Read the book: «In Search of Mademoiselle», page 13

CHAPTER XIX.
I MEET THE AVENGER

My wound was open again. I had learned that the carpenter Challeux had seen Mademoiselle alive after the massacre at Fort Caroline, and the tide of ebbing hope, ever restless as the moving sea, flooded up again upon my heart and engulfed me with tender memories. There was a chance – the merest thread of doubt – which held and led me willing captive amid the maze of uncertainties which seemed to compass me about. Even as Challeux had told, the story of Emola’s brave might still be true. They had perhaps captured her and she had died on the way to San Augustin! But the ring might have been lost! She who was killed might have been another! My lady may have remained hidden secure in the great tree trunk where Challeux had concealed her! She had followed my advice to be on her guard; why might she not have waited and fled by night to Satouriona? His camp at that time, as she knew, was to the north, nearer the Fort than that of Emola, where we had been. If she had reached it, she would be safe as though in England. For had not the great Satouriona, marveling at her beauty, given her a necklace of beads, saying that she was fair as the moon and calling her the “Moon-Princess”? These strange people would take her into their village and serve her as they would one of their own blood, high in the councils of their nation.

Ah! ’Twas sweet and holy thinking for me. But alive or dead, my wish to cease this idle play at service to the King and be up and doing something to find her, or to avenge her death, came upon me again strong as upon the sand-spit when my heart beat high with hope. I must go back in search of Mademoiselle. I could not wait with this fever of hope burning into my heart. I wished now that I had never left the country – that I had thrown in my lot with the Indians and thus lost no opportunity to hang upon the trail of the Spaniards and so have learned the truth beyond any doubt. De Brésac would say nothing. He merely shook his head, or, sighing deeply, shrugged his shoulders. M. de Teligny advised that I give up all hope of ever seeing Mademoiselle again. So I had no encouragement, save only that hope which came like an instinct from my own breast.

The days dragged slowly by. Another messenger had been sent to Forquevaulx and another answer had arrived from the Court of Spain. The whole affair was now the property of the people, and in every inn could be heard expressions of horror and consternation from Catholic and Protestant alike. Charles had written Forquevaulx in this fashion:

“It is my will that you renew your complaint, that reparation be made for the wrong done me and the cruelties committed on my subjects, to which I cannot submit without too great a loss of reputation. The Seigneur de Forquevaulx will not fail to insist, be the answer what it may, in order that the King of Spain shall understand that His Majesty of France has no less spirit than his predecessors to repel an insult.”

Brave words enough. Words indeed! Words were made to hide the thoughts of courtiers!

Forquevaulx fulfilled his commission. Philip’s only reply was to refer him to the Duke of Alava.

“I have no hope,” wrote Forquevaulx after this, “that the Duke d’Alava will give any satisfaction as to the massacre, for it was he who advised it from the first.”

That was the news we heard, and that was like to be the end of the matter. The King of France had been three times insulted and now refused to raise further voice in reply. Charles and the Queen-mother would not quarrel with Spain, and all France rang with the indignity. They had resigned themselves to the affront. We saw the King almost daily going to the hunt, a faint color stealing into his sallow cheeks as he cantered down the crooked streets with his brave following. Smiles wreathed the lips where sternness should have been; and eyes that should have wept his own heart’s blood danced and sparkled with the joy and passion of the chase. It was a grievous thing to see a man of his good presence falling deeper and deeper under the blight of his weakness. For all Charles cared, outraged humanity might forever cry aloud, the blood of hundreds of murdered Frenchmen might stain his very hearthstone, and the proud standards of France be lowered and trampled in the dust by the soldiers or assassins of any nation of the earth. Was he not the King? Was the stag-hunting not good? And had he not written a sonnet to the eyes of Marie Touchet and an ode to “Justice,” both of which M. Ronsard had pronounced incomparable?

