University of Virginia Library

4. IV.
THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE. Chap. II. THE FESTIVAL OF TOYA.

It would be difficult to say, from the imperfect narratives
afforded us by the chroniclers, what were the precise objects of
the present ceremonials;—what gods were to be invoked;—what
evil beings implored;—what wrath and anger to be deprecated and
diverted from the devoted tribes. As the Frenchmen received
no explanation of their mystic preparations, so are we left unenlightened
by their revelations. They do not even amuse by their
conjectures, and Laudonniere stops short in his narrative of what
did happen, apologizing for having said so much on so trifling a
matter. We certainly owe him no gratitude for his forbearance.
What he tells us affords but little clue to the motive of their fantastic
proceedings. The difficulty, which is at present ours, was
not less that of Albert and his Frenchmen. They were compelled
to behold the outlines of a foreign ritual whose mysteries they
were not permitted to explore, and had their curiosity provoked

by shows of a most exciting character, which only mocked their
desires, and tantalized their appetites. On the first arrival of
Albert, and after he had been rested and refreshed, Audusta himself
had conducted him, with his followers, to the spot which had
been selected for the ceremonies of the morrow. “This was a
great circuit of ground with open prospect and round in figure.”
Here they saw “many women roundabout, which labored by all
means to make the place cleane and neate.” The ceremonies
began early on the morning of the ensuing day. Hither they repaired
in season, and found “all they which were chosen to celebrate
the feast,” already “painted and trimmed with rich feathers
of divers colours.” These led the way in a procession from the
dwelling of Audusta to the “place of Toya.” Here, when they
had come, they set themselves in new order under the guidance of
three Indians, who were distinguished by plumes, paint, and a
costume entirely superior to the rest. Each of them carried a
tabret, to the plaintive and lamenting music of which they sang
in wild, strange, melancholy accents; and, in slow measures,
dancing the while, they passed gradually into the very centre of
the sacred circle. They were followed by successive groups,
which answered to their strains, and to whose songs they, in turn,
responded with like echoes. This continued for awhile, the music
gradually rising and swelling from the slow to the swift, from the
sad to the passionate, while the moods of the actors and the spectators,
also varying, the character of the scene changed to one of
the wildest excitement. Suddenly, the characters—those who
were chief officiators in this apparent hymn of fate—broke from
the enchanted circle—darted through the ranks of the spectators,
and dashed, headlong, with frantic cries, into the depths of the
neighboring thickets. Then followed another class of actors. As
if a sudden and terrible doom overhung the nation, the Indian
women set up cries of grief and lamentation. Their pasion grew
to madness. In their rage, the mothers seized upon the young
virgins of the tribe, and, with the sharp edges of muscle shells, they
lanced their arms, till the blood gushed forth in free streams,
which they eagerly flung into the air, crying aloud at every moment,
“He-to-yah! He-to-yah! He-to-yah!”[1]

These ceremonies, though not more meaningless, perhaps, in
the eyes of the Christian, than would be our most solemn religious
proceedings in those of the Indian, provoked the laughter of Albert
and some of his Frenchmen. This circumstance awakened
the indignation of their excellent friend, Audusta. His displeasure
was now still farther increased by a proceeding of Captain
Albert. It was an attempt upon their mysteries. That portion
of the officiating priesthood—their Iawas—who fled from the
sacred enclosure to deep recesses of the woods, sought there for
the prosecution, in secret, of rites too holy for the vulgar eye.
Here they maintained their sanctum sanctorum. This was the
place consecrated to the communion of the god with his immediate
servants—the holy of holies, which it was death to penetrate
or pass. Albert suffered his curiosity to get the better of
his discretion. Offended by the laughter of the Frenchmen, at
what they had already beheld, and fearing lest their audacity
should lead them farther, the king, Audusta, had gathered them
again within the royal wigwam, where he sought, by marked
kindness and distinction, to make them forgetful of what had been

