University of Virginia Library

12. XII.
THE CONSPIRACY OF LE GENRÉ.

1. —Chap. I.

Le Genré, one of the lieutenants of Laudonniere, was of
fierce and intractable temper. His passions had been thwarted
by his superior, whose preferences were clearly with another of
his lieutenants, named D'Erlach.[1] This preference was quite
sufficient to provoke the envy and enmity of Le Genré. His
dislike was fully retorted, and with equal spirit by his brother
officer. But the feelings of D'Erlach, who was the more noble
and manly of the two, were restrained by his prudence and sense
of duty. It had been the task of Laudonniere more than once
to interfere between these persons, and prevent those outrages
which he had every reason to apprehend from their mutual
excitability; and it was partly with the view to keep the parties
separate, that he had so frequently despatched D'Erlach upon
his exploring expeditions. One of these appointments, however,
which Le Genré had desired for himself, had given him no little
mortification when he found that, as usual, D'Erlach had received

the preference from his superior. It was no proper disparagement
of the claims of others that D'Erlach had been thus preferred.
That he was a favorite, was, perhaps, quite as much due to his
own merits as to the blind partiality of his superior. In choosing
him for the command of his most important expeditions, Laudonniere
was, in fact, doing simple justice to the superior endowments
of caution, prudence, moderation, and firmness, which the young
officer confessedly possessed in very eminent degree. But Le
Genré was not the person to recognize these arguments, or to
acknowledge the superior fitness of his colleague. His discontents,
fanned by the arts of others, and daily receiving provocation
from new causes, finally wrought his blood into such a state
of feverish irritation, as left but little wanting to goad him to
actual insubordination and mutiny.

Laudonniere was not ignorant of the factious spirit of his discontented
lieutenant. He had been warned by D'Erlach that he
was a person to be watched, and his own observations had led
him equally to this conviction. His eye, accordingly, was fixed
keenly and suspiciously upon the offender, but cautiously, however,
so as to avoid giving unnecessary pain or provocation. But
Laudonniere's vigilance was partial only; and his suspicions were
by no means so intense as those of D'Erlach. Besides, his attention
was divided among his discontents. He had become painfully
conscious that Le Genré was not alone in his factious feelings.
He felt that the spirit of this officer was widely spreading in the
garrison. The moods of others, sullen, peevish, and doubtful,
had already startled his fears; and he too well knew the character
of his personnel, and from what sources they had been drawn, not
to be apprehensive of their tempers. Signs of insubordination
had been shown already, on various occasions; and had not

Laudonniere been of that character which more easily frets with
its doubts than provides against them, he might have legitimately
employed a salutary punishment in anticipating worse offences.
The looks of many had become habitually sullen, their words few
and abrupt when addressed to their commander, while their tasks
were performed coldly and with evident reluctance. Without
exhibiting any positive or very decided conduct, by which to leave
themselves open to rebuke, their deportment was such as to
betray the impatience of bitter and resentful moods, which only
forbore open utterance by reason of their fears. Laudonniere,
without having absolute cause to punish, was equally wanting in
the nice tact which can, adroitly, and without a fall from dignity,
conciliate the inferior. Angry at the appearances which he could
neither restrain nor chastise, he was not sufficiently the commander
to descend happily to soothe. In this distracted condition
of mind, he prepared to despatch his third and last vessel to
France, to implore the long-expected supplies and assistance.

It was a fine evening, at the close of September, such an
evening as we frequently experience during that month in the
South, when a cool breeze, arising from the ocean, ascends to the
shores and the forests, and compensates, by its exquisite and
soothing freshness, for the burning heat and suffocating atmosphere
of the day. Our Frenchmen at La Caroline were prepared
to enjoy the embraces of this soothing minister. Some walked
upon the parapets of the fortress, others lay at length along the
bluff of the river, while others again, in the shade of trees farther
inland, grouped together in pleasant communion, enjoyed the song
or the story, with as much gaiety as if all their cares were about
to be buried with the sun that now hung, shorn of his fiery locks,
just above the horizon. Laudonniere passed among these groups

with the look of one who did not sympathize with their enjoyments.
He was feeble, dull, and only just recovering from a
sickness which had nigh been fatal. His eye rested upon the
river where lay the vessel, the last remaining to his command,
which, in two days more, was to be despatched for France. He
had just left her, and his course now lay for the deep woods, a
mile or more inland. He was followed, or rather accompanied, by
a youth, apparently about nineteen or twenty years of age—a
younger brother of D'Erlach, his favorite lieutenant. This
young man shared in the odium of his brother, as he also was
supposed to enjoy too largely the favors of Laudonniere. The
truth was, that he was much more the favorite than his brother.
He was a youth of great intelligence and sagacity, observing
mind, quick wit, and shrewd, capacious remark. The slower
thought of his commander was quickened by his intelligence, and
relied, much more than the latter would have been willing to
allow, upon the insinuated, rather than expressed, suggestions of
the youth. Alphonse D'Erlach, but for his breadth of shoulders
and activity of muscle, would have seemed delicately made. He
was certainly effeminately habited. He had a boyish love of
ornament which was perhaps natural at his age, but it had been
observed that his brother Achille, though thirty-five, displayed
something of a like passion. Our youth wore his dagger and his
pistols, the former hung about his neck by a scarf, and the latter
were stuck in the belt about his waist. The dagger was richly
hilted, and the pistols, though of excellent structure, were rather
more remarkable for the beauty of their ornaments than for their
size and seeming usefulness as weapons for conflict.

