Chapter Eight.

Attacked by enemies.

Tecumah urged the count and his friends to make all haste. Even now he feared that there would be barely time for the French to assemble and prevent the enemy from landing. Once on shore both parties would be on equal terms, and the most numerous would probably gain the victory. He had despatched a messenger, however, he said, to his father, to come with his warriors to the assistance of their friends, as, unfortunately, they were at a distance from their usual dwelling-place, engaged in hunting, and might not be able quickly to collect. The count had sent word to Nigel to warn him and the other officers of the squadron to be prepared for an attack, and also to entreat as many as could be spared to come on shore to be in readiness for the defence of the island. The Protestants had also got under arms, so that they might be able to march in any direction where their presence might be required.

The governor received the count and his companions in the haughty and insolent manner he had of late assumed, and at first appeared inclined to discredit the account Tecumah had brought; but when the young Indian, with all the eloquence of his race, assured him of the truth of his statement, and warned him of the danger of delay, he changed his tone. He was too sagacious an officer not to see in reality that the warning must not be despised, but, without deigning to thank the count and his companions for the information they had brought, he desired them to go back to their friends. They obeyed his orders; while Tecumah, having fulfilled his mission, hurried away to his canoe, intending to cross to the mainland for the purpose of urging his tribe to use all speed in coming to the assistance of the French. The governor, meantime, ordered the troops to get under arms, and sent off a despatch to the ships, directing the captains, some to get under weigh and to sail round to the other side of the island, others to remain ready for an attack near the landing-place. The calm, however, prevented the first part of his order from being obeyed.

The whole population of the island was speedily aroused, and began to assemble at a central spot appointed by the governor. Scouts were also sent out along the shore, and every precaution was taken which the sagacity of an experienced officer like Villegagnon could suggest. The women and children, whose houses were in the more exposed situations, were brought to the fort, though it was hoped that the enemy might be driven back before they could effect a landing. Scarcely, however, had the armed men collected, than the sound of firing was heard coming from the end of the island, where a little bay was situated. It was a spot which afforded an easy landing-place; but a fort had been built upon it, which it was supposed was of sufficient strength to drive back any enemy who might approach it. Several shots followed the first, and then came through the calm night air the sounds of strife, the victorious warwhoops of the Indians, and the shrieks and cries of the conquered.

“Forward, my men, and drive back the enemy,” exclaimed Villegagnon. “The fort has, I fear, been surprised, and the garrison cut to pieces, and, if so, the enemy have landed, and we must be prepared to encounter them on shore.”

Saying this, the governor, who was not destitute of courage, led forward the main body of his men, while he despatched a messenger to the ships with an order for the seamen to advance to his support. The count with a small number of his men was ordered to keep in the rear, to act as he might think necessary. The darkness of the night prevented the French from seeing their invaders. They had not got far when they found themselves in the face of a force which they could only estimate by the hot fire which was opened on them. They fired in return with equal vigour, but it was soon evident that they were greatly outnumbered. Several of them fell. Showers of bullets whistled amidst them, while flights of arrows came flying into their ranks. In vain the governor endeavoured to repel the foe. At last he gave the order to sound the retreat, intending to fall back on the fort. The unseen enemy pressed him hard, and their fire increased rather than diminished, showing that more had landed. The count had now led his men up to take part in the fight, but they could do no more than check the advance of the enemy, and prevent them from overpowering the party under the governor. Even the bravest began to despair of success. The flashes of the guns lighted up the darkness of the night, and where the fire was the hottest there the governor and Count de Tourville threw themselves fearlessly, exposing their own lives to encourage their followers. It was very evident that they had not only Indians, but civilised Europeans to fight against. Notwithstanding their bravery, they were quickly driven back; and, before long, the count saw that his own and the surrounding houses would be exposed to destruction. At length a shout was heard on one side. It was recognised as coming from the body of seamen who were advancing to their support. The governor immediately despatched an officer to lead them to a position he wished them to occupy; but, before they had reached it, they found themselves engaged with a strong party of the enemy who had been sent to intercept them. The fight was now raging in two quarters, but still the enemy appeared to be gaining ground.

Constance de Tourville had remained at home unwilling to desert the house till compelled to do so. Several other ladies, whose houses were in more exposed situations, had come there for shelter, and stood listening with anxious hearts to the hot strife going forward within a short distance. At length some of the party proposed that they should fly to the fort; though, dreading the governor, they were unwilling, if it could be avoided, to place themselves in his power. Constance preferred remaining, her father having promised to send timely notice to her should the French find themselves compelled to retreat. The sounds of the battle came nearer and nearer. Several of the ladies declared that they could remain no longer, and hurried to the door to make their escape; Constance remained firm.

“I will obey my father,” she said; “and when he sends me word that it is time to fly, I will go.”

The other ladies, influenced by her example, hesitated, when a shower of bullets came whistling above their heads, and shouts and shrieks and cries of the combatants sounded as if they were close at hand. It was too evident that such was the case. Constance herself began to await anxiously for the order from her father to quit the house; when suddenly, in addition to the other sounds, a chorus of wild warwhoops burst on their ears. The savage cries were replied to by the shouts and cheers of the French. The musketry rattled as loud as ever, but none of the shots came near them. In truth, the Tamoyos had arrived just at the moment the governor had determined to retreat and take shelter in the fort, leaving the rest of the island to the mercy of the invaders. Tecumah was at the head of his tribe, who fought with the most desperate fury against their hereditary enemies the Tuparas. The Portuguese were now in their turn compelled to retreat; the French and Indians pressed them hard, and, finding their expectation of surprising the settlement defeated, they took to flight towards the bay where they had left their boats. Nigel had landed with a naval force, and, feeling that he was fighting for everything he held dear, he was regardless of his own safety. Again and again he led his men on against greatly superior numbers of the enemy, but till the arrival of Tecumah and his party all his efforts had been in vain. Again he was leading them on, when he felt himself struck by a bullet, and, staggering a few paces, fell to the ground. Still he called on his men to advance. The Portuguese and Tuparas every now and then faced about in order to cover the embarkation of those who first reached the boats. Their bravery secured the retreat of their friends, but the greater portion of the rear-guard were overtaken and cut to pieces, while the main body shoved off from the shore and made their escape.

Constance and her friends had been anxiously awaiting the issue of the strife. When they heard the sounds of battle receding, their courage rose, and they hoped that their countrymen were gaining the victory. Still they were left for a long interval. At length Constance determined to go out and ascertain what had taken place. They provided themselves with lanterns, several of which had been brought to the house by those who had taken refuge in it, and, aided by their light, they went courageously forward. They had a higher motive also. They knew too well that many must have fallen, and they hoped to carry succour to some of the wounded, who might have been left behind by their advancing comrades. After going some way, they reached a spot where the strife had been hottest. Here lay friends and foes mingled together, Frenchman and Portuguese; the Indians only being distinguished by their war-paint and fantastic costume. On all the bullet, or arrow, or the deadly hatchet, had done its work. As they cast their lanterns on the forms stretched on the ground they saw that their help could not avail. The wounded had either been carried off by their companions, or had dragged themselves away to seek assistance. Still they persevered in their mission of mercy, searching for others who might be still breathing. They were attracted by the sound of a groan, which proceeded from a spot not far off. Again all was silent.

“Here is a wounded man!” exclaimed one of the ladies, calling to Constance. “He is a naval officer, I see, by his dress.”

Constance and her other friends hurried to the spot, and, by the light of a lantern cast on the countenance of the officer, Constance saw at a glance that he was Nigel. She threw herself on the ground, and endeavoured, with the help of her companions, to staunch the blood flowing from a wound in his side. He was pale as death, but another groan escaping from his lips showed her that he still breathed. At length they succeeded in stopping the effusion of blood. She called on his name, but he was too weak to answer, though once she felt, as she took his hand, a slight pressure returned, which showed that he recognised her voice.

“Oh, Marie, hasten to the house, and entreat some of our friends to come and assist in carrying him there!” she exclaimed to one of her companions. “Bring a bed, or a door torn from its hinges, on which he can be placed. We must not allow him to remain here longer than is possible. Quick, my dear, if you love me!”

