University of Virginia Library

6. VI.
THE LEGEND OF GUERNACHE. Chap. IV. THE DUNGEON AND THE SCOURGE.

The absence of Guernache from his usual place of meeting
with Monaletta, brought the most impatient apprehension to the
heart of the devoted woman. As the time wore away—as night
after night passed without his coming, she found the suspense
unendurable, and gradually drew nigh to the fortress of the
Huguenots. More than once had he cautioned her against incurring
a peril equally great to them both. But her heart was
already too full of fears to be restrained by such dangers as he
alone could have foreseen; and she now lurked about the fort at
nightfall, and continued to hover around long after dawn, keeping
watch upon its walls and portal. So close and careful, however,
was this watch, that she herself remained undetected.
One day, however, to her great satisfaction, one of the inmates
came forth whom she knew to be a friend and associate of Guernache.
This was one Lachane, affectionately called La Chere[1]

by the soldiery, by whom he was very much beloved. Lachane
was a sergeant, a good soldier, brave as a lion, but with as tender
a heart, when the case required it, as ever beat in human bosom.
He had long since learned to sympathize with the fate of Guernache,
and had made frequent attempts to mollify the hostile
feelings of his captain, in behalf of his friend. To the latter he
had given much good counsel; and, but for his earnest entreaties
and injunctions, he would have revealed to Albert the true
reason for the absence of Guernache from his post. But Guernache
dreaded, as well he might, that the revelation would only
increase the hate and rage of his superior, and, perhaps, draw
down a portion of his vengeance upon the head of the unoffending
woman. Lachane acquiesced in his reasoning, and was
silent. But he was not the less active in bringing consolation,
whenever he could, to the respective parties. He afforded to
Monaletta, whose approach to the fort he suspected, an opportunity
of meeting with him; and their interviews, once begun,
were regularly continued. Day by day he contrived to convey
to her the messages, and to inform her of the condition of the
prisoner; to whom, in turn, he bore all necessary intelligence,
and every fond avowal which was sent by Monaletta. But the
loving and devoted wife was not satisfied with so frigid a mode
of intercourse; and, in an evil hour, Lachane, whose own heart
was too tender to resist the entreaties of one so fond, was persuaded
to admit her within the fort, and into the dungeon of
Guernache. We may censure his prudence and hers, but who
shall venture to condemn either? The first visit led to a second,
the second to a third, and, at length, the meetings between the
lovers took place nightly. Lachane, often entreating, often exhorting,
was yet always complying. Monaletta was admitted
at midnight, and conducted forth by the dawn in safety; and
thus meeting, Guernache soon forgot his own danger, and was
readily persuaded by Monaletta to believe that she stood in
none. The hours passed with them as with any other children,
who, sitting on the shores of the sea, in the bright sunset, see
not the rising of the waters, and feel not the falling of the night,
until they are wholly overwhelmed. They were happy, and in
their happiness but too easily forgot that there was such a person
as Captain Albert in their little paradise.

But the pitcher which goes often to the well, is at last broken.
They were soon destined to realize the proverb in their own
experience. Something in the movements of Lachane, awakened
the suspicions of Pierre Renaud, whose active hostility to Guernache
has been shown already. This man now bore within the
fortress the unenviable reputation of being the captain's spy upon
the people. This miserable creature, his suspicion's once
awakened, soon addressed all his abilities to the task of detecting
the connection of Lachane with his prisoner; and it was not
long before he had the maligmant satisfaction of seeing him
accompany another into the dungeon of Guernache. Though it
was after midnight when the discovery was made, it was of a kind
too precious to suffer delay in revealing it, and he hurried at once
to the captain's quarters, well aware that, with such intelligence
as he brought, he might safely venture to disturb him at any
hour. But his eagerness did not lessen his caution, and every
step was taken with the greatest deliberation and care. Albert
was immediately aroused; but, unwilling, by a premature alarm,
to afford the offenders an opportunity to escape, or to place
themselves in any situation to defy scrutiny, some time was lost
in making arrangements. The progress of Albert, and his

satellites, going the rounds, was circuitous. The sentries were
doubled with singular secrecy and skill. Such soldiers as were
conceived to be most particularly bound to him, were awakened,
and placed in positions most convenient for action and observation;—for
Albert and Renaud, alike, conscious as it would seem
of their own demerits, had come to suspect many of the soldiers
of treachery and insurrection. These, perhaps, are always the
fears most natural to a tyranny. Accordingly, with everything
prepared for an explosion of the worst description, Captain Albert,
in complete armor, made his appearance upon the scene.

