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In Search of Mademoiselle

<h2>CHAPTER XVI. OF OUR ESCAPE.</h2> As we sped up the wide path through the thicket, we could hear De Baçan as he ran bellowing across the square. It was black darkness under the branches, but as we accustomed ourselves we could make out the line of the path ahead. Twigs and branches struck us in the face, but Goddard thundered on with great confidence, setting for us a good round pace, and De Brésac, who was a fleet runner, keeping close upon his heels. In a moment there were loud cries from the buildings behind, but we could hear plain above them all the great roars of Don Diego as the soldiers came after us in full pursuit. Ignorant of the road as we were we had the advantage of being in our sober senses, spurred, moreover, by the love of life, which now at this chance came with a fulness to nerve us for any desperateness. After all the suffering of mind and body which had gone before, this freedom was sweet indeed, and in our hearts we knew that we could not again fall alive into the[205] hands of these people. The fresh air of the forest tasted sweet to the throat, and I drank it greedily into my lungs as I ran, following the gray shadows ahead of me. After a while, we heard the shouting of De Baçan no more, only the cries of some of the soldiers who were speedily coming forward. But the great speed told upon us, and the sea legs of Job Goddard, which were not meant for such work as this, refused to move so rapidly and he fell a little behind. De Brésac seemed imbued with new life and ran with great agility, leaping over logs and twisting through the bushes like one brought up to the crafts of the woods rather than the courtesies and fantasies of the Court. But it was uncertain and awkward progress at best. Goddard had a pike and an arquebus, while De Brésac and I had each a poniard and a rapier. Twice I fell prone to the ground over the tree trunks and bushes, and once had overrun Goddard in the dark and we two had fallen, rolling over in a monstrous tangle. The sound of the pursuit was growing louder every minute; De Brésac paused, impatient at our awkwardness. He could have got well away had he wished, but he only stood there as we stumbled to our feet, the sound of men crashing through the bushes showing how near were the more fleet-footed of these Spaniards. It was desperate[206] work for heavy men. Off we started once more, De Brésac seizing the arquebus to lighten the burden of Goddard, who was swearing and trying to rub his shin, which he had bruised most severely, with his pike-handle. We came to an open space two hundred yards or so in width in which the Indians had planted a field of maize. But the crop had been garnered and only the short stalks remained. The moon had come out and it seemed hardly possible that we could get across this open and escape discovery. Could we but reach the other side where the deeper forest began there would seem to be less chance of immediate capture. Goddard was well-nigh done, but managed to struggle on over the rough loam toward an opening in the bush beyond. De Brésac had passed him and entered the wood, and I had come to his side, when behind us there was a loud shouting and two soldiers, stripped of their armor, emerged from the forest and came toward us at the top of their speed. De Brésac stopped and dropped down upon one knee, and I knew what he meant to do. Goddard fell almost exhausted beside him and I crouched behind a bush a little to the rear, awaiting the coming of our adversaries. We were all breathing very hard, but De Brésac, full of vitality, was crouched like a cat ready to spring. [207] “The one in front,” said he to me in a whisper, “I will account for the other.” On the Spaniards came, leaping from one hillock to another, their naked weapons gleaming fitfully in the moonlight. The fellow in advance was but a boy; his hair was fair and he was comely to see. My heart misgave me as he came nearer, rushing onward fearlessly. But it was his life or mine,—my life and Mademoiselle’s, perhaps—and so I did not hesitate, rising just as he came into the shadow of the trees and running him through with such force that the basket hilt of the weapon struck against him and as he fell the blade broke short off against the ground. The other man, seeing the fate of his comrade, paused for a moment; but De Brésac was upon him like a flash and sent his sword a-flying. After all, these lives in the heat of action were few enough against those of all our friends who had been murdered in cold blood before. Then De Brésac, who was a man of ingenuity, drew the bodies under some bushes and we started off along in the shadow of the woods at the edge of the clearing