University of Virginia Library

16. XVI.
THE ADVENTURE OF D'ERLACH.

It was in sullen and half resentful mood that Alphonse D'Arlach
parted from his superior at the gates of La Caroline. Not
that he felt any chagrin because of an outraged self-esteem, on
account of his rejected counsels. His mortification and annoyance
arose from his vexation at leaving a man in the hands of his
enemies, whom he could not persuade of his danger, and who
was, by this very proceeding, depriving himself of the only
means with which he may have safely combated their hostility.
It was probably with a justifiable sense of his own efficiency, that
D'Erlach felt how necessary was his presence in the garrison at
this juncture. He was quite familiar with the vanity of Laudonniere,
his several weaknesses of character, and the facility with
which he might be deluded by the selfish and the artful. But he
had counselled him in vain; and it was with a feeling somewhat
allied to scorn, that he was taught to see that his superior, having
hitherto regarded him with something more than friendship—as a
favorite indeed—had now, in consequence of the most important
services, begun to look upon him somewhat in the light of a
rival. We have witnessed the last interview between them. We
are already in possession of the events which followed the absence

of the lieutenant; events which positively would not have taken
place, had not the scheme proved successful for procuring his absence
from the fortress. Laudonniere's conscience smote him
with a sense of his ingratitude, as the flowing plumes of D'Erlach
disappeared amidst the distant umbrage; but he had no misgivings
of that danger which the prescient thought of his lieutenant
had described as already threatening. He had sufficient time allowed
him to meditate equally upon his own blindness and the
foresight of the youth, while his mutineers, for fifteen days kept
him a close prisoner on board his own brigantine!

During this period, his young lieutenant, with his twenty
Frenchmen, was making his way from forest to forest, under the
somewhat capricious guidance of the subtle savage, Oolenoe.
D'Erlach was more than once dissatisfied with this progress. He
found himself frequently doubling, as it were, upon his own
ground; not steadily ascending the country in the supposed direction
of the Apatahhian Mountains, but rather inclining to the
southwest, and scarcely seeming to leave those lower steppes
which belonged wholly to the province of the sea. Without absolutely
suspecting his dusky guide, D'Erlach was eminently
watchful of him, and frequently pressed his inquiries in regard to
the route they were pursuing,—when—noting the course of the
sun, he found himself still turning away from those distant mountain
summits which were said to await them in the north, with all
their world of treasure. The plea of Oolenoe, while acknowledging
a temporary departure from the proper path, alleged the difficulties
of the country, the spread of extensive morasses, or the
presence of nations of hostile Indians, which cut off all direct
communication with the province which they sought.

To all this D'Erlach had nothing to oppose. The pretences

seemed sufficiently specious, and he continued to advance deep
and deeper into the internal intricacies of the unbroken wild,
making a progress, day by day, into regions which the European
had never penetrated before. On this progress, each soldier had
been provided with a certain allowance of food of a portable
nature, which was calculated to last many days. The adoption
of the Indian customs, in several respects, had made it easy
to provide. The maize and beans of the country constituted the
chief supply. The former, and sometimes both, crushed or
ground, separately or together, and browned slightly before the
fire, furnished a wholesome and literally palatable provision for
such a journey. They were also to receive supplies from the
contributions of Indian tribes through whose settlements they
were to pass, and to traffic with other nations whom as yet they
did not know. With this latter object the party was provided
with a small stock of European trifles—knives, reaphooks, small
mirrors, and things of this description.