Meantime, however, the proceedings of Renaud had not been
carried on without, at length, commanding the attention and
awakening the fears of so good a soldier as Lachane. Having
discovered, on his rounds, that the guards were doubled, and that
the sentinel at the sally-port had not only received a companion,
but that the individual by whom Monaletta had been admitted
was now removed to make way for another, he hurried away to
the dungeon of Guernache. Here, whispering hurriedly his
apprehensions, he endeavored to hasten the departure of the
Indian woman. But his efforts were made too late. He was
arrested, even while thus busied, by the Commandant himself,
who, followed by Renaud and two other soldiers, suddenly came
upon him from the rear of the building, where they had been
harboring in ambush. Lachane was taken into immediate custody.
An uproar followed, the alarm was given to the garrison, torches
were brought, and Guernache, with the devoted Monaletta, were
dragged forth together from the dungeon. She was wrapped up
closely in the cloak of Lachane, but when Renaud waved a torch
before her eyes, in order to discover who she was, she boldly
threw aside the disguise, and stood revealed to the malignant

scrutiny of the astonished but delighted despot. Upon beholding
her, the fury of Albert knew no bounds. The secret of Guernache
was now apparent; and the man whose vanity she had
outraged, by preferring another in the dance, was now in full
possession of the power to revenge himself upon both offenders.
In that very moment, remembering his mortification, he formed
a resolution of vengeance, which declared all the venom of a
mean and malignant nature. He needed no art beyond his own
to devise an ingenious torture for his victim. A few words sufficed
to instruct the willing Renaud in the duty of the executioner.
He commanded that the Indian woman should be scourged from
the fort in the presence of the garrison. Then it was that the
sullen soul of Guernache shuddered and succumbed beneath his
tortures. With husky and trembling accents, he appealed to his
tyrant'in behalf of the woman of his heart.

“Oh! Captain Albert, as you are a man, do not this cruel
thing. Monaletta is innocent of any crime but that of loving
one so worthless as Guernache. She is my wife! Do with me
as you will, but spare her—have mercy on the innocent woman!”

“Ah! you can humble yourself now, insolent. I have found
the way, at last, to make you feel. You shall feel yet more. I
will crush you to the dust. What, ho! there, Pierre Renaud!
Have I not said? the lash! the lash! Wherefore do ye linger?”

“Do not, Captain Albert! I implore you, for your own sake,
do not lay the accursed lash upon this young and innocent creature.
Remember! She is a woman—a princess—a blood relation
of our good friend, King Audusta. Upon me—upon my
back bestow the punishment, but spare her—spare her, in
mercy!”

But the prayers and supplications of the wretched man were

met only by denunciation and scorn. The base nature of Albert
felt only his own mortification. His appetite for revenge darkened
his vision wholly. He saw neither his policy nor humanity;
and the creatures of his will were not permitted to hesitate in
carrying out his brutal resolution. Armed with little hickories
from the neighboring woods, they awaited but his command, and
with its repeated utterance, the lash descended heavily upon the
uncovered shoulders of the unhappy woman. With the first stroke,
she bounded from the earth with a piercing shriek, at once of
entreaty, of agony, and horror. Up to this moment, neither she,
nor, indeed, any of the spectators, except Renaud, and possibly
Guernache himself, had imagined that Albert would put in execution
a purpose so equally impolitic and cruel. But when the blow
fell upon the almost fair and naked shoulders of the woman—
when her wild, girlish, almost childlike shriek rent the air, then
the long suppressed agonies of Guernache broke forth in a passion
of fury that looked more like the excess of the madman than the
mere ebullition, however intense, of a simply desperate man.
He had struggled long at endurance. He had borne, hitherto,
without flinching, everything in the shape of penalty which
his petty tyrant could fasten upon him—much more, indeed,
than the ordinary nature, vexed with frequent injustice, is
willing to endure. But, in the fury and agony of that
humiliating moment, all restraints of prudence or fear were
forgotten, or trampled under foot. He flung himself loose from
the men who held him, and darting upon the individual by whom
the merciless blow had been struck, he felled him to the earth by
a single blow of his Herculean fist. But he was permitted to do
no more. In another instant, grappled by a dozen powerful
arms, he was borne to the earth, and secured with cords which
not only bound his limbs but were drawn so tightly as to cut remorselessly
into the flesh. Here he lay, and his agony may be far
more easily conceived than described, thus compelled to behold
the further tortures of the woman of his heart, without being
able to struggle and to die in her defence. His own tortures
were forgotten, as he witnessed hers. In vain would his ears have
rejected the terrible sound, stroke upon stroke, which testified the
continuance of this brutal outrage upon humanity. Without
mercy was the punishment bestowed; and, bleeding at every
blow from the biting scourge, the wretched innocent was at
length tortured out of the garrison. But with that first shriek
to which she gave utterance, and which declared rather the
mental horror than the bodily pain which she suffered from
such a cruel degradation, she ceased any longer to acknowledge
her suffering. Oh! very powerful for endurance is the strength
of a loving heart! The rest of the punishment she bore with
the silence of one who suffers martyrdom in the approving eye of
heaven; as if, beholding the insane agonies of Guernache, she
had steeled herself to bear with any degree of torture rather
than increase his sufferings by her complaints. In this manner,
and thus silent under her own pains, she was expelled from the
fortress. She was driven to the margin of the cleared space by
which it was surrounded. She heard the shouts which drove her
thence, and heard nothing farther. She had barely strength to
totter forward, like the deer with a mortal hurt, to the secret cover
of the forest, when she sank down in exhaustion;—nature kindly
interposing with insensibility, to save her from those physical
sufferings which she could no longer feel and live!