Her friend hurried away, eager to bring assistance which the young officer so greatly needed. Constance in the mean time sat by the side of Nigel, resting his head on her arm, while she bent over him, and assured herself that he still breathed. Though dreading every moment to hear his last sigh, with loving and gentle words she endeavoured to recall him to consciousness. How fearfully long the time seemed. The sounds of the strife still going forward reached her ears, though she scarcely heeded them, for all her thoughts and all her feelings were centred on Nigel. Anxiously she and her friend waited the arrival of the party from the house. The latter every now and then got up and advanced a few paces to listen. At length lights were seen in the distance, and footsteps were heard approaching. Constance uttered an exclamation of thankfulness when she saw her friends approaching with a litter they had hastily constructed with three poles supporting a mattress. With gentle care Nigel was placed upon it, and the ladies lifting it from the ground proceeded towards the house. Soon after they had reached it, the count arrived with the intelligence that the enemy had been driven off the island, and that the boats of the squadron had gone in pursuit of them. His sorrow at hearing of Nigel’s dangerous state was very great, and, ordering restoratives to be given him, he immediately set off in search of the surgeon, who had come out with the first party of the settlers, and had remained faithful to the truth. He happily discovered him attending to some of the wounded men who had been carried to one of the neighbouring houses. As soon as he could leave them he hastened to Nigel’s side. After examining his wound, he expressed a hope that, by constant watchfulness and care, he would recover, though the loss of blood had greatly exhausted him, and all would depend on his being kept perfectly quiet. One thing was certain, that he would be unable to move for many weeks to come, without risking his life. On hearing the surgeon’s report, Constance entreated her father not to carry out his intention of proceeding to Europe.

“I will certainly on no account leave him,” he answered. “Possibly the ships may be delayed, or the governor will be unwilling to let them sail, on the probability of the island being again attacked; but if so, he must treat the Protestants with more justice than he has been doing for some time, and we must live in hopes that fresh arrivals from Europe will again turn the scale in our favour.”

Whether or not the governor suspected that the Protestants hoped, with increased numbers, to recover their influence, it was difficult to say.

The next day was devoted to rejoicings for the victory. The bells of the Romish church rang out, the fort fired salutes, and a procession with crucifixes, banners, and images, marched through the island. The priests sang praises in honour of the Virgin Mary, whom they asserted had given them the victory, in answer to their petitions. The Protestants assembled in their place of worship to return thanks to God for their deliverance. While the service, which had taken place at an earlier hour than usual, was going forward, an officer and party of soldiers arrived in front of the chapel. Without knocking, or asking for admission, the officer entered the chapel with his hat on his head, and, in a loud voice, exclaimed—

“I bring you an order from the governor to disperse. He will allow of no meetings, except in the church he has built for the use of the colony.”

“Allow us, sir, to finish the service in which we are engaged,” answered the minister, in a deep tone. “It may be the last many of us will enjoy for some time to come.”

“My orders are to put a stop to your meeting,” said the officer. “If you refuse to obey, I must use force to compel you.”

Several of the persons present showed an inclination to dispute the point, but the minister and count urged them to yield obedience to the orders of the governor, and they quickly departed, when the officer, closing the door, put a seal on it, cautioning the people not again to enter, the governor having threatened severely to punish any who might do so. With sad hearts they returned to their homes. The victory over their enemies, instead of having improved their condition, appeared to have made it still more unbearable. Many who had before intended to remain on the island now determined to proceed in the ships which the governor announced would sail in a couple of days. When, however, they went on board to arrange their sleeping places they found the vessels in so battered and unseaworthy a condition, and so overrun with vermin, that many resolved to remain rather than undergo the risk of a voyage on board them. The officers and crews confessed that they were very unwilling to sail; at the same time, as they were all Protestants, they were anxious to get away from the island. The governor had also threatened them with punishment should they refuse. They promised, for their own sakes, as well as for that of their passengers, to repair the ships as much as time would allow. Indeed, the crews were already working hard to fit them for sea. If the governor would permit them to remain another week, they might, it was hoped, be placed in a tolerably efficient state to cross the Atlantic. The governor, however, would only allow them two more days, at the end of which time he insisted that all who intended to go must embark. A third of the original number, therefore, abandoned their purpose and resolved to remain and endure all the indignities to which they were likely to be subjected, while the rest, with many forebodings, went on board the two ships. They were, as it was, much overcrowded, and it was with difficulty that they could obtain sufficient provisions for the voyage, the governor asserting that no more could be spared from the stores of the garrison.

When all were on board, and the anchors were about to be weighed, Captain Beauport was led out from prison in chains under a strong guard, and, not being allowed to communicate with any of his friends on shore, was conveyed on board; the captain to whose charge he was committed being directed by the governor to deliver up his prisoner to the authorities at the first port at which he could touch, charged with rebellion and heresy. Captain DuprÉ merely replied that he would do his duty, as far as he had the power. He was a silent undemonstrative man, not given unnecessarily to express his opinions. He had never shown a disposition to disregard the orders of the governor, who was, therefore, persuaded that he would carry them out on the present occasion. With sad hearts those remaining saw their countrymen sail away. They were anxious about their fate; but they had still greater cause to be anxious about their own.

In the mean time, Nigel, under Constance’s unremitting care, and that of the good surgeon who remained, was progressing favourably. Some days passed before he had sufficient strength to speak, and not till more than a week had elapsed would the surgeon allow him to be told what had happened; he was then deeply grieved to hear that the count and Constance had remained behind for his sake. He dreaded even more than they did the treachery and cruelty of Villegagnon, knowing him as he did to be so completely under the influence of the priests.

“He is but a wretched tool in their hands; and they, acting according to the dictates of their accursed system, which they call ‘The Church,’ are determined to drive every Protestant out of the island, so that they may again be masters over the consciences of all the inhabitants. Why,” exclaimed poor Nigel to Constance, “did I not denounce the traitor to the admiral, who would not then, I feel convinced, have trusted the colony to his government? Even had I failed to convince him, it would have been better to have been dismissed, and to have sought my fortune elsewhere. But then, Constance, I should not have met you; and even now, if God wills that I should recover, I may be the means of preserving you from the dangers by which you are surrounded.”

“You acted as you believed right, and you must not blame yourself,” said Constance. “We must trust in God, and remember that, whatever happens, He orders all things for the best. Should He permit these wicked men to triumph, let us feel sure that He has some object in view, though we may not see it.”

The count also exonerated Nigel from any blame, and was much inclined to find fault with himself for having quitted France, instead of remaining at his post, and looking after his dependants.

“We are but weak fallible creatures at best,” he observed. “We often fancy that we are following God’s will when we are pursuing only the promptings of our own inclinations. It shows how absolutely necessary it is to seek for guidance at the throne of grace in all our actions, even in what we may consider the most minute. When we remember that the hairs of our head are all numbered, and that God has told us that not a sparrow falls to the ground but He knows of it, we should remember that no act is too minute and inconsiderable to seek for counsel from Him regarding it. I might say that at every word we utter we should ask Him to direct us, for a single word may have an effect for good or for evil on those who hear it.”

Still Nigel was not satisfied with himself. Few people can be so, when they review their past actions, unless they have acted as the count advised, and sought for guidance from above.

For a short time the Protestant settlers were left to act as they thought fit; but their place of worship continued shut up, and they were not allowed to enter it. They met, however, at each other’s houses to read the Scriptures and offer up prayer and praise together. But they thought it wise to do so with closed doors, and they always had some one on the watch outside to give notice of the approach of any of the Papists. Indeed, they found it necessary to use the same precautions which they had been accustomed to employ in France. They were now subjected to the same persecuting spirit as that from which they had attempted to escape. Their only hope of being freed from their present galling condition was by a large influx of Protestant settlers, when the scales might be again turned in their favour. Would Villegagnon, however, allow such to land? In all probability he would send them over to settle on the southern shore.

This state of affairs continued for some weeks, during which Nigel slowly recovered, much owing to the loving care of Constance, and the skill of their friend the surgeon. At length his health was considered fairly re-established. The count, however, advised him not to return to his ship until absolutely compelled to do so; indeed, having the permission of the admiral to quit the service, Villegagnon could not legally insist on his remaining in it.

“Indeed, my dear friend,” said the count, “I feel that my own life is so uncertain, and should I be taken away, my daughter would be left without a protector in whom I could place confidence, that I desire forthwith to commit her to your care. You will, I know, devote yourself to her, and, as far as a human being has power, defend her from all dangers.”