But there were still gallant men in France. Our petitions and those of the relatives of the martyrs were not to be made in vain. Upon the morning of a certain day, while we were yet within doors, came a gentleman asking for M. de Brésac. He was a soldier of ancient birth and high renown, named Dominique de Gourgues of Mont-de-Marsan. De Brésac had served with him, and had told me something of his vigorous fiery nature and life; how as a boy he had been taken by the Spaniards near Sienna; how with brutal insult they had chained him to the oar as a galley-slave; how the Turks had captured this vessel and carried her to Constantinople; how they had put to sea again and were captured by a galley of the Knights of Malta who had set the prisoners free. De Gourgues had served in all parts of the world and his reputation as a naval commander in France was high – second only to that of the martyred Ribault. He hated the Spaniards with a mortal hatred and the tidings which we had brought from Florida had set his hot Gascon blood a boiling.

But I was ill-prepared for the figure he presented. I had pictured him a great swarthy man built somewhat upon the scale of Diego de Baçan, with a deep roaring voice and the manner of a bravo. The person I saw was none of this; for he was not large in stature, having a figure tight-knit even to slenderness. Yet it was plain to see he was built upon the model of a hound, and that the muscles upon him were as steel springs fastened upon a frame of iron. His head was ugly beyond expression, somewhat in the shape of a pear, with a wide bulging forehead, the flesh falling away at the temples and cheeks almost to emaciation. I looked in vain to his mouth and chin for the force I could not find in his brows; and then back to his eyes, where my gaze at last rested enthralled. All else might have been as nothing and those mysterious eyes would have revealed how deep lay the soul of the man. I saw them not often in repose upon this morning, for they were flashing forth the fire that was raging in his heart; but when he paused a moment they opened wide under the broad brows, – melancholy, penetrating, but frank, sincere and true; eyes to watch, to grieve, to weep even, but not to deceive those he held in esteem. His voice was not strident or harsh, even as he spoke loudly, but soft as that of a woman. But in it there was that note of command which no man who has served with a great officer can ever forget.

He bounded up the stone stairs, two steps at a time, and came into the chamber with an unmistakable vigor and firmness, as one accustomed and sure of his welcome.

“Ah, seigneur,” he cried, espying De Brésac. “Welcome to France!” And rushing to the Chevalier he embraced him as a brother.

“Mon ami, you are new-come from Mont-de-Marsan?”

“This very hour, mon brave, and I have ridden directly to you.”

Whereupon the Chevalier presented me to him, explaining that I was the Killigrew who had been at San Augustin.

“Good!” he said abruptly. “Monsieur, I am indeed fortunate. It is upon this very business that I am come to you.” With an abrupt gesture he threw his cloak aside and seated himself. Then without ado, he began to speak.

“The King of France is a sluggard and a coward,” he said fiercely. “He has bowed the head of every honorable man in France upon the breast in shame. I, who have been upon the soil of many countries, have ever held my head aloft in pride; for I am a Frenchman. That heritage holds enough honor to place me among the ranks of the chosen of the earth. Our nation is a brave nation and in our land a man of honor dies rather than suffer a stain to fall upon his name. The glory of our deeds has resounded from one end of the world to the other, and the lustre of our achievements has been like the gleam of a shining blade in the fore of battle.”

He paused and then continued slowly, “M. le Chevalier, that pride is gone; that heritage of a good name, – an empty sound; that lustrous escutcheon, – beaten to the earth, and dimmed and blotted by the blood of our own kindred which has flowed upon it.”

“God knows it is so,” said De Brésac.

“You of England,” he continued, appealing to me, “know well that no insult such as this could rest against the fair fame of your Queen, monsieur,” and he rose from his seat. “Unless something is done we are a people dishonored upon the face of the earth.”

“The King has promised the degradation of this Menendez,” said the Chevalier.

“His promises, like his verses, come ready made,” sneered De Gourgues. “Pah! he is without candor, this King; – without strength, without honor, – without anything that men hold most high.” M. de Gourgues was walking furiously up and down as one possessed.

“Sh – ” said De Brésac.

“I care not,” said the wild Gascon. “’Tis better far to die, or to have no country. Spain insults the King and the King is dumb. The nobles about him are Italians in the Spanish interest. God save poor France from her rulers now and ever, say I.”

Then he sat down and unburthened himself of the object for which he had come to Paris.

“I am come,” he continued less wildly, “to ask you to help me avenge this wrong – to raise again the Standard of France from where it has been trailing in the mud by Spanish feet.”