Thus provided, they pressed forward for several days, on a
journey which brought them no nearer to the province which they
sought. Still the country through which they travelled was
unbroken by a mountain. Gentle eminences saluted their eyes,
and they sometimes toiled over hills which, even their exhaustion,
which rendered irksome the ascent, did not venture to
compare with those mighty ranges, scaling the clouds, of which
the swelling narratives of the savage chiefs, and their own adventurers,
had given such extravagant ideas. In this march they
probably reached the Savannah, and crossed its waters to the
rivers of Carolina. The scenery improved in loveliness, and to
those who are accessible to the influences of mere external
beauty, the progress at every step was productive of its own

charm. Gentle valleys spread away before them in the embrace
of guardian ranges of hill, and clear streams gushed out through
banks that seemed to gladden in perpetual green. Enormous
trees spread over them a grateful cover from the sun, and luscious
berries of the wood, and unknown fruits, green and purple,
were to be found lying in their path, which was everywhere traversed
by the trailing vines which produced them. Birds of
unknown plumage, and of wild and startling song, darted out
from the brake to cheer them as they passed;and as they reached
the steeps of sudden hills, they could catch glimpses of herds of
sleek deer, that sped away with arrowy fleetness from the green
valleys where they browsed, to the cover of umbrageous thickets
where they lodged in safety.

The mind of the soldier, however, particularly the adventurer
whom one passionate thirst alone impels, is scarcely ever sensible
to the charms and attractions of the visible nature. Where they
appeal simply to his sense of the beautiful, they are but wasted
treasures, like gems that pave the great bed of ocean, and have
no value to the finny tribes that glide below—each seeking the
selfish object which marks his nature. The passion for the beautiful,
with but few exceptions, is a passion that belongs to training
and education; and even these seldom suffice, in the presence of
more morbid desires, to wean the attention to the things of taste,
unless these are recognized as accessories of the object of a more
intense appetite. Even Alphonse D'Erlach, the éleve of a superior
class—one who had been benefitted by society and the
schools, appreciated but imperfectly the loveliness of the landscape,
and the fresh luxuriance of a vegetable life in a region that
seemed so immediately from the hands of its Creator. His thoughts
were of another nature. His anxieties were elsewhere. His eye

was fixed upon his Indian guide, of whom his doubts had now
become suspicions. Nightly had Oolenoe disappeared from the
encampment. It was in vain that our lieutenant set spies upon
his movements. He would disappear without giving the alarm,
and re-appear, when least expected, before the dawning. D'Erlach's
vigilance was increased. He did not suffer his men to
straggle; marching with care by day, his watches were equally
divided by night, and his own eyes were kept open by intense
anxiety, through hours when most were sleeping. Occasionally,
glimpses of Indians were caught on distant hills, or on the edge
of suddenly glancing waters. But any attempt to approach sent
them into their canoes, or over the hill side—increasing the suspicions
of D'Erlach, and awakening the apprehensions of his men.
A something of insolence in the tone and manner of Oolenoe led
our young lieutenant to suppose that the moment of trial was at
hand; and he already began to meditate the seizure of his guide,
as a security for the conduct of the Indians, when an incident
occurred which the foresight of our lieutenant, great as it was,
had never led him to anticipate.

It was at the close of a lovely evening in September, when the
little detachment of Frenchmen were rounding a ravine. Oolenoe
was advanced with D'Erlach some few paces before the rest.
Both of them were silent; but they pressed forward stoutly,
through a simple forest trail, over which the Frenchmen followed
in Indian file. Suddenly, their march was arrested by a cry from
the foot of the ravine, in the rear of the party, and along the
path which they had recently traversed. The cry was human.
It was that of a voice very familiar to the ears of the party. It
was evidently meant to compel attention and arrest their progress.
At the instant, D'Erlach wheeled about and made for the rear.

A similar movement changed in like manner the faces of his followers;
and, in a moment after, a strange, but human form darted
out of the forest and made towards them.

The appearance of the stranger was wild beyond description.
He had evidently once been white; but his face, hands, breast,
and legs, for these were all uncovered, had been blackened by
smoke, bronzed by the sun, and so affected by the weather, that
it was with the greatest difficulty that his true complexion was
discernible. But sure instincts and certain features soon enabled
our Huguenots to see that he was a brother Frenchman. Of his
original garments, nothing but tatters remained; but these tatters
sufficed to declare his nation. His beard and hair, both black,
long, and massive, were matted together, and hung upon neck
and shoulders in flakes and bunches, rather than in shreds or
tresses. His head was without covering, and the only weapon
which he carried was a couteau de chasse, which, as it was of
peculiar dimensions, silver-hilted, and altogether of curious shape,
was probably the only means by which the Frenchmen identified
the stranger.