Nigel grasped the count’s hand, and with a proud joy at his heart, promised not to disappoint his expectations. He took no vain oath: he did not call on God to witness that he intended to fulfil his promise, for he and the count knew that what he uttered was heard in heaven, and required no other ratification. Constance willingly agreed to her father’s wishes, and it was settled that in a few days the marriage ceremony should be performed by their minister and friend, Monsieur Laporte. Their love was mutual and equally intense, and they felt that they could together face the dangers of many sorts surrounding them far better than apart. Constance implicitly confided in Nigel, and he felt unspeakable pride and joy in having the power of supporting and protecting her.

Chapter Nine.

Proceedings of “The Inquisition.”

Ten days had passed since Nigel and Constance were united. He had not ventured beyond the precincts of the garden; and it might have been supposed that Captain Villegagnon had forgotten his existence, as no order had been sent him to join his ship. He intended, should he receive one again, to plead the admiral’s permission to quit the service, Coligny having indeed accepted his resignation. As long, however, as he was not interfered with he resolved to remain quiet. He employed his time in assisting the count in the cultivation of the ground, and in devising plans for the future. Rumours were abroad that the governor intended on the arrival of fresh colonists to found a town on the north side of the harbour, to be named Nitherohy. The count determined to move there, and to purchase a plot of land on which to build a residence and form an estate, as he hoped before that time to receive remittances from his steward.

“I should not have thought of it, my dear Nigel, had it not been for you and Constance,” he observed. “Though as regards myself all worldly pride and ambition have been laid aside, I should like to see you the master of a property suitable to your birth and education.”

The idea was naturally consonant with Nigel’s wishes, and he promised to labour hard in bringing the proposed estate into cultivation.

“It will afford me ample employment for the future,” he observed; “and employment, of course, I must have.”

Tecumah and Cora had during this time made frequent visits to the island. Tecumah was welcomed by the governor, as he was always well informed of the movements of the Portuguese and hostile Indians, besides having already rendered important services to the colony. The governor only looked on him in the light of an intelligent young savage and a faithful ally to the French. He had, however, already advanced in a knowledge of Christian truth, and had become an earnest and believing follower of the Lord. He one day came over to report that a party of the Tuparas had been seen on the high ground beyond the southern extremity of the harbour, making their way to the Portuguese settlement. He advised that boats should be sent out and advanced posts stationed, to give due notice of an attack, should one be contemplated. These arrangements having been made, the governor invited Tecumah to accompany him in a walk to a part of the island which he was about to visit. The strains of solemn music reached their ears. Tecumah attentively listened with much delight, and inquired whence they proceeded.

“The ministers of our religion are performing a sacred service, my friend,” answered the governor. “If you please, we will enter and pay our devotions to the Holy Virgin and saints.”

“I thought that Christians worship God alone,” observed the Indian.

“Of course, so we do,” said the governor; “but we worship also, in a different way, the mother of God and His holy saints and apostles.”

“I have heard that God is a jealous God, and will have none other gods worshipped but Himself,” said the Indian.

“But the mother of God; surely He will have us worship her?” observed the governor.

“The Bible does not say so,” answered Tecumah, boldly. “When Jesus hung on the cross He said to John, ‘Behold thy mother,’ and to His mother, ‘Behold thy son;’ and looking round on His disciples, He once observed, when He was told that His mother and brethren were near, ‘Behold My mother, and My brethren.’”

“Where did you learn all that?” asked the governor, in an angry tone.

“From one of your good ministers; and I am sure he spoke the truth,” answered Tecumah, innocently.

“He shall suffer for it,” muttered the governor.

They had just then reached the door of the church, and Tecumah followed the governor, who went up towards the so-called “holy altar.” The Indian gazed around with astonishment at the gorgeous drapery, the images, the lighted candles, and the large silver crucifix, with the figure of the Virgin on one side, and Saint John on the other, and the vases of flowers, and numerous other ornaments. He said not a word during the whole ceremony, but watched attentively what took place. There was the usual chanting in Latin, and so-called prayers muttered over in the same language; while the church was filled with incense from censers waved to and fro. Then, during a solemn silence, the chief officiating priest lifted up something (what it was he could not make out) above his head. He then observed that they put something into their mouths and drank wine, which they had mixed with water from a silver cup. Then the people came up and the priests put something into their mouths, and there was more chanting and prayers in an unknown tongue. Then those who had been on their knees rose and filed out of the church, laughing and talking and making jokes with each other. Tecumah followed the governor, anxious to know what had taken place, and inquired what the priests were about when they muttered prayers over the silver dish and wine.

“They were then performing the greatest miracle of our Church,” answered the governor. “They were converting the wafer and wine into the body and blood of Christ.”

“What?” asked the Indian. “Christ has assumed His glorified body, and is now in heaven at the right hand of God. Which body, may I ask, do they think they eat, His human body or His glorified body? I cannot understand the matter.”

“Nor can I enlighten you,” answered the governor, looking much perplexed. “I am not fond of having such questions put to me.”

“Pardon me if I ask one more,” said the Indian, who was eager to gain information on the subject. “What were they doing when they lifted the wafer above their heads?”

“They were then offering up to God the great sacrifice, the real body and blood of His dear Son.”

“Christ was once offered up as a sacrifice for sinners on the cross,” said the Indian; “surely they cannot offer Him again?”

“Our Church says they can; and that’s all we know about the matter,” answered the governor, in a tone of irritation.

“Let me then ask you another question,” said Tecumah. “What were they doing when they ate the wafers and drank the wine, and then put the wafers into the mouths of the people?”

“They were eating the real body and drinking the blood of Christ,” answered the governor, “and feeding the people with the body, for the priests alone are allowed to drink the blood. They were, in other words, performing the sacrifice of the mass.”

“What?” exclaimed the Indian, starting back. “It is too solemn a thing to joke about; but do you wish to make me believe that the people can really believe that they eat the body of their God, and that human beings can change pieces of paste into that body? No, no, no! Monsieur Governor. We Indians have not a knowledge of the numerous arts you Frenchmen possess, but we are not so foolish as to believe such a gross imposture as that. I am afraid that your priests are like our medicine-men, in whom we trusted till we found them to be rogues and deceivers.”

These words were uttered by Tecumah in a loud, indignant tone, and were overheard by one of the priests, who, having changed his gorgeous robes, had followed the governor out of the church in order to speak to him.

“Beware, young man, what you say!” he exclaimed, in an angry tone. “How can you understand the mysteries of our faith? But I know well where you received your instruction, and he who taught you shall have his just reward.”

Tecumah stood calmly listening to the priest’s angry threats. “He who taught me is under the protection of my tribe,” he answered, “and those who injure him will be our foes. I now see that you are one of the men who played the tricks in the church hard by, and deceived the people by persuading them that you have the power which belongs to God alone, to work a miracle.”

These words so enraged the priest, that he would have struck the Indian had he dared. The governor observed his anger, and being well aware of the importance of not offending their Indian allies, on whose support their very existence depended, now interfered and tried to soothe the angry priest as well as Tecumah. The latter, however, felt more scorn than anger towards the man whom he, with his acute and unprejudiced mind, looked upon as guilty of practising a gross imposture, and he was therefore quickly pacified; but the priest, grinding his teeth, continued to mutter threats of vengeance, till the governor, drawing him aside, reminded him of the importance of not offending the Indians.

“You may do what you like with the heretic minister,” he observed; “but the services of these Indians are required, and we cannot afford to lose them.”

“The guilty one shall feel the vengeance of our Church, then,” answered the priest. “We cannot allow a doctrine which so greatly supports our authority to be called in question.”

“Of course not, my friend, of course not,” said the governor; “though, as men of sense, you and I no more believe in it than does that clever young Indian.”

“As to that, Monsieur Governor, we keep our opinions to ourselves,” said the priest, with as near an approach to a laugh as he ever indulged in. “At the same time, the sooner we put that acute, clever-minded young Indian out of the way, together with his instructor, Monsieur Laporte, the better for the maintenance of our holy religion.” The countenance of the priest had assumed its usual undemonstrative expression as he continued, “Listen, Monsieur Governor. I believe that the Count de Tourville and his daughter and son-in-law are equally dangerous. That young Indian and his sister are constantly at their house, and have imbibed their pestiferous notions from them. I have had my eye on them for some time, when they were not aware that they were watched. I do my duty in looking after the spiritual interests of my countrymen,”—the priest crossed his arms and cast his eyes on the ground—“but I feel that my humble efforts unaided are not sufficient. When our community increases, we shall have many of these accursed Protestants among us, and it will be absolutely necessary to devise effectual means for the preservation of our authority. I would therefore suggest the establishment of the Holy Inquisition, by which alone heresy can be rooted out. It will prove our zeal for religion, and gain the approbation of our patrons, the excellent Duke de Guise and his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine.”