toward the left—doubling in a way upon our own track to throw our pursuers the more surely off in another direction. We saw two, and then six more, of them go flying across the clearing, following the track of our boots in the soft earth; but they did not pause, going[208] crashing through and shouting to one another until the sounds were lost in the many voices of the night. We were free—at least for the present. We looked around the one to the other, and long breaths burst at the same moment from the three of us. “Phew! Master Sydney,” said Goddard, pulling his beard, which had been glued to his cheeks, “’tis little I thought I’d ever get up in this dis-guise, sir. Odds bobs, but I’m done! I’ve been feedin’ up this night, to last a week, sir,—an’ me stommick—is somethin’ feeble—since—this—smoke—suckin’.” He fell to the ground, breathing like a bellows, and vowed he would move no more. Then De Brésac planned quickly. “If we go to the beach,” he said, “they will surely take us. There they can drive us into the sea, or prison us on one of these sand-spits, and take us at their ease. Let us keep among the woods and the swamps. There we can retreat at will, and may support life until we can find a friend, or come to the great inland channel of which they speak. We may come upon the canoes of the Indians of Satouriona, for the Potanous are far to the west, and the Thimagoas of Outina are to the south.” We saw that what he said was wise, for Menendez, now thinking the beach his natural shambles, would certainly try again to find us there. [209] At any rate, where we were was no comfortable neighborhood, for some stray Spaniard might at any moment be stumbling upon us, and then there would surely be more killing, and I was sick at the sight of blood, and wanted no more of it. So in some fashion, when he had got his breath, we put Goddard on his feet and moved steadily forward, pausing only now and then to listen for the signs of pursuit. In this way we moved for two hours through the moss-hanging forest. We talked but little, having need of all our strength and breath. Goddard managed to tell his story. He had been struck upon the head and had fallen for dead under a pile of corpses. When he had come to himself it was dark, and the Spaniards had gone. He had come across the bay at night in a canoe he found at the landing-place. He possessed himself of the arms and weapons of a Spaniard who was sleeping in the woods,—and who sleeps there yet; cutting off the soldier’s beard and fastening the hair of it upon himself with tree-gum. Then making a detour, he had come in at nightfall, following in the footsteps of a detachment of the soldiery who had marched down from Fort San Mateo, and in the confusion and debauchery of the camp, by simulating dumbness, escaped detection, taking the sentry duty with little difficulty. It was a most wonderful thing; but Goddard would say little further than this, only[210] smiling when he spoke of the Spaniard in the woods. He took off his morion and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Master Sydney, I saw Jem Smith die, sir,” he said. “He went to join his martyrs with a smile on his lips. He wore his velvet suit o’ black, an’ he was beautiful to see. I saw him die, sir,—cut down like a dog afore my eyes. An’, sir, I saw the man as did it.” He tapped the Spanish morion with a significant gesture, and then grimly,—“’Twas him!” We had covered a distance of perhaps three leagues when we came to a body of water, which seemed a kind of river, but not so wide as the River of May; only a hundred yards across to the thither bank. There we stopped to plan, for Goddard could not swim. It looked but a short time before the day, for the heavens were brightening through the great trees behind us. If we could place Job Goddard upon the trunk of a tree, then we might push him across the stream; there was one floating out in the current. De Brésac had removed his boots to swim for it, and had even taken a step down into the slime of the bank, when, as we looked, the log began sluggishly to move, but against the current, and then we saw the thing was alive. De Brésac rushed out upon high ground in terror, for the log was no log at all, but one of those great horny lizards, which Admiral Hawkins has since reported,[211] and which are called crocodiles, or alligartos. If the Spaniards had come upon us at that moment, they could have taken us without a fight, for this beast was of such a great size and length, so ugly moreover and slimy, that we stood with knees trembling upon the bank. But by and by Job Goddard, plucking his courage up, cast a stone at it, and as the missile fell in the water the great beast, with a flurry and a splash of its tail, went plowing