FERDINAND DE SOTO, THE DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
Ferdinand de Soto, who was with Pizarro in Peru, was born in Spain, and the first years of his life were spent in a gloomy castle where it was so quiet, that he often grew lonely and wished that he had some playfellow besides the birds or his dog or horse. His parents were so poor that they could not afford to send him to school, and so he grew to be a big boy before knowing how to read or write; but his family were of noble blood, the noblest in Spain; and although they could not send him to school, still they had him taught to ride and fence, as it was thought disgraceful for a Spanish nobleman not to have these accomplishments. And so the boy learned to ride daringly, and at the age of twelve could use his sword as easily as any other Spanish boy of his age; and in the meantime, in the halls of the dark old castle, he listened eagerly to the tales he heard of the wonderful land which Columbus had discovered, and he resolved that when he became a man he would go himself across the sea and bring back gold and refurnish up the old castle and make it once more a place fit for noblemen to live in. When he learned to read he stored his mind with stories of adventure and romance, and he said that he, too, would go into the world some day and win honor and fame; and so the days passed; the sun brightened the castle walls in the daytime and the shadows hung over them at night, and through sunlight and shadow the boy dreamed on of the years to come when he would be a knight and a soldier and gain glory and wealth under the flag of Spain.
De SotoDE SOTO.
DE SOTO.
One day a very wealthy Spanish nobleman named Don Pedro de Avila rode up to the castle and asked to see Ferdinand. Ferdinand at this time was an unusually handsome youth, tall and graceful, and remarkable for his strength and agility. He excelled all his friends in fencing and riding, and all those active amusements which the Spanish youth delighted in.
Don Pedro had noticed the handsome boy, and as he had no son of his own he offered to adopt him and educate him; so Ferdinand left his home and was sent to a Spanish university, where he spent six years, during which time he became renowned for his skill in the chivalric entertainments which were all the time going on in Spain. He took the prizes at all the tournaments, and was everywhere praised and admired. Don Pedro became very proud of him and treated him as though he were his own child.
Don Pedro had a daughter, Isabella, who was very beautiful, and her father wished her to marry some rich nobleman, so that she might have a high position at the Spanish court; but while her father was away in Darien, where he had been appointed governor, Isabella fell in love with Ferdinand de Soto and promised to marry him. When Don Pedro came back and De Soto asked permission of him to marry his daughter he was very angry, and from that time he became De Soto's bitterest enemy. He was going back to Darien again, and thinking it would be a fine thing if De Soto were to go with him and get killed by the Indians, he offered to give him a handsome outfit and appoint him captain of a company of soldiers if he would go. De Soto was very poor, his parents were dead, and he thought he might win honor and wealth by going with Don Pedro, so he accepted his offer.
At the time that he left Spain, De Soto was nineteen years of age; he was away fifteen years, during which time he heard only once or twice from Isabella; he wrote to her many times and she answered his letters, but her father always destroyed the letters. During the years that he was away De Soto did indeed become rich and famous; he had left Spain a poor boy, and he returned a wealthy and honored man. Without his help Pizarro would never have been able to conquer Peru, and the fame of the great soldier De Soto was talked of from one end of Spain to the other.
In the meantime Don Pedro had died, and as soon as De Soto reached Spain he married Isabella. For two years they lived in Seville in princely style, but at the end of that time De Soto found that his money was fast melting away, so he resolved to go on another expedition and gather more gold. He asked permission of the king to conquer Florida, where it was believed there was much gold, and offered to fit out the expedition at his own expense. The king consented, and De Soto began his preparations.
As soon as it became known that De Soto was raising an army for the conquest of Florida, all the young noblemen of Spain flocked eagerly around his standard. He accepted only those who were strong and able to endure hardship, for he knew that he had a very difficult task before him. Such an army had never before left Spain; the gallant and daring soldiers were nearly all wealthy and well-born. They wore costly armor and all their outfit was of the richest description. Everything was provided to make the expedition a success. Arms and provisions, chains for the Indians whom they expected to make slaves, bloodhounds for hunting runaways, and cards for the young nobles to amuse themselves with. Twelve priests went with them to convert the natives and keep up religious services. Ten ships left the harbor of San Lucar, with flags flying, bugles pealing, and cannon thundering over the water, and thus De Soto, under sunny skies and with bright hopes, sailed for the summerland of De Leon.
They stopped at Cuba, where De Soto left his wife to govern the colony during his absence, and then sailing through the Gulf they entered Tampa Bay and landed. Here they heard that there was a large Indian town six miles away, and De Soto decided to march there; but when they reached the village they found it entirely deserted. Not an Indian was to be seen. It was quite a large village; the houses were made of timber, thatched with palm leaves; many of them were large, having many rooms; they had useful articles of furniture, some of which were very elegantly carved and ornamented with gold. The dresses of the women were very beautiful and trimmed with shells and embroidery and richly colored; there were exquisite shawls and mantillas woven by hand from the bark of the mulberry tree, and the walls of some of the houses were hung with tapestry of prepared buckskin, while the floors were covered with carpets of the same material. The buckskin had been tanned so that it shone like satin, and was as soft as silk, and it made the rooms look very luxurious and elegant.
All this was very different from the Indian homes De Soto had seen in Darien, and he did not doubt that here he should find a kingdom as rich as Peru. He took possession of the village, and he and his soldiers lived in the houses. One or two of the Indians came back and were taken captive, and from them De Soto learned that Ucita, the Indian chief, was a mortal foe to all Spaniards because he had been so badly treated by Narvaez, a cruel Spaniard who had been there before De Soto's arrival. Narvaez had treated Ucita most wickedly. He had caused his mother to be torn to pieces by bloodhounds; like Don Pedro in Darien, he had hunted down women and girls with his bloodhounds, and had cut infants in pieces and thrown them to the dogs, and once, in a fit of anger, he had caused Ucita's nose to be cut off. Ucita remembered all these things, and when De Soto sent to him and offered his friendship, the Indian chief replied:
"I want none of the speeches and promises of the Spaniards. Bring me their heads, and I will receive them joyfully."
Thus De Soto had to suffer for the crimes of Don Pedro and Narvaez. While he had been in Darien he had always treated the Indians kindly, but he knew how cruelly other Spaniards had acted toward them, so he expected a great deal of trouble here. The Indians thought all Spaniards were alike, and it was a long time before he could make Ucita believe that he meant him no harm. He sent him presents again and again, and whenever an Indian was taken captive by his soldiers De Soto treated him kindly and sent him back to the tribe with presents. At last Ucita seemed to be touched by the kindness of De Soto, who then felt he could continue his march without leaving a powerful enemy behind. Ucita did not say he would be his friend, but then he showed a more friendly spirit, and the Spaniards felt he would not attack them. Ucita was a brave and noble man, generous to his friends and merciful to his enemies; but the Spaniards had treated him so inhumanly that it is no wonder he did not at first believe in De Soto's offers of friendship.
In the meantime a Spaniard had been brought into camp who had been taken prisoner by the Indians when Narvaez was in Florida. This man's name was Juan Ortiz, and he had been with the Indians ten years, so he knew their language and habits. When he was first taken prisoner he had been very cruelly treated and at last was bound to the stake to be burned; as the flames crept around him he cried aloud with pain and terror, and the chief's daughter, a very beautiful princess about sixteen years of age, could not endure the sight of his agony; she threw her arms around her father's neck and begged with tears that Ortiz might be saved. Ortiz was about eighteen years of age, tall, and very handsome, and the sight of his great beauty and the pleadings of the princess Ulelah at last touched her father's heart. Ortiz was spared, but for some time after his life was miserable, as the Indians treated him very cruelly; but at last his lot became easier, and at this time he was treated as a friend by the tribe. Of course De Soto was very glad to meet Ortiz, as he would be very useful in dealing with the natives.