“You will have my permission to carry out your plan as you may wish, holy father,” said the governor. “You may exercise your authority on our countrymen as you may deem necessary to bring them under the wholesome control of the Church; but I cannot have the Indians interfered with until we are strong enough to do without them. When we are, you will have my full permission to manage them as you think best for the purpose of bringing them into the true fold; but in the mean time their savage relatives may not understand your object in burning them for the good of their souls, and may be apt in their ignorance to revenge their deaths by cutting us to pieces.”

“I understand your wise policy,” answered the priest. “We will bide our time, then, for commencing the conversion of the Indians. But I have your permission to act towards the count and his family, and that pestiferous heretic minister, as I may judge necessary for the full establishment of the faith in our colony?”

“Certainly, certainly,” answered the governor; “I willingly grant you all the power you ask.”

The priest returned into the church to hear the confessions of several of his congregation, who were waiting to get absolution that they might sin again without having too great a load on their shoulders; as also to put out the candles, which he in his hurry had left burning. The governor returned to the fort, while Tecumah went to pay his usual visit to Monsieur Laporte. He naturally expressed his astonishment at what he had seen and heard.

“Surely,” he exclaimed, “sensible men do not really believe that, by the words of a priest, Jesus Christ, sitting at the right hand of God, really does allow His body to descend into the bits of paste which the priest puts into the mouths of the people. The Bible, as you read it to me, says that He is seated at the right hand of God, to make intercession for us sinners, and that He acts as our great High Priest.”

“I cannot tell what the poor ignorant people may really believe, though it does seem astounding that they should be so imposed on by their priests,” answered Monsieur Laporte. “It was many centuries even before the corrupted Church of Rome introduced the dogma or notion, which was invented by a monk in the eighth century, when it was eagerly seized upon by the Pope, who saw that it would enable him and his army of subordinates to become sacrificing priests, which would give them immense influence over the minds of people, if they could persuade them to believe it. They had taught the great mass of the people to believe in the power of dead men’s bones and other relics to work miracles; in the heathen notion of purgatory for cleansing the soul by fire; to worship idols with the names of saints; to pray for the dead; and to pray to dead men whom they had dubbed saints, as well as to put faith in many other abominable falsehoods. They found, therefore, no difficulty in persuading the more ignorant people to believe this most blasphemous fable, which from henceforth became one of the most powerful engines for increasing the influence of the priests over the minds of men, though many, both learned and unlearned persons in our own and other countries loudly protested against the novel doctrine, as contrary to the true meaning of our Lord’s language at the last supper and the teaching and practice of the apostles.”

“I thought that you and other sensible men could not possibly believe so outrageous a notion, and so contrary to God’s word,” observed Tecumah. “But how comes it that men can be so wicked as to teach what is in direct opposition to the Bible?”

“Influenced by Satan, they make use of every means, however impious, to gain an influence over their fellow-creatures. It has been the same everywhere from the earliest ages of the world. They are like your medicine-men, whom you now know to be gross impostors. In all countries there have been found men, for their own ends, or for the support of the authority they serve, willing to deceive their fellow men, in many instances, as is often the case with these priests of Rome, being deceived themselves. Our only sure guide and prevention against such impostures is the study of God’s Word and constant obedience to its holy precepts. As Jesus withstood the temptations of Satan by replying to him with the Scriptures, so must we arm ourselves, and ever be ready to withstand our foes, in whatever form they come, by the same blessed word of God. A sure sign that the Romish system is the invention of Satan is that it dreads the Word, and whenever it has the power, keeps it from the people or grossly misinterprets its meaning.”

“I would that I could have that blessed Book translated into the language of my people,” exclaimed Tecumah. “I can now understand it in French, and may be able to explain it to those who are willing to hear me; but I should desire to send it throughout the whole country, that all the native tribes might hear the glad tidings that there is a loving Saviour ready to receive them into the kingdom.”

The above conversation occupied a much longer time than we have in repeating it, and both the minister and young chief used very different language to that which has been employed. Tecumah showed by his questions and replies how completely he understood it, and how his pure unprejudiced mind revolted against the falsehoods of Rome, while it quickly embraced the truth of the Gospel.

After quitting Monsieur Laporte, he paid a visit to the count. He found Nigel hard at work in the garden, and Constance helping him. He repeated to them what he had seen and the impression formed on his mind, and they explained the truth much as the minister had done; to which Constance added an account of the horrible system of the confessional, which she had heard from some of her Papist friends, who had been subjected to it, and the abominable questions which had been put to them by the priests.

“That alone would have been sufficient to convince me that this system is not of God. And He tells us from the mouth of the Apostle Paul that we may come boldly to the throne of grace, trusting in the all cleansing blood of Jesus; and Jesus Himself says, ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ I am sure that He never refuses to hear when a human being comes trusting to His blood shed on Calvary. Monsieur Laporte was reading from the Epistle of Timothy a prophecy that there should come ‘some who shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils; speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron; forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats, which God hath created to be received with thanksgiving of them which believe and know the truth,’ who would advocate will-worship and their own good deeds in opposition to the all perfect atonement of Jesus. Such truly is what the priests of Rome teach, though nearly for a thousand years after Christ came Christian ministers, whom they acknowledged as belonging to their communion, were allowed to marry like other men; and certainly those who did so were less corrupt than the celibates who, having no family ties, became the servile tools of Rome’s tyranny.”

Constance had now to go in to prepare for dinner, and Nigel then asked Tecumah what remarks he had made to the governor and the priest. The Indian told him.

“You spoke truly; but knowing what these priests are, I fear much that they will endeavour to entrap you; and if they find that they cannot compel you to believe in their false doctrines and to acknowledge their authority, they will use other means to bring about your destruction.”

“I will be watchful, and keep out of their power,” said Tecumah. “I fear much, though, that they will equally endeavour to persecute you whom they look upon as my instructor; but I will be on the watch, and try to defend you as well as myself.”

Tecumah spent the rest of the day with his friends, and it was late in the evening when his canoe was seen gliding rapidly across the harbour towards the mainland.

Villegagnon and the priests did not long allow the Protestant settlers to remain in quiet. The governor announced that he had received orders from France to allow no Bibles to remain in the hands of any of the people, declaring that they made a bad use of them by seeking an excuse from their pages for rebellion. The count resolved to go in person to the governor, and reminding him that he had ever been loyal, to claim exemption from the tyrannical law. He went, but was haughtily told that rich and poor must be treated alike, and that no exception would be made in his favour. Should he not deliver up all the Bibles in his house, he must be prepared for the consequences. Monsieur Laporte and the good surgeon were treated in the same manner. Nigel, however, resolved, as he was not a Frenchman, not to part with his Bible; and, in case a domiciliary visit should be paid by the “inquisitors,” having placed it in a box and buried it in the garden among some thick trees, he and Constance could thus take it out and read it, which they did every day, without risk, as they supposed, of being discovered. Before long a party of men appeared, headed by an officer, with an authority from the governor to collect all the Bibles and Protestant sermons and hymns to be found. The count, knowing that resistance was vain, delivered up those he possessed, protesting, however, against the injustice of the act.

“That’s not our affair, Count de Tourville,” answered the officer; “but I will report what you say to the governor. Now, let me ask you, have you any other books?”

“I have given you all that are to my knowledge in the house,” answered the count. “If you are not satisfied you must search for them.”

“We cannot take the word of an heretic,” said the officer, insolently. “We intend to search, and if we find any it will be the worse for you.”

Providentially, Nigel was away, and thus escaped having questions asked him. Poor Constance endeavoured to console her father while the officers were searching in every corner and cranny of the house. No books, however, were discovered; and at length, threatening to pay another visit shortly, the inquisitors went away to search other houses in the neighbourhood; and in two or three, meeting with opposition, they carried the owners off to prison. The most severe sufferer was Monsieur Laporte, the whole of whose library was carried off, all his books more or less being of a theological character.

