Chapter VII: Væ Victis

And now, it falls to our lot to record the most cruel passage in all this history; to relate the mournful and terrible fate which befel the wretched Huguenots taken at the capture of La Caroline, and the sanguinary deed by which the Spanish chief, through a gloomy fanaticism, stained foully the honorable fame which his skill and courage in arms might have ensured to his memory. All resistance having ceased on the part of the Huguenots of La Caroline, the standard of Castile was unrolled from its battlements, instead of the white folds and the smiling lilies of France. The name of the fortress was solemnly changed to San Matheo, the day on which they found themselves in its possession being that which was dedicated to the honor of that saint. The arms of France and of Coligny, which surmounted the gateways of the place, were erased and those of Spain were graven there instead, and the keeping of the fortress was assigned to a garrison of three hundred men, under the command of Gonzalo de Villaroël. These duties occupied but little time, and did not interfere with other performances of the Adelantado, which he thought not the less conspicuous among the duties required at his hands. His prisoners were brought before him. These were, perhaps, not so numerous, though forming a fair proportion of the number left by Ribault in the garrison. It is perhaps fortunate that no greater number had been left, since, in all probability, the same want of watch and caution by which the fortress had been lost, would have equally been shown, with any numbers, under such an easy commandant as Laudonniere, and in the particular circumstances which had taken place. Of these prisoners many were women and children. We have seen that Laudonniere succeeded in rescuing some twenty persons. Several had fled to the forests and taken shelter with the tribes of neighboring Indians. In some few instances, the red-men protected them with fidelity. But in the greater number of cases, terrified by the sudden appearance and the strength of the Spaniards, they had yielded up the fugitives at the fierce demand of the Adelantado. Others of the miserable Huguenots, warned by the Indians that they could no longer harbor, were shot down by the pursuing Spaniards, as they fled in terror through the forests. Twenty perished in this manner, offering no resistance, and long after the struggle in La Caroline had ended.

The surviving prisoners were then brought before the conqueror. They were manacled, and presented a spectacle which must have moved the sympathies of any ordinary nature. But Pedro de Melendez was not of an ordinary nature. The natural sympathies had given way to a morbid passion amounting to insanity, by which his judgment was confounded. The sight of weeping, and trembling women and children; of captives naked, worn, exhausted, enfeebled by years, by disease, by cruel wounds--all pleading for his mercy--only seemed to strengthen him in the most cruel resolution. "The groans of the heretic, are music in the ears of heaven!" Upon this maxim he designed an appropriate commentary.

"Separate these women from the other prisoners."

It was done.

"Now detach from these last, all children under fifteen years."

His command was obeyed. The women and children thus set apart were consigned to slavery. Of their farther fate the historian knows nothing. The young and tender were probably persuaded to the Roman Catholic altars, and thus finally achieved their deliverance. The more stubborn, we may reasonably assume, perished in their bonds, passing from one condition of degradation to another. Of the rest the history is terribly definite. Fixing his cold, dark eye upon the male captives upon whose fate he had yet said nothing, he demanded--

"Is there among ye any who profess the faith of the Holy Catholic Church?"

Two of the prisoners answered in the affirmative.

"Take these Christians away, and let their bonds be removed. The Holy Father, Salvandi, will examine them in the faith of Mother Church. For the rest, are there any among ye, who, seeing the error of your ways, will renounce the heresy of Luther, and seek once more communion with the only true church?"

A drear silence followed. The captives looked mournfully at each other, and at the Adelantado; but in his face there was no encouragement, and nothing but despair was expressed in the aspects of their fellows.

"Be warned!" continued the Adelantado. "To those who seek the blessings of the true church, she generously openeth her arms. To those who turn away, indifferently or in scorn, she decrees death temporal and death eternal. Hear ye!--and now say."

The silence was unbroken.

"Are ye obdurate? or do ye not comprehend that your lives rest upon your speech? Either ye embrace the safety which the church offers, by an instant renunciation of that of the foul heretic Luther, or ye die by the halter!"

One sturdy soldier advanced from the group--a bold, high-souled fellow--his brows lifted proudly with the conscious impulse which worked within his soul.

"Pedro de Melendez, we are in your power. You are master of our mortal bodies, but with the death before us that you threaten, know that we are members of the reformed Church of Christ, which ye name to be of Luther--that, holding it good to live in this faith, we deem it one in which it will not be amiss to die!"

And the speaker looked round him, into the faces of his fellows, and they lightened up with a glow of cheerfulness and pride, though no word was spoken.

"Speaks this man for the rest of ye?" demanded Melendez.

For a moment there was silence. At length a matelit advanced--a common sailor--a man before the mast.

"Ay! ay! captain! what he says we say! and there's no use for more palaver. Let there be an end of it. We are of the church of Messer Luther, and no other; if death's the word, we're ready. We're not the men, at the end of the reckoning, to belie the whole voyage!"

"Be it it even as ye say!" answered Melendez coldly, but sternly, and without change of accent or show of passion: "Take them forth, and let them be hung to yonder tree!"

Then rose the shrieks of women and the cries of children; women seeking to embrace their husbands and children clinging to the knees of their doomed sires. But these produced no relentings. The parties were separated by the strong hand, and the unhappy men were hurried to the fatal tree. The priest stood ready to receive their recantations. His exhortations were not spared; but soldier and sailor had equally spoken for the resolute martyrdom of the whole. The reverend father preached to them, and promised them in vain. Amidst cries and curses, the victims were run up to the wide-spreading branches of a mighty oak, dishonored in its employment for such a purpose, and perished in their fidelity to the faith which they professed. Their bodies were left hanging in the sun and wind, destined equally as trophies of the victor, and warnings to the heretic. A monument was instantly raised beneath the tree, upon which was printed in large characters--

"These do not suffer thus as
Frenchmen, but as
Heretics and
Enemies
to God!"

XXIII.

THE FORTUNES OF RIBAULT.