A Ramble Into the Early History of Florida
In trying to ascertain the distribution of tribes during the early explorations of the Florida settlers, we feel as though the veil of obscurity had never been lifted. However, three divisions have been traced, with some degree of certainty, after the extinction of the original Caribs, or Cannibals, whose works are seen so extensively on the St. John’s and sea-coast of Florida. In the northern part lived the Temuncas, on the eastern coast the Ais, and the Cobooras on the south-western. It was these Indians who were found occupying the soil when the Spanish and French explorers first landed on the new continent. Their presence in this country was, and still continues to be, an unsolved mystery. Different tribes have their peculiar legends, which date back for centuries. Some of them say their ancestors walked out from a cave; others, that they came from the clouds, consequently were of heavenly origin.
Whatever may have formerly been the difference of opinion in regard to the first discoverer of Florida, the honor is now awarded to Sebastian Cabot, who was born in Bristol, England, A.D. 1477. He was the son of John Cabot, a Venetian pilot, who in the pursuit of his vocation spent a portion of his time in Italy, but his home was in England; hence the erroneous statement made by writers that he was a Venetian. The fact has been well authenticated that the continent of America was discovered by Cabot, 1497, although Columbus first landed on some of the islands. England poorly requited Cabot for the great discovery of the New World. Henry VII.—whose ruling passion was parsimony—then being king, could not comprehend the magnificent prize which lay within his grasp by right of discovery. It is stated Cabot died about 1557, aged eighty years. During his last illness, just before his spirit took its flight, his mind being illumined with the radiance of another existence, he remarked that “Divine revelation was an infallible method of ascertaining the longitude he could then disclose to no one.” After this great discovery of Cabot the adventurers returned with tales of the wonderful, before which fiction paled into insignificance. They all thirsted for riches, and the wildest fantasies of the imagination could not keep pace with their golden dreams, to be realized in this far-away El Dorado. The sojourners at home seized upon the information with the same avidity as the explorers.
The discovery of Florida has usually been given to a companion of Columbus, Ponce de Leon, a daring cavalier, whom fortune had favored in all his undertakings. Having been promoted to the highest official position on the island of Porto Rico, his declining strength was a bitter potion, which remained in the cup of his closing life. Failing in the realization of his golden dreams in the new country, he afterward heard of an immortal fountain toward the setting sun, called Bimini, whose waters not only gave youth and beauty, but a perennial existence. It was before this much-coveted prize the glory of all earthly honors faded into shadows. The traditions of these wonderful rejuvenating waters had lived among the Carib Indians for many years, and from the fact that those who journeyed thither had never returned, the conclusion was inferred that they were roaming through the newly-found Elysian Fields, so delighted they did not wish to leave their new home, never imagining they could have perished by the hand of violence. Ponce do Leon had no difficulty in obtaining companions for this visionary voyage. He fitted out three vessels for the expedition, which sailed from the port of St. Germain, March, 1512, when, steering westward, they landed a little to the north of St. Augustine, March 27, 1512, on Palm Sunday, naming the country Pascua Floridas, which it still retains. Ponce was much charmed with the general appearance of every thing he saw. The number of streams which he drank from is unknown, but as none of the fabled waters imparted fresh vigor to his worn, battered body, made thus from age and toil, he returned home, if no younger, wiser on the subject of adventurous enterprise. After his arrival in Cuba he reported his discovery to Ferdinand, who conferred on him the title of Adelantado, which would immortalize him on the records of history after death, if no rejuvenating waters could affect him while living. Hardly had he returned and recovered from the toils of his discovery before information was received that the Caribs were encroaching upon the island of Porto Rico, capturing the Spaniards and carrying them away, and, as they were never seen afterward, it was inferred they had been eaten by these cannibals. An expedition was soon sent out to conquer them, commanded by Ponce de Leon. He landed first on the island of Guadalupe, when he sent his men on shore for wood, and the women to wash their clothes. The hostile Indians made a descent on them, killing the men, and carrying off the women prisoners to the mountains. This movement was a heavy blow to the ambitious Ponce, whose health and spirits both commenced declining. The squadron, on his return from Porto Rico, was taken charge of by one of his captains. After remaining on the island for several years, still retaining the office of governor, he was told the land he had discovered was not an island, but portion of a large unknown country. The fame of Cortez, who was then winning laurels in the conquest of Mexico, reached the ears of Ponce de Leon, who, not wishing to be considered the least among the conquerors, fitted out another expedition of two ships at his own expense, which sailed from Porto Rico, 1521, for the purpose of making farther explorations in the new continent. A bird of ill omen appeared to perch on his pennons from the time he left port. Heavy seas assailed him on every side, tossing his frail bark like a feather on their creamy crests, threatening destruction at every moment. He finally landed at the nearest point on the coast of Florida, being in the vicinity of St. Augustine, where he proclaimed himself governor and possessor of the soil. The Caribs, thinking themselves unauthorized in the recognition of any power outside of their own race, met him with fierce opposition, showering their arrows upon the astonished Spaniards, killing several of them, and mortally wounding Ponce de Leon. He was carried to the ship in a helpless condition, and from thence to Cuba. A Spanish writer makes the following remark upon the visionary scheme in which this unfortunate adventurer had embarked: “Thus fate delights to reverse the schemes of men. The discovery that Juan Ponce flattered himself was to be the means of perpetuating his life, had the ultimate effect of hastening his death.” The last undertaking closed his earthly career, and found for him a grave on the island of Cuba. The following is a correct copy of the epitaph placed upon his tomb, translated into Spanish by Castellano:
Aequeste lugar estrecho
Es sepulchro del varon
Que en el nombre fue Leon,
Y mucho mas en el hecho.
