith had stopped reading to Job Goddard from the “Martyrs,” – his accustomed relish before going into battle – and sat moody and dispirited in the lee of the barge in the waist, while his companion swore softly to himself.
I doubted not, it was a wise decision to put to sea, but to me it seemed a bitter thing to be forced to turn aside from a battle which meant so much to us all. If Ribault himself had any doubts as to his decision, he did not show them; for he paced up and down the quarter-deck, his calm demeanor setting a worthy example in forbearance to the younger and less moderate among us, who were anxious to be up and at our enemies, and found small pleasure in a sailing drill upon the ocean when other and more troublous business might have been doing.
The next day the wind went down. From green the sea had turned to gray. But the waves did not break in masses of foam. They boiled along, churning and seething as though disturbed by some mighty current beneath. Only the crest, in a wall of amber thin as parchment, was tossed up to curl and break in a jet of spray; and broken lines of gray swayed and rolled athwart the trough where the foam had been. The clouds from brown had turned to a heavy blue, the color of a Spanish blade. They hung low and menacing, while great fingers of them curled and twisted like furies, or shot out in long lines here and there to be torn to pieces and carried in shreds down to leeward.
For six days this weather continued. There was no great danger to the ships so long as it blew no harder. The Admiral was running around this mounthsoun, as he called it, which came up from the south. Could we but go through it, all danger would be past; but in this sea it would have been destruction to some of his fleet to have hazarded an approach to San Augustin again. We could get no sight of clear sky; but by the drift and speed I made it that we had gone three hundred leagues or so to the north and into the Mares’ sea, as it has come to be called.
Here we saw no longer the great rollers of the coast, for the wind now blew fitfully from the east and the waves ran first in one way and then in another. The sky lightened a little and the Admiral, thinking the storm had gone out to sea, shifted his helm and put about again.
The Sieur de la Notte, who was chafing under this delay, could hardly restrain his great anxiety. The Spaniards had seen us struggling in the face of the storm and might conceive the bold project to attack Fort Caroline before the ships returned. The very thought of it filled my heart with dread, and I could not forbear speaking of it to Ribault.
That was the only time I had ever seen him angry. He flashed upon me, his features distorted with rage. He had seized a pin from the rail and I thought for the moment he would strike me with it.
“You Anglais are always meddling,” he shouted. “What have you to do with this command?”
But I did not move. I looked at him squarely and some one took the pin away from him; then he went below.
It was plain to see, none the less, that the situation of the French and the Spanish had changed. Here were we, many leagues upon the ocean, at the mercy of the winds and seas; while the Spaniards, our deadliest enemies, outnumbering us two to one, were ashore, and but two days’ march from all we had in New France – all the most of us had anywhere upon the face of the earth!
Would we never come to land again? And, Mademoiselle!
I dared not think!
