<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</SPAN><br/> <small>WE PUT TO SEA.</small></h2>
<p class="cap">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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>When he had finished, Laudonnière answered,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Laudonnière, having been superseded in his command,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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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 <i>Trinity</i> 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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>“If there is a battle,” she smiled, “it were difficult<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</SPAN></span>
to keep him where the women and children are. He
hath ever given a good account of himself.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mademoiselle, but he should not go.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“You are thinking of us,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>I did not answer. I looked down at the ground,
tapping my boot with my scabbard.</p>
<p>“I know not what it is, Mademoiselle, but my
mind is deep in melancholy.”</p>
<p>She looked across to the pine barrens, sighing.</p>
<p>“It is the dying of the year or some movement
of the elements,” she replied.</p>
<p>“Yes, doubtless that is it.”</p>
<p>And then we both sat silent again.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>She smiled a little at my eagerness.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!” I cried in
anguish.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“God bless you, Mademoiselle!” I murmured.</p>
<p><SPAN href="#image01">Then I left her.</SPAN> That was the memory of Diane
de la Notte I carried out to sea.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>We entered pinnaces at about four of the afternoon
and put out across the bar for the <i>Trinity</i>, 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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>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 <i>Pearl</i> and the <i>Jesus</i> 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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</SPAN></span>
laughing at his plight. For while I looked he put
his hand upon his stomach, retching and groaning
like a person ill unto death.</p>
<p>“Why, how now, Job Goddard,” I laughed—for
the ship was pitching—“is this your maiden
voyage?”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>I went over to him and clapped my hand upon
his shoulder. “Chut, man,” said I half angrily,
“what is it? Speak up!”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Then and not until then would he speak.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>The weather by now was growing thicker and
thicker, and in an hour we saw that a squall would<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</SPAN></span>
the waist, while his companion swore softly to himself.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>For six days this weather continued. There was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“You Anglais are always meddling,” he shouted.
“What have you to do with this command?”</p>
<p>But I did not move. I looked at him squarely
and some one took the pin away from him; then he
went below.</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p>Would we never come to land again? And,
Mademoiselle!</p>
<p>I dared not think!</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</SPAN></span></p>
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