So rapid and fiery had been his speech that I could not get the exact purport of his words. How he, a simple country gentleman, could hope to embark upon so large a venture without King’s aid or commission was more than I could readily comprehend. Nor was De Brésac in any better understanding. “But, monsieur,” he began, “if there were any – ”

“Ah, Brésac,” he cut in, “you do not trust me. You think I will not do as I say. As you will – I tell you, I will destroy this Fort San Mateo if it takes every crown and acre in Mont-de-Marsan!”

“Forgive me, Chevalier, I am but a slow thinker. I am with you if you will but give me half an earful of your plans.”

“You will go?”

“With all my heart.”

“And you?” – to me.

“If not with you, then with some other,” I replied.

“Ah! Then that is done,” he exclaimed joyfully. “Now to the plans. I believe in my company first and my plans next. For plans are of no use if there is no one to put them to practise. Here is what I shall do. If during the week to come the King of France does not obtain reparation from Spain and the degradation of this monster, Menendez, I will provide ships and men, and myself sail for Florida.”

“But how?” we both asked in the same breath.

“My inheritance is for sale,” said this wonderful man with a cunning smile, as though he were bartering a horse. “I shall obtain money from my brother and any others who may still find a virtue in honor. I shall have three small vessels with a hundred arquebusiers and eighty sailors. Blaise de Montluc, lieutenant for the King in Guienne, where my brother has a high post, will give me a commission to make war upon the negroes of Benin – to bring them out as slaves, an adventure now held most honorable – and then – then, voyez-vous, we will go not to Benin, but elsewhere – where, we cannot at this time precisely tell and so cannot inform our valiant company – but to some place where there is easy service and much profit. Is not the plan a good one?”

De Brésac had listened, his eye kindling with enthusiasm. He now cried out, “It is more than good, it is wonderful! And upon my life, it succeeds! You shall have – not two hundred men, but two thousand – for by now there is not one Indian friendly to the Spanish among all the tribes of Satouriona. They will not live in subjection. I have lived among them and I know.”

“Think you so? Then pardieu, ’tis simple as plain sailing, and not one stone of this fort will we leave upon another. There’s my hand on it. And now adieu and for the present – silence!” So saying he threw his cloak about him and went away as quickly as he had come.

So rapidly had the whole business been accomplished, that when he had disappeared I began wondering whether it were all true, or whether this strange person were but a whirlwind creature of the fancy. But there was De Brésac holding his hand and looking at his fingers, which De Gourgues had clasped.

“Ugh! Shall I ever straighten them?” he cried. “He has the grasp of the Scavenger’s Daughter.³ This comes of being chained to a galley-oar. No, ’tis no dream. He will do what he promises, never fear. ’Tis the most wonderful man this side of hell, Killigrew!”

I laughed at his manner of expressing it. Yet I did not doubt that it was so. For after De Gourgues had gone, I could not cast from me the spell of those melancholy eyes, and so great was his charm and vigor that it seemed as if the spirit of vengeance had been born again and had taken a new life in us all. Here was a man to dare a chimera – to achieve the impossible. Brésac and I embraced each other and went flying to M. de Teligny to tell him of the good fortune.

As I think of it now it seemed as though we were going upon a journey for sport or play at beast hunting instead of a deadly mission of death and destruction upon men like ourselves. But like the Avenger, there was no restraining us. At last we had a champion – at last there was a plan – something definite and certain in our minds, however foolhardy, to lift us from this quiet and inaction, this slough of despond, which, after our travail and excitement, lay upon us and weighed us down like a sickness.

M. de Teligny listened in surprise to the plan of De Gourgues, his eyes sparkling with joy at the news, for all the world like those of some old war-horse champing at the bit and impatient for the scent of battle. It was a great venture, he vowed, and much honor would come of it. It was one of those expeditions most to his liking, for were we not outnumbered three to one? And would not all men rejoice that we had wiped away a stain from the fair name of France? He sighed deeply that he was worn in years and service. But he would have gone had we not shown him how much more we would have need for men with all the vigor of youth, to strike blows quicker and harder than had ever been struck before.

The week passed, and the King was still busy upon his hunting and ballade-making. No word came from the Court of Spain and no word was given forth at the Louvre for the people. The affront had been passed over.