“And you think, Alphonse,” said Laudonniere, when they had

entered the wood, “that La Genré is really anxious to return to
France in the Sylph.”

“I say nothing about his return to France, but that he will
apply to you for the command of the Sylph, I am very certain.”

“Well! And you?—”

“Would let him have her.”

“Indeed! I am sorry, Alphonse, to hear you say so. Le
Genré is not fit for such a trust. He has no judgment, no
discretion. It would be a hundred to one that he never reached
France.”

“That is just my opinion,” said the youth, coolly.

“Well! And with this opinion, you would have me risk the
vessel in his hands?”

“Yes, I would! The simple question is, not so much the
safety of the vessel as our own. He is a dangerous person. His
presence here is dangerous to us. If he stays, unless our force is
increased, in another month he will have the fortress in his hands;
he will be master here. You have no power even now to prevent
him. You know not whom to trust. The very parties that you
arm and send out for provisions, might, if they pleased, turn upon
and rend us. If he were not the most suspicious person in the
world—doubtful of the very men that serve him—he would soon
bring the affair to an issue. Fortunately, he doubts rather more
than we confide. He knows not his own strength, and your seeming
composure leads him to overrate ours. But he is getting wiser.
The conspiracy grows every day. I am clear that you should let
him go, take his vessel, pick his crew, and disappear. He will not
go to France, that I am certain. He will shape his course for the
West Indies as soon as he is out of our sight, and be a famous
picaroon before the year is over.”

“Alphonse, you are an enemy of Le Genré.”

“That is certain,” replied the youth; “but if I am his
enemy, that is no good reason why I should be the enemy of
truth.”

“True, but you suspect much of this. You know nothing.”

“I know all that I have told you,” replied the young man,
warmly.

“Indeed! How?”

“That I cannot tell. Enough that I am free to swear upon
the Holy Evangel, that all I say is true. Le Genré is at the
head of a faction which is conspiring against you.”

“Can you give me proof of this?”

“Yes, whenever you dare issue the order for his arrest and that
of others. But this you cannot do. You must not. They are
too strong for you. If Achille were here now!”

“Ay! Would he were!”

They now paused, as if the end of their walk had been reached.
Laudonniere wheeled about, with the purpose of returning. They
had not begun well to retrace their steps before the figure of a
person was seen approaching them.

“Speak of the devil,” said Alphonse, “and he thinks himself
called; here comes Le Genré.”

“Indeed!” said Laudonniere.

“See now if I am not right—he comes to solicit the command
of the Sylph.”

They were joined by the person of whom they had been speaking.
His approach was respectful—his manner civil—his tones
subdued. There was certainly a change for the better in his
deportment. A slight smile might have been seen to turn the
corner of the lips of young D'Erlach, as he heard the address of

the new comer. Le Genré began by requesting a private interview
with his commander. Upon the words, D'Erlach went aside
and was soon out of hearing. His prediction was true. Le Genré
respectfully, but earnestly, solicited the command of the vessel
about to sail for France. He was civilly but positively denied.
Laudonniere had not been impressed by the suggestion of his
youthful counsellor; or, if he were, he was not prepared to yield
a vessel of the king, with all its men and munitions, to the control
of one who might abuse them to the worst purposes. The
face of Le Genré changed upon this refusal.

“You deny me all trust, Monsieur,” he said. “You refused
me the command when my claim was at least equal to that of
Ottigny. You denied me that which you gave to D'Erlach,
and now—Monsieur, do you hold me incompetent to this
command?”

“Nay,” said Laudonniere, “but I better prefer your services
here—I cannot so well dispense with them.”

A bitter smile crossed the lips of the applicant.

“I cannot complain of a refusal founded upon so gracious a
compliment. But, enough, Monsieur, you refuse me! May I
ask, who will be honored with this command?”

“Lenoir!”

“I thought so—another favorite! Well!—Monsieur, I wish
you a good evening.”

“You have refused him, I see,” said Alphonse, returning as
the other disappeared.

“Yes, I could do no less. The very suggestion that he might
convert the vessel to piratical purposes, was enough to make me
resolve against him.”

And, still discussing that and other kindred subjects, Laudonnierre

and his young companion followed in the steps of La
Genré towards the fortress.

2. CHAPTER II.

That night the young Alphonse D'Erlach might have been
seen stealing cautiously from the quarters of Laudonnierre, and
winding along under cover of the palisades to one of the entrances
of the fortress. He was wrapped in a huge and heavy cloak
which effectually disguised his person. Here he was joined by
another, whom he immediately addressed:

“Bon Pre?”

“The same: all's ready.”

“Have they gone?”

“Yes!”

“Let us go.”

They went together to the entrance. The person whom
Alphonse called Bon Pre, was a short, thick-set person, fully
fifty years of age. They approached the sentry at the gate.

“Let us out, my son,” said Bon Pre; “we are late.”

When they were without the walls, they stole along through
the ditch, concealed in the deep shade of the place, cautiously
avoiding all exposure to the star-light. On reaching a certain
point, they ascended, and, taking the cover of bush and tree,
made their way to the river, and getting into a boat which lay
beneath the banks, pushed off, and suffered her to drop down the
stream, the old man simply using the paddle to shape her course.
A brief conversation, in whispers, followed between them.

“You told him all?” asked Bon Pre.