When rendered into English, means, In this sepulcher rest the bones of a man who was a lion by name, and still more by nature.
The failure of Ponce de Leon did not deter other explorers, thirsting for glory and gain, from trying their fortunes in this unexplored paradise. These, like many settlers in a new country the present day, had miscalculated the toils and privations to be endured, the dangers to be faced, the labors performed, the foes, whose cunning in the use of death-dealing missiles would take their lives with the same freedom they did the snake that sung the siren song of death to the thoughtless victim that crossed his pathway. The names of De Ayllon, Miruello, Cordova, Alaminos, Verazzano, Pamfilo de Narvaez, and Cabeca de Vaca, all come to us covered with defeat and loss of life while attempting to inhabit a country so uncivilized that they had never been able to imagine even its real condition. Mountains of gold, mines of silver, and rivers of pearls, was the Aladdin’s dream that lured them from home, and left them to perish on the sands of an inhospitable shore. Nearly twenty years had elapsed since the demise of Ponce de Leon, when Hernando de Soto, an officer second in rank to Pizarro the Conqueror, having accompanied him during his Peruvian conquests, had entered the temples of the Incas, whose brightness was only eclipsed by the great luminary of day, while the Aztecs rendered him the honor that belonged to their gods. De Soto still thirsted for conquest, and Florida was a new field for the gratification of his adventurous schemes and visionary enterprises. He consumed much time on the island of Cuba in recruiting soldiers and sailors who were willing to serve under him, and follow where he would lead. Finally, after his preparations were completed, he sailed, on the 15th of May, 1539, under the ensign, “Possunt quia posse videntur” (They are able, because they seem to be able), arriving at Espiritu Santo Bay on Whitsunday, May 25, with a larger fleet, than had ever landed on the shores of Florida before. De Soto was certain he had found “the richest country in the world,” where the cupidity of his companions could be gratified to satiety; where precious metals lined the temples, and more precious gems sparkled from their high altars, before which the priests, clad in robes of royal purple, chanted their orisons in the presence of worshiping crowds who, free from solicitude for all worldly possessions, poured their surplus riches from their well-filled coffers into the store-house of the Great Spirit, as an expiatory offering for their misdeeds. It cannot but be conceded that a more industrious, ubiquitous traveler than De Soto ever entered Florida. We are certain, if the courage of his men was unfailing, that their fine, costly apparel, becoming the knighthood of a chivalric age and people, was much shorn of its distinguished ensigns; also, the richly-caparisoned horses of their gaudy trappings, while exploring the wilds of Florida. Each day their hopes were renewed by something they saw, or heard from the Indians, who, being anxious to get rid of their troublesome intruders, entertained them with tales of unexplored territory containing vast treasures just beyond them. Thus they traveled from Tampa to Ocala, thence to Tallahassee, Rome, Georgia, the Cumberland, in Tennessee, finally crossing the Mississippi River near Memphis. Worn out with wandering, disappointed in not finding the El Dorado of his ambition, he calmly met and faced his last foe on the banks of the great Father of Waters, as one writer has remarked, “finding nothing so wonderful as his own grave.” Thus ended the career of a man, representing himself to be a child of the sun, in search of the fairest land in the world, and himself the greatest lord that ruled this unexplored region.