De Gourgues, not wishing that M. de Teligny should be implicated in his plots, came no more to his house. Our meetings, which M. de Teligny attended, however, were held in a small house just off the Place St. Germain, where negotiations were conducted, with the utmost secrecy. I had not acquainted Goddard with our plans, for I knew from what had happened in Dieppe that on any matter of deep interest his tongue would wag in spite of himself. I told him only that we were soon to depart upon another mission to the New World. At which he knew not whether to manifest most joy or sorrow; for he was torn between a desire to remain at the side of the damsel he had gained and the wish for another packet of tobacco, as his own through much squandering had been greatly reduced in size. Day after day we saw our numbers slowly increase until soon ten gallants, young and hardy like ourselves, the rank and chivalry of France, were vowed to our purpose. The Chevalier de Gourgues meanwhile had entered upon negotiations for the sale of his estates and had written to his brother in Guienne, from whom after a time there came a reply most encouraging, enclosing the commission from Blaise de Montluc and an offer of money for the enterprise. Fortune so far seemed to smile upon our efforts, for nothing had occurred to mar our plans and all things needful were readily procurable. Word came from Bordeaux, where an agent of the Chevalier had been secretly at work, that several vessels lay at that harbor which might be made to serve us admirably.

Twice M. de Teligny went to Admiral Coligny to learn if despatches had passed between Paris and Madrid and what was the disposition of the King. Each time he came back with fury at his heart, saying that the King had no humor for religious discussions. But even had Charles shown a disposition to take up his own quarrel, nothing would have deterred the Chevalier de Gourgues from carrying out his plans, upon which he had entered with a nervous energy that knew no abating. By the end of a month or so, all the necessary money having been secured, De Gourgues and I set out for Bourdeaux to look into the worthiness of the vessels upon which the agent had reported. We found all three to be of small size. One was somewhat larger than the others, being built upon the plan of the vessels of the Levant, propelled, if need be, by both wind and oars. The two smaller ones were staunch enough and could they hold all of our company, I did not doubt that we might reach the Terra Florida in safety. They, too, had banks of oars and this I considered to be a matter of great value; for, the draught being not too deep, all of the craft could be brought over the bar and into the River of May if necessary. Arrangements were made with a victualer that supplies to last a year were to be set aboard; and arquebuses, morions, pikes, and arbalests were to be procured. The agent was instructed upon the class of men we needed and notices were set up in the shipping towns for men of youth, skilled in the use of pike and arquebus, who wished a venture of a year which would be attended with honor and profit. During the second month of our preparations the word had gone abroad that we were gold-seeking and many hundreds of adventurers came beseeching De Gourgues to take them. From these he picked out those he wished, with the same skill and quick judgment that he used in buying his hemp and oakum. He had that nice eye for hardiness that Pompée had for a piece of steel or Montmorency for a saucy bit of horseflesh. Toward the end of April, De Brésac with Goddard, and the cavaliers, rode down from Paris, and with great rejoicing we all straightway entered aboard the ships which lay, full victualed and supplied, at anchor in the Rade.

CHAPTER XX.
WE SET FORTH AGAIN

The last figure we saw as the barges pulled away from the pier was that of M. de Teligny outlined against the sky, erect and soldierly, his feathered beaver hat raised above his head in salute. We gave him a round and hearty cheer, for we knew how deep his heart was grieving for the youth that was his no more.

By great good fortune I found myself with De Brésac upon the larger vessel, which De Gourgues had renamed the Vengeance. The two smaller vessels were under the command of Lieutenant Cazenove an officer of experience and devotion. With us was François Bourdelais, a brother of the captain of the Trinity, and four other gallants. Of arquebusiers there were fifty, and of seamen there were a dozen or more, including Goddard and a trumpeter named Dariol, who had been with Réné de Laudonnière and knew the Indian language better even than De Brésac. These arquebusiers were a rough-looking lot – different in character from most of those who had gone with Ribault – and De Gourgues, who knew his Frenchmen, said with joy that he had never seen so hard-hitting a company. I smiled a little as I looked at them and he knew my thought, as he seemed, through some operation of will, to know everything.