“No; but just enough for our purpose. As I told you, he
believes nothing. He is too good a man himself to believe any
body thoroughly bad.”

“He will grow wiser before he is done. You did not suffer
him to know where you got your information?”

“No—surely not. He would have been for having a court,
and a trial, and all that sort of thing. You would have sworn to
the truth in vain, and they would assassinate you. We must only
do what we can to prevent, and leave the punishment for another
season. If time is allowed us—”

“Ay, but that “if!” said the old man. “Time will not be
allowed. Le Genré will be rather slow—but there are some
persons not disposed to wait for the return of the parties under
Ottigny and your brother.”

“Enough!” said D'Erlach—“Here is the cypress.”

With these words, the course of the canoe was arrested, the
prow turned in towards the shore, and adroitly impelled, by the
stroke of Bon Pre's paddle, directly into the cavernous opening
of an ancient cypress which stood in the water, but close to the
banks. This ancient tree stood, as it were, upon two massive
abutments. The cavern into which the boat passed was open in
like manner on the opposite side. The prow of the canoe ran in
upon the land, while the stern rested within the body of the tree.
Alphonse cautiously stepped ashore, and was followed by his older
companion. They were now upon the same side of the river
with the fortress. The course which they had taken had two
objects. To avoid fatigue and detection in a progress by land,
and to reach a given point in advance of the conspirators, who
had taken that route. Of course, our two companions had timed

their movements with reference to the previous progress of the
former. They advanced in the direction of the fort, which lay
some three miles distant, but at the distance of fifty or sixty
yards from the place where they landed, came to a knoll thickly
overgrown with trees and shrubbery. A creek ran at its foot, in
the bed of which stood numerous cypresses—amongst these
Alphonse D'Erlach disappeared, while Bon Pre ascended the
knoll, and seated himself in waiting upon a fallen cypress.

He had not long to wait. In less than twenty minutes, a
whistle was heard—to which Bon Pre responded, in the notes of
an owl. The sound of voices followed, and, after a little interval,
one by one, seven persons ascended the knoll, and entered the
area which was already partially occupied by Bon Pre. There
were few preliminaries, and Le Genré opened the business.
Bon Pre, it is seen, was one of the conspirators and in their
fullest confidence. He had left the fort before them, or had
pretended to do so. They had each left at different periods.
We have seen his route. It is only necessary to add, that they
had come together but a little while before their junction at the
knoll. Of course, their several revelations had yet to be made.
Le Genré commenced by relating his ill success in regard to the
vessel.

“We must have it, at all hazards,” said Stephen Le Genevois,
“we can do nothing without it.”

“I do not see that;” was the reply of Jean La Roquette.
This person, it may be well to say, was one possessing large influence
among the conspirators. He claimed to be a magician,
dealt much in predictions, consulted the stars, and other signs,
as well of earth as of heaven; and, among other things, pretended,
by reason of his art, to know where, at no great distance, was a mine

of silver, the richest in the world. Almost his sole reason for
linking himself with the conspirators, was the contempt with
which his pretensions had been treated by his commander, in regard
to the search after this mine.

“I do not see,” he replied, “that this vessel is so necessary to
us. A few canoes will serve us better.”

“Canoes—for what?” was the demand of Le Genevois.

“Why, for ascending the rivers, for avoiding the fatigue of
land travel, for bringing down our bullion.”

“Pshaw! You are at your silver mine again; but that is slow
work. I prefer that which the Spaniard has already gathered;
which he has run into solid bars and made ready for the king's
face. I prefer fighting for my silver, to digging for it.”

Ay! fighting—no digging;” said Le Genré and he was echoed
by other voices. But La Roquette was not to be silenced. His
opinions were re-stated and insisted upon with no small vehemence,
and the controversy grew warm as to the future course of
the party—whether they should explore the land for silver ore,
or the Spanish seas for bullion.

“Messieurs,” said one named Fourneaux, “permit me to say
that you are counting your chickens before they are out of the
shell. Why cumber our discussion with unnecessary difficulties?
The first thing to consider is how to get our freedom. We can
determine hereafter what use we shall make of it. There are
men enough, or will be enough, when we have got rid of Laudonniere,
to undertake both objects. Some may take the seas,
and some the land; some to digging. Each man to his taste.
All may be satisfied—there need be no restraint. The only matter
now to be adjusted, is to be able to choose at all. Let us not
turn aside from the subject.”

These sensible suggestions quieted the parties, and each proceeded
to report progress. One made a return of the men he
had got over, another of the arms in possession, and a third of
ammunition. But the question finally settled down upon the fate
of Laudonniere, and a few of his particular friends, the young
D' Erlach being the first among them. On this subject, the conspirators
not only all spoke, but they all spoke together. They
were vehement enough, willing to destroy their enemy, but their
words rather declared their anger, than any particular mode of
effecting their object. At length Fourneaux again spoke.

“Messieurs,” said he, “you all seem agreed upon two things;
the first is, that, before we can do anything, Laudonniere and that
young devil, D'Erlach, must be disposed of; the second, that this
is rather a difficult matter. It is understood that they may rally a
sufficient force to defeat us—that we are not in the majority yet,
though we hope to be so; and that a great number who are now
slow to join us, will be ready enough, if the blow were once struck
successfully. In this, I think, you all perfectly agree.”

“Ay—ay! There you are right—that's it;” was the response
of Le Genré and Stephen Le Genevois.