Ortiz told De Soto of a very powerful chief who lived about a hundred miles from Ucita, and offered to lead him there; the Spaniards thought there might be gold there, and they joyfully set off under the command of Gallegos, De Soto remaining behind. The Indians they met told them of a place where there was so much gold that the warriors had shields and helmets made of it; but very few of the Spaniards believed this; they thought it was a trick of the Indians to get them away from the country. In a few days De Soto followed Gallegos with the rest of the army, and they began to work their way through dense forests and swamps, and thickets, and through mud and water, losing their way and harassed by the Indians, in this mad hunt for gold.
One day, while they were travelling along the banks of a river, they saw a canoe with six Indians in it coming toward them; the Indians landed and three of them came up to De Soto, and, bowing very low, said to him: "Do you come for peace or for war?"
"I come for peace," replied De Soto, "and seek only a peaceful passage through your land. I need food for my people and canoes and rafts to cross the river, and I beg you to help me."
The Indians said that they themselves were in want of food, as there had been a terrible sickness the year before, and that many of their tribe had died and others had gone away for fear of the pestilence, thus leaving the fields uncultivated. They also said that their chieftain was a young princess and they had no doubt she would receive them kindly and do everything for them. Having said this, the chiefs returned to the other side of the river.
And now the Spaniards, looking across the river, saw that there was a great stir in the village opposite. First, a very large and beautifully-decorated canoe appeared upon the banks, followed by several other canoes also very beautiful; then a gorgeous palanquin, borne by four men, was seen coming toward the river; the palanquin stopped at the banks, and from it a graceful girl, very finely dressed, entered the state canoe. She sat down upon the cushions in the end of the canoe, over which was stretched a canopy; she was followed by eight female attendants who entered the canoe after she had sat down. Then the six men who had just been to see De Soto entered a large canoe which was rowed by a number of other Indians. The canoe in which the princess sat was fastened to this one, and then they started, followed by several other canoes in which were the most noted warriors of the tribe.
The Spaniards were charmed with the beautiful young princess. Her attendants brought with them a chair of state upon which she took her seat after bowing to De Soto, and then they began a conversation by means of the interpreter, Juan Ortiz. The princess said that it was true the pestilence had left the tribe very poor, but that she would do everything she could to provide them with food; she offered half of her house to De Soto, and half the houses in the village to the soldiers, and said that by the next day there would be rafts and canoes ready to take the Spaniards across the river.
De Soto was much touched by the kindness of the princess and promised to be her friend forever. Then the princess rose and placed a large string of costly pearls around De Soto's neck, and he in return presented her with a gold ring set with a ruby; and then, with promises of help on the morrow, the princess and her people returned to the village.
The next day the princess had the rafts made and the Spanish army crossed the river; while crossing four horses were carried away by the swift stream and drowned, for which the Spaniards grieved very much, as these horses had been of great service to them in their journey. When they arrived at the village they found very pleasant quarters awaiting them; as there were not houses enough to hold all the soldiers, some wigwams had been built in a beautiful mulberry grove just outside the village, and the Spaniards were delighted to stop a while with these friendly Indians.
The mother of the princess was a widow living some miles down the river, and De Soto wished to see her, and, if possible, make a friend of her, so the princess, as soon as she heard this, sent twelve of her chieftains to invite her mother to visit her; but the queen refused to come, and said that her daughter had done wrong to receive the Spaniards. This made De Soto all the more desirous to make the queen his friend, so he sent thirty of his men to see her, with large presents and offer of friendship. The princess sent one of her relatives to guide the party; he was a young man about twenty years old, very handsome, and with fine manners. He was dressed in a suit of soft deerskin which was trimmed with embroidery and fringe, and wore a head-dress made of feathers of various colors; he carried in his hand a beautiful bow, highly polished, so it shone like silver, and at his shoulder hung a quiver full of arrows. The Spaniards were delighted with the fine appearance of their guide, who indeed looked worthy to serve the charming princess, and the party left the village in high spirits.
The guide led them along the banks of the river, under the shade of fine old trees; after a walk of some miles they stopped for their noon-day meal, seating themselves in the shade of a beautiful grove through which they were passing. The young guide, who had been very pleasant and talkative all the way, now suddenly became very quiet. He took the quiver from his shoulder and drew out the arrows one by one; they were very beautiful arrows, highly polished and feathered at the end; he passed them to the Spaniards, who admired them very much, and while they were all busy looking at them, the young Indian drew out a very long, sharp arrow shaped like a dagger. Finding that no one was looking at him, he plunged the arrow down his throat, and almost immediately died.
The Spaniards were much shocked and could not imagine why this had happened, but they afterward found out that the young guide was a great favorite with the queen, and that knowing she did not want to see the Spaniards, who, he thought, might perhaps seize her and carry her away, and not daring to disobey the princess, whom he loved and respected, he had chosen this way to free himself from his trouble.
The other Indians did not know where the mother was, so the Spaniards returned without seeing her. De Soto was much disappointed at this, and tried again to find her place of retreat, but without success. In the meantime the Spaniards had heard from the Indians that there were great quantities of white and yellow metal in their country, and they thought it must be gold and silver; but when the Indians brought it into camp, they found that the gold was copper and the silver mica, and they were again disappointed.
The princess now told De Soto that about three miles away there was a village which was once the capital of the kingdom, and that there was a great sepulchre there, in which all their chieftains and great warriors were buried, and that immense quantities of pearls had been buried with them. De Soto, with some of his officers, and some of the Indian chiefs, visited this place and found it to be a large building three hundred feet long and over a hundred feet wide, covered with a lofty roof; the entrance was ornamented with wooden statues, some of them twelve feet high, and there were many statues and carved ornaments in the inside. By the side of the coffins were small chests, and in these had been placed such things as it was thought the dead chieftains would need in the spirit world. When an Indian died his bow and arrows were always buried with him, as it was supposed he would need them in the "happy hunting-grounds," and, besides, many other things, as you already know. In these chests the Spaniards found more pearls than they had ever dreamed of. It is said that they carried away from this place fourteen bushels of pearls, and the princess told them if they would visit other villages they would find enough pearls to load down all the horses in the army. The Spaniards were delighted and proposed to De Soto that they should make a settlement there, but he was determined to go further on in search of gold.
He had noticed that for some time the Indians had not been so friendly as they were at first; some of his soldiers had ill-treated the natives—although he had given strict orders that they should not—and now he felt sure that the princess meant to escape from the village, and that her tribe would begin a warfare with his army. So he thought the safest thing to do would be to compel the princess to go with him when he marched away. He knew that the Indians would not harm him if she were with him, as they would be afraid of harming her, too; so he told her it was necessary for her to go with him. The princess did not like this plan at all, but she said nothing, and in a few days De Soto began his march accompanied by the Indian princess, in her beautiful palanquin, which was attended by a large number of her chieftains, all handsomely dressed, and wearing their gorgeous head-dresses with their nodding plumes. For some days they travelled through the forests, when one day, as they were passing through a very thick wood, the princess suddenly leaped from her palanquin and disappeared among the trees. She had made this plan with her warriors, and De Soto never saw or heard of her again.