The Indians had become wearied with these children of the sun, whose presence had given them neither peace nor plenty, as they had killed all who opposed them; besides, these celestial visitants appropriated all their stores for the sustenance of themselves, thus leaving them only the prospect of extra exertion, to which their heretofore easy, idle habits of living had rendered them averse. With the recollection of these events, the natives, fresh from their former experience, could hardly be expected, when the messengers of peace came to Florida, as they saw no difference in their external appearance and that of their predecessors, besides being goaded with the memory of their wrongs, that they would be prepared to give them any thing but a cruel reception. For this reason the beautiful bay of Espiritu Santo, which years before had witnessed the pageant of a far-famed conquering general among peaceful people, now saw the war-clubs descend with fearful force upon the defenseless heralds of the cross, who had come in good faith to convert them. Afterward appeared Señor Don Tristan de Luna, from Mexico, landing at Santa Maria, or Pensacola Bay. The only remaining record of his exploits is the fact of a Spanish settlement having been established on the shores of Pensacola Bay, in 1561, and that numerous explorations were made through the country at the same time, as they remained four years, but became discouraged and left the country, which had been to them only a scene of reverses, and returned to more friendly climes, leaving the glory of establishing the first permanent settlement on the shores of America to another.
During the religious differences which harassed the Huguenots in the reign of Charles the IX. of France, Coligny, a convert, conceived the project of seeking an asylum in the New World, where God could be worshiped in accordance with their received opinions of his attributes. King Charles required no importuning for the furtherance of this plan, it being a matter of indifference to him whether they succeeded or failed, as he would be rid of these troublesome Protestant subjects, whom he both feared and hated. Jean Ribaut sailed from France in February, 1562, landing first on the south side of Anastasia Island, near the present site of St. Augustine, naming the inlet River of Dolphins, which they could not cross with their large ships because of the bar at its mouth. The river is now called Matanzas. They then sailed in a northerly direction from this point, naming the present St. John’s May River, from the month in which they first discovered it. The French historian thus glowingly describes their impressions of the country: “The weather being fair, we viewed the lands as we passed, sparkling with flowers and verdure, the vast forests, the unknown birds, the game which appeared at the entrance of the glades and stood fearlessly gazing at the apparition of man.” They entered a large inlet, ninety leagues north from Dolphin River, which Ribaut named Port Royal. On a small island they built a fort, and named it, Charles, or Carolus, in honor of the French king. For three years this colony existed through hardships, but without persecution. However, unfortunately, the material they had enlisted to found a Reformed Church on foreign shores was mixed with dross—men without character or principle, whose vices were not improved by transplanting. Thus, the first endeavors made by persecuted men to seek an asylum in the New World, were attended with events too true to be disputed, and almost too tragical to receive credence. They present a striking instance of the chivalrous spirit which animated the reformers of that day, also the sanguinary disposition with which they were harassed by religious bigotry. After Ribaut had settled this colony, consisting of twenty-five men, in charge of Captain Albert, he sailed for France, to relate his discoveries and receive assistance. The captain, being on friendly terms with the Indians, went on expeditions through the country, one of which was to Onade, or Savannah River, where the Indians gave him pearls, gold, and crystals in which the ore was found. They also informed him that it was ten days’ journey distant to these treasures, which were no doubt the mountains of Georgia now, then a portion of Florida. Ribaut was detained on his voyage to France by alternate storms and calms, until his ship-stores became exhausted, when they resorted to leather as a means of subsistence, and finally sacrificed one of their number to sustain life in the surviving ones. When he arrived in France, a civil war being in progress between the Catholics and Huguenots, no opportunity presented itself for fitting out an expedition, or sending relief to the little band at Port Royal. In consequence of this neglect they built themselves a mere shallop, in which they started for home. On the voyage they mutinied, killing their commander, and were finally, in a starving, sinking condition, taken on board an English vessel. A portion of them were landed in France, and the remainder on the shores of England. Those in the English dominions were brought before the king, where they related their adventures in the New World, which narration first turned the attention of the English to this country.