“Very well; now, as it is doubtful who are certainly the friends
of Laudonniere, it is agreed that we must move against him
secretly. Is there any difficulty in this? There are several ways
of getting rid of an enemy without lifting dagger or pistol. Is
not the magician here—the chemist, La Roquette?—has he no
knowledge of certain poisons, which, once mingled in the drink of
a captain, can shut his eyes as effectually as if it were done with
bullet or steel? And if this fails, are there not other modes of
contriving an accident? I have a plan now, which, with your
leave, I think the very thing for our purpose. Laudonniere's

quarters, as you all know, stand apart from all the rest, with the
exception of the little building occupied by the division of Le
Genré, with which it is connected by the old bath-room. This
bath-room is abandoned since Laudonniere has taken to the river.
Suppose Le Genré here should, for safe-keeping, put a keg of
gunpowder under the captain's quarters? and suppose farther,
that, by the merest mischance, he should suffer a train of powder
to follow his footsteps, as he crawls from one apartment to the
other; and suppose again, that, while Laudonniere sleeps, some
careless person should suffer a coal of fire to rest, only for a moment,
upon the train in the bath-house. By my life, I think such
an accident would spare us the necessity of attempting the life of
our beloved captain. It would be a sort of providential interposition.”

“Say no more! It shall be done!” said Le Genré. “I will
do it!”

“Ay, should the other measure fail; but I am for trying the
poison first;” said Fourneaux, “for such an explosion would send
a few fragments of timber about other ears than those of the captain.
He takes his coffee at sunrise. Can we not drug it?”

“Let that be my task;” said old Bon Pre, who had hitherto
taken little part in this conference.

“You are the very man,” said Fourneaux. “He takes his
coffee from your hands. La Roquette will provide the poison.”

“When shall this be done?” demanded Le Genré. “We can
do nothing to-night. It will require time to-morrow to prepare
the train.”

“Ay, that is your part; but may not Bon Pre do his to-morrow?
and should he fail—”

“Why should he fail?” demanded La Roquette. “Let him
but dress his coffee with my spices, and he cannot fail.”

“Yes,” replied Bon Pre, “but it is not always that Laudonniere
drinks his coffee. If he happens to be asleep when I bring
it, I do not wake him, but put it on the table by his bedside, and,
very frequently, if it is cold when he wakes, he leaves it untasted.”

“Umph! but at all events, there is the other accident. That
can be made to take effect at mid-night to-morrow—eh! what
say you, Le Genré?”

“Without fail! It is sworn!”

Their plans being adjusted, the meeting was dissolved, and the
parties separately dispersed, each to make his way back, as he
best might, so as to avoid suspicion or detection, to Fort Caroline.
They had scarcely disappeared when Alphonse D'Erlach emerged
from the hollow of a cypress which stood upon the edge of the
knoll where their conference had taken place.

3. CHAPTER III.

Alphonse D'Erlach was one of those remarkable persons
who seem, in periods of great excitement, to be entirely superior
to its influence. He appeared to be entirely without emotions.
Though a mere youth, not yet firm in physical manhood, he was,
in morals, endowed with a strength, a hardihood and maturity,
which do not often fall to the lot of middle age. In times of
difficulty, he possessed a coolness which enabled him to contemplate
deliberately the approach of danger, and he was utterly beyond

surprises. His conference with old Bon Pre, when they
met again that night was remarkably illustrative of these characteristics.

“What shall we do?” demanded the old man.

“Your part is easily done,” was the reply—“you are simply
to do nothing—to forbear doing. I understand your purpose in
volunteering to do the poisoning. I will see Laudonniere in an
hour. You will prepare the coffee—nay, let Fourneaux, or that
fool of a magician himself, introduce the poison. Laudonniere
will sleep, you understand.”

“But, Le Genré—the gunpowder!”

“I will see to that.”

“What will you do?”

“Nay, time must find the answer. I am not resolved; but, at
all events, for the present, Laudonniere must know nothing. He
must remain in ignorance.”

“Why?”

“For the best reason in the world. Did he guess what we
know, he would be for arming himself and all around him—creating
a confusion under the name of law—attempting arrests, and
so proceeding as to give opportunities to the conspirators to do
that boldly, which they are now content to do basely. I think we
shall thwart them with their own weapons. Let us separate now.
I will see Laudonniere but a few moments before I sleep.”

“Can you sleep to-night? I cannot! I shall hardly be able
to sleep till the affair is over. I do not think, honestly speaking,
that I have slept a good hour for the last week. I am certainly
not conscious of having done so.”

“Nature provides for all such cases. For my part I never
want sleep—I always have it. I can sleep in a storm and enjoy

it just as well. The uproar of winds and seas never troubles me.
If it does, it is only to lull me into sleep again. I am a philosopher
without knowing it, and by accident. But come—we must
part.”

The chamber of D'Erlach was in the same building with that
of Laudonniere. They slept in adjoining apartments. D'Erlach
purposely made some noise in approaching his, and Laudonniere
cried out,

“Who is there?—Alphonse?”

“The same, sir.”

“Come in—where have you been at this hour; is it not very
late?”

“Almost time for waking—an hour probably from dawn, though
I know not exactly. But, suffer me to extinguish this light. We
can talk as well in the dark.”

“What have you to say?” demanded Laudonniere, half rising
at this preliminary.

“I have been getting some new lessons in chess from old Marchand.”