The following day, in an open space in front of the fort, a pile of faggots was seen, when the books were brought forth from the house into which they had been thrown. Most of the population turned out to witness the expected sight, shouting and jeering as book after book was thrown on the pile, to which fire had been set. As each fresh batch of books began to burn they shouted loudly, and when it was seen that most of the books were Bibles, their shouts and cries and fierce execrations grew louder and louder. This went on till all were consumed. The Protestants remained at home during the period, sorrowful and cast down. No one knew what persecutions they might be doomed to bear. Monsieur Laporte went from house to house, endeavouring to console and support his flock, reminding them all of the sufferings Christ’s people had been called on to bear from the earliest days to the present time, and urging them to keep in view that crown of glory which He had prepared for all who hold fast to the truth. So much had his faithful and gentle character won the love of all except the most brutal, that many even among those who had been perverted regarded him with affection, while the priests, hearing him so highly spoken of, were afraid for the present to persecute him further. They were, however, very active among his congregation, whom they endeavoured by soft words and plausible arguments to win over; but finding that they did not succeed, as in reality only the frivolous and irreligious had hitherto been gained to their side, they determined to use harsher measures.

One evening Nigel and Constance had gone to their bower in the woods, where, concealed by the thickness of the surrounding foliage, they took out their Bible and sat down on a bench Nigel had placed there. He had been reading for some time to his young wife, occasionally stopping to explain a verse or to ask her opinion; now turning back and comparing text with text, both of them being so absorbed that they did not know how long they had been thus engaged, when they were suddenly aroused by hearing a footstep, and looking up they saw a priest standing before them, while a little way off appeared a party of armed men.

“You have been discovered engaged in an unlawful act, Monsieur Nigel, by which you have made yourself liable to the just vengeance of the law!” exclaimed the priest, in a triumphant tone. “You have been suspected for some time. In the name of the governor, therefore, I order you to yield yourself prisoner. Take this gentleman into custody,” he added, turning to the armed men, who, as he spoke, sprang eagerly forward.

Nigel was too much astonished for the moment to reply. Constance uttered a cry of alarm, and clung to his arm.

“You cannot, you must not take him from me!” she exclaimed, in a terrified tone.

“You are equally guilty, young lady, in listening to him,” said the priest. “In all probability you will share his fate.”

“Oh, let me go with him now, then, if you insist on taking him,” she said, still holding Nigel’s arm.

“No, no, lady. Don’t fancy that you will be allowed to keep him company,” said the priest, in a harsher tone. “For the present you may remain with your father, till the governor thinks fit to summon you.”

“Fly rather to the faithful Indians,” whispered Nigel; “do not put yourself in the traitor’s power.”

He could say no more, for the armed men seizing him took him off, while the priest held Constance in his arms. She in vain struggled to free herself from his loathsome grasp, while she entreated to be set free, ever and anon uttering shrieks for help; but not till the priest was sure that the party with Nigel were out of sight did he allow her to escape, when seeing her father, who had been attracted by her cries, coming from the house, she flew towards him, the priest in the mean time hurrying after his companions. It was fortunate for him that he got away, for the count, with a thick stick in his hand, forgetting the danger of doing so, would have made him feel the effects of his just anger.

“Oh, save him, save him! They have seized Nigel. What will they do to him?” cried Constance, as she sank into her father’s arms.

The count saw that pursuit was hopeless, for the priest, tucking up his long dress to enable him to scramble over the fences, had already got to a considerable distance; besides, it would have been vain to attempt rescuing Nigel from a party of armed men. The count could only say, “Trust in God, my child. He alone can help us.”

Poor Constance, overcome with grief and terror, could scarcely, even with her father’s assistance, reach the house. He placed her on a couch by his side, vainly endeavouring to console her. He indeed feared that the priests would not allow them to escape with impunity, and he guessed truly that it had been only for the sake of inflicting a greater cruelty that Nigel had first been carried off.

Monsieur Laporte with the good doctor happily came in, having heard a rumour of what had occurred. Both were required, for Constance became seriously ill; but the words of the former were of more value than any medicine the latter could prescribe. The minister at once turned to God’s word; not to the Book itself, for that he did not dare to carry about, but to the numerous blessed texts which he had committed to memory, and from these he was able to draw that effectual comfort which could alone avail with the poor young wife. No one dared to speak of the future, for they knew well the bitter hatred felt by the governor and priests towards Nigel, and that they would rejoice at having a victim in their power on whom they would wreak their vengeance. While they were seated with Constance and the count, Tecumah and his sister arrived, on their way to pay their usual visit to Monsieur Laporte. They were overwhelmed with grief and indignation when they heard what had occurred. Cora threw herself by the side of Constance, and poured out her expressions of sympathy from her woman’s heart. Indian as she was, she could feel for her white sister, her affectionate tones tending somewhat to soothe her friend’s outraged feelings.

“Do not give up hope,” she whispered. “We will gladly devote our lives, if necessary, to save him. We Indians are accustomed to do many things which would astonish the white people, and if a friend is in danger, every one of our tribe is ready to help him.”

“They dare not kill him!” exclaimed Tecumah, “and if a hair of his head is injured I will arouse our people, and instead of being friends and ready to fight on their side, we will come over with our strong bows and attack them.”

“Even for the sake of a friend we would not urge you to use violent measures,” said the minister. “Remember the precepts of our blessed Lord and Master; He who was ever mild, gentle, and forgiving, doing good to those who injured Him.”

“Yes, I know that, and desire to obey our Saviour’s law; but He does not forbid us to help our friends,” exclaimed the young Indian.

Chapter Eleven.

Capture of the Fort.

Constance and her father, rudely dragged from their home, were hurried off to the fort. No allowance was made for the weakness of her sex, and no pity was shown her by the savage priests, who, supposing that she was not aware of her husband’s escape, endeavoured still more to wound her feelings by telling her that he was condemned to death, and that, unless she and her father recanted, they would meet with the same fate.

“Silence, priest, silence! It is cowardly and unmanly to speak thus to my daughter,” exclaimed the count. “Add not insult to the injury you have already inflicted. We have broken no laws; we have done harm to no one; and we find ourselves treated as if we were the vilest of malefactors.”

The count’s address had no effect upon the priest, who took a cruel pleasure in annoying them. Such is ever the character of the emissaries of Rome when they are in the ascendency and are opposed; when in the minority, they are humble and meek, plausible and silver-tongued; and when there are none to oppose them, haughty, indolent, sensual, and self-indulgent. Such they have been in all ages and in every country, with the exception of the devoted Jesuit slaves, who have gone forth to carry their spurious gospel into heathen lands.

On arriving at the fort, the mockery of a trial was gone through; the priest’s myrmidons swore to having seen Constance reading the Bible, and that, as the crime had been committed on the count’s property, he was therefore equally guilty. Having been a lawyer in his youth, the count was able to defend himself, and had a jury of twelve honest men been present, he would have undoubtedly been acquitted; but, unhappily, that system being unknown among the French, he had no such advantage. The governor and the priest, exasperated at Nigel’s escape, grossly abused him, and interrupted him with shouts and execrations whenever he especially pointed to the proofs of his innocence. The count, of course, defended Constance, and argued that she was but listening to her husband, whom she was bound to obey, and was therefore guiltless.

“It is false!” exclaimed the priest, starting up; “her duty to the Church is above all others. It was for her to denounce her husband rather than to listen to him. Such heretical notions as yours, Count de Tourville, must be destroyed. The Church would lose her authority and power were they to prevail.”

“Ma foi!” exclaimed the count; “in that case no husband can venture to trust his wife with the slightest secret. It would not be confided to her keeping, but to that of the confessor. For that reason, and many others, we repudiate the system you, for your own ends, are anxious to maintain. I advise those who are husbands never to tell to their wives words they would not have known where the system prevails.”

“Silence! Count de Tourville,” exclaimed the priest, foaming with rage, “you shall answer for these insulting words.”

The count, it must be confessed, regretted having touched on the subject, as it was like throwing pearls to swine; but he felt for the moment that he might shield his daughter by drawing the anger of the priests on himself.

The mockery of a trial came to a conclusion, and the governor, who had taken upon himself the office of judge and inquisitor-general, found the count and his daughter guilty of the crimes with which they were charged, and condemned them both to death. In consequence of Nigel’s escape, the priest begged that they might be kept for safe custody in the prison within the fort; the same wretched place in which Nigel had first been confined, and utterly unfit for the reception of any female. Poor Constance shuddered as she was led into it. Her father begged that he might send to his house for such necessaries as his daughter required, but his request was roughly refused. It was not without difficulty even that he obtained some matting, and a few armfuls of rushes on which she might rest.