The keen, quick eye of Alphonse D'Erlach seemed first, of
the whites, to have discovered him. It is probable, from what
took place at the moment, that Oolenoe had made him out in
the same moment. The stranger was no other than Le Genré—
the banished man who had headed the first conspiracy against
Laudonniere. As he approached, rushing wildly forward, with
his couteau de chasse grasped firmly in uplifted hand, D'Erlach
raised his sword, prepared to cut him down as he drew nigh;
when the words of his voice, shouted at the utmost of his strength,
caused them to cast their eyes in another direction.

“Seize upon Oolenoe. Suffer him not to escape you.”

At that moment, the keen, quick glance of the lieutenant beheld
the rapid bounds of the savage, as he made for the cover of
the neighboring thicket. His orders were instantly given. A
dozen bodies instantly sprang forward in pursuit—a dozen matchlocks
were lifted in deadly aim, but the lithe savage doubling
like a hare, bounding forward, now squat, and seeming to
fly along the surface of the ground like a lapwing, stealthy in
every movement as a cat, as swift and agile,—succeeded in gaining
the woods, though the carbines rang with their volley, and,
throwing down their weapons, a score of the light-limbed Frenchmen
started in the chase. A wild warwhoop followed the discharge
of the pieces, declaring equally the defiance and disdain of the
savage. The pursuit was idle, as a few seconds enabled him to
find shelter in a morass, which the inexperienced Europeans knew
not how to penetrate. Alphonse D'Erlach recalled his men from
pursuit, fearing lest they might fall into an ambush, in which,
wasting their ammunition against invisible enemies, they would
only incur the risk of total destruction. He prepared to confront
the stranger, whose first appearance had been productive of such
a startling occurrence. Le Genré, meanwhile, had paused in his
progress. He no longer rushed forward like a maniac; but satisfied
with having given the impulse to the pursuit of Oolenoe, and
apparently conscious of how much was startling in his appearance,
he now stood beside a pine which overhung the path, one hand
resting against the mighty shaft, as if from fatigue, while from
the other his couteau de chasse now drooped, its sharp extremity
pointing to the ground.

His appearance thus indicated a pacific disposition; but remembering
his ancient treacheries only, and suspicious of his relations
with Oolenoe, D'Erlach approached him with caution, as if to the

encounter with an enemy. As he drew nigh, followed by his
band, Le Genré addressed them with mournful accents.

“Is there no faith for me hereafter, mes amis? Am I forever
cut off from the communion with my comrades? Shall there be
no fellowship between us, D'Erlach? Shall we not forget the
past—shall I not be forgiven for my crime, even when I repent it
in bitterness and bloody tears. Behold, my brother—I proffer
you the last assurance.”

These words were accompanied by a sign, that of the mystic
brotherhood—the ancient masons—which none but a few of the
party beheld or comprehended. The weapon of Alphonse D'Erlach
was dropped instantly, and his hand extended. He, too,
belonged to the ancient order, and the security which was guaranteed
by the exhibition of its token, on the part of the offender,
served, when all other pleas would have failed, to secure him
sympathy and protection.