“Ah! what new lesson?” asked Laudonniere, whose passion
for the game had prompted D'Erlach with the suggestion he made
use of.

“Marchand, sir, is a most wonderful player. I have seen a
great many persons skilled at the game, not to speak of yourself,
and I am sure there is no one who can stand him. He absolutely
laughs at my opposition. I wish you could play with him, sir.”

“I should like it, Alphonse,” replied the other, “but you
know my position. This man, Marchand, is a turbulent person;
scarcely respectful to me, and, if there be, as you think, a conspiracy
on foot against me, he is at the head of it, be sure.”

“Not so;” said the other, quietly, but decisively; “not so.
His bluntness is that of an honest man. His turbulence is that
of self-esteem. He is above a base action, and, secure in his own
character, he defies the scrutiny of superiority. I think you mistake
him; at all events it is necessary that you should know him
in chess. I am anxious to see you and him in conflict; and, if
you will permit me, he shall bring his own men—for he will play
with no other—he has his notions on the point—here, to-morrow
night, when you will discover that he is not only a great player
but a good fellow.”

“You are a singular person, Alphonse;” said Laudonniere,
smiling. “What should put chess into your head at such a time,
particularly when you say there is such danger?”

“The man who can play chess when danger threatens is the
very man to discover it; and the conspirator is never more likely
to become resolved in his purpose than when he finds his destined
victim in a state of anxiety. I should rather my enemy see me
at chess—provided I can see him—than that he should find me
putting my arms in readiness. They may be conveniently under
the table, while the chess-board is upon it; and while I am moving
my pawn with one hand, I can prepare my pistol with the other.
But, sir, with your further permission, I will bring Challus and
Le Moyne to see the match. They are both passionately fond of
the game, and Le Moyne plays well, though nothing to compare
either with yourself or Marchand.”

“By the way, Alphonse, how is Le Moyne getting on with his
pictures? It certainly was a strange idea of the Admiral, that of
sending out, with such an expedition, painters of pictures and such
persons. I can see the use of a mineralogist and botanist, but—
these painters!'

“Le Moyne has made some very lovely pictures of the country.
His landscapes are to the life, and he has that rare knowledge of
the painter, which enables him to choose his point of view happily,
and tells him how much to take in, and how much to leave out.
The Admiral will be able to form a better idea of the country from
the pictures of Le Moyne, than he will from the pebbles of Delille
or the dried flowers and leaves of Serrier. Le Moyne shows him
the rivers and the trees, the valleys and the hills; and, if his pictures
get safely to France, the people there will envy us the paradise
here which we are so little able to enjoy.”

Laudonniere heard the youth with half-shut eyes, and the dialogue
languished on the part of the former; but D'Erlach seemed
resolute to keep him wakeful, and suggested continually new provocatives
to conversation, until his superior, absolutely worn out
with exhaustion, bade him go to sleep himself or suffer him to do
so. Alphonse smiled, and left the room perfectly satisfied, as he
beheld the faint streakings of daylight gliding through the interstices
between the logs of which the building was composed. In
less than an hour, hearing a sound as of one entering, he hastily
went out of his chamber, for he had neither undressed himself nor
slept, and met Bon Pre, with the salver of coffee, about to go into
the chamber of Laudonniere.

“Well, is it spiced? Has La Roquette furnished the drug?”

“His own hands put it in.”

“Very well; let us in together. Laudonniere is not likely to
awaken soon, and I will remain with him 'till he does. If the
coffee cools, and he offers not to drink, well. I will say nothing
It is best that he should know nothing 'till all's over.

“But the rest!” said Bon Pre, in a whisper.

“We must manage that, also, quite as well as this.”

“If you should want help?”

“We must find it. But the thing must go forward to the end.
Remember that! This scoundrel must be suffered to burn his
fingers.”

“Can you contrive it—you, alone?”

“I think so; but, Bon Pre, you are here, and Challus, and
Le Moyne, and Beauvais and Marchand, and, perhaps, one or two
more—true men upon whom we can rely—and these, mark me,
must be in readiness. Of this you shall learn hereafter.”

They entered the chamber of Laudonniere. He still slept.
Bon Pre placed the vessel of coffee beside him and disappeared.
D'Erlach seated himself at a little distance from the couch.
When Laudonniere wakened the liquor was cold. He laid it down
again.

“What! you here, Alphonse; but you have been to bed?”

“I do not sleep as soundly as you. I left my chamber as old
Bon Pre brought your coffee, and entered with him. You do not
drink?”

“The coffee is cold.”

“It spoils your breakfast, too, I imagine. You do not eat
heartily at breakfast.”

“No; dinner is my meal. But, Alphonse—did I dream, or
did we not have some conversation about Marchand and chessplaying
last night?”

“We did! This morning rather.”

“Is he the great player you describe him?”

“He is. I can think of none better.”

“Well—saucy as he is, I must meet him.”

“You permitted me to arrange for it, to-night. I had your consent
to bring some amateurs.”

“Yes, I do recollect something of it—Le Moyne and—”

“Challus.”

“Very well—let them come; but they must be patient. If
Marchand is such a player, I must be cool and cautious. I must
beat him.”