“Lie down, my child,” said the count to Constance, when they were at length left alone. “We will not altogether despair, but look to Him who is always ready to protect us. You require rest; and we know not what we may have to go through.”

Constance obeyed her father, while he continued pacing up and down the narrow space allowed him, to collect his thoughts. He harboured no ill-feeling towards his persecutors, but, following the example of his Master, he prayed for their forgiveness, while he looked forward with joy, rather than fear, to the time when he should be welcomed into His presence. He knew, too, that his beloved daughter, should her life be taken, would bear him company to that home where their Saviour had gone before to prepare a place for all those who love Him.

The night passed on. Constance was sleeping. Still the count felt no desire to lie down and rest. The whole fort seemed wrapped in silence, except when the voice of a distant sentry reached his ear. The silence was suddenly broken by a shot fired from the fort. Others followed in rapid succession. Then arose loud shouts and shrieks, and the Indian warwhoop rising above all others. Constance started from her slumbers, and clung to her father. The noises grew louder and louder.

“The fort is attacked. The enemy are scaling the walls!” exclaimed the count. “Both parties are fighting desperately. Constance, there is hope for us, for even the Portuguese would scarcely wish to injure those who are unable to oppose them.”

The sounds of strife increased. The count could with difficulty judge how the fight was going. Supporting his daughter on his arm, he awaited the issue. The great guns roared, the bullets rattled, and presently there came an uproar which showed that the assailants had gained the fort, and the shriek and cries of the combatants, and other sounds of a desperate struggle, approached their prison. Just at that juncture the warwhoops of apparently a fresh party burst forth within the fort. The count recognised the cry as that of the Tamoyos. On they came from the opposite side of the fort, and the battle seemed to rage hotter than ever. In the midst of the fierce turmoil the door of their prison was burst open, and Tecumah, leaping in, seized Constance in his arms, while a companion took charge of the count, and hurried him off.

“I promised to save you or perish,” said the Indian. “We had a hard matter to enter the fort, and it will be no less difficult to escape; but I have succeeded thus far, and trust to place you in safety.”

These words were uttered hurriedly, as Tecumah, surrounded by a faithful band, was fighting his way across the fort, in all parts of which a furious battle was raging; the Portuguese and their Indian allies, the Tuparas, having forced an entrance, being engaged with the French and Tamoyos, who were struggling desperately for life.

Bullets were whizzing and arrows flying in all directions; the fierce shouts and shrieks of the combatants sounding above the clash of steel and the rattle of musketry. Numbers and discipline favoured the Portuguese, who had well trained their native allies, while the French mistrusted each other, and had but little confidence in the natives, who, however, were gallantly doing their utmost to assist them, headed by their brave chief, Tuscarora. Tecumah and his faithful band had but one object in view, to rescue Constance and her father. Like a wedge, with their most stalwart warriors in the van, they fought their way through the mass of foes entering the fort towards the outlet which had allowed the latter ingress. Several of their number fell; scarcely one escaped a wound. Still Constance was untouched. Often they were almost overwhelmed. Still on they went, their track marked by the bodies of their foes, and many of their own party. The gateway was reached. Constance felt Tecumah stagger. A fear seized her that he had received a wound; but no cry escaped him, and, recovering himself, he bore her onwards. Scarcely had they emerged into the open, when they encountered a fresh party of the Portuguese. The Tamoyos halted for a moment to draw their bows, and not a shaft failed to pierce a foe, the shower of bullets, which came in return, passing mostly over their heads.

“On! on!” shouted Tecumah, though his voice no longer rang with its usual clear tone.

Constance observed with grief that he was faint and hoarse. His band, obeying him, turned round and shot their arrows as they advanced. Scarcely, however, had they moved forward, when the Portuguese, seeing the handful of men opposed to them, fiercely charged their ranks, Tecumah and only a few of the warriors surrounding him, having got some way in advance, escaping the onslaught; the rest, who had the count in charge, were compelled to halt, in a vain endeavour to withstand their overwhelming foes. The darkness enabled Tecumah, and the few who remained by him, to push on without being observed.

“On! on!” again cried Tecumah. “The rest will follow when they have driven back our enemies.”

“Oh, my father! my father! Where is he?” exclaimed Constance.

Tecumah did not answer her.

Making their way towards the shore, they reached it at length.

“Where are the canoes?” exclaimed Tecumah, looking along the beach where they had been left hauled up.

His companions dispersed on either side to look for them. Their cries told what had happened. Some had been sent adrift, and others had been battered in, and utterly destroyed by a band of Tuparas, as the Tamoyos truly surmised.

“We must make our way to the spot where they have left their canoes,” exclaimed Tecumah; and he again attempted to lift up Constance, who had earnestly entreated to be placed on the ground.

The din of battle still sounded as loud as ever, and the rattle of musketry was heard close at hand. It was evident that the combatants were approaching the shore.

“On! on!” again cried Tecumah; and, lifting up Constance, he was staggering forward, when, faint from loss of blood, he sank on the ground.

At that moment an Indian rushed out of the wood behind them. “Fly! fly! our enemies are at hand. All, all have been cut to pieces. I alone have escaped.”

His arm, as he spoke, dropped by his side, while the blood flowed rapidly from his head, giving evidence of the truth of his assertion.

Constance was kneeling down, trying to staunch the blood flowing from Tecumah’s wound. He raised himself on one arm.

“Think not of me,” he said, “but endeavour, with my faithful friends, who will accompany you, to find concealment among the rocks.”

“We cannot leave you,” answered Constance; “better to yield ourselves prisoners, than to allow you to perish alone.”

“You know not the nature of our enemies,” said Tecumah, faintly; “they spare no one. Fly, fly, while there is time.”

The sounds of fighting were drawing rapidly nearer. All prospect of escape seemed cut off. Constance gazed up for a moment from the task at which she was engaged. Bullets were striking the branches of the trees a short distance from them. Her heart sank with grief. She felt the probability that her father had been cut off with the rest of the brave Tamoyos. Just then one of the Indians exclaimed, “See, see! a canoe approaches.” Constance cast a glance across the waters, and caught a glimpse of a canoe emerging from the darkness. It rapidly approached the beach. The shouts of the Indians showed that friends were on board. Their hails were answered. In another moment Nigel leapt on shore. Tecumah recognised him.

“Save her first—care not for me,” he exclaimed.

Nigel was not likely to disobey such a command, and, taking Constance in his arms, he bore her to the canoe.

“Oh, save our brave friend,” she cried, as she pressed her lips to her husband’s, who immediately sprang back to the beach, and, listening not to Tecumah’s request to be allowed to die where he lay, he carried him, with the assistance of the Indians who still had strength to exert themselves, to the canoe.

Holding the steering paddle in her hands, stood Cora. The instant her brother and Nigel were on board, she gave it a dexterous turn, and the canoe shot away from the shore, impelled by the strokes of two lads who formed the crew. Nigel and an Indian seized two other paddles, and with all their strength urged on the canoe. There was no time to be lost; already they could see a number of dark forms emerging from the wood, while numerous bullets splashed into the water astern. The veil of night would prove their best protection, and every effort was made to get ahead. Cora, believing that they could no longer be seen, directed the canoe on a different course, to one side parallel with the shore, thus avoiding the bullets which were fired in the direction it had last been seen. After going on for some distance, she again steered directly for the opposite shore, which her keen sight could distinguish through the darkness. Meantime, Constance, seated at the bottom of the canoe, supported Tecumah’s head. He gently took her hand, and pressed it to his lips.

“I have more to thank you for than I can express by words,” he whispered, in a low, faltering voice. “I first followed a shadow, but you showed me the glorious reality, and led me to Him, whom to know is life eternal. I die happy, resting in His love, with the thought also that I have preserved your life to be a blessing to one who is worthy of you. I am going quickly, but do not mourn aloud, lest you paralyse the efforts of our friends.”

Constance felt the hand which held hers relax its grasp, and ere long she knew that the spirit of the young Indian had taken its flight to the realms of bliss. She placed his hand on his breast, and, obeying his dying injunctions, refrained from giving way to her feelings. Not till they were near the north shore, and safe for the present from their enemies, did she speak. She then endeavoured to prepare Cora for the discovery of her brother’s death.