“I have sinned, Alphonse—I know it—beyond forgiveness—
sinned like a madman; but I have borne the penalty. Seldom
has human sinner suffered from mental penalty, as I from mine.
Behold me! look I longer human? I have taken up my covert
with the wild beasts of the desert, and they fly from my presence
as from a savage more fearful than any they know. In my
own desperation I have had no fears. I have herded with beast
and reptile, and longed for their hostility. I have lived through
all, though I craved not to live, and the food which would have
choked or poisoned the man not an outcast from communion with
his fellows, has kept me strong, with a cruel vitality that has
increased by suffering. The crude berries of the wood, the indigestible
roots of the earth, I have devoured with a hideous craving;
and, in the griefs and privations of my body, my mind has

been purged of its impurities. I have seen my sin in its true
colors—my folly, my vicious passions, the wretch that I was—the
miserable outlaw and destitute that I am! That I repent of the
crimes that I have done and sought to do, is the good fruit of this
bitter on which I have rather preyed than fed. I wrote to
Laudonniere of my sorrow and repentance, but he refused to hear
me. Bourdet I sought, that he might take me once more to
France; but he too dreaded communion with me; and when I
rushed into his boat, he only bore me to the opposite shore of the
river, and set me down to the exploration of new forests, and the
endurance of new tortures. I blame them not, that they would
not believe me—that they refused faith in one who had violated all
faith before—that, equally due to his God and to his sovereign.
Oh! brother, do not you drive me from you also!”

And the miserable outlaw clasped his hands passionately together
in entreaty, with a face wild with woe and despair, and would
have fallen prostrate in humiliation before his comrades, if the
arm of Alphonse D'Erlach had not sustained him.

“But what of this savage, Oolenoe!” demanded the lieutenant,
when the first burst of grief had subsided from the lips of Le
Genré.

“Ah! you know that I have been the prisoner to this savage,
and to the very comrades of my sin. For this I have pursued
you hither. While you march onward to snares such as the
savages of Potanou have provided for you by means of this
Oolenoe, treachery is busy and successful at La Caroline.”

“Successful?”

“Ay! successful! But hear me. When I fled to the forest,
I took shelter first with the people of Satouriova. I was found
out and followed by Fourneaux, Stephen Le Genevois, and La

Roquette. To them, at times, came La Croix, whom Laudonniere
still trusted, and whom even you did not suspect. They
came to me with new plans. They were to contrive pretexts for
sending you off to a distance, with the best men of the garrison.
Oolenoe was a ready agent at once of Potanou, Satouriova, and
the conspirators. In your absence, they were to get possession of
the garrison and secure the person of Laudonniere.”

“You mean not to say, Le Genré, that they have succeeded
in this?”

“Ay, do I—the garrison is in their hands—the shipping; and
Laudonniere is himself a close prisoner on board the unfinished
brigantine.”

“God of heaven! and I am here!”

“When the conspirators found that I no longer agreed to
second them in their machinations, and when I threatened to
expose them to Laudonniere, they employed Oolenoe to secure
my person. Five of his people beset me at the same moment,
and held me fast in one of their wigwams until their scheme had
been carried into execution. With Laudonniere in their hands,
I was abandoned by my keepers, and suffered to go forth. From
them I learned the history of all that had taken place in the
colony. I saw the danger, and felt that the only hope for Laudonniere
lay in you. Fortunately, I had only to follow those who
had held me captive, in order to find the route that you had taken.
The people of Oolenoe were soon upon his tracks. I compassed
theirs. It is one profit in the outlawed life which I have been
doomed to endure, that it has taught me the arts of the savage—
taught me the instincts of the beast,—his stealth, his endurance,
his far-sight, and his eager and appreciating scent. Hark! dost

hear! Put thy men in order. The subtle savage is about to gird
thee in.”