“You will, but you will work for it. Marchand will keep you
busy. And now, sir, there is another matter which I beg leave to
bring to your remembrance. You remember the cypress canoe
that lies upon the river banks, three miles or more above. It was
claimed by the old chief Satouriova. We shall want it here for various,
and, perhaps, important uses, when the ship sails. She will
take most of your boats with her. Let me recommend that you
send a detachment for this boat to-day. It should be an armed
detachment, for the old chief is most certainly our enemy, and may
be in the neighborhood. I would send Lieutenant Le Genré, as
he lacks employment. I would give him his choice of six or eight
companions, as, if he does not choose his own men, he might be
apt to tyrannize over those who are friendly to you. Perhaps it
would be better to give your orders early, that he should start at
noon, as, at mid-day, the tide will serve for bringing the boat up
without toil.”

“Why, Alphonse, you are very nice in your details. But, you
are right, and the arrangement is a good one.”

“The sooner Le Genré receives his orders the more time for
preparations;” said the youth indifferently.

“He shall have them as soon as I go below.”

By this time Laudonniere was dressed and they descended the
court together.

“Has he drunk,” asked Le Genré anxiously, with Forneaux and
La Roquette on each side, as they beheld Bon Pre descending

from the chamber of Laudonniere with the vessel in his hand.
The old man raised the silver lid of the coffee-pot, and showed the
contents.

“Diable!” was the half-suppressed exclamation of La Roquette.

“Enough, comrade!” said Le Genré, in a whisper—“it remains
for me.”

They separated, and entered, from different points, the area
where Laudonniere stood.

“Lieutenant;” said the latter, as Le Genré appeared in sight—
“Take six men at noon and go up to the bluff of the old chief
Satouriova and bring away the cypress canoe of which we took possession
some time since. Launch her and bring her up. The tide
will serve at that hour. Let your men be armed to the teeth, and
keep on your guard, for you may meet the old savage on your
way.

Le Genré touched his hat and retired.

“It is well, said he to Fourneaux, whom he had chosen as one
of his companions, “that the commission did not send me off at
once. I must make my preparation quickly and before I go.”

Unseen and unsuspected, Alphonse D'Erlach was conscious all
the while that the enemy was busy. But Laudonniere saw nothing
to suspect, either in his countenance, or in the proceedings of the
conspirator. At noon, Le Genré commenced his march, the only
toils of which were over, when once the canoe was in their possession.
The vessel was amply large to carry twenty soldiers as well
as six, and the tide alone would bring them to the fortress in an
hour or two.

The labors of Alphonse began as soon as Le Genré had disappeared
with his party. The six men whom he had taken with

him, were his confederates. The object of the youth was to operate
in security, free from their surveillance. Still, his proceedings
were conducted with great caution. Laudonniere neither
suspected his industry nor its object. Arms and ammunition
were accumulated in his chamber. Beauvais, and one or two
brave and trusty friends, were placed there without the privity of
any one, and the chess-party, including Marchand, Le Moyne and
Challus, were properly apprized of the arrangements for the game
between the former and Laudonniere. They were all amateurs,
and there was good wine to be had on such occasions. They did
not refuse. Alphonse took pains to noise about the expected
meeting, and its object, and showed his own interest by betting
freely upon his captain. He soon found those who were willing
to risk their gold upon Marchand; and the lively Frenchmen of
La Caroline, were very soon all agog for the approaching contest.
But the labors of the youth did not cease here. He explored the
cellar of the building in which he and Laudonniere slept, and
there, as he expected, the arrangements had been already made
for sending the Chief and himself by the shortest possible road
to heaven. A keg of powder had been wedged in beneath the
beams, with a train, following which, on hands and knees, Alphonse
was conducted under the old bath-house, till he found
himself beneath that of Le Genré. He did not disturb the train.
He simply withdrew the keg of powder, carefully putting back, in
the manner he found them, the old boxes and piles of wood, with
which the incendiary had wedged it between the beams. This
done, he rolled the keg before him over the path, by which it had
evidently come, beneath the bath-house, and to that of Le Genré.
Here he left it, still connected with the train of powder, but
rather less distant from the match than Le Genré had ever contemplated.
Perhaps, he sprinkled the train anew with fresh
powder—it is certain that he went away secure and satisfied, long
before Le Genré returned from his expedition, with the canoe of
Satouriova.

4. CHAPTER IV.

At the hour appointed that night, for the contest between the
chess players, Marchand, accompanied by Le Moyne and Challus,
made his appearance in the apartments of René Laudonniere.
Those of Alphonse D'Erlach were already occupied by four or
five trusty fellows; and the arms which filled the apartment were
ample for the defence of the party, while in the building, against
any number assailing from without. The foresight of Alphonse
had made all the necessary preparations, to encounter any foe,
who might, after the explosion, attempt to carry their object in a
bold way. He had no fear of this, but his habitual forethought
led to the precautions. Meanwhile, of the designs against him
and of the means taken for his safety, Laudonniere had not the
slightest suspicion. His thoughts were occupied with one danger
only—that of being beaten by Marchand. He valued himself
upon his play—was one of those persons who never suffer themselves
to be beaten when they can possibly help it—even by a
lady. If our captain made any preparations, that day, it was for
the supper that night, and the contest which was to follow it.
His instruction, on the first matter, given to his cook, he retired
to his chamber and exercised himself throughout the day in a
series of studies in the game—planning new combinations to be

brought into play, if possible, in the contest which was to follow.
His welcome to Marchand declared the opinion which he himself
entertained of his studies.

“I shall beat you, Marchand.”

“You can't—you shan't,” was the ready answer; “you're
not my match, captain.”

This answer piqued Laudonniere.