down the stream more frightened even than we. The heavens were well alight before we could persuade ourselves to make the attempt to cross. Sure at last that there was no fording place, we three got astride of a wide log and began the passage of this treacherous stream, expecting each moment to have a leg nipped off at the knee. We had long pieces of bark for paddles, and made a great commotion, thinking thus to scare these monstrous animals away; and finally we arrived upon the other bank, wet, and trembling with fright, but safe. Upon the third day the Chevalier shot at a furry wild animal which lay in a ball at the top of a tree. He had the skill to carry away the twig on which it swung. The beast fell to the ground snarling like a dog, to be killed in a trice by Goddard, who pinned it to the earth with his pike. We were most hungry and fell to upon this beast like wolves, hardly waiting for the flesh to be cooked through. ’Twas little[212] enough, but kept us alive two days. On the morning of the fifth day we saw the great inland channel, which we afterwards discovered was a part of the River of May, and by good fortune came upon a hunting party of Satouriona’s warriors. I have said that we came upon them, but it were more truthful to say that they came upon us. For an arrow whirred past and we looked around to see half a score of them coming from the thicket. I held up my hand, shouting loudly “Antipola! Antipola bonnasson!”—which means “friend”—and they came forward and welcomed us with great rejoicing. They fed us on game which they had shot with arrows, and took us at last in a canoe to their village. I had seen the Paracousi—the “Chief,”—when we first came to Fort Caroline. He was named Emola and entertained us in his lodge, sparing nothing for our comfort. De Brésac was tireless. Liberty was breath to his nostrils, and he went about in the village inquiring and planning, making ready to continue our pilgrimage to the coast when we should be rested. For myself, with liberty came a reaction from those horrible days and nights upon the ship, on the sand-spit and in the prison, when in my deeper moods of despair I could see no hope to bring Mademoiselle out of this country alive. In spite of the continuous dread at my heart, there had come again in all its[213] first eagerness the desire only to find her and take her in my arms away from that dreadful Menendez, the very nearness of whom befouled and polluted. I was certain of but one thing—that she was not at San Augustin. Had she been there, in those last days De Baçan would have lost no opportunity to bring us together for his own pleasure, that he might gloat upon us the better and keep his promise of torture to me. But where could she be? What had happened that she was not a prisoner of De Baçan? For it seemed certain that she had been saved from Fort Caroline. I was in a great quandary, and for all my uncertainty I had not the will even to question the Indians upon the subject, for in spite of my hopes I feared—feared the truth they might tell me. We sat about the lodge of this good Emola, looking out at the bright forest, gaining back our strength and will. Well do I remember that wonderful day with its great stillness and sadness. The Paracousi sat by the open doorway, dark against the golden sunshine, smoking from a great tobacco bowl which he offered to us one after the other. We each took a swallow of it, this being the habit of these people when in good will, and Goddard, bringing forth his own bowl and reed, helped himself from the pouch of Emola and was soon puffing away valiantly to the great satisfaction of the Chief. It was most curious[214] to see these two sucking upon the reeds like babes upon the breast, and puffing out the smoke in curls and rings, regarding each other the while with great solemnity. “Ye see, Master Sydney,” said Goddard between puffs, “if once I can get me stommick made good against the smoke suckin’, ’twill be a most gratifyin’ achievin’. For though we may find an’ win no new lands—by the beards of the martyrs, ’tis surely somethin’ we have done to make the discovery of a new habitude, or taste, which has much of the vartue an’ little of the inconvenciency of drinkin’.” I could not but smile at this sally, for things most ridiculous have a way of intruding themselves upon the most sad and melancholy moments of life. “To-morrow we will push onward to the sea,—is it not so?” asked De Brésac abruptly. This brought me to myself. “I am most uncertain, monsieur,” I replied. “I hardly know in which way my duty or desire lies. I have felt to this moment as though my greatest wish were to find my way back to Europe and set the armies of all civilized nations about the ears of this devil Menendez