It is very sad to think that a friendship which began so happily should have ended thus, and had De Soto acted differently, the princess would always have remembered him as a noble man; as it was, she must have been sorry she ever trusted him at all. Had he told her that he wished to leave her village, and to part with her and her people as friends, she would, no doubt, have let him go in peace; but by carrying her off he made her his enemy forever. His only excuse is that he thought it would really be safer both for his men and hers to make her go with him.
The Spaniards continued their journey, and in a few days came to a large Indian village. The young chief received De Soto kindly, as he had heard he did not come to make war. He took him to his own house and gave his men pleasant quarters, and they remained there two weeks. The Indians told them that there were copper and gold farther on, and some Spaniards went to find it, but were again disappointed. However, there were pearls in the rivers, and some very beautiful ones were obtained. Many of these pearls which the Indians had were of little value, as they had bored holes through them with a red-hot iron so they might string them for necklaces and bracelets. De Soto was presented with a string of pearls six feet in length, with every pearl as large as a hazelnut, which would have been of immense value, had not the beauty of the pearls been dimmed by the action of fire. The Indians obtained the pearls by laying the oysters on hot coals, and as the heat opened the shells the pearls could be taken out. To please De Soto, the chief ordered his men to do this in his presence, and from some of the largest, ten or twelve pearls were taken about the size of peas. De Soto left this pleasant Indian village and again commenced his march, and now came many dark and sad days. The Indians he met after this were mostly hostile, and there were many dreadful battles in which De Soto lost men and horses. They journeyed summer and fall and winter, passed through dense forests where the horses could scarcely move, and marched over barren tracts of country where they could get no supplies; they suffered from hunger and sickness, and many died on the weary march, but De Soto would not turn back, he was still determined to find gold. At length, when they were almost worn out with travelling for days through a region more dismal than any they had passed through, uninhabited, and filled with tangled forests and swamps, they came to a small village, and here De Soto discovered, not the gold he sought, but something else which has made his name immortal. The little village was built on the banks of a river, and when De Soto went down to its margin he saw that, compared with the other rivers he had seen, it was like a sea. The river was a mile and a half wide, and rolled swiftly by, carrying with it trees and logs and driftwood. For ages this great river had rolled from the lake country above down to the Gulf, but no white man had ever looked upon it until now. De Soto, in his search for gold, had discovered the great Mississippi, the largest river in the United States, and one of the longest on the globe. The Indians called the river Mesaseba, which means, in their language, the Father of Waters.
De Soto did not remain here long, the chief was not friendly, and after a few days' rest the Spaniards crossed the Mississippi and continued their march.
Once they passed near an Indian village whose chief came out to meet them. The chief said, as the Spaniards were more powerful and had better arms than the Indians, he believed that their God was also better than the Indian god, and he asked them to pray to their God for rain, as the fields were parched for want of water. De Soto replied that they were all sinners, but that he would pray to God, the Father of Mercies, to show kindness unto them.
So he ordered the carpenter to cut down a large tree, which was carefully trimmed, and then formed into a gigantic cross; it was so large that they were two days in completing it, and it took one hundred men to raise it and plant it in the ground. It was placed upon a bluff on the western bank of the Mississippi. The morning after the cross was raised the whole Spanish army, and many of the natives, formed a solemn religious procession and walked around it. De Soto and the chief walked side by side, and the natives and soldiers followed after, two by two. It seemed for the time as if Indian and Spaniard were not only friends, but brothers. The priests chanted hymns and offered prayers, and then the whole procession advanced two by two to the cross, knelt before it, and kissed it. Upon the opposite shore of the Mississippi thousands of Indians were gathered, who were watching the service with the greatest interest; at times they seemed to take part in the exercises; when the priests raised their hands in prayer, they too raised their eyes to heaven, and lifted up their arms as if asking help, and the murmur of their voices floated across the waters of the river, and mingled with the sighing of the wind through the trees, and with the notes of the Christian hymns, and with the words of the Christian prayers; and the blue sky above smiled down alike on the haughty Spaniard and on the simple native, as he kissed the great wonder cross, the symbol of Him to whom all men are the same, and whose love reaches down to all.
After the prayers the people returned to the village in the same order, the priests going before and chanting the Te Deum; and Las Casas, the historian, writing of this, says, "God, in his mercy, willing to show these heathens that he listeneth to those who call upon him in truth, sent down, in the middle of the ensuing night, a plenteous rain, to the great joy of the Indians."
So the rain fell, and the Indian sowed his seed and gathered harvests of golden grain; and the cross stood there in the shadow of the forest, and the mighty river rolled on before it, and in the years to come, when the memory of the Spaniard had almost faded away, it was still to the red man a sign of the love of the Great Spirit, who had helped them in their need.
De Soto did not stay long among these friendly Indians, but pressed on his way. There were again toilsome marches and weary hours of disappointment, and, at last, the brave heart of the leader grew sad and hopeless. The climate was unhealthful, and De Soto was taken sick with fever, and at the same time he was told that the chief of that country was getting ready for a great battle, in which all the neighboring tribes would join, and that they meant to kill every Spaniard in the country.
But De Soto could fight no more battles, for he was dying. One by one the faithful soldiers knelt by his bed, and weeping, bade him farewell. He asked them to live as brothers, loving and helping one another, and urged them to convert the natives to the Christian religion. And so the brave soldier died, far from home and that sunny Spain which he loved so well, and the whole army wept for him, for they loved him, and grieved to think that they should see him no more.
It was thought best not to let the Indians know of De Soto's death, as they might attack the Spaniards at once if they knew their great leader was gone. So De Soto was buried at night by torchlight, and no salute was fired over his grave, nor any dirge chanted by the priests; but the Indians suspected that he was dead, and even visited the spot where he was buried; so the soldiers, for fear the natives would remove the body after they went away, decided to take it up themselves and sink it in the river. They cut down an evergreen oak, whose wood is almost as heavy as lead, and hollowing out a place large enough for the body, placed it in it, and at midnight it was taken out to the middle of the river, into whose depths it immediately sank. Then the soldiers, in the silence and darkness, returned to the camp, and De Soto was left alone in the wilderness, and only the stars and the river knew where he slept.
His soldiers built some boats and sailed down the Mississippi to the Gulf, and after much hardship reached a Spanish settlement in Mexico. Few were left of the brilliant company that had left Spain three years before, and so ended the expedition which had sailed away from home so gaily. Their search for gold had been like following the will-o'-the-wisp, which leads on and on, and then vanishes at last, leaving you alone in the darkness.
VERRAZANO.
In France, as well as other European countries, the wonderful accounts of the wealth of India and Cathay had been listened to with delight and surprise, and the king, Francis I., determined to send out some ships and see if they might not discover the new way to the East that people had been looking for so long. He thought, too, that he would claim and settle a part of America, so that the New World should not be entirely owned by Spain and England. Before this, France had been content with sending a few fishermen to the northern coasts of America, but they made no settlements, and, as soon as the fishing season was over, always went back to France again.