denied. They had seen, as he told them, the more impressive
portions of the ceremonial. There were others, but not of a kind
to interest them. But the fact that there was something to conceal,
stimulated the curiosity of Albert. In due degree with the
king's anxiety to keep his secret, was that of the French captain's
to fathom it. Holding a brief consultation with his men, accordingly,
he declared his desire to this effect; and proposed, that one
of their number should contrive to steal forth, and, finding his
way to the forbidden spot, should place himself in such a position
as would enable him to survey all the mysterious proceedings.
To this course, Guernache frankly opposed his opinions. His
greater intimacy with the red-men led him properly to conceive
the danger which might ensue, from their discovery of the intrusion.
He had been well taught by Monaletta, the degree of importance
which they attached to the security of their mystic rites.
Arguing with the honesty of his character, he warned his captain
of the risk which such unbecoming curiosity would incur—the
peril to the offender, himself, if detected; and the hazards to the
colony from the loss of that friendship to which they had been
already so largely indebted. But the counsels of Guernache were
rejected with indignity. Prepared, already, to regard him with
dislike and suspicion, Albert heard his suggestions only as so
much impertinence; and rudely commanded him not to forget
himself and place, nor to thrust his undesired opinions upon the
consideration of gentlemen. The poor fellow was effectually
silenced by this rebuke. He sank out of sight, and presumed no
farther to advise. But the counsel was not wholly thrown away
Disregarded by Albert, it was caught up, and insisted on, by
others, who had better conventional claims to be heard, and the
proposition might have been defeated but for the ready interposition
of one Pierre Renaud, a young fellow, who, perceiving the
captain's strong desire to seek out the mystery, and anxious to, ingratiate
himself with that person, boldly laughed at the fears of
the objectors, and volunteered, himself, to defy the danger, in his
own person, in order to gratify his chief. This silenced the controversy.
Albert readily availed himself of the offer, and Pierre
Renaud was commanded to try his fortune. This he did, and,
notwithstanding the surveillance maintained over them by Audusta
and his attendants, “he made such shift, that, by subtle
meanes, he gotte out of the house of Audusta, and secretly went
and hid himself behinde a very thick bush, where, at his pleasure,
he might easily desery the ceremonies of the feaste.”

We will leave Renaud thus busy in his espionage, while we rehearse
the manner in which the venerable Audusta proceeded to
treat his company. A substantial feast was provided for them,
consisting of venison, wild fowl, and fruits. Their breadstuffs
were maize, batatas, and certain roots sodden first in water, and
then prepared in the sun. A drink was prepared from certain
other roots, which, though bitter, was refreshing and slightly
stimulant. Our Frenchmen, in the absence of the beverages of
Italy and France, did not find it unpalatable. They ate and
drank with a hearty relish, which gratified the red-men, who lavished
on them a thousand caresses. The feast was followed by
the dance. In a spacious area, surrounded by great ranks of
oaks, cedars, pines, and other trees, they assembled, men and women,
in their gayest caparison. The men were tatooed and
painted, from head to foot, and not inartistically, in the most
glowing colors. Birds and beasts were figured upon their breasts,
and huge, strange reptiles were made to coil up and around their
legs and arms. From their waists depended light garments of

white cotton, the skirts being trimmed with a thick fringe of red
or scarlet. Some of them wore head-dresses consisting of the
skins of snakes, or eagles, the panther or the wild cat, which,
stuffed ingeniously, were made to sit erect above the forehead, and
to look abroad, from their novel place of perch, in a manner
equally natural and frightful. The women were habited in a similarly
wild but less offensive manner. The taste which presided in
their decorations, was of a purer and a gentler fashion. Their
cheeks were painted red, their arms, occasionally but slightly tattooed,
and sometimes the figure of a bird, a flower or a star, might
be seen engrained upon the breast. A rather scanty robe of
white cotton concealed, in some degree, the bosom, and extended
somewhat below the knees. Around the necks of several, were
hung thick strands of native pearls, partially discolored by the
action of fire which had been employed to extricate them from the
shells. Pearls were also mingled ingeniously with the long tresses
of their straight, black hair; trailing with it, in not unfrequent
instances, even to the ground. Others, in place of this more
valuable ornament, wore necklaces, anklets and tiaras, formed
wholly of one or other of the numerous varieties of little sea
shells, by which, after heavy storms, the low and sandy shores of
the country were literally covered. Strings of the same shell encircled
the legs, which were sometimes of a shape to gratify the
nicest exactions of the civilized standard. The forms of our Indian
damsels were generally symmetrical and erect, their movements
at once agile and graceful—their foreheads high, their lips
thin, and, with a soft, persuasive expression inclining to melancholy;
while their eyes black and bright, always shone with a peculiar
forest fire that seemed happily to consoft with their dark, but not
unpleasing complexions. Well, indeed, with a pardonable vanity,
might their people call them the “Daughters of the Sun.” He
had made them his, by his warmest and fondest glances. These
were the women, whose descendants, in after days, as Yemassees
and Muscoghees and Seminoles, became the scourge of so large a
portion of the Anglo-American race.