“I feared it was so,” replied Cora, when Constance had told her clearly what had happened. “I know, however, that no joy on earth could be more exquisite than that he felt in the consciousness that he had given his life to save yours. I must not mourn for him as those who have no hope. We must not remain here,” continued Cora, as they disembarked from the canoe. “They will certainly pursue us, and we shall not be in safety till we reach our village, where the remnant of our tribe is collected. Alas! there will be bitter grief and loud wailing for the many who have, I fear, fallen.”

With perfect calmness Cora gave directions to her people to convey the body of her brother, and follow quickly, while she led Nigel, who supported Constance, through the woods. Faint and overcome with grief as Constance was, Cora urged, notwithstanding, that they should continue their course without stopping, for she felt convinced that a fearful loss had overtaken her tribe from the account which the last-arrived Indian had given her. He had, he affirmed, before Tecumah and his party had cut their way out of the fort, seen Tuscarora and many of their tribe shot down by the enemy; and he had also witnessed the death of the count. Nigel questioned him narrowly, but could elicit nothing that could shake his testimony.

Sad, indeed, as Cora had expected, was the way in which they were received at her village, and it was feared, indeed, that even it might be attacked while there only remained the old men and boys for its defence. It was proposed, therefore, that they should move further into the country; but Cora urged them to remain, and, as a precaution against surprise, sent out scouts to give timely notice of the appearance of an enemy, or the return of their friends. They all, however, packed up their property, and remained prepared for instant flight.

Chapter Twelve.

Conclusion.

Just as dawn was breaking, a warrior was seen approaching the village. His bow was broken; his dress torn and besmeared with blood. The inhabitants, who were on the watch, anxiously went out to meet him. He hung down his head without uttering a word, and not for some time could he be induced to speak.

At length, a groan bursting from his breast, he exclaimed—

“All, all, are lost! In vain our warriors, led by Tuscarora, fought to the last. One after another they were shot down by the bullets of the white faces, or cut to pieces by the war hatchets of the hated Tuparas. Our French allies, deserting the fort, fought their way to their boats, and, embarking, fled to their ships, leaving us to our fate. Two only with myself escaped by leaping over the walls, and swimming to a canoe floating by. Both of my companions were wounded. As we were paddling on, as fast as our strength would allow, we caught sight of a canoe with two Portuguese boats in pursuit. We were unobserved, but we had too much reason to fear that the canoe was overtaken. Just as we reached the shore, the paddles dropped from the hands of my two companions, and they sank down from loss of blood. When I called to them, they gave no answer. They were both dead. I waited in vain for the arrival of our friends, but none appeared, and I at length came on to bring the sad tidings.”

As the wounded warrior finished his narrative, loud wailings rose from the women in the camp. No threats of vengeance were uttered, for they felt their utter helplessness, and they knew that they themselves might become the prey of any of their foes who might be induced to attack them. At length an old man arose in their midst.

“Give not way to despair, my daughters,” he exclaimed; “you have still many sons. We will fly with them to a place of safety, and there teach them how their brave fathers fought and died with their faces to the foe. They will grow up, and, hearing of their deeds, will imitate their valour, and revenge the deaths of their sires.”

The words of the aged warrior restored the drooping courage of the poor women, and they resolved to follow his counsel. A few men, who from sickness or other causes had not gone forth to battle, and the youths who had not sufficient strength to draw their mighty bows, vowed to defend them and the chief’s daughter to the last gasp. Cora deputed the old warrior to take the lead, and, as they believed the Tuparas, flushed with victory, would ere long pursue them, they immediately set out on their sad journey to the north.

Surrounding Nigel and Constance, they vowed fidelity, promising to obey the last behests of their beloved young chief Tecumah, and to afford them all the support in their power. A small band only of the bravest and most active remained behind to collect any stragglers who might arrive, and to cover the retreat of the main body. Nigel, communicating with the old chief, found that he proposed proceeding northward to a region bordering the sea, inhabited by a scanty tribe, with whom the Tamoyos were on friendly terms, the former having been driven from their own hunting-grounds by a more powerful tribe. This intelligence was satisfactory to Nigel and Constance, as they thus had hopes of being able to communicate with some English or French ship which might appear off the shore.

The spot to which the Tamoyos were directing their course was at length gained. It was a deep wide valley, surrounded by rugged hills, and could not be approached towards the sea except by a narrow gorge, which could be defended by a few brave men, who could lie concealed among the rocks, and hurl down stones on the heads of invaders. The Indians carried with them, as was their custom, cuttings and roots of fruit trees and plants, which they had cultivated in their native district. Without loss of time, they began erecting huts and laying out plantations, the old men and women being generally employed in such occupations, while the young men went out hunting, they having at present to depend on the produce of the chase for their subsistence. The tribe showed the greatest attention to Nigel and Constance, whom they considered committed to their care by their beloved young chief, doing their utmost to secure their comfort and convenience. Indeed, they treated them with the same respect they bestowed on Cora, who was now the acknowledged chieftainess of the tribe. They built a cottage after the model of those they had seen on the island, and laid out a garden, which they planted with fruit trees and vegetables. Nigel and his wife in return, aided by Cora, instructed them in Gospel truth. They also taught them, as far as they had the means, the arts of civilised life. Thus the days went rapidly by. Still, though the young couple enjoyed much happiness, they could not help wishing to return to Europe, while they often thought, with grief, of the loss of the count and of their other beloved friend.

Besides the account brought by the Indian who escaped from the fort, they could gain no further tidings of their fate. Nigel would, had he had himself only to consider, have set out to try and ascertain what had become of the colony, but he could not bring himself to leave Constance, even though he had full confidence in the fidelity of their Indian friends. Cora, to whom Constance expressed Nigel’s wishes, at length promised to send out a scout, who would endeavour to find out what had happened. Nigel gladly accepted Cora’s offer.

Nearly a month had passed since the scout set out, and fears were entertained that he had perished. At last, however, one evening, he was seen descending the side of the hill, along the steep and difficult path by which, as has been said, the valley could alone be reached from the southward; he was accompanied by a white man, whose tottering steps he supported in the difficult descent. As they approached the village, the gaunt form and haggard features of the latter prevented Nigel, who went out to meet them, from recognising him.

“You don’t know me, Monsieur Lieutenant; I am Jacques Baville, whom you knew well as a true Protestant. I assisted the escape of our good minister, Laporte, who was committed to the care of some of the brave Indians by the young chief Tecumah. We fought our way to the water’s side, and embarked in a canoe; but before we had got far, we were chased by two of the enemy’s boats, and captured. We expected instant death, but were reserved for a more cruel fate. We were conveyed to the south shore, where we heard that the forts on the island had all been destroyed, and our countrymen, with the traitor Villegagnon, had sailed away, leaving most of the Protestants to the cruel vengeance of our foes. To commemorate their victory, the Portuguese had resolved, we found, on building a city. One of the first edifices erected was a prison, into which the good minister and several other persons were thrown; while the Tamoyos, who had been taken prisoners, with two other artisans, like myself, were employed, with many people of other tribes, who had been reduced to slavery by the Portuguese, in labouring at the work going forward. A church was next built, and filled full of idols for the people to worship. As soon as it was finished, the minister and other captives were led from the prison, and dragged into it, when they were ordered to worship, as the other people were doing. They refused, however, to how their heads to the saints, or other false gods, but stood motionless, with their arms folded. The priests, on this, reviled them, and threatened them with death if they refused. Still they were firm, declaring that they would not mock God with such senseless ceremonies. On this they were taken back to prison; and we, seeing how they behaved, resolved to imitate them. Several times they were carried before the priests, who sat in the church to try them for what was called their heresy. The trial was still going on when two priests arrived, who declared they had been on board a Portuguese ship, bringing over numerous images and relics and indulgences to Saint Vincente, when she was captured by a French man-of-war, the captain of which had sacrilegiously thrown them into the sea. I, of course, knew that they spoke of the Madeline; and, as you remember, Monsieur Lieutenant, I was on board, I began to fear that I might be recognised. Monsieur Laporte, of course, stated that he was not there, and could, therefore, not be considered guilty of the act of which they complained, supposing that it had taken place. The priests, however, who were eager to find some one on whom to wreak their vengeance, declared that it mattered nothing, even had he not been there, as the act was performed by those of his faith, and was the result of the pernicious doctrines he taught. He defended himself nobly, but was condemned to be burnt alive in the centre of a wide spot, which had been marked out for a square.