With the morning of the next day, Guernache was brought
before the judgment-seat of Albert. The charges were sufficiently

serious under which he was arraigned. He had neglected
his duty—had permitted, if not caused, the destruction of the
fort by fire—had violated the laws, resisted their execution, and
used violence against the officer of justice! In this last proven
offence all of these which had been alleged were assumed against
him. He was convicted by the rapid action of his superior, as a
traitor and a mutineer; and, to the horror of his friends, and the
surprise of all his comrades, was condemned to expiate his faults
by death upon the gallows. Few of the garrison had anticipated
so sharp a judgment. They knew that Guernache had been
faulty, but they also knew what had been his provocations. They
felt that his faults had been the fruit of the injustice under which
he suffered. But they dared not interpose. The prompt severity
with which Captain Albert carried out his decisions—the merciless
character of his vindictiveness—discouraged even remonstrance.
Guernache, as we have shown, was greatly beloved, and had many
true friends among his people; but they were taken by surprise;
and, so much stunned and confounded by the rapidity with which
events had taken place, that they could only look on the terrible
proceedings with a mute and self-reproachful horror. The transition
from the seat of judgment to the place of execution was
instantaneous. Guernache appealed in vain to the justice of
Ribault, whose coming from France was momently expected.
This denied, he implored the less ignoble doom of the sword or
the shot, in place of that upon the scaffold. But it did not suit
the mean malice of Albert to omit any of his tortures. Short
was the shrift allowed the victim;—ten minutes for prayer—and
sure the cord which stifled it forever. In deep horror, in a
hushed terror, which itself was full of horror, his gloomy comrades
gathered at the place of execution, by the commands of
their petty despot. There was no concert among them, by which
the incipient indignation and fury in their bosoms might have declared
itself in rescue and commotion. One groan, the involuntary
expression of a terror that had almost ceased to breathe,
answered the convulsive motion which indicated the last struggle
of their beloved comrade.[2] Then it was that they began to feel
that they could have died for him, and might have saved him.
But it was now too late; and prudence timely interposed to
prevent a rash explosion. The armed myrmidons of Albert
were about them. He, himself, in complete armor, with his
satellite, Pierre Renaud, also fully armed, standing beside him;
and it was evident that every preparation had been made to quell
insubordination, and punish the refractory with as sharp and
sudden a judgment as that which had just descended upon their
comrade.

The poor Monaletta, crouching in the cover of the woods,
recovered from her stupor in the cool air of the morning, but it
was sunset before she could regain the necessary strength to
move. Then it was, that, with the natural tendency of a loving
heart, curious only about the fate of him for whom alone her
heart desired life, she bent her steps towards that cruel fortress
which had been the source of so much misery to both. Very
feeble and slow was her progress, but it was still too rapid; it
brought her too soon to a knowledge of that final blow which fell,
with worse terrors than the scourge, upon the soul. She arrived

in season to behold the form of the unfortunate Guernache,
abandoned by all, and totally lifeless, waving in the wind from
the branches of a perished oak, directly in front of the fortress.
The deepest sorrows of the heart are those which are born dumb.
There are some woes which the lip can never speak, nor the pen
describe. There are some agonies over which we draw the veil
without daring to look upon them, lest we freeze to stone in the
terrible inspection. There is no record of that grief which
seized upon the heart of the poor Indian woman, Monaletta, as
she gazed upon the beloved but unconscious form of her husband.
She approached it not, though watching it from sunset till the
gray twilight lapsed away into the denser shadows of the night.
But, with the dawn of day, when the Frenchmen looked forth
from the fortress for the body of their comrade, it had disappeared.
They searched for it in vain. From that day Monaletta disappeared
also. She was neither to be found in the neighboring
woods, nor among the people of her kindred. But, long afterwards
they told, with shuddering and apprehension, of a voice
upon the midnight air, which resembled that of their murdered
comrade, followed always by the piercing shriek of a woman,
which reminded them of the dreadful utterance of the Indian
woman, when first smitten upon the shoulders by the lash of the
ruffian. Thus endeth the legend of Guernache, and the Princess
Monaletta.