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.

“These men with long garments,” they said, “came among us to teach us of their God and to make us worship him. And they tell us that we must hate the Devil. Their soldiers kill our children and steal our wives, and they are cowards. For us, if this is what their God teaches them, then we believe that the Devil is the best. We adore him. He makes men brave.”

We sailed on thus from island to island, taking water and fresh provisions where we could, capturing many sea-turtles so big that the flesh of one of them would serve for sixty people at a meal, the shells being of such a great size that large men could lie in them, and so hard of surface that an arquebus ball would not go through. When we reached Cape San Antonio, which is at the end of the Island of Juanna, we found a body of Spaniards drawn up on to the beach to dispute our landing. These we defeated after a brisk battle and procured the water of which we were in need.

But during all this time no word had passed the lips of De Gourgues as to the object of our voyage. No slaves had been captured, save the one man who had fought his way to the deck of the Vengeance. When the men had wished to go into the interior of the islands in search of gold, which the Caribs said was plentiful, the Chevalier restrained them, saying that the time was not yet and that their profit would all come in good season. But he could not much longer conceal his mission. Murmurs again arose among the men of all of the ships; and though they went willingly enough about their duties, it was plain that the desire to get upon shore could not much longer be restrained. For discontent upon ship-board is often less pleasant to live with than ripe mutiny. So one day when we had arrived at a point not eighty leagues from San Augustin, De Gourgues called the companies of all three vessels upon the decks of the Vengeance. The momentous time had come. We knew not how much sympathy or how little they would have with our cause and De BrÉsac could not conceal his impatience. If De Gourgues had any doubts or misgivings as to the matter, he did not show them, but stood before the soldiers and sailors upon the deck at the main mast, an expression of great calmness and seriousness upon his features.

“Gentlemen and brothers,” he began slowly, “the time has arrived that you should know why we, men of France, have come so far and braved so many dangers under the shadow of the Western sun. The God who rules the raging of the waters, who is the God of all men upon the sea, has brought us safely to this day upon a most just and righteous mission. A foul crime has been committed against our beloved France, mes braves. A year has passed and no hand has been raised to cleanse our fair Standard of the trail of blood which the Spaniards have drawn across it.”

At first the men listened in silence. Then as they comprehended, they looked at one another and the name of San Augustin passed the lips of several. Muttered curses broke from them here and there. But in a moment even these few murmurs of anger were stifled and borne away by the flood of the fiery Gascon’s eloquence, as he told them in his own way the story of the massacres at Fort Caroline and on the sand-spit. As he went on his voice arose in excitement until it rang out fair and true like a clarion-call in battle, and his eyes were illumined with the light of his inspiration, as he painted the worst horrors of those scenes as I have not dared to paint them here. He told his men that this alone was his purpose, and that he had chosen them from among hundreds of others because they were the men who could best defeat twice their own number. And knowing that the duty before them would be attended with great travail he knew that he should not fail in the hour of danger.

“What disgrace,” he cried at last, “if such an insult should pass unpunished! What glory will there come to us, if we avenge it! To this venture I have devoted my fortune. The vessels upon which you float are mine. The morions and the pieces on your backs are mine! Your weapons,—mine! All mine to avenge your soldier brothers! From the first I have relied upon you, even when you did not trust me. I have thought you jealous enough of your country’s glory to sacrifice life itself in a cause like this! Was I deceived? Must the bodies of your soldier brothers swing like thieves from these wild fir trees, the brand of shame upon them, food for crows and vultures? Will no one cut them down? My men, I am here to show you the way,—I will be always at your head,—I will bear the brunt of danger. Will you refuse to follow me?”

Never had I heard such an impassioned voice, and the spirits of the men, doubtful and restless at first, burst from a spark into a flame at his words, and at his last appeal their response rose in a roar that seemed to shake the firmament.

“A la mort! To the death will we follow you!”

It was a wonderful scene. No English company would have changed so quickly to the fury of enthusiasm that possessed them. They threw their caps into the sea and began heaving up the anchor. Many of them crowded around our Captain, begging that he would take them to Fort San Mateo and lead them at once. It was with great difficulty that he could get them to listen to him; but at last, quiet having been in a certain measure restored, he told them that they would sail through the Bahama Channel—which was most treacherous—at the full of the moon. It would be folly to take any risk at this time, when a mistake would bring to naught the planning of months.

“The time will come soon enough, my friends, for there is much to be done. To-night or the night after, if the weather be fair, we shall sail. In a week, with Gods help, Ribault will be avenged.”