“We shall see—we shall see; not your match! Well! we
shall see.”

We need not waste time upon the preliminaries of the contest.
Enough that, about ten o'clock at night, we find the rival players
placed at the table; the opposing pieces arrayed in proper order
of battle, with Le Moyne and Challus, looking on with faces filled
with expectation and curiosity. The face of Alphonse D'Erlach
might also be perceptible, in a momentary glance over the
shoulders of one or other of the parties; but his movements were
capricious, and, passing frequently between his own and the chamber
of Laudonniere, he only looked at intervals upon the progress
of the game. Unhappily, the details of this great match, the
several moves, and the final position of the remaining pieces, at
the end of the contest, have not been preserved to us, though it is
not improbable that the painter Le Moyne, as well as Challus,
took notes of it. Enough, that Laudonniere put forth all his skill,
exercised all his caution, played as slowly and heedfully as possible,
and was—but we anticipate. Marchand, on the contrary,
seemed never more indifferent. He scarcely seemed to look at
the board—played promptly, even rapidly, and wore one of those
cool, almost contemptuous, countenances which seemed to say,
“I know myself and my enemy, and feel sure that I have no
cause of fear.” That his opinions were of this character is beyond

all question; but, though his countenance expressed as
much, Laudonniere reassured himself with the reflection that Marchand
was well understood to be one of those fortunate persons
who know admirably how to disguise their real emotions, however
deeply they may be excited or anxious. Laudonniere's self-esteem
was not deficient, in the absence of better virtues. He had
his vanity at chess, and the game was so played, that the issue
continued doubtful, except possibly to one of the spectators,
almost to the last moment. Leaving the parties at the board,
silent and studious, let us turn to the counsels of the conspirators,
whom we must not suppose to be idle all this time.

They had assembled—half a dozen of them at least—and were
in close conference at the quarters of La Roquette, at the opposite
extremity of the fortress. They were all excited to the highest
pitch of expectation. The hour was drawing nigh for the attempt,
and all eyes were turned upon Le Genré.

“It is half past eleven,” he exclaimed, “and the thing is to be
done. But what is to be done, if those men whom we hold doubtful
should take courage, and, in the moment of uproar take arms
against us? We have made no preparations for this event.
Now, this firing the train from my lodgings is but the work of a
boy. It may be done by any body. It is more fitting that, with
six or eight select men, well armed, I should be in reserve, ready
to encounter resistance should there be any after the explosion.”

Villemain, a youth of twenty-two, a dark, sinister-looking person,
slight and short, promptly volunteered to fire the train. His offer
was at once accepted.

“It is half-past eleven, you say? I will go at once,” said Villemain.

“We will go with you,” cried La Roquette and Stephen Le
Genevois in the same breath.

“No! no! not so!” said Le Genré. “You have each duties to
perform. You must scatter yourselves as much as possible, so as to
increase the alarm at the proper moment. There will be little
danger, I grant you, with Laudonniere, and that imp of the devil,
D'Erlach, out of the way; but it must be prepared for. Once
show the rest that these are done for, and we shall do as we think
proper.”

“What a fortunate thing for us is this game of chess. It disposes
of the only persons we could not so easily have managed;”
said Fourneaux. “Boxes them up, as one may say, so that they
only need a mark upon them to be ready for shipment.”

“And yet, somehow, I could wish,” said Le Genevois, “that
Marchand were not among them. I like that fellow. He is so
bold, so blunt, and plays his game just as if it were his religion.”

“I could wish to save the painter, if any,” remarked La Roquette;
“but at all events, we shall inherit his pictures.”

“Bah! let the devil take him and them together! Why bother
about such stuff; what's his pictures of the country to us,
when the country itself is our own, to keep or to quit just as it
pleases us? We are wasting time. Where's Villemain?”

“Here—ready!”

“Depart, then,” said Le Genré; “the sooner you light the
match after you reach my quarters, the better. We shall be ready
for the blast.”

“He is gone!” said Fourneaux.

“Let us follow, and each to his task;” cried Le Genré. “Each
of you take care of the flying timbers; find you covers as you

may. My men are mustered behind the old granary. Adieu, my
friends,—the time has come!”

With these words, the company dispersed, each seeking his
several position and duty. Let us adjourn our progress to the chamber
of Laudonniere, where that meditative gamester still sits deliberate,
with knotted brow, watching the movements of Marchand.

5. CHAPTER V.

The game was still unfinished. The repeater of Alphonse
D'Erlach was in his hand, as he entered from his own chamber,
and threw a hasty glance across the chess-board. There Laudonniere
sate, seeing nothing but the pieces before him. He
was in the brownest of studies. His thoughts were wholly with
the game, which had the power of contracting his forehead with a
more serious anxiety than possibly all the cares of his colony had
done. His opponent was the very personification of well-satisfied
indifference. He leaned back in his seat, smiling grimly, and
with a wink, now and then, to those who watched and waited upon
the movements of Laudonniere. Alphonse D'Erlach smiled also.
The slightest shade of anxiety might be observed upon his brow,
and his lips were more rigidly compressed than usual. He
leaned quietly towards the board, and remarked indifferently—

“I see you are nearly at the close of your game.”

“Indeed!” said Laudonniere, with some sharpness in his accents,—“and
pray Monsieur Alphonse, how do you see that?”

“You will finish by twelve,” was the reply. “I see that it now
lacks but a few minutes of that hour.”