When the Frenchmen beheld this rude, but really brilliant
assemblage, and saw what an attractive show the young damsels
made, they were delighted beyond measure. Visions of the fout
and revel, as enjoyed in La Belle France, glanced before their
fancies; and the lively capering that followed among the young
Huguenots, informed Captain Albert of the desire which was felt
by all. In stern, compelling accents, he bade Guernache take his
violin, and provide the music, while the rest prepared to dance.
But Guernache excused himself, alleging the want of strings, for
his instrument. These were shown, in a broken state, to his
commander. He had broken them, we may state en passant, for
the occasion. His pride had been hurt by the treatment of his
captain. He felt that the purpose of the latter was to degrade
him. Such a performance as that required at his hands, was properly
no part of his duty; and his proud spirit revolted at the
idea of contributing, in any way, to the wishes of his superior,
when the object of the latter was evidently his own degradation.
Albert spoke to him testily, and with brows that did not seek to
subdue or conceal their frowns. But Guernache was firm, and
though he studiously forebore, by word or look, to increase the
provocation which he had already given, he yet made no effort to
pacify the imperious nature which he had offended. The excuse
was such as could not but be taken. There was the violin, indeed,
but there, also, were the broken strings. Albert turned
from the musician with undisguised loathing; and the poor fellow

sunk back with a secret presentiment of evil. He but too well
knew the character of his superior.

Meanwhile, the red men had resort to their own primitive
music. Their instruments consisted of simple reeds, which,
bound together, were passed, to and fro, beneath the lips and discoursed
very tolerable harmonies;—and a rude drum formed by
stretching a raw deer skin over the mouth of a monstrous calabash,
enabled them, when the skin had been contracted in the
sun, to extort from it a very tolerable substitute for the music of
the tambourine. There were other instruments, susceptible of
sound if not of sweetness. Numerous damsels, none over fifteen,
lithe and graceful, carried in their hands little gourds, which were
filled with shells and pebbles, and tied over with skins, dried also
in the sun. With these, as they danced, they kept time so admirably
as might have charmed the most practised European
master. Thus, all provided, some with the drum, and others with
flute-like reeds and hollow, tinkling gourds, they only awaited the
summons of their partners to the area. Shaking their tinkling
gourds, as if in pretty impatience at the delay, the girls each
waited, with anxious looks, the signal from her favorite.

The Frenchmen were not slow in seeking out their partners.
At the word and signal of their captain, they dashed in among the
laughing group of dusky maidens, each seeking for the girl whose
beauties had been most grateful to his tastes. Nor was Captain
Albert, himself, with all his pride and asceticism, unwilling to forget
his dignity for a season, and partake of the rude festivities of
the occasion. When, indeed, did mirth and music fail to usurp
dominion in the Frenchman's heart? Albert greedily cast his
eyes about, seeking a partner, upon whom he might bestow his
smiles. He was not slow in the selection. It so happened, that

Monaletta, the spouse of Guernache, was not only one of the
loveliest damsels present, but she was well known as the niece of
King Audusta. Her beauty and royal blood, equally commended
her to the favor of our captain. She stood apart from all the
rest, stately and graceful as the cedar, not seeming to care for the
merriment in which all were now engaged. There was a dash of
sadness in her countenance. Her thoughts were elsewhere—her
eyes scarcely with the assembly, when the approach of Albert
startled her from her reverie. He came as Cæsar did, to certain
conquest; and was about to take her hand, as a matter of course,
when he was equally astounded and enraged to find her draw it
away from his grasp.

“You will not dance with me, Monaletta?”

“No,” she answered him in broken French—“No dance with
you—dance with him!” pointing to Guernache.

Speaking these words, she crossed the floor, with all the bold
imprudence of a truly loving heart, to the place where stood our
sorrowful and unhappy violinist. He had followed the movements
of Albert, with looks of most serious apprehension, and his heart
had sunk, with a sudden terror, when he saw that he approached
Monaletta. The scene which followed, however grateful to his
affections, was seriously calculated to arouse his fears. He feared
for Monaletta, as he feared for himself. Nothing escaped him in
the brief interview, and he saw, in the vindictive glances of Albert,
the most evil auguries for the future. Yet how precious was her
fondness to his heart! He half forgot his apprehensions as he
felt her hand upon his shoulder, and beheld her eyes looking with
appealing fondness up into his own. That glance was full of the
sweetest consolation,—and said everything that was grateful to his
terrified affections. She, too, had seen the look of hate and anger

in the face of Albert, and she joyed in the opportunity of rebuking
the one with her disdain, and of consoling the other with her
sympathies. It was an unhappy error. Bitter, indeed, was the
look with which the aroused and mortified Albert regarded the
couple as they stood apart from all the rest. Guernache beheld
this look. He knew the meaning of that answering glance of his
superior which encountered his own. His looks were those of entreaty,
of deprecation. They seemed to say, “I feel that you
are offended, but I had no purpose or part in the offence.” His
glance of humility met with no answering indulgence. It seemed,
indeed, still farther to provoke his tyrant, who, advancing midway
across the room, addressed him in stern, hissing accents,
through his closed and almost gnashing teeth.