But in 1523 an expedition left France for the purpose of finding a passage to Cathay, and exploring the coast of America. The expedition was commanded by Giovanni Verrazano, an Italian. Soon after leaving France, a tempest came up, and all the ships but one were obliged to return; but Verrazano, with this one, the Dauphine, went on to the Madeiras, and leaving that place in January, 1524, sailed boldly across the Atlantic. After a voyage of over a month, during which time another very severe storm overtook them, they at last saw land. It is supposed that this was the coast of Carolina. Fires were blazing all along the coast as far as the eye could reach, and Verrazano knew by that that the country was inhabited. He sailed along for many miles, keeping close to the shore, and was delighted with the new country, which seemed more beautiful than any he had ever seen before. The shore was covered with fine white sand, making a beach nearly fifteen feet wide, quite level, except here and there where the sand was formed into hillocks, which were covered with strong short grass. Back from the shore were broad fields, which were kept fresh by the numerous streams that flowed into the sea, and still farther back stood immense forests, whose great variety of color charmed the eye. Verrazano was surprised to find here many kinds of trees that were unknown to him, and said that no words could describe the beauty of these forests. "Think not," he says, "that they are like the Crimean forests, or the solitudes of Scythia, or the rigid coasts of the north, but adorned with palm trees, and cypress, and laurel, and species unknown to Europe, which breathe forth from afar the sweetest of odors."
And combined with the aromatic perfume of the pines was the scent of the violets and roses, and of the beautiful lilies that swung in the lakes, and everywhere birds were singing, and graceful deer looked with startled eyes through the leaves of the hanging vines; and the first impulse of the Frenchmen was to land and enjoy some of the flowers and fruits of this fair land.
In the meantime the natives had come down to the beach, and stood looking with wonder on the Frenchmen; but as soon as the seamen rowed toward the shore the timid Indians fled toward the woods. But the Frenchmen, by signs and friendly motions, made them understand that they need not fear, and soon they all came crowding round the seamen with cries of delight, pointing out at the same time the best place to land. Verrazano, in turn, was delighted at the appearance of the natives, whose fine figures, and beautifully ornamented robes, and gayly decked out hair, placed them above the common savages that the Frenchman expected to find in the wilds of America. After a pleasant little call here, Verrazano kept on his way, still going northward, carefully examining the coasts, and finding everywhere the same luxuriant growth of trees and flowers. Still, there was no good harbor to be seen; but as the ship was in need of fresh water he decided to try and land. But this he found to be impossible, as the waves broke with great force upon the open beach, making it dangerous for any boat that ventured too near. The natives stood on the shore watching his efforts, and stretched out their hands as if inviting him to land, but he was obliged to give up the attempt and go back to the ship. The natives still continued to make friendly signs, and Verrazano replied to them as well as he could, and ordered a sailor to swim ashore with some presents. The man obeyed, and got near enough to the shore to throw the gifts into the ready hands of the Indians; but as he turned to swim back to the boat he was overpowered by the breakers and dashed upon the beach.
The Indians immediately surrounded him, and lifting him up gently, carried him farther up on the beach, out of the reach of the waves. But as soon as the man recovered from his faint, and saw where he was, he began crying loudly for help, and as the natives answered his cries with louder and shriller ones of their own, Verrazano and his companions expected to see the unfortunate seaman speedily killed by the savages; but in this they were mistaken, for the Indians, after they had sufficiently admired the whiteness and delicacy of his skin, built a fire, and did all they could to help him out of his trouble. Verrazano met the same kindness from all the people along the coast; he found them always ready to offer their friendship, and to be of use whenever they could. It is sad to think that for all the good he met at their hands he should allow his men to return evil; but such is the case, for one of them having kidnapped a little Indian boy, the captain not only allowed him to be received on the ship, but carried him away to France, and none of his friends ever heard from him again.
The Dauphine went on up the coast, turning in now and then to explore, a little way, the many bays and rivers which it passed, and reached, one pleasant day, what is now known as the Bay of New York. Leaving his ship, Verrazano took a boat and sailed into the inner bay, approaching the island on which New York City now stands. This was the most beautiful spot that the voyagers had yet seen. All around stretched the wooded heights of New Jersey and Long Island, and the great river coming from the north seemed to promise a fair passage to some far distant land. The natives came thronging down on the beach from both shores, and, from their friendly tones and signs, seemed to offer a welcome; but before Verrazano could go very far into the "beautiful lake," as he called the harbor, he was compelled by the rising of the wind to put back to the ship and sail on. But his visit is interesting, because he was probably the first white man who had visited the beautiful harbor which to-day is known as one of the greatest commercial ports in the world.
And now the course was changed, and the Dauphine sailed east through Long Island Sound until Narragansett Bay was entered, and then a northerly course was taken, and the harbor of Newport reached. Verrazano describes the country as very fair and pleasant, and indeed it must have appeared so, with its fields of blossoming trees and miles of stately forests. Before the boat touched the shore, the natives flocked down to the beach, and thirty canoes surrounded the vessel, all filled with the wondering Indians. At first they did not come very near, but sat at some distance from the ship, silently admiring the white-skinned strangers before them; and then they suddenly gave a long shout of welcome, and began to come near to the ship and take the gifts of beads and bells and knives that the seamen threw out to them, and finally their last fear vanished and they entered the ship. Here, as farther south, Verrazano was struck with the fine faces and figures of the natives. Among them were two kings, the elder one about forty years of age. He was dressed in a robe of deer-skins beautifully embroidered, and wore around his neck a chain of gold set with large stones of various colors. His head was bare, but his hair was carefully arranged, tied behind, and ornamented with pearls and feathers. The younger king, who was about twenty-four, was dressed in the same way, and all the warriors who accompanied them wore deer-skins highly ornamented and polished. The women did not approach the vessel, but remained at a distance, seated in the canoes; but Verrazano saw that they were fine-looking, and modest in behavior, and that they too wore the finely-dressed skins of the deer, and had their hair arranged in a variety of ornamental braids. The hair of the older women was arranged very much like that of the women of Egypt and Syria, and the married women were distinguished by ear-rings of certain, peculiar form.
Verrazano stayed here some fifteen days, pleasantly entertained by the natives, and finding them always friendly and trustful. He made several trips up the bay, and examined the shores closely in search of gold and silver, which he found the natives thought much less of than they did of the brass rings and strings of beads that he bestowed upon them. But evidently the bay did not lead to Cathay, and no precious metals were found on its borders, and so Verrazano got the Dauphine under way again, and taking affectionate leave of the Indians, sailed out into the Atlantic and up the coast toward Maine. And now the country changed very much in appearance, and the natives were less friendly. There were no beautiful palm-trees, or delicate blossoms of apple and peach, and in place of green fields and sunny meadows, were only sand and rocks. The natives would not come near the ships or let the Frenchmen land, and the trading was all done by means of a long cord stretching from the ship to the shore, and over which the articles were passed, the natives retreating hurriedly to the woods as soon as the bargains were made. But Verrazano landed in spite of the opposition of the Indians, and went several miles into the country. He found that the huts were poorer than those at Narragansett Bay, which were made of split logs and nicely thatched, and that the country was poorer, too, than any he had seen yet. When he started back to the ship the natives followed his party, shooting arrows at them, and showing their anger by fierce, wild cries. But the Frenchmen reached the ship in safety, and were soon sailing away, still northward, and soon reached the shores of Maine, whose outlying islands, Verrazano said, reminded him of some portions of the Adriatic. And then, being short of provisions, and knowing that the whole wide sea lay between him and France, he turned the Dauphine homeward, having explored the Atlantic coast, from the Carolinas to Maine, more carefully than any other navigator had yet done. When he returned to France he gave it as his opinion that the passage to Cathay did not lie through the New World, and stated that America was very much larger than Europeans had hitherto believed. His voyage is considered important because of the good idea he gave of the eastern coast of America, and because he corrected the wrong belief that the New World was as small as other navigators had declared.