“Pshaw, Monsieur!” exclaimed Laudonniere—“you talk illogically,
you know nothing about it. Chess is one of those
games—”

And he proceeded to expatiate upon the latent resources of the
game, and how a good player might retrieve a bad situation in
the last perilous extremity, by a lucky diversion.

“But there is no such extremity now,” he continued to say,
“and it is not improbable that we shall keep up the struggle till
morning. The game cannot finish under an hour, let him do his
best, even if he conquers in the end, which is very far from certain,
though I confess he has some advantages.”

“We shall see,” was the reply, as Alphonse left the room, and
returned in a few moments after. It was not observed by the
parties, so intent were they on the game, that he now made his
appearance in complete armor, nor did they hear the bustle in
the adjoining apartment. Alphonse still held his watch in his
grasp.

“The game is nearly finished. According to my notion, you
have but two minutes for it.”

“Two! how!” said Laudonniere, not lifting his head.

“But one!”

“There!” said Laudonniere, making the move that Marchand
had anticipated. Marchand bent forward with extended finger
to the white queen, when a shade of uneasiness might be traced
by a nice observer in the countenance of D'Erlach. His lips
were suddenly and closely compressed. The hand of the timepiece
was upon the fatal minute. On a sudden, a hissing sound
was heard, and, in the next instant, the house reeled and quivered
as if torn from its foundation. A deep roar followed, as if the

thunderbolt had just broke at their feet, and the whole was succeeded
by a deafening ringing sound in all their ears.

“Jesus—mercy!” exclaimed Laudonniere—“The magazine!”

“Checkmate!” cried Marchand, as he set down the white
queen in the final position which secured the game.

“Ay! it is checkmate to more games than one! Gentlemen,
to arms, and follow me!” exclaimed Alphonse. “We are safe
now!”

6. CHAPTER VI.

They rushed out, and were immediately joined by the select
party from the chamber of D'Erlach, all armed to the teeth.
Another party, under Bon Pre, of which none knew but the same
person, encountered them when they emerged into the Place
D'Armes. Alphonse led the way with confidence, and, while all
was uproar and confusion below—while men were seen scattered
throughout the area, uncertain where to turn, the sharp, stern voice
of command was heard in their midst, in tones that forbade the idea
of surprise. The drums rolled. The faithful were soon brought
together, and presented such an orderly and strong array, that
conspiracy would have been confounded by their appearance, even
was there nothing else in the event to palsy their enterprise. But
their engine had exploded in their own house. The dwelling of
Laudonniere was only shaken by the explosion. It was that of
Le Genré which was overthrown, and was now in flames. Its
blazing timbers were soon seattered, and the flames extinguished,
when the body of the conspirator was drawn forth, blackened and

mangled, from the place where he had met his death; still grasping
between his fingers the fragment of match with which he had
lighted the train to his own destruction. The conspirators, in an
instant, felt all their feebleness. Already were the trusted soldiers
of Laudonniere approaching them. Baffled in the scheme from
which they had promised themselves so much, and apprehending
worse dangers, they lost all confidence in themselves and one
another; and Le Genré, apprehending everything, seizing the
moment of greatest confusion, leaped the walls of the fortress, and
succeeded in escaping to the woods. The other leading conspirators,
Le Genevois, La Fourneaux, and La Roquette, at first
determined not to fly, not yet dreaming that they were the objects
of suspicion; but when they beheld Bon Pre, late one of their
associates, marshalling one of the squads of Laudonniere, they at
once conjectured the mode and the extent of the discovery.
They saw that they had been betrayed, and soon followed the
example of Le Genré. In regard to the inferior persons concerned
in the conspiracy, D'Erlach said nothing to Laudonniere,
and counselled Bon Pre to silence also. He was better pleased
that they should wholly escape than that the colony should lose
their services, and easily persuaded himself that in driving Le
Genré and his three associates from the field, he had effectually
paralyzed the spirit of faction within the fortress. He had made
one mistake, however, but for which he might not have been so
easily content. Not anticipating the change in the plan of the
conspirators, by which it had been confided to Villemain to fire
the train instead of Le Genré, he had naturally come to the
conclusion that the only victim was the chief conspirator. He
was soon undeceived, and his chagrin and disappointment were
great accordingly.

“Whose carcass is this?” demanded Laudonniere, as they
threw out the mangled remains of the incendiary from the scene
of ruin.

“That of your lieutenant, Le Genré,” was the answer of
D'Erlach, given without looking at the object.

“Not so!” was the immediate reply of more than one of the
persons present. “This is quite too slight and short a person
for Le Genré.”

“Who can it be, then?” said D'Erlach, looking closely at the
body, which was torn and blackened almost beyond identification.
The face of the corpse was washed, and with some difficulty it was
recognized as that of Philip Villemain, a thoughtless youth, whom
levity rather than evil nature had thrown into the meshes of
conspiracy.

“But what does it all mean, Alphonse?” demanded the bewildered
Laudonniere, not yet recovered from his astonishment and
alarm.

“Treason! as I told you!” was the reply. “There lies one
of the traitors—the poor tool of a cunning which escapes. I had
looked to make his principal perish by his own petard. But we
must look to this hereafter. We must stir the woods to-morrow.
They will shelter the arch traitor for a season only. Enough
now, captain, that we are safe. Let us in to our fish. Those
trout were of the finest, and I somehow have a monstrous appetite
for supper.”