de Avilés. But now that I am free—well, monsieur—I will tell you.” Whereupon I told him briefly of the love I bore for Diane de la Notte, of the hope I had of her escape from death and of my fears for her safety, saying[215] at the last that I could not leave the vicinity of San Augustin until I was sure that she was not in the power of Diego de Baçan. As I told my story his face saddened. “I suspected as much,” he said. “There is a great bond between us, monsieur; I too have loved—the sister of La Caille was my betrothed. When she died, I vowed I would look no more upon the face of woman, and so I came here to this savage land to lose my sorrow in adventure and perhaps in death. And I have come only to lose him I loved best after his sister.” He spoke of La Caille. “No, monsieur, I cannot forget—and it is fated that I shall not die. That is my story.” I wrung him silently by the hand. “Monsieur, monsieur,” he went on quickly, “there is a duty which you and I owe to our God—a duty stronger than any earthly tie. A foul deed has been done which has no equal in the history of the world.” He paused a moment. “Forgive me if I seem to bring more grief to your heart. But I know that there is no chance upon this earth to see again the one you love. Believe me, what I say is true. It is the love that is in your heart which makes you wilful not to ask and to believe the thing you most dread.” I buried my face in my hands, for it was so and I was a coward. [216] “Monsieur, listen,” he continued softly. “Do not blind yourself further to these facts. For you will but add one more life to those which have already been recklessly thrown away. And with your doubts at rest, your life should be given to Justice.” “Ah, but my heart can never again be satisfied until I have found her!” “Then I must tell you the truth, mon ami, whatever may come. I have spoken with these Indians in such manner as it was possible, and I know most of the things that have happened since the massacre. I have seen articles which came from the Fort, and I know that there are no women there at this time. Many of them were cut down and killed. A few only were taken towards San Augustin; with them was Mademoiselle de la Notte.” I started up. “Diane—and how——” “Ah, monsieur! calm yourself and listen with a stout heart—for I have dreadful news. She was of a party of women. There were Spanish soldiers with them. When these women got to a certain place they would go no further. The soldiers then killed them as they had done the others.” “But this is mere hazard—how do you know? What proofs have you?” I cried in anguish. “Only this,” he said solemnly; “I have myself beheld it and you will know.” And going to Emola he made a motion towards his hand. The Paracousi[217] produced from his belt a bit of gold and De Brésac placed it in my hands. It was the finger ring with the ancient setting which Diane had worn! I took the bauble from him silently, stupidly, and then unconsciously bore it to my lips. Slowly the cruel truth dawned upon me as I looked at the jewel. It seemed as though my breast were bursting with the emotions that flooded up from that secret corner in my soul in which man hides the things he holds most holy. What would I not have given for woman’s tears to have wept out upon it all the tenderness in my heart? I could only bend over it reverently, dry-eyed, mutely suffering. But I had undergone all this torture before, and the certainty now that she had died seemed to make no further enduring wound. I sat at last, looking at Emola as he told how the ring had come to him from one of his braves, who had exchanged it for some silver neck-pieces. After the first shock of this dreadful discovery, I seemed rather stupefied than aught else, with no capacity for great grief nor any great sensation of any kind. When he understood, the Paracousi came and put his hand upon my shoulder, and this aroused me. He indicated by pointing that he would give me the ring which I still held in my hand. I thanked him with a look and a hand-clasp and got upon my feet, stretching my limbs, arising from my grief-stupor. [218] When he had finished speaking I turned to the Chevalier De Brésac, saying to him: “My friend, I will follow wherever you will lead.” He took me by one hand joyfully, and Job Goddard with gruff heartiness seized the other. Then we three, of no religion, but made one by suffering and the loss of those three persons we loved the best, took an oath, with the grave Paracousi for witness, that not while we lived would we rest until we had seen our enemies visited with vengeance by fire and the sword. <hr class="chap" /> [219] </div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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