The command of the second expedition was given to one of Ribaut’s companions, Laudonnière. They again landed south of the River May; but having received the news that Port Royal was abandoned, and being saddened from old associations, they determined to settle near the mouth of May River, it having presented the most attractions to them on a former visit, as here they had been supplied with more corn and grain, besides gold and silver, than at any other place. In the month of June, 1564, they commenced building a fort, felling trees, clearing away undergrowth, hewing timbers, and throwing up intrenchments. The form of this palisade was triangular, on two sides of which were a trench and walls of earth, with retreating angles and platforms for admitting four cannons; the other side was constructed of heavy timbers locked together. This structure was built on the present site of St. John’s Bluff, the land being claimed by an Indian chief who rendered them good service in its construction, also in erecting their store-houses and buildings. The Indians were easily remunerated for their labor, being satisfied with a few trinkets, toys, or hatchets. The roofs were of palm-leaves, ingeniously woven together after the Indian method. The French took possession of the country in the name of King Charles, their sovereign, calling their new fort Caroline also. The Indians entertained their visitors with marvelous tales of “a nation who covered their bodies with gold and silver plates when they fought, which protected them from the arrows of their enemies, shot from the largest bows.” This information inflamed the ambition of the Frenchmen so much that, as soon as the fort furnished a defense for them, the ships departed for France, leaving supplies with the colony for nine months. The new settlers again became restless, not hearing from those who had sailed, receiving no assistance from France, and as provisions were failing also, they commenced building a vessel for their return. In this extremity they were visited by Captain Hawkins, who had sailed from the West Indies—his object in entering the river being to obtain a supply of fresh water. Seeing what would be the result of their undertaking, he dissuaded them from going to sea in their dangerous craft; he also sold them a vessel and provisions, which produced a reconciliation in their ranks. A fleet of seven vessels sailed from the port of Dieppe, May 22, 1565, landing, three months from that date, on the coast of Florida. Laudonnière, at first, thought them his enemies, who had mutinied and left for France, where they had been circulating evil reports in regard to his judicial character, but was much pleased to find Ribaut had returned, who then took command of Fort Caroline, and Laudonnière commenced making preparations for sailing to France, where he had been ordered. In the meantime information had been received by the Spanish monarch of a Huguenot settlement on the coast of Florida. It was the religious, and not the political, zeal of the Spaniards, as circumstances go to prove, that moved them to plan the destruction of this infant colony. Pedro Melendez de Avilez, a marine officer in the time of Philip II. of Spain, importuned the king, on account of his desire for worldly honors, to be sent to the then wilds of Florida. For the furtherance of his plans he made the following plea as the philanthropic design of his unselfish motives: “Such grief seizes me when I behold this multitude of wretched Indians, that I should choose the conquest and settling of Florida above all commands, or offices and dignities which your majesty might see proper to bestow.” His commission was received without difficulty, when he adopted the motto, “Plunder from heretics is good for the soul as well as the purse.” On the 4th of September, 1565, six vessels were seen coming from the sea, which dropped anchor near the four large vessels of Ribaut. They were recognized as Spanish galleons, and the French were hailed to know “what they were doing in the dominions of King Philip.” No other demonstrations were then made, except that he was their enemy. The enterprise of Melendez had now assumed an appearance of more dignity; it became a crusade, and the eager impulse of ambition was stimulated by all the usual arguments in favor of a religious war. The extirpation of heresy was an object equally grateful to the legitimates both of France and Spain, Charles IX. cheerfully yielding up his Protestant subjects in Florida to the tender mercies of Spanish propagandists. Melendez came to Florida as a conqueror, and to convert the Indians. In consideration of his bearing a greater portion of the expense, he was styled the Adelantado of the Floridas. During the voyage they encountered storms which decreased their numbers nearly one-third. Having heard of the colony being reënforced, doubts were entertained of their strength to attack it, and Melendez appealed to them in the following manner: “The Almighty has thus reduced our force, that his own right arm might achieve the work.” The French were unprepared for the rapidity of the progress made by the Spaniards, and when the galleons anchored Ribaut was at La Caroline. Fortunately, they did not reach May River until near night, when darkness prevented an attack, which was the occasion of their civility. They lowered sail, cast anchor, and forbore all offensive demonstrations. But one circumstance confirmed the apprehensions of the Frenchmen: in the brief conversation which ensued between the parties on the arrival of the Spaniards, was their inquiries after the chief captains and leaders of the French fleet, calling them by their names and surnames, thus