Scarcely had he spoken, when the forest was alive with cries of
warfare. Wild whoops rang through the great avenues of wood,
and sudden glimpses of the red-men, followed by flights of arrows,
warned the Frenchmen still more emphatically to prepare against
the danger. But the arrows, though discharged with skill and
muscle, were sent from far;—the dread of the European fire-arms
prompting a decent caution, which, in a great degree, lessened
the superiority which the savages possessed in numbers.
The woods were now filled with enemies. Tribe after tribe had
collected, along their route, as the Frenchmen had advanced,
and every forward step had served only to increase the great impediments
in the way of their return. It was due wholly to the
excellence of the watch nightly kept by D'Erlach, that they had
not been butchered while they slept. It was in consequence of
his admirable caution, and provision against attack while they
marched, that they had not fallen into frequent ambush, as they
moved by noonday. Nightly had the subtle chief, Oolenoe, stolen
away to his comrades, arraying his numbers, and counselling their
pursuit and progress. His schemes detected, the mask was
thrown aside as no longer of use, and open warfare was the cry
through the forests. The necessity was before our Frenchmen of
fighting their way back. The effort of the red-men was to cut
them off in detail, by frequent surprises, by incessant assaults and
annoyances, and by straitening them in the search after water and
provisions.

It would be a weary task to pursue, day by day, and hour by
hour, the thousand details, by which each party endeavored to
attain its object. The events of such a conflict must necessarily

be monotonous Enough to say, that the whole genius of
Alphonse D'Erlach was brought forth during the constant emergencies
of his march and proved equal to them all. His first object
was to pursue a new route on his return. This greatly shortened
the distance, and increased the chances of food, since it was
only from the route along which he came that Oolenoe had contrived
the removal of all the provisions. The progress was thus
varied on their return. It was enlivened by incessant attacks of
the savages. Their arrows were continually showered upon our
Frenchmen from every thicket that could afford an ambush; but,
habited as they were with the escaupil, or stuffed cotton doublets,
which the Spaniards had invented for protection in their warfare
with the Indians, the damage from this source was comparatively
small. Some few of the Frenchmen were galled by slight wounds,
one or two were seriously hurt, and one of them suffered the loss
of an eye. In all these conflicts, Le Genré fought with the
greatest bravery—with a valor, indeed, that seemed to set at
scorn every thought of danger or disaster. He was always the
first to rush forward to the assault, and always the last to leave
the pursuit, when the trumpets sounded the recal. He proved an
admirable second to Alphonse D'Erlach, and materially contributed
to the success of the various plans adopted by the latter
for the safety of his people.

It was the ninth day from that on which they left La Caroline,
when Le Genre made his appearance, and Oolenoe fled to the
forests. Six days had they been engaged in their backward
journey. In this route, diverging greatly from that which they
had pursued before, and following the course indicated by the sun
with a remarkable judgment, which tended still more to raise the
reputation of Alphonse D'Erlach in the eyes of his followers, they

suddenly struck into a path with which Le Genré himself was
familiar. It proved to be one of those which he had pursued on
a previous occasion, when, in the possession of the confidence of
his chief, he had been permitted to lead forth a party for exploration.
Our Frenchmen now knew where they were, and thirty-six
hours of steady travelling would, they felt assured, bring them
within sight of the fortress of La Caroline. But, as if the inveterate
chieftain, Oolenoe, had made a like discovery at the same
moment, his assaults became more desperate, and were urged with
a singular increase of skill and fury. Now it was that the barbarian
tribes of Florida seemed to gather into a host—such a
host as encountered the famous Ponce de Leon and other Spanish
chieftains when they sought to overrun the land. They no longer
sped their arrows from a distance, which, in giving themselves
security from the fire-arms of the Frenchmen, rendered their own
shafts in great degree innocuous. But it was observed that,
when they had succeeded in drawing the fire of the Frenchmen by
two successive assaults, they usually grew bolder at a third, and
came forward with an audacity which seemed to put at defiance
equally the weapons and the spirit of their enemies. The inequality
of numbers between the respective parties, made this
subtle policy of Oolenoe particularly dangerous to the weaker.
Alphonse D'Erlach felt his danger, and the openly-expressed apprehensions
of Le Genré declared it. The subject was one of great
anxiety. The whole day had been spent in conflicts,—conflicts
which were interrupted, it is true, by frequent intervals of rest,
but which continued to increase in their violence as evening
approached. Several of the Frenchmen were now wounded, two
of them dangerously, and all of them were greatly wearied. Le
Genré urged D'Erlach to a night movement, in which they might
leave their enemies behind them, and perhaps cause them to give
up the pursuit, particularly as they would then be almost within
striking distance of La Caroline; but the coolness and judgment
of D'Erlach had not deserted him, or been impaired by his
increase of difficulties.