But he could not make them believe that there was no passage to Cathay through the fair provinces of the New World: that beautiful dream was not dispelled for many a long year after Verrazano and his bold crew had become old and gray.
JACQUES CARTIER.
Verrazano told such wonderful stories of America that many other Frenchmen felt a desire to go and see the country for themselves and find out if the stories were true. But some years passed before any new expedition was sent out, and even then it was only undertaken because the French became jealous of the power that Spain was getting in the New World.
Spain already claimed Mexico, Peru, Florida, and the Pacific, and all at once the French king became alarmed and asked if God had created the new countries for Castilians (Spaniards) alone! His courtiers hastened to tell him no, indeed, and that France had as good a right as any other country to own and settle America. And so Verrazano was sent out, and after him, ten years later, came Jacques Cartier, who left the fort of St. Malo in April, 1534.
Jacques Cartier finds Newfoundland inhospitableJACQUES CARTIER FINDS NEWFOUNDLAND INHOSPITABLE.
JACQUES CARTIER FINDS NEWFOUNDLAND INHOSPITABLE.
The ships sailed across the Atlantic, taking a more northerly course than usual, and in twenty days reached Newfoundland. Cartier coasted along until he reached the Straits of Belle Isle, which he passed through and entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and then sailed leisurely along the western coast of Newfoundland. But much to his disappointment the country was not beautiful and pleasant, as he had heard, but, on the contrary, very dismal and inhospitable. The fertile valleys and green fields that Verrazano had spoken of were nowhere to be seen, but instead only rocks and stones, and wild rough coasts.
The natives were very savage in appearance and not very friendly; and Cartier made a very short stay here, and steered across the Gulf to a bay on the opposite side, where he found the natives also in poor condition, living on raw fish and flesh, without clothing, and using their upturned canoes as houses. But the country itself was much pleasanter than that on the opposite side of the Gulf, and so Cartier decided to take possession of it. Accordingly he called all his company together, and with great ceremony raised a huge cross and claimed the whole region for the King of France.
The natives had all gathered round and stood looking on curiously. There stood the cross, thirty feet high, carved with three fleur-de-lys, and the inscription, "Vive le Roi de France;" and not at all understanding what right these strangers had to their country, the chief and his principal men told Cartier, as well as they could by signs, that they would much rather he should take the cross down again and go away with his ships and leave them in peace. And Cartier explained to them in turn that the king he served was very powerful and rich, and able to send many soldiers and take the land by force if he so wished; but that also he was a very kind and loving king, and wanted to do all that he could for the Indians, and that the very best thing that could happen to them would be to have some Frenchmen come there and settle and teach them the arts of peace.
And then he gave them some trifling presents, some strings of glass beads, and yards of bright calico, and bits of colored glass, and shining penknives, and the Indians were so impressed by these gifts that, partly from a desire to obtain more, and partly through fear of the great unknown king, they not only let the cross remain standing, but what was much more, the chief consented to let his two sons go back to France with Cartier, and see for themselves the riches and power of his country and king.
And so the two Indian boys sailed away with these white strangers, and learned stranger things than they had ever dreamed of. Never before had they been farther away from land than they could go in a day's journey in their birch bark canoes; but now, as they stood on the deck of this great ship, and saw the land fade from their sight, and the great, boundless sea all around stretch away and away until it met the sky, and the sun drop down into the water and redden its glossy waves, it was all so different from what they had been used to that their hearts grew sick with longing for home and the fear that they had sailed into a new world and left their friends forever. But by and by, as the familiar stars came out, and the moon's friendly face appeared, and the night came softly down on the sea, the ship ceased to seem so strange and looked very comfortable and pleasant, and when the morning came they did not look backward, but only forward, to that mysterious France toward which they were sailing, and which they reached after a pleasant voyage early in September.
Cartier had been gone four months, and his account of his voyage was so encouraging that it was decided to send out another expedition as soon as the winter was over. The Indian lads were well received at the French court. The king was very kind and condescending and generous, and told them that it would be his greatest pleasure to send over some of his subjects, and make all the Indians Christians. And the two boys, Taignoagny and Domagaia, looked at the silk and velvet robes of the French nobles, and at the diamonds and rubies that glittered in their sword-hilts, and at the king's beautiful palaces, and the marble cathedrals and splendid mansions of Paris, and decided that to be a Christian must be indeed a happy lot, and expressed their willingness to have their whole tribe converted as speedily as possible.
Their whole visit was a succession of wonders and delights, for France was more beautiful even than their wildest dreams of their own "happy hunting-grounds," where it was supposed that the Indians had everything they could desire. But what Canadian Indians had ever dreamed of such a land as this, with its fields of flowers, and miles of ripened grain, and sunny slopes purple with luscious grapes? Even the winter was pleasant, with but little snow and ice outside, and warm, comfortable rooms inside. Very different from their own winter, where the snow lay thick on the ground for months, and the rivers and lakes were frozen, and the pines and balsams hung thick with icicles whose musical tinkling seemed like a sad song for the summer that was gone. Yes, Cartier had told the truth, his king was very powerful and rich and great, and when the spring came and another fleet left St. Malo, Taignoagny and Domagaia were quite in love with France, and very eager for the voyage to be over, so that they could tell their friends all the wonderful things they had seen there.
Cartier and his companions were in fine spirits, for the voyage promised to be a fair one, and they were all sure that honor and wealth awaited them in the New World. In August they arrived at the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and passing Anticosti Island entered the mouth of a great river. Taignoagny and Domagaia said that the name of this river was Hochelaga, and that it came from a far distant country, and was so long that no man had ever seen the beginning of it. Cartier listened to this story with interest; the stream was so broad and deep that he thought perhaps it was not a river at all, but a strait, and that he had at last discovered the long looked-for passage to the East. But the Indians told him that as they went up the river it became narrower, and its waters changed from salt to fresh, and then Cartier saw that it could not be the wished-for strait, and so made no haste to follow its course.
He sailed slowly up the great river, which is now known as the St. Lawrence, examining the country on either side, and looking for a good place to spend the winter. He passed the Saguenay, and some distance beyond anchored at an island called by himIsle-aux-Coudres, because of the abundance of hazels, and after a short stay here, sailed still farther on and stopped at another island, which abounded in grapes and which he called Bacchus Island—now known as the Isle d'Orleans. Here he received a visit from the natives, a large number of whom had come from the shore in canoes to look at these white visitors.
Cartier invited them on board his ship, but they were afraid to come very near until Taignoagny and Domagaia appeared, and assured them there was no danger, and that the Frenchmen were friends. The Indians were rejoiced to see their two young countrymen again, and came crowding aboard the ships to hear their wonderful stories about France. Donnacona, the chief, made a long speech, in which he offered his friendship to Cartier and thanked him for his kindness to his young countrymen, and then kissed his hand and placed his arms about his neck in token of gratitude and trust, and then he invited Cartier and his men to his own home at Stadacona, a little village which stood where now stands the beautiful city of Quebec. The village stood on the cliffs, high above the river, which flowed beneath, and which formed there a pleasant and safe harbor for the ships. So Cartier accepted Donnacona's invitation and they all went to Stadacona, and spent some time there very pleasantly, getting acquainted with the Indians and learning their mode of living, listening to their stories of bear and deer hunts, and their accounts of snow-shoeing and tobogganing, and expeditions up the river and into the great forests all around.