betraying an intimate knowledge of matters which had been judiciously kept secret as possible in France, showing conclusively that before Melendez left Spain he was thoroughly informed, by those who knew, of the condition, movements, and strength of Ribaut’s armament. Why this information, unless there were some designs for acting upon it? The French officers compared notes that night, in respect to these communications, concurring in the belief that they stood in danger of an assault. They accordingly made preparations to leave with the dawn. At an early hour the Spaniards begun to draw near the French, but the sails of these were already hoisted to the breeze. Their cables severed at the first sign of hostility, when the chase begun with the greatest animation. If the Huguenots were deficient in force, they had the advantage in swift sailing. They suffered nothing from the distant cannonading, although the chase lasted all day. At the approach of night the Spaniards tacked ship and stood for the River Selooe, named by the French Dolphin, a distance overland of but eight or ten leagues from La Caroline. Finding they had the advantage of their enemies fleetness, the French vessels came about also, following at a respectful distance. After having made all the discoveries possible, they returned to May River, when Ribaut came aboard. They reported to him that the great ship of the Spaniards, called “The Trinity,” still kept the sea—that two ships had entered Dolphin River, and three remained at its mouth, while the Spaniards had evidently employed themselves in putting soldiers, with arms, munitions, and provisions, upon shore. Emoloa, one of the Indian kings in amity with the French, sent them word “that the Spaniards had gone on shore in great numbers, and that they had deprived the natives of their houses at that village.” Generals Patino and Vicente had taken control of a huge barn-like structure, formerly occupied by the Indian Cazique, which was constructed from the trunks of large trees, and thatched over with palmetto. They begun work on this newly-captured fortification by intrenching with sand, employing the negroes they had brought with them, this being the first introduction of slave-labor into the United States. This Indian council-house, used as a fortification by Melendez, was destroyed by fire. Twenty years afterward another structure of logs was reared on the same spot, in the form of an octagon. It was finished in 1722, the design being to impress strangers and frighten savages. It was christened San Juan de Pinas. After some preliminaries, preparatory to a formal reception, the Spaniards took possession of the country amid the firing of cannons, flourishing of trumpets, and flinging of banners to the breeze. The priest Mendoza, with his acolytes, met Melendez with all the pomp of a conquering prince, chanting the “Te Deum Laudamus,” when the Adelantado and his companions kneeled, kissing the crucifix, while the Indians assembled, gazing in silent wonder, as the solemn mass of “Our Lady” was performed, and the foundation of St. Augustine laid. Thus was planted by Pedro Melendez the broad banner of Spain, with its castellated towers, in the lonely Indian village of Selooe, beside the river which the Huguenots had previously dignified with the title of “La Riviere des Dolphins.” It was on the 28th of August, 1565, the day on which the Spaniards celebrate the Feast of St. Augustine, that the Adelantado entered the mouth of the Selooe River, being attracted by the general appearance of the country, and resolved to establish a town and fortress. Having previously come on shore with a portion of his forces, he found himself welcomed by the savages, whom he treated kindly, and who requited him with the assurances of friendship. Mendoza, the priest who accompanied the Adelantado, kept a journal of their movements both on the voyage and after landing in America. If he had been a man of more intelligence, posterity would now be greatly benefited by his records, as they are so closely connected with the birth of our great republic. Ribaut, concluding that the Spaniards designed to assail the settlement of La Caroline from this point, with a view of exterminating the colonists from the country, boldly conceived a move for taking the initiative in the war. He first assembled his chief captains in the chamber of Laudonnière, that official being ill. He compared the relative condition of their own and the enemy’s strength, concluding that he could embark with all his forces and seek the fleet of the Spaniards, particularly at a moment when it was somewhat scattered—with only one great ship at sea, and the rest not conditioned to support each other in the event of a sudden attack, as the troops of the Adelantado, with a portion on shore and the remainder on board their vessels, would not be ready for immediate action. Laudonnière was entirely opposed to the scheme of Ribaut, representing the defenseless condition of the fortress and the dangers of a fleet at sea, particularly during a season distinguished for storms and hurricanes. Ribaut, being an old soldier and sea-captain, was too eager for an engagement to heed any arguments that partook of cowardice. He ordered all the soldiers subject to his command to board their vessels. Not satisfied with this force, he lessened the strength of the garrison by taking a detachment of its best men, leaving few to keep the post but invalids. On the 8th of September, 1565, he left in pursuit of the Spaniards, and Laudonnière never saw him again. Nature put on her wildest moods, and the skies were swallowed up in tempests. The storm continued so long that Laudonnière