Before the sun had gilded again the tops of the loftiest pines, Mademoiselle, Maheera and I had started upon our way. I had counseled traveling in the afternoon, but in spite of her weakness Mademoiselle was impatient. She feared that by some mischance Olotoraca might return. We marched on bravely, covering two leagues before the heat of the morning, when we made a halt that Mademoiselle might rest. She vowed that she felt no weariness, but after all that had befallen her, neither Maheera nor I had the humor to see her pressed. We knew that she would have walked on until she had fallen from utter weariness before she would have spoken a word of plaint. There was no need for haste. In the depths of the woods there was little to fear. If we reached the encampment of Satouriona by sunset I would be well content, for Mademoiselle could not safely be conveyed aboard the Vengeance save under the cover of darkness. The attack upon Fort San Mateo could not well be made for two days, for Maheera made sure that not until the war-dance and the “black-drink” were over would her people start upon their journey to the southward.

As we rested there in the deep shadows of the forest I told Mademoiselle of Domenique de Gourgues, and of the Chevalier de BrÉsac, and what they had done for her and for me and how much I owed the Avenger on her account and my own. When I had finished telling her of the plans of De Gourgues, she gave a sign of fear—the only one she ever showed.

“You will go!” she cried, starting up. “You will go to the attack of Fort San Mateo?”

I took her hand in mine.

“Mademoiselle,” I said, in anguish that she should be so troubled, “Mademoiselle! Can you not see? My word is pledged. I must—I must go!”

Her hand clasped mine convulsively and she turned her head away.

“I had hoped—hoped that you would not! That you loved me more——”

“Do not say it, dear heart! You do not mean——”

“But it seems so hard! I have been so long alone—alone and forgotten!”

“My Diane! Do not make it even harder for me. Do not weaken now—you who have been so brave.” I put my head in my hands, for I was grieving sorely. My suffering seemed to give her strength.

“No! no!” she whispered. “Forgive me. I meant it not. I am not myself. I wish you to go. It is a just fight. If God wills that you should have victory, then you will come back to me safe. If you are defeated——”

I raised my head with a smile.

“Never fear for that, dearest. There shall be no defeat. In two days we will return—in a week will be sailing for Merry England.” And then with a smile, “As for me, my Diane, why I promise you upon my word that, even if affairs go badly, I will still return to you unscathed. I shall bear a charmed life, and when I see that there is danger I shall stand in the ranks of the laggards in the attack and if there is ever a tree big enough to hide me, there will I stay until the Fort is won.”

Mademoiselle was laughing through her tears by this time.

“Nay, that you will not,” said she proudly. “If you go, you shall be nowhere but in the very fore of battle.”

“There speaks my brave Diane! But it is impossible we should fail. With these Indians we outnumber them three to one; and by secrecy we will fall upon them as they fell upon Fort Caroline, and take them before they know that we have come.”

“Yes,” said Diane, “all will be well. We cannot have been separated and thus brought together to be again ruthlessly torn apart. God has been good to me. If there is to be further suffering—but I cannot believe it—I will not! And now—” starting to her feet—“En avant, Monsieur!”

In this way by resting often we came toward sunset to within a short distance of the harbor and encampment. Then, by making a wide circuit to the left, we passed the Indian trail and by stepping-stones crossed a small stream which ran into the harbor. Down this we walked, I carrying Mademoiselle, much against her will, in my strong arms, until at the right we saw the glare of the Indian fires upon the beach and the glimmer of lights which showed where the Vengeance and the other ships lay at anchor. When we came to another crossing place Maheera bade us wait while she went forward toward the encampment.