Particularly they liked to dwell upon their battles with another great chief who lived farther up the river. This was Hochelaga, after whom the river was named, and who was the most powerful chieftain in the country. Donnacona was very jealous of him, and was therefore much surprised and grieved when one day Cartier said that he had made up his mind to go and pay Hochelaga a visit.
In vain Donnacona tried to make him believe that the way was long and dangerous, and that Hochelaga would probably take him prisoner and treat him and his men very cruelly. Cartier was all the more resolved to go. And then Donnacona resolved to play a trick upon him, and see if he could not frighten him from going to Hochelaga, and so keep all the shining looking-glasses and knives, and bright basins, and pretty glass beads for himself and his own people, for he could not bear to think that any of this wealth should fall into his rival's hands. So one afternoon, as Cartier and his friends stood looking over the sides of their ship, they saw a most horrible sight. A canoe pushed out from shore and approached the vessel. It was paddled by some disguised natives, and in it were three Indian devils. And dreadful devils they were—the Frenchmen had certainly never imagined such a kind before. Their faces were as black as soot, and they were dressed in black and white hogskins, and wore horns more than a yard long on their heads. And as they neared the ship they shouted and yelled in a very diabolical manner, and altogether acted as much like devils as they knew how. And crowds of natives followed them down to the bank, shrieking and howling and throwing up their hands, and then rushing back to the woods as if in great fright. Taignoagny and Domagaia, who stood by Cartier's side, also threw up their hands, and looking toward heaven declared that these devils had come from Hochelaga, and that the god Cudruaigny had sent them to warn the French that all who attempted to visit Hochelaga should perish on the way, for Cudruaigny would send snow-storms, and ice-storms, and cold piercing blasts from the north, and the French would all die miserably of cold and exposure.
But the French only laughed at the devils, and called Cudruaigny a "noddy," and said they had received word from heaven that the weather would be fair, and that they would all be defended from the cold, and so the Indian devils, who were no match for French priests, turned back to the shore, and the natives, giving three loud shrieks in token of their defeat, took the devils in their midst and began a wild dance on the beach; and the next day, when Cartier started for Hochelaga, they sent their good wishes with him, and promised protection to those who remained behind.
For days and days Cartier sailed along the beautiful banks of the great river, stopping now and then to enter the great forests which were full of all kinds of game, or to gather the wild grapes that hung full on every side; and everywhere the natives came down to the beach and greeted them pleasantly, and when they reached Hochelaga they found a great crowd of Indians waiting to receive them and lead them to their village. Cartier and his companions put on their velvet mantles, and plumed hats, and dazzling swords, and marched on with great pomp, followed by the admiring crowd.
The village was very pleasantly situated; in front flowed the shining waters of the Hochelaga, which was nearly a mile wide at that point, and behind, like a protecting spirit, stood the beautifully wooded mountain which Cartier called Mount Royal, a name which it still bears. The village itself stood in the midst of great fields of Indian corn, ripe for gathering, surrounded by palisades for defence against hostile tribes. There were about fifty huts, that of the chief being the largest, and situated in the centre near the great public square, where all the people now gathered and looked with wonder and reverence on these new-comers. And the mothers brought their little children in their arms, and begged that these white strangers would touch them, thinking in some strange way that even the touch of these wonderful visitors would bring blessing with it. They were quite ready to believe that these white men came from a land richer and greater than their own; indeed they would have believed that they came from heaven itself if Cartier had told them so, for all the Indians always worshipped beautiful objects, and they thought that men whose skin was soft and white, and who wore such rich clothing, must belong in some great land where men were nobler and better than poor half-clothed races like their own.
And so they brought their sick king and laid him down before Cartier, and asked him to touch him and heal him, and Cartier knelt down and rubbed the king's useless limbs and prayed over him; but more than that he could not do. But the sight of the kneeling Christians, and the sound of their prayers uttered to an unseen God, filled the Indians with awe: they too knelt down and looked toward heaven, and made the sign of the cross, and prayed as well as they knew how, that the strangers' God would pity them and heal their sick and lame and blind.
King Agouhanna then gave his crown of porcupine quills to Cartier as a token of gratitude, and as this was the only thing of the least value that the poor chief possessed, Cartier accepted it with great courtesy, and in return presented the tribe with some of those brass rings and brooches and beads and knives that Donnacona had tried in vain to keep for himself. And these made the Indians wild with joy, and so altogether the visit of the Frenchmen was a great success, and when they returned to Stadacona they told such stories of the kindness and good-will of the Indians at Hochelaga that Donnacona was quite devoured with jealousy and hated his rival more than ever.
The French built a fort now, and got ready to spend the winter comfortably, and their preparations were made none too soon, for in a few weeks the river had frozen over, and the ships lay buried in snow, and the strangers began to see a Canadian winter for themselves and judge how they liked it. Although very different from any winter they had ever spent before, it might have been a pleasant one had not a terrible disease broken out among the Indians, which soon spread to the French camp. In a short time twenty-four of Cartier's men had died, and the rest were all sick but three.
Cartier became afraid that the Indians would attack the fort and destroy his men, if they learned of their weakness, so he ordered them to keep away, and whenever any of them came near he had his men beat against the sides of their berths with sticks and hammers, so that the Indians would think they were at work. But the Indians, instead of meaning harm, thought only of doing good. As soon as they learned that the French had taken the disease they came to them and offered their own remedies, and tried in every way to be of use. The squaws brought to the camp the boughs of a certain tree and taught the French how to prepare tea from the bark and leaves, and this medicine was so powerful that in a few days all the sick became well, not only those who were suffering from this disease, but also those who were afflicted with any other malady. It is not known exactly what this tree was; it may have been the sassafras, or possibly the spruce; but whatever it was it cured the sick and the French were very grateful, and said that all the physicians in France could not have done as much in a year as these Indian squaws accomplished in one day by means of this wonderful medicine.
The French made a very cruel return for all the kindness they had received from their dark-skinned friends, for in the spring, when Cartier left Canada, he carried with him the good chief Donnacona and nine of his countrymen as prisoners to France. It was a very wicked and treacherous thing to do, for Cartier had invited the chief and his men on board the ships to take part in a feast that was being given in honor of his departure; but as soon as he saw that the Indians were in his power he gave orders for the ship to sail, and so Donnacona and his friends were carried away from their relatives, who stood crying and begging for mercy on the bank of the river, and that was the way the French left Canada and its friendly people, who had shown them nothing but kindness and trust.
It was not usual for Frenchmen to treat Indians in this way, for of all the Europeans who came to America the French were the most beloved by the natives. They were the only ones who could live peaceably side by side with their Indian neighbors, who grew to love and respect them, sometimes attending their churches and often bringing their children to be baptized by the kindly French priests, and Cartier being a Frenchman was afterward very sorry for the deceit he had practised, and, no doubt, would have taken Donnacona and his captive friends back again to Canada; but the Indians could not live in exile, and before long they had all died of homesickness except one little girl, who indeed grew up and married happily, but who still longed all her life for a sight of the wide shining river and the dark clustered pines of her native land.
Four years after, France made another attempt to settle Canada. Cartier then met with the reward of his former treachery. The Indians were no longer friendly, and refused to believe him when he said that only Donnacona was dead, and the rest were all married and living in France as great lords.
Besides, the French had been disappointed in not finding gold and silver in the country, and so after awhile Cartier's ship sailed back to France again, and it was nearly fifty years before another attempt was made to make a French settlement in the northern part of America.
THE HUGUENOTS.