“And how,” said he, “am I to know whether we shall find
friends or foes in possession of La Caroline? This is not the
least of my dangers. I must preserve my force against that doubt;
but keep them fresh, certainly, and if possible without diminution,
so that I may rescue Laudonniere or sustain myself. Besides, to
attempt the night march I must leave these poor fellows, Mercœur
and Dumain, to be scalped by the savages, or force them forward
only that they may drop by the way. No! we must take rest
ourselves, and give them all the rest we can. We must encamp
as soon as possible, and the shelter of yon little bay, to which we
are approaching, seems to offer an excellent cover. We will make
for that.”

He did as he said. His camp was formed on the edge of one
of those basins which, in the southern country is usually termed a
bay—so called in consequence of the dense forests of the shrub
laurel that covers the region with the most glistening green, and
fills the languid atmosphere with a most rich but oppressive
perfume. Here he disposed his little command, so that the approaches
were few and such as could be easily guarded. Here he
was secure from those wild flights of arrows which, in a spot less
thickly wooded, might have been made to annoy a company, discharged
even in the darkness of the night. But Alphonse
D'Erlach had another reason for selecting this as his present place
of shelter. As soon as he had taken care of his wounded men, he
examined the munitions of all. He had been sparing his powder,

and he was now rejoiced to find that the quantity was quite
sufficient, according to the exigencies of the warfare of that day,
to suffice for two or more days longer. This enabled him to devise
a project by which to ensnare the savages to their ruin. Hitherto
he had classed his men in three divisions. The first of these encountered
the first onslaught of the enemy, and the second were
prepared for its renewal, while the third was a reserve for a
continuance of the struggle, giving time to the two first divisions
to reload. But it had been seen, during the day, that the savages
had made a corresponding division of their force;—that successive
attacks, followed up with great rapidity, drew the fires of his
several squads, and so well aware did the assailants now appear to
be of this practice, that, after the third fire, they boldly rushed
almost within striking distance of the Frenchmen, hurling their
stone hatchets with wonderful dexterity and precision. To provide
for this contingency—to convert it to profitable results—was the
study of D'Erlach. He felt that, but for some stratagem, it was
not improbable that the whole party would lose their scalps before
the closing of another day. He had observed that the bay in
which he harbored his men contained, interspersed with its laurels,
a perfect wilderness of canes, the fluted reeds of the swamp and
morass, common to the country, some of which grew to be nearly
twenty feet in height. These were still green in September, their
feathery tops waving to and fro in every breeze, while, under the
pressure of the sudden gust, their shafts, in seeming solid
phalanx, laid themselves almost to the earth, to recover, like an
artful and plumed warrior, when the danger had overblown.
Without declaring his plans, D'Erlach had a number of these
canes cut down in secresy, and divided into sections of four or five
feet. The extreme barrel of each of these sections was filled
tightly with gunpowder, and a fuse introduced at the orifice which
received the powder. Strips from the shirts of his people were
employed to bind the portion of the reed thus filled, and two of
these shafts were lashed tightly to each matchlock, the charged
portion protruding near the muzzle. He needed no words to
explain his policy to his people. They understood the object in
beholding the process, and admired the ingenuity which promised
them hereafter the most signal advantages.