“Hoping that I had not been recognised by the priests, I was making my way out of the church, when the keen eyes of one of them fell on me. He instantly ordered me to be seized, and at once declared that he had seen me on board the Madeline, engaged in throwing the trumpery overboard. I would not deny this, but said that I was but doing my duty, and obeying my captain, and that, had he ordered me to throw the two priests themselves overboard, to look after their saints, I should certainly have done so. This enraged them more than ever, and they threatened to burn me with the minister. As I was, however, known to be a good carpenter, the civil officers were not willing to lose my services, and I was sent back to prison.

“In vain they tried to make the good minister recant. He refused to do so. They promised him his life and full pardon, and a good post under government, but he refused all their offers, saying that he would rather die a hundred deaths than abandon the faith of the pure gospel. The next day he was led to the place of execution. We were compelled to be present. The faggots were piled round him. Some of the people, moved with pity, cried out that he should be strangled first, and the executioner himself seemed unwilling to light the pile; when one of the priests, seizing the torch, set fire to the faggots, which quickly blazed up, and our good minister’s soul went to that happy home prepared for him. The priests, having caught sight of me, insisted that I should be thrown into prison to await their pleasure, which I knew very well would be ere long to burn me at the stake.

“Some of our countrymen, I am sorry to say, recanted, and were set free, but others held fast. I determined, however, if I could, to make my escape, should I have strength enough to do so; for we were so poorly fed that I expected, before long, to be starved. All the prisoners had hitherto been confined in a common cell; but after I was condemned, I was placed in one by myself. It was in a new part of the prison, which I had actually been employed in building. The whole structure was of wood, though, at the same time, very strong. I knew that I could not make my way through the walls, nor underground, as the stakes were driven down deep, and no human strength could force them up; but I recollected the way I had put on the roof; and, though the slabs were heavy, I was certain that I could force one of them up sufficiently to allow me to get through. I had not been long shut up, when a priest came, and endeavoured to make me recant, picturing the horrible tortures I should suffer in this world, and in the next, if I refused. I asked him whence he got his authority. He answered from the Church. I replied that the Bible was before the Church; and that the Bible says, ‘Whosoever believeth on Me shall not perish, but have everlasting life;’ and that, though he might burn my body, Christ could save my soul. He replied that the Bible must not be interpreted by laymen, and that the Church had alone the power to explain it. I observed that the Church of Christ had ever explained it exactly as I did, and to that Church I belonged; that the system which he called ‘The Church,’ was built up at Rome by pagan priests, and had ever since been employed in adding falsehood to falsehood, for the sake of imposing on the minds of the people, and compelling them to do their will; and that, if he wished to serve Christ, he must leave his false church, as thousands of my countrymen had done, and tens of thousands in Germany and England, or that he himself would perish eternally. Without saying another word, he left the cell, and I felt pretty sure would not come back again.

“I had a sheath knife, which I had managed to conceal inside my trousers, and immediately set to work, and wrenched up a stool fixed against the wall. There were several nails in it, which I cut out; and then, making a couple of deep notches in one of the angles of the wall, I fixed the bench a certain height below the roof, which enabled me, by standing on it, to force up one of the slabs with my back. Knowing where the nails were driven in, I carefully cut around them, making as little noise as possible. It was, I calculated, about midnight when I had finished my preparations. The slab lifted even more easily than I had expected. I listened for some minutes, expecting to hear the tread of a sentry, but not a sound reached my ears. I had great hopes that he had fallen asleep. Creeping through, I replaced the slab, and dropped without noise to the ground. There were numerous Indians in the camp, many of whom had canoes, for the purpose of fishing. Without loss of time, I crept away, stooping low down, so that, had I been seen, I might be mistaken, in the darkness, for a large dog, or some wild animal prowling about in search of food. I thus, without interruption, made my way down to the shore. There were several canoes hauled up, as I had expected, with paddles left in them. To launch one and to shove off did not occupy much time. The night was dark, but I could make out the opposite shore. With all my might I paddled towards it. On landing, I shoved off the canoe, in the hopes that it would float away, and thus not betray the direction I had taken. Scarcely had I got a hundred yards from the beach, when I encountered this my friend, who conducted me here. I am grieved to bring such tidings, and I fear much that those who remain will be put to death, if they refuse to abandon their faith; and I pray that they may have grace and spirit to continue in it. But I myself must not boast, as I know not what torture and starvation would have led me to do.”

Nigel and Constance heard, with deep sorrow, this account of the martyrdom of their beloved friend and minister; but they were comforted with the knowledge that he had exchanged a life of trial and suffering for a glorious existence in heaven.

Several months passed by. Jacques Baville completely recovered, and was of great assistance in improving their cottage home. He felt, however, even a greater longing than they did to return to his native land.

“Ships may come and go, and we may not see them, unless we are constantly on the watch,” he observed. “I have bethought me of building a hut on the height near the shore; and if you, Monsieur Lieutenant, will supply me with food, I will undertake to keep a bright look-out as long as my eyes last me. We will have a flagstaff and flag, and it will not be my fault if we don’t manage to communicate with any ship which appears off the coast.”

Nigel gladly entered into honest Jacques’s plan, and assisted him in building his hut, and putting up a flagstaff. Still week after week passed by, and Jacques had always the same answer to give when Nigel visited him. Nigel himself had ample occupation in cultivating his garden, varied by hunting expeditions with the Indians. He was returning home one evening, when, as he approached his cottage, Constance came running out to meet him. Her agitation would scarcely allow her to speak.

“Come, Nigel, come! I have been longing for your arrival,” she exclaimed, taking his hand. “An old friend has arrived, and is waiting to see you.”

She led him on, when great was his joy and surprise to see standing in the porch, with outstretched hands, his former commander, Captain Beauport. They entered the cottage, when, sitting down, the captain briefly narrated his history, and the circumstances which had brought him again to the coast of South America. He little expected to find Nigel and Constance alive. The crew and passengers of the ship which was conveying him as a prisoner to France, who were all Protestants, had insisted on his liberation; and the commander, who was well-disposed towards him, had, without much difficulty, yielded to their wishes. By great exertions the ships had been kept afloat; and, after enduring severe hardships, had reached Hennebonne, in France. Here the commander, as directed, delivered his despatches to the chief magistrate, who, providentially for the passengers, was a staunch Protestant. On opening them, he found that the traitor, Villegagnon, had denounced them as arch-heretics, worthy of the stake, and advised that they should be immediately delivered up to punishment. The worthy magistrate, indignant at the treachery with which they had been treated, assisted them by every means in his power; while Captain Beauport, knowing that his life would not be safe should he remain in France, immediately embarked on board a vessel bound for England. He there found many Protestant friends, who had fled to escape the fearful persecutions to which they were subjected in France. By their means he obtained the command of an English ship. He had made two or three short voyages, and had, some time before, come out on an exploring expedition to South America, from which he was returning. He was sailing northward, on his way to England, when he observed Jacques Baville’s signal.

As may be supposed, Nigel and Constance, with honest Jacques, did not lose the opportunity of returning with him. They parted from Cora with sincere regret.

“It is but natural that you should wish to dwell in your own country, and among your own people,” said the Indian girl. “My love makes me wish to accompany you, but my duty compels me to remain with my tribe. On our hearts your images will remain engraved as long as they beat with life.”

She, with all her people, attended them to the beach, as they put off towards the ship, which lay at anchor in the harbour. As long as any object was visible on the shore, Cora was seen waving her adieus. The sails were spread to the wind, and the ship glided out into the ocean on her destined course towards the shores of England.

They reached that land of freedom in safety, and Nigel resolved to take up his residence here, with his young wife, rather than expose her to the dangers to which she would be subjected in her native land. He wrote to honest MaÎtre Leroux, who had heard from the count of Constance’s marriage, and was ready to pay over to Nigel the rents of the estate.

During the occasional intervals of peace, Nigel paid several visits to Tourville, and, on the death of the steward, sold the estate, and invested the money in an English property, both he and his wife agreeing that it was far better to live on moderate means in a land where they could enjoy the blessings of civil and religious liberty, than in any country under the galling yoke of Papal tyranny.

The End.