About the middle of the sixteenth century a great religious quarrel arose in France, because some of the people wished to leave the Roman Catholic Church and found a new religion. These people were called Huguenots, and the king of France and the priests of the Church, and most of the great noblemen, thought they would be doing a very nice and good thing if they could make the Huguenots come back into the Church again and be satisfied with their old faith. So many cruel things were done by the king and his ministers, and the poor Huguenots had a very hard time of it. They were shot and burned and hanged—men and women and little helpless children; and the more Huguenots were murdered, the more the king thought that he was doing God good service.
But there was one great nobleman who thought the Huguenots were right, and joined himself to them and said he would give his money and his life to protect them. This man was Admiral Coligny; and as he was very rich and powerful he decided to send the Huguenots away from France to America, where they would be able to live peaceably, without fear of the cruel king.
So Coligny sent out some ships, carrying as many Huguenots as they could, to the New World, and every one thought that the trouble would be nicely settled in this way and that France was well rid of the Huguenots.
The company was commanded by John Ribault, a very good and brave man, and one not likely to be discouraged, for it needed a brave heart to lead these people so far from their loved France and find homes for them in a strange land. The voyage was very long and so stormy that it seemed sometimes they would never reach America at all, and they grew very tired of the sight of the sea, always so gray and threatening, looking like a great monster ready to devour them all; but at last, one beautiful spring day, as they stood looking wearily toward the west, a very fair and pleasant country met their view.
A shining, level beach stretched up and down, and behind this the land was green with great trees whose waving branches seemed to nod a welcome to the strangers. As far as they could see this beautiful forest was all that met their eyes, not a sign of hill or mountain; and the next day, when, after sailing along the coast a little way, they entered the mouth of a deep, broad river, and saw the fresh meadow grass, and smelled the perfume of the shrubs and flowers, they thought that they had been indeed led to a pleasant home, and hoped that their troubles were over. It was on the first day of May, 1562, that they landed on the banks of this river, and for that reason they called it the river of May—it is now known as the St. John. The Indians, no doubt, wondered very much to see these white strangers, but they received them very kindly and showed them by signs and gifts that they wished to be friends; they brought them finely-dressed skins, and leather girdles, and strings of pearls, and golden ornaments; and the French gave in return some colored beads and shining knives, and—most wonderful of all to the Indians—squares of tiny looking-glasses. These seemed very beautiful to the simple natives, who had never seen their faces before except in the clear waters of their lakes and rivers.
The second day after the landing Ribault set up a stone column on which were engraved the arms of France. He meant by this that he claimed all that country for the king of France, and for any Frenchmen who might want to come there and live, and that no other European nation would be allowed to settle there without his permission. The Indians did not in the least know what the stone column meant; they did not suppose for a moment that these kind-looking strangers, whom they had received so cordially, meant in return to take possession of their land just as much as if it had been given them by their chiefs. But this is just what the French did mean to do, and if the Indians had been unfriendly there would have been a great deal of trouble; but the natives of Florida were among the most peaceable of the Indian tribes, and they and the new-comers got along very peaceably and grew very fond of one another. Everywhere in America the Indians were treated better by the French than by any other nation, and wherever the French settled the Indians soon became their friends. So the Huguenots took possession of their new home and found living there very pleasant, indeed; and in fact they could scarcely have chosen a better place than this fair land, with its abundance of fruits, its rivers full of fish, and its forests abounding in animals, valuable for food and skins. But although this pleasant country seemed almost like heaven after the troubles they had had in France, still they were not satisfied. They noticed that the Indians wore ornaments of gold and silver, and that they had great strings of pearls and turquoises; and these things seemed, in the eyes of the French, of more value than anything else. And then, too, they had heard marvellous stories of Cibola, a place on the Pacific coast, where there were great cities with houses built of lime and stone, and whose inhabitants wore garments of wool and cloth, and decked themselves with turquoises and emeralds, and all their household utensils were made of gold and silver, and the walls of their temples were covered with gold, and their altars were studded with precious stones. A wonderful place was Cibola, containing, perhaps, a valley of diamonds and rivers of gleaming pearls. So they decided not to stay quietly here, but to look around a little and see if they could not find a place as rich in gold and silver and precious stones as Cibola itself.
They sailed up the Atlantic coast and found the country just as beautiful and promising as their first view of it, and found also the same kind welcome from the natives. By and by they entered the harbor of Port Royal, and it was decided that this would be a good place to make a settlement, leaving some of their number there while the rest returned with Ribault to France to report the success they had met with. It, perhaps, would have been better if they had all gone back home, for a very sorry time had those who were left behind. Instead of making provision for the future, they thought only of the gold and silver they might get, and depended entirely on the Indians for their food; and although the Indians were most generous, still their food gave out at last and the Frenchmen had nothing to do but wait for Ribault's return. But as the months passed and he did not come, they set off for France in a small vessel they had built, and after almost perishing of hunger and thirst, were picked up by an English ship and taken on their way. The feeble were sent on to France, but all the strong were taken to England as prisoners; and so ended the first attempt of the Huguenots to settle America.
But Coligny decided to try again, and in 1567 another company of Huguenots left France under the command of René de Laudonnière. They had a pleasant voyage and arrived in June at the River of May. As soon as they stepped on the shore they were greeted with shouts of welcome from the Indians, who came crowding around crying out Ami! Ami! the only French word they remembered.
How glad they were to hear this familiar greeting. Like their friends who had been there before, they felt that this pleasant place would be a haven of rest from the stormy times in France. Then Satournia, the Indian chief, led them to the stone pillar that had been set up two years before, and which they found crowned with wreaths of bay and having at its foot little baskets full of corn which the Indians had placed there. The simple-hearted natives kissed the stone column reverently and begged the French to do the same. And to please them the Huguenots also kissed the pillar on which were engraved the lilies of France, and it seemed for a moment as if they were back in their own loved homes again, peaceful and happy, and that all the trouble that the cruel king had caused them was only an ugly dream.
The next day the chief gave the new-comers a stately reception, for these Indian chiefs believed just as much in ceremony as did the great kings of Europe, and the Europeans who came to America were very much surprised to find such respect paid to rank and station. But this reception was something very different from any they had ever seen at a French court, gorgeous as they always were. Instead of a glittering throne and tapestry of cloth of gold, they saw a beautiful bower of trees and flowers. Dark pines and drooping palms formed a great, graceful arch, which was made still more beautiful with clusters of shining orange blossoms and heavy white magnolias. All the grass beneath was strewn with flowers, and the air was sweet with perfume, and thrilled with the songs of birds. The little Huguenot children, looking on this wonderful scene, thought it must be very pleasant to live in such a place as this, where one might have fruits and flowers all the time, and where even the grown-up men and women had time to take part in such festivities as they had never shared before, except on very rarefêtedays; and they looked shyly at their little dark-colored Indian friends and held their hands out to them, and they all clasped hands and stood there a very happy circle. Satournia stood under the shadow of the arbor and received his guests with great courtesy. He was clothed in skins so finely dressed that they were as smooth and soft as satin, and painted with strange pictures in bright colors, and so well were the pictures drawn and colored that the French said that no painter, no matter how great he might be, could find fault with them. And then the Indians gave their guests beautiful gifts, but the greatest gift of all was a great wedge of silver which was the present of Athore, the son of Satournia. Athore was a very handsome youth, and had gentle manners and a noble disposition; and as he stood there under the trees and offered the silver wedge to Laudonnière, the Frenchman thought he had never seen a more princely boy than this Indian lad, who had been brought up in the wilds of Florida.