Rigid was the watch maintained that night in the camp of our
Frenchmen. Fortunately, they had obtained that day a fresh
supply of food while passing through a miserable hamlet, from
which the occupants had fled at their approach. Their supper was
eaten in silence and anxiety. The watches throughout the night
were two, Le Genré taking the first, while D'Erlach, from twelve
till daylight, maintained the last. There were no alarms. The
Indians had retired, as was conjectured, to place themselves in
some favorite place of ambush against the coming of the Frenchmen
the next day. One of the two men who had been most severely
wounded among the Frenchmen, died that night in great
agony. The arrow of the savage had penetrated to his lungs.
He had imprudently thrown off his coat of escaupil, in consequence
of the great heat of the noonday, and a skirmish took place before
he could reclothe himself, in which he received his hurt. D'Erlach
had the body laid in the deepest portion of the bay, its only
covering being a forest of canes, which were cut down and thrown
over the corpse.

With the first rosy blush of the dawn, the little troop was in
motion. At setting off D'Erlach gave ample directions for the
anticipated conflict. His command was divided into three companies.
From the first of these, three men were commissioned

to deliver the fire of their pieces on the appearance of the Indians.
The rest were to discharge one of the two loaded sections
of cane attached to the matchlocks. The second and third
were to do likewise. The effect of this arrangement would be to
leave ten out of nineteen pieces undischarged, and ready for fatal
use on the more daring approach of the savages. Their preparations,
and the proposed ruse were soon put to proof. It was
about nine o'clock in the morning, when the company was about
to enter a defile which led to an extensive tract of pines. At the
entrance, on each hand, stretched a morass that seemed interminable.
The opening to the pine forest seemed a narrow gorge, the
jaws of which were densely occupied with a tangled thicket that
seemed to baffle approach. D'Erlach saw the dangers which
awaited him in such a defile. His three bands were made to
march separately as they approached it, and very slowly. A
moderate interval lay between them, which would enable them,
while an enemy could only attack them singly, in turn to support
each other. The judgment of our young lieutenant did not
deceive him. On each side of this gorge, Oolenoe had posted
his warriors. They occupied the shelter of the thicket on both
hands. Their eagerness and impatience, increased by the slow
progress of the Frenchmen, whom they regarded as only marching
to the slaughter, lost them some of the advantages of this
position. They showed themselves too soon. With a horrid
howl the young warriors discharged their arrows from the covert,
and then boldly dashed out among the pines. The Frenchmen
were nerved for the struggle. Forewarned, they had been forearmed.
There was no surprise. Coolly, the three select men delivered
the fire of their pieces, and each with fatal effect. In the
same moment the charged barrels of the cane were ignited and
torn asunder by an explosion which was sufficiently gun-like to
deceive the unpractised ear of the Indian. The savages answered
this fire by a cloud of arrows, and began to advance. It was
now that the remaining section of the division, which had retained
their fire, delivered it with great precision and an effect
similar to the former; those who had emptied their pieces on the
previous occasion, contenting themselves with discharging a cane.
By this time, the two other divisions, under D'Erlach, had pushed
through the gorge, and were spreading themselves right and left,
among the pines, in a situation to practice the same game with
their assailants, which had been played so well by the foremost
party. We must not follow the caprices of the battle. It is
enough to say that, deceived by the apparent discharge of all the
pieces of the Frenchmen, the Indians, headed by Oolenoe himself,
dashed desperately upon their enemies, and were received
by the fatal fire from more than a dozen guns, which sent their
foremost men headlong to the ground, the subtle chief, Oolenoe
himself, among them. At this sight, the savages set up a howl
of dismay, and fled in all directions; while Oolenoe, thrice staggering
to his feet, at length sunk back upon the ground, writhing
in an agony which did not, however, prevent him, on the approach
of D'Erlach, from making a desperate effort to smite him with
his stone hatchet. His whole form collapsed with the effort,
and wrenching the rude but heavy implement from the dying
savage, the lieutenant drove it into his brain and ended his
agonies with a single stroke.

With this adventure, the difficulties of the party ceased. That
night they reached the fortress, in season to confirm the authority
of Laudonniere; and, as we have seen, to assist in the execution
of the mutineers by whom he had been temporarily overthrown.