“Away, sirrah, to the pinnace! See that you remain in her
until I summon you! Away!”

The poor fellow turned off from Monaletta. He shook himself
free from the grasp which she had taken of his hand. He prepared
to obey the wanton and cruel order, but he could not forbear
saying reproachfully as he retired—

“You push me too hard, Captain Albert.”

“No words, sir! Away!” was the stern response. The submissive
fellow instantly disappeared. With his disappearance,
Albert again approached Monaletta, and renewed his application.
But this time he met with a rejection even more decided than before.
He looked to King Audusta; but an Indian princess, while
she remains unmarried, enjoys a degree of social liberty which
the same class of persons in Europe would sigh for and supplicate
in vain. There were no answering sympathies in the king's face,
to encourage Albert in the prosecution of his suit. Nay, he had
the mortification to perceive, from the expression of his countenance,

that his proceedings towards Guernache—who was a general
favorite—had afforded not more satisfaction to him, than they
had done to Monaletta. It was, therefore, in no very pleasant
mood with himself and those around him, that our captain consoled
himself in the dance with the hand of an inferior beauty.
Jealous of temper and frivolous of mind—characteristics which
are frequently found together—Albert was very fond of dancing,
and enjoyed the sport quite as greatly as any of his companions.
But, even while he capered, his soul, stung and dissatisfied, was
brooding vexatiously over its petty hurts. His thoughts were
busied in devising ways to revenge himself upon the humble
offender by whom his mortification originally grew. Upon this
sweet and bitter cud did he chew while the merry music sounded
in his ears, and the gaily twinkling feet of the dusky maidens
were whirling in promiscuous mazes beneath his eye. But these
festivities, and his own evil meditations, were destined to have an
interruption as startling as unexpected.

While the mirth was at its highest, and the merriment most
contagious, the ears of the assembly were startled by screams, the
most terrible, of fright and anguish. The Frenchmen felt a
nameless terror seizing upon them. The cries and shrieks were
from an European throat. Wild was the discord which accompanied
them,—whoops of wrath and vengeance, which, as evidently
issued only from the throats of most infuriated savages.
The music ceased in an instant. The dance was arrested. The
Frenchmen rushed to their arms, fully believing that they
were surrounded by treachery—that they had been beguiled to
the feast only to become its victims. With desperate decision,
they prepared themselves for the worst. While their suspense and
fear were at their highest, the cause of the alarm and uproar soon became

apparent to their eyes. Bursting, like a wounded deer,
suddenly, from the woods by which the dwelling of Audusta was
surrounded, a bloody figure, ghastly and spotted, appeared before
the crowd. In another moment the Frenchmen recognized the
spy, Pierre Renaud, who had volunteered to get at the heart of
the Indian mysteries—to follow the priesthood to their sacred
haunts, and gather all the secrets of their ceremonials.

We have already seen that he reached his place of watch in
safety. But here his good fortune failed him: his place of espionage
was not one of concealment. In the wild orgies of their
religion,—for they seem to have practised rites not dissimilar to,
and not less violent and terrible than those of the British
Druids,—the priests darted over the crouching spy. Detected in
the very act, where he lay, “squat like a toad,” the Iawas fell
upon him with the sharp instruments of flint with which they had
been lancing and lacerating their own bodies. With these they
contrived, in spite of all his struggles and entreaties, to inflict upon
him some very severe wounds. Their rage was unmeasured, and
the will to slay him was not wanting. But Renaud was a fellow
equally vigorous and active. He baffled their blows as well as he
could, and at length breaking from their folds, he took fairly to his
heels. Howling with rage and fury, they darted upon his track,
their wild shrieks ringing through the wood like those of so many
demons suffering in mortal agony. They cried to all whom they
saw, to stay and slay the offender. Others joined in the chase, as
they heard this summons. But fortune favored the fugitive. His
terror added wings to his flight. He was not, it seems, destined
to such a death as they designed him. He outran his pursuers,
and, dodging those whom he accidentally encountered, he made
his way into the thick of the area, where his comrades, half bewildered

by the uproar, were breaking up the dance. He sank
down in the midst of them, exhausted by loss of blood and fatigue,
only a moment before the appearance of his pursuers.