The sight of gold and silver made the French very eager to leave this place, in search of the rich mines which the Indians said were in the interior of the country; and one party after another was sent out to find the treasures that they so much desired. The Indians were constantly telling wonderful stories of the wealth of other tribes, and advising the French to undertake expeditions against them. It was said that the Indians of one tribe wore complete armor of gold and silver, and that the women had ornaments and girdles of the same precious metals; and another tribe was so rich that they had a great pit full of gold for which they had no use; and above all, far back from the sea, were the Apalichi Mountains, which were as full of gold as the trees were full of blossoms.
But by and by the French began to suspect that the Indians were cheating them, and that they only told these stories in the hope that they would go away and leave them undisturbed. So fewer parties were sent out, and it was thought that they might better have planted corn and wheat than to have wasted so much time in a vain search for gold. By and by the men became dissatisfied and said that it was Laudonnière's fault that they had not done differently, and blamed him for not having provided for the safety of his people; and one of the men said that he had discovered by magic a mine of gold and silver which he would lead the rest to if they would kill Laudonnière, so that they might get the keys of the storehouse and provide themselves with food for the journey.
But this was not allowed by the officers, who loved Laudonnière too well to want to see him killed; but it was only the beginning of many plots and a long time of disappointment and discouragement, and it would have ended by their all going back to France again, just as the first Huguenots had done, had not an English fleet appeared, commanded by Sir John Hawkins, who gave them provisions enough to last them until they could get back to France. But before they sailed another fleet appeared, and as the ships came nearer they saw the French flag floating from the masts, and knew that help had come at last. This fleet was commanded by Ribault himself, and now it seemed that all their troubles would be over.
Ribault now took command, and knowing by experience that the search for gold and silver would only be vain and idle, began, instead, to make preparations for the coming winter, and to provide against the attacks of unfriendly Indians. And now it seemed that having been taught by their sufferings that only honest labor and good-will among themselves could bring comfort and peace, they really began this time in the right way.
But hardly had a week passed when the Huguenots learned that they were now to meet an enemy far more terrible than the Indians, and that all the trouble they had passed through would not compare with what was coming. It had been told in Spain that Coligny had sent out a party to relieve the Huguenots in Florida, and as the Spaniards were all Roman Catholics the news was received by them with anger and hatred, and they decided to send immediately a Spanish force to Florida in hope of reaching there before Ribault arrived. In this they did not succeed, as Ribault had already brought hope and comfort to the colonists before the Spanish ships appeared at the mouth of the River of May.
Ribault had left four of his ships there, and when they saw the Spaniards they sailed off to sea, knowing that was their only chance of safety. The Spaniards were commanded by Pedro Menendez. He told the captains of the French ships that he had come there by order of the King of Spain to burn and destroy all the Huguenots in the country. This terrible news reached Ribault, who was at the fort up the river, at the same time with the information that Menendez had landed his troops a few miles southward and was preparing to attack the fort. Ribault immediately decided to take the three ships he had with him and sail down to the mouth of the river, and with the help of the other French, who had come back as soon as Menendez left the River of May, fall upon the Spaniards before they had time to build a fort and destroy them. Laudonnière did not approve of this plan, as he said the ships might be scattered by sudden storms; but Ribault insisted that his plan was wisest, so he took all the best soldiers and sailed down the river, leaving all the women and children and sick at the fort, with only a few men to defend them. But the ships were scattered by storms just as Ribault was ready to make the attack, and Menendez then decided to march at once through the forests and reach Fort Caroline before Ribault could return there.
It was a very bold undertaking, as no one knew the way through the forests and swamps; but, as they were about to start, two Indians appeared, and were made to serve as guides, while a French deserter said he would show them where the fort could be most easily attacked. They marched two days through swamps and woods, drenched with cold rains and suffering from hunger; but their fear of Menendez kept them from turning back, and on the night of the second day they reached the fort, and halting before it stood knee-deep in water waiting for the daylight.
The storm had driven the French sentinels into the fort, and only one man was found at his post, when, at daylight, the Spaniards sent a small party to see if it were safe for them to advance. This man was immediately put to death, and then shouting "Santiago!" their terrible war-cry, the Spaniards rushed into the fort and began their work of destruction. They killed every one whom they could find—old men and feeble women and innocent children—and only those escaped who were able to steal away in the gray twilight of the early morning and hide in the woods and swamps.
And then Menendez, who thought he was doing God service by this cruel deed, raised a cross above the dead bodies, on which was written,
"I do this not as to Frenchmen, but as to Lutherans."
Which meant that he was not fighting against the French nation, but only against the Huguenots, who were also called Lutherans by the Spaniards and Germans.
Among those who escaped was Laudonnière. He was found in the swamp in the morning, and with the others who were left sailed for France in the two vessels that Ribault had left.
And now Menendez turned his attention to Ribault and his companions, who had been wrecked on an island. Ribault's party was divided by an inlet of the sea, and Menendez first attacked one part and murdered them all, and then attacked the remainder, among whom was Ribault himself, and binding their hands behind them led them to the place where their companions lay dead. Then Menendez gave them one chance for life. All who would promise to return to the Roman Catholic Church would be spared. But Ribault and his followers would not accept life on such terms; they answered that they were all Protestants. So Menendez gave the signal and all these Frenchmen were murdered also, and their bodies left exposed on the shore.
And then Menendez went through the swamp and forests of Florida hunting the Huguenots who were still at large, and finally after much trouble he succeeded in killing the most of them, so there were few Huguenots left except the fifers, drummers, and trumpeters, who were spared because they might be of service. Then Menendez returned to the settlement he had made, and with great pomp and ceremony took possession of the country in the name of the King of Spain. And then they sung theTe Deumand knelt down and kissed the crucifix, and were well satisfied with themselves, thinking they had done a great and glorious thing.
The Indians looked on wonderingly. It no doubt seemed very strange to them to see these two Christian nations so easier to kill one another. But the chief received the Spaniards kindly and gave them his house to live in, and then a fort was built, and from this humble beginning grew the city of St. Augustine, the oldest town in the United States.
The news of the massacre of the Huguenots reached France, but for a long time it seemed that nothing would be done to avenge it. The king cared very little how many Frenchmen where killed if they were not Roman Catholics, and the Huguenots themselves had no power to raise money and arms. But at length a brave soldier, Dominique de Gourgues, returning to France from foreign service, learned the terrible fate of his fellow-countrymen and resolved to punish their murderers. It is not known whether De Gourgues was a Catholic or Huguenot, but he cared little for difference of religion where the honor of his country was concerned. He said nothing of his plan, fearing the king might hinder him from carrying it out. He gave out that he was going on an expedition to the coast of Africa, and selling his estates and borrowing money from his friends he left France, August, 1564, with three ships, keeping his real destination a secret even from his own men. He really did go to the coast of Africa, and from there to the West Indies, and it was not until the next spring that he made known the real object of his leaving France. His ships were lying in a harbor at the western extremity of Cuba, and calling his men around him De Gourgues declared his intention of going to Florida and avenging the death of his countrymen, and asked how many of his soldiers were willing to accompany him. Not a man refused, and De Gourgues had, in fact, great difficulty in persuading them to wait until favorable weather for sailing, so eager were they to reach Florida and begin their work of vengeance. Every man felt, as De Gourgues repeated the story of the murder at Fort Caroline, that France had indeed waited too long to avenge this fearful crime.