By this time Olotoraca must have returned from his expedition to the Spanish Forts. I hoped that Maheera would escape his notice, but I doubted not that she could explain her presence at the camp to his satisfaction. In spite of this assurance, it seemed a long while before she came back. Several times we heard the sound of footsteps, and thinking that some keen-scented Indian might have wandered upon our trail and be following it, I drew Mademoiselle deeper into the thicket. While I feared no injury, I knew not what complications might come should the escape of Diane be discovered to Olotoraca. I had disobeyed the orders of De Gourgues in following Maheera, and I was in something of a quandary how to have Mademoiselle conveyed aboard the Vengeance, to safety. I knew that I had some stormy moments before me with De Gourgues, but felt that could we carry forward our object and bring Mademoiselle aboard the vessel secretly, his displeasure would speedily pass by; and I trusted much to Mademoiselle. Could he resist her, he were less than a man. After a time we heard the footsteps not of one but of two persons, and presently Maheera’s soft voice called out through the darkness from the crossing place where we had been. In a moment we were together. There was De BrÉsac—my good BrÉsac,—whom our little guide had found at the camp. He embraced me with great joy, saying that De Gourgues was much perturbed over my absence, but that he himself had believed I would return safe and sound. To Mademoiselle he bowed with a grace which would have done him honor at a levee, bending over and kissing her hand and telling her in courtly phrase how long he had looked forward to this moment. I thought it savored too much of Paris for these rough woods, but nothing the Chevalier de BrÉsac saw fit to do was greatly out of place. Mademoiselle, for her part, told him in her sweet voice how deep was her debt, and the Chevalier—like all others who saw her—thereupon vowed himself forever to her service. I told him straightway that he might try his service now, since Mademoiselle had no humor to swim to the ship.

“Yes, good Sydney,” he replied, “and you have come near enough crossing the plans of the Avenger to set a smaller value upon your life than I have put upon the Spanish. If I mistake not, you yourself will need some further service from me. But I will see. Stay here and I will return as soon as may be.” And so he departed alone.

By and by the red glare of the Indian fires increased and a murmur which at first rose no higher than the distant booming of the surf upon the beach came to our ears. There was a measured and rumbling noise which I did not understand. Maheera craned her neck and put her hands to her ears.

“It is the war-dance,” she said excitedly, “the dance of the battle. Olotoraca is there. I can hear him. They are playing upon the tawÆgons. To-morrow they will drink the ‘black-drink.’ Then they will go.”

In a little while the glow of the fires seemed to light the whole firmament and the sound of the voices and the drumming rose to a prolonged and savage note. Louder and wilder it grew, swelling into a vengeful and relentless scream, more animal than human, which seemed to rend the very sky. The dancers saw themselves already victorious at San Mateo—and fiercely cried their desires to their gods of war and vengeance. So piercing were the shrieks that the beasts of the forest were aroused and we could hear the answering howls come now and then from the woods behind us. Even the birds started from their perches, fluttering down past us crying shrilly to one another in fear at the unwonted turmoil.

Mademoiselle shuddered; Maheera, missing no note of the savage chorus, said proudly,

“Olotoraca dances first and dances longest. Olotoraca is a great chief!”

It seemed long before De BrÉsac returned. But when he did, it was with the news that De Gourgues had been placated and that a boat had come ashore for us, down the beach.

“My good friend,” said he, “never in my life have I seen a man so glad or so angry at the same time. He walked the cabin driving his heels fiercely into the deck. Upon my life, one would have thought it was not you but I who had disobeyed his orders. You might have set the whole tribe at enmity for all the difference there would have been in his demeanor. When I could find a pause I told him all—Mademoiselle saved and Olotoraca in ignorance; and he swore the harder, saying a man who obeyed not orders had no conscience and was better dead. In his heart I think he secretly rejoices. For no matter what the result of our venture, Mademoiselle may stay aboard with Bourdelais, and so be safe.”

All of this and much more he told me as we walked behind Mademoiselle and Maheera to the boat, which we found upon a sandy beach at some distance from the Indian camp.