The French instantly closed around their companion. They
had not put aside their weapons, and they now prepared themselves
to encounter the worst. The aspect of the danger was
threatening in the last degree. The lawas were boiling with
sacred fury. They were the true rulers of their people. Their
will was sovereign over the popular moods. They demanded,
with violent outery, the blood of the individual by whom their
sacred retreats had been violated, and their shekinah polluted by
vulgar and profane presence. They demanded the blood of all
the Frenchmen, as participating in the crime. They called
upon Audusta to assert his own privileges and theirs. They
appealed to the people in a style of phrenzied eloquence, the
effects of which were soon visible in the inflamed features and
wild action of the more youthful warriors. Already were these
to be seen slapping their sides, tossing their hands in air,
and, with loud shrieks, lashing themselves into a fury like that
which enflamed their prophets. King Audusta looked confounded.
The Frenchmen were his guests. He had invited
them to partake of his hospitality, and to enjoy the rites of his
religion. He was in some sort pledged for their safety, though
one of them had violated the conditions of their coming. His
own feelings revolted at giving any sanction for the assault, yet
he appeared unable or unwilling to resist the clamors of the
priesthood. But he also demanded, though with evident reluctance,
the blood of the offender. He was not violent, though
urgent, in this demand. He showed indignation rather than
hostility; and he gave Albert to understand that in no way

could the people or the priesthood be appeased, unless by the
sacrifice of the guilty person.

But Albert could not yield the victim. The French were
prepared to perish to a man before complying with any such
demand. They were firm. They fenced him in with their
weapons, and declared their readiness to brave every peril ere
they would abandon their comrade. This resolution was the
more honorable, as Pierre Renaud was no favorite among
them. Though seriously disquieted by the event, and apprehensive
of the issue, Albert was man enough to second their spirit.
Besides, Renaud had been his own emissary in the adventure
which threatened to terminate so fatally. His denial was inferred
from his deportment; and the clamor of the Indians was
increased. The rage of the Iawas was renewed with the conviction
that no redress was to be given them. Already had the
young warriors of Audusta procured their weapons. More than
an hundred of them surrounded our little band of Frenchmen,
who were only thirteen in number. Bows were bent, lances
were set in rest, javelins were seen lifted, and ready to be
thrown; and the drum which had been just made to sound, in
lively tones, for the dance, now gave forth the most dismal din,
significant of massacre and war. Already were to be seen, in
the hands of some more daring Indian than the rest, the heavy
war-club, or the many-teethed macana, waving aloft and threatening
momently to descend upon the victim; and nothing was
wanting but a first blow to bring on a general massacre. Suddenly,
at this perilous moment, the fiddle of Guernache was
heard without; followed, in a moment after, by the appearance
of the brave fellow himself. Darting in between the opposing
ranks, attended by the faithful Monaletta, with a grand crash

upon his instrument, now newly-strung, followed by a rapid
gush of the merriest music, he took both parties by the happiest
surprise, and instantly produced a revulsion of feeling among
the savages as complete as it was sudden.

“Ami! ami! ami!” was the only cry from an hundred voices,
at the reappearance of Guernache among them. They had
acquired this friendly epithet among the first words which they
had learned at their coming, from the French; and their affection
for our fiddler had made its application to himself, in particular,
a thing of general usage. He was their friend. He had shown
himself their friend, and they had a faith in him which they
accorded to no other of his people. The people were with him,
and the priesthood not unfriendly. Time was gained by this
diversion; and, in such an outbreak as that which has been
described, time is all that is needful, perhaps, to stay the arm
of slaughter. Guernache played out his tune, and cut a few
pleasant antics, in which the now happy Monaletta, though of the
blood royal, readily joined him. The musician had probably
saved the party from massacre. The subsequent work of treaty
and pacification was comparatively easy. Pierre Renaud was
permitted to depart for the pinnace, under the immediate care
of Guernache and Monaletta. The Iawas received some presents
of gaudy costume, bells, and other gew-gaws, while a liberal gift
of knives and beads gratified their warriors and their women.
The old ties of friendship were happily reunited, and the calumet
went round, from mouth to mouth, in token of restored confidence
and renewed faith. Before nightfall, happily relieved from his
apprehensions, Albert, with his detachment, was rapidly making
his way with his pinnace, down the waters of the swiftly-rolling
Edisto.