“Ah! M. Killigrew, you think them better let loose upon the Spanish than upon us.” He laughed. “True it is, mon ami, but they need only a little prodding into shape. Take my word for it, these are the only men for a venture such as this. Make them forget the debt the world owes them, give them a free swordarm and a Saint to swear by and they will charge through an army of Dons and back again for a faith which may set as lightly upon their consciences as the skin upon their elbows.”

Our voyage was not to be so favorable as our preparations. De Gourgues gave a rendezvous at the River Lor, in Barbary, and we set sail upon a brisk breeze. Before night, this wind blew up into a storm which drove us into Rojan. Twice did we venture forth, and each time were driven back, being at last forced into the Rade at Rochelle, where we came to anchor in the Charente and remained eight days. This was a source of deep chagrin to De Gourgues for our provisions were being consumed, while we were coming no nearer to our destination.

For a few hours the storm abated, and with some misgivings at the looks of the weather we put to sea again and set our prows to the southward. But hardly had we dropped the land into the ragged sea behind us than it began to blow still more fiercely than before. ’Twas more like a summer storm in the tropics, and hardly to be understood so early in the year, for the summer was yet a month away. Nor was it a favorable augury for our voyage. We did not know our men; and sea-people are of a wont to put strange interpretations upon the movements of the elements, so I feared that they would take this misfortune as an evil presage of what was to come. For two weeks off Cape Finisterre we were tossed hither and thither at the mercy of the winds, the waves running sprit-high, dashing in at the ports, which had come loose, and flooding the lower deck. It was in no manner so severe as the storm which had driven the fleet of Ribault upon the beach, but this Vengeance to which we had trusted our fortunes was not the Trinity or the Gloire, and the buffets which met us were short and severe enough to play great havoc with the mind of a landsman. At last, all sight of the vessels of Lieutenant Cazenove being lost, and having had many small misfortunes – such as the staving of one of our quarter-boats and the loss of a piece of the bowsprit – the thing I had been expecting came to pass. The arquebusiers mutinied.

The trouble came on an afternoon, the third week from the Charente. The men had gathered forward in a seething group, with looks more lowering than the clouds; and there was an ominous muttering and a clatter of steel under the fore-castle, where some of the arms were kept. Many of the rogues were still sea-sick, and this made their tempers even worse than they were wont to be. These sounds and sights were most obtrusive where we stood upon the poop, but De Gourgues had the appearance of one most oblivious. He searched the sea line with his glass for the lost sails, glancing ever and anon to the westward, where the weather was showing signs of promise; but no look would he give to the waist or forward deck, where the men were scowling and gesticulating among themselves. Not until the sounds became too unruly to be mistaken did he notice. Then laying his glass upon the binnacle, he passed to De Brésac and bade him have two of the inboard patereros loosed and trained upon the decks below. The Chevalier and Bourdelais sprang to the guns and in a moment had cast off the sea-breaching. The rogues saw the movement, and, led by a tall bearded scoundrel named Cabouche, came aft in a most formidable array.

They had not passed the main-mast before De Gourgues with a spring was down the ladder with drawn sword, and single-handed stood face to face with their leader.

“Back!” he said in a voice of thunder. “Back to your kennels, you dogs!”

I had never seen him thus. So entirely was he transformed that he seemed a very demon of rage. He was leaning forward as though crouching for a spring. His voice was like the yelp of an arquebus in the beginning of a battle. We could not see his face, but it was plain it must have shown something the rogues had not thought to see in one ordinarily so melancholy and calm. They stopped as of one accord, and looked from one to the other as though some mistake had been made, each ready to accuse his neighbor.

For Cabouche, the posture was more awkward. He stood alone in the face of the enemy, plain to the eye of every man upon the ship. He did not see his comrades behind him; he only knew that did he not make good his defiance, his position as bravo upon that ship was gone for all. He lowered his pike and came forward upon De Gourgues with the rush of an angry bull. It was a terrible lunge that he made. Armed only with a rapier as the commander was, the blow would have done for any other most surely. But De Gourgues stood firm, looking at the fellow, the point of his rapier upon the deck. He waited until the pike seemed almost to be touching his doublet, when like the wind he sprang aside. Then with a deft turn of his foot he tripped the lout and sent him sprawling, so that he went into the lee-scuppers and rolled with the wash of the deck, cursing.

The mutineers, covered by our guns, remained as de Gourgues had halted them, and stood as though spellbound at the turn of the affairs of Cabouche. One discharge and a sudden rush of our seamen and cavaliers would have driven them below like sheep. But there was need of none of this. De Gourgues, holding up his hand to restrain us, stood swinging with the slant of the deck, watching Cabouche, who was rising from the scuppers, dripping with salt water and swearing aloud that he was not yet done. The man drew his dagger and came forward, moving in a circle around De Gourgues, looking most dangerous. The Chevalier stood this play for only a minute, when, lurching forward like a flash, he spitted Cabouche neatly through the hollow of one of his great ears, and bore him back against the fife-rail.

The rascal dropped his dagger, gave a roar of pain, and sought to disengage himself. But his ear was tough, and the Captain only pushed him the harder, holding him spitted at arm’s length, talking to him and examining him the while as though he were an underdone fowl over a broiling-iron.

“Thou art satisfied, Cabouche?” he inquired in a crisp, sharp voice. “Thou art satisfied? Wilt remain upon this vessel? Or wilt thou go ashore? Thou wilt remain in the fore-castle, – is it not so? Thou wilt tell them, – thy mutineers, – that rapier points and pike-points fly on end and bristle for such as thee?” And here he cast him off against the main-mast in contempt. “Bah! Cabouche, – thou art but a poor pikeman. For there is much more to learn in the management of the feet than of the hands; and these things I will teach thee one day. For the present, go below and wash the blood from thy face. And if the lesson is not enough, I’ll have an ear-ring for thee to match the hole I have made. And ’twill be none so fashionable as those you wear, I’ll warrant.”

The fellow slunk away from his look like a dog. As for the other arquebusiers, most of them had put their pieces back in the racks, and had gone about their business.

I marveled at the skill of De Gourgues in catching his man so nicely. But he only said, “’Twas most simple; the rascal has the ears of a donkey – and the stubbornness —ma foi! But ’tis too brawny a fellow to feed to the fish, and his hearing of my commands will be all the better for a little blood-letting in the ear.”

Afterwards, when I saw Mongol coins, thrown about into the air, picked upon the point of his rapier, through the square holes in them, I marveled no more at the ease with which De Gourgues had spitted this Cabouche. It was the influence of his look which I was at pains to understand. For though I had seen and quelled mutinies such as this three or four times in my life, I am at loss to describe the power which lay behind the boldness, – power felt by every man upon the ship. It was the very witchery of fearlessness. Cabouche troubled us no more; and in the end made a most excellent soldier, hanging upon the looks and orders of the Captain, and truckling as he had never before done, either upon sea or land.

To our great joy, when we came to the rendezvous we found our consorts awaiting us, they having had little misfortune of any kind, and all being well. We went ashore and rested; there, with water, game, and fresh fruits, the men of the Vengeance were refreshed and comforted until we set to sea again. At Cape Blanco, where we anchored for the last time upon the Afric coast, we were attacked by three negro chiefs whom the Portuguese, jealous of our vicinage to their fort, set upon us, hoping to encompass our destruction. The black chiefs came in long canoes with their men, but so warm was their reception that, though they rushed upon us twice, but one man reached the deck. This one fought so gallantly that De Gourgues would not have him killed. So we took him a slave to make good our commission from Blaise de Montluc. When the chiefs found they could do nothing with us, they went back to the Portuguese, leaving us the freedom of the port.

Here again we filled our water casks, and then set out across the great ocean. We drilled each day, and so sweet was the weather that at no time were the decks uncomfortable. Had De Gourgues the ordering of the winds, they could not have pleased him better, for ’twas a voyage of little event; and in four weeks we came to the island called St. Germain de Porterique, where we landed and rested again. We sighted, and landed on La Manne and Saint Dominique. In the first place, we met the King of the island, who took us to his gardens, where lemons, oranges, melons and plantains grew in great abundance. He led us to his fountain, which he called “Paradise,” and which he said would cure the plague and the fever. The Chevalier gave him a bale of cloth, and the chiefs loaded us down with fruit. At Saint Dominique many of the people had been killed by the Spaniards, and many had starved themselves to death rather than be ruled by these people. They made a perpetual war against the Spanish settlements.