In half an hour we had hooked the entering ladder of the Vengeance and I breathed a sigh of relief when Mademoiselle was over the side and safely upon deck. De Gourgues stood by the bulwarks and bowed low over the hand of Mademoiselle, conveying her himself to his cabin which was brilliantly lighted in honor of the event. But of me he took no more notice than if I had been a lyer or a sweeper. He requested De BrÉsac to go with them, and I saw through the open door that food had been prepared. Then the door was shut and I was left in darkness to muse upon my indiscretions. I leaned upon the taffrail somewhat sadly, for ’twas not a brilliant home-coming for me. For a long time, it seemed, I stood with Job Goddard watching the whirling shapes at the Indian fires and listening to the savage cries of the dancers.

“’Tis time them Spaniards was a-praying, Master Sydney,” said Job; “there’s a smell o’ blood about this here.”

“Aye, Job,” I replied; “I’m sick of it.”

At last the cabin door flew open with a clatter and the Chevalier de Gourgues himself came out upon the deck shouting,

“Pass the word for Monsieur Killigrew.”

I walked out of the darkness and stood before him in the glare.

“I have come aboard, sir,” I said, doffing my cap.

“My eyes are reasonably good, monsieur,” said he most sharply and coldly, looking up at me like a game-cock for some moments. “Nor have I a custom of any incertitude of mind. But Saprelotte!—I am of two dispositions about you!”

He leaned forward scowling and I was much disconcerted. “You have placed all my plans in jeopardy and I know not whether ’twere best to hang you to the main yard or to blow you to perdition with a powder charge. But”—his rigidness fell away from him and he broke into a merry laugh—“you could not wait? Eh, my beef-eater? Par la PÂque-Dieu. I blame you not—I blame you for nothing! Not if you had disobeyed the orders of the Admiral himself.”

He took me by the arm and led me into the cabin, where Mademoiselle, tired but content, was smiling at us.

“The lady pleads your cause well, monsieur,” said De Gourgues. “She has my service. This time I forgive you. But remember,” he laughed, “if it happens that you disobey her”—and he paused—“if you disobey her, there will be no spar upon the Vengeance high enough to bear your bones!”

By midnight the sound of the mad revelry upon the shore had ceased, and in the silence of a night which held a deeper content for me than I had ever known, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The following day was consumed in the final preparations for the attack and in the drinking of the “black-drink” by the Indians. It is a custom with them before they go into battle or danger of any kind to drink as much of this concoction, which is the brew of a kind of leaf, as they can hold. They believe that it purifies them from all sin, leaves them in a state of perfect innocence, and inspires them with an invincible prowess in war. De Gourgues, in order to show how strong were his prowess and sympathies, pretended to swallow the stuff; but he afterward told me that when he found the opportunity he had poured a quantity of it out upon the ground. It was evening before the Indians gathered their weapons and filed off into the forest, it being agreed that the French should go by water and meet them before the attack. De Gourgues had no further need to encourage his men. The excitement was at fever heat; and aroused to the very bursting point of enthusiasm, they tumbled down into the boats with ready weapons and purpose that could know no turning. FranÇois Bourdelais, with twenty sailors, was left upon the ships. In the event of failure he was to wait as long as might be for the men to return and then set sail for France. Mademoiselle was safe at any rate. I was glad that she did not appear upon the deck. It would have savored too much of that day when I had left her upon the bastion at Fort Caroline. But among the excited Frenchmen there were many embracings and many messages to wives and mistresses. After that, they went blithely enough. For it was a wonderful venture on which we were going. We were about to attack four hundred hardy, well-trained men, in a stone fort where with reasonable skill they might hold their own against an army.

We were well under way before the darkness swallowed up the dim shadows of the ships. Hour after hour of that calm, half-tropic night we pulled at our oars, gliding softly along by the sombre shores, sliding now and then over a pebbly bar, but moving ever slowly on to the southward, with the soothing murmur of the surf in our ears, and the balsam of the land breeze in our nostrils. In the gray of the dawn we came to another river and a breeze sprang up from the sea, which, by sunrise, blew with violence from the north-east. Here we found our Indians waiting upon the bank. For a while the gale delayed us, but our Frenchmen would not wait long, rowing at last boldly across. Had it not been for the morions with which they were forced to bale incessantly, they must surely have sunk. As it was, the boat in which I was conveyed with De Gourgues was half full of water when we arrived upon the beach.

When we had landed and put ourselves to rights, led by the Avenger, we pushed forward on foot through the forest. By the side of the Captain marched Olotoraca armed with bow and arrows and a French pike to which he had taken a great liking. Looks of friendliness passed between us. I doubted if they had been so friendly,—at least upon his part,—had he known. The arquebusiers followed, while De BrÉsac and I with our armed seamen brought up the rear. All of that day until five of the afternoon, pausing only to eat and drink, we hewed our way through the swamps and thickets toward our destination. Then almost spent by hunger and fatigue we came to another river, or inlet of the sea which Dariol—interpreting for Olotoraca—said was not far from the nearest of the Spanish forts at the mouth of the river.

Job Goddard, footsore and weary, brightened at the gleam of the water.

“’Odds ’ounds! Master Sydney, ’tis a mighty sweet sight. Do we take to the boats again now, sir? For my legs have little energy enough. Unless I may sit down to my work, ’tis a bad fight I’ll make this day for poor Salvation Smith, sir.”

When we had crossed the river in the canoes which had been sent, we found three hundred Indians waiting for us. But tired as he was De Gourgues would not rest. With Olotoraca and ten arquebusiers he set out to reconnoiter, for he wished to attack at daybreak. While we rested, night closed in, and finding it vain to struggle on in the darkness among the tangled vines and fallen trees, De Gourgues was forced to return to us anxious and gloomy. After he had eaten something, a brave of the Chief Olotoraca came to him saying that he knew of a path along the margin of the sea. De Gourgues joyfully set us all in motion again.

The brief rest had made new men of us, and even Job Goddard caught some of the spirit of the adventure. The path being a good one we went forward with speed; and at dawn, after a night of indomitable perseverance upon the part of these soldiers, we reached the banks of a small stream. Beyond this and very near was the first of the smaller forts that had saluted the Vengeance as we sailed up the coast. But to our great chagrin we discovered that the tide was in, and having no boats at this point we could not cross. De Gourgues was in a great ferment of mind, for he had hoped to take the fort while the defenders slept. He walked nervously up and down the bank trying in vain to find a fording-place. To add to the discomforts, a drenching rain fell upon us and the arquebusiers had much ado to keep their gun-matches alight. But they held them under morions, thus preserving them and screening the glow from the sentries of the Spaniards. The light grew fast, and so we withdrew to the shelter of the thicket. The fort was now plainly to be seen and the defenses seemed slight and unfinished. We could even mark the Spaniards within, yawning and stretching their arms as they crawled lazily from their beds at the call of day. It was maddening to the Frenchmen. I could see them crouching all around me, their eyes glowing like the sparks of their match-cords, and their hands trembling with excitement.

After a time, which seemed interminable, the tide went down; or at least it fell so low that the stream would not come higher than the arm-pits. And, finding a spot concealed by trees from the view of the fort, the passage of this stream was begun. Each man tied his powder-flask to his morion, held his arquebuse above his head with one hand and grasped his sword with the other. The channel was a bed of sharp-pointed shell-fish, and the edges of them cut the feet like knives even through our boots. The Frenchmen rushed through the water unmindful of all save the eagerness to be within the Spanish fort. But as they came out from the stream, lacerated and bleeding from the briars and the shells, the Avenger restrained them and set them in array of battle under cover of the trees, where they stood panting, their eyes kindling and their hearts throbbing in a frenzy of anticipation. Now that his quarry was in plain sight, De Gourgues laid his plans with the deliberation of a careful field-captain, sure of his position and of his men, but waiting only to devise the more surely. Whatever happened at Fort San Mateo, he was sure of these two forts at least.

When the men were all in line and had looked carefully to their weapons, he drew his sword so fiercely that it rang against the scabbard. He pointed it through the trees.

“Look! my comrades!” he cried, “there are the robbers who have stolen this land from our King; there are the murderers who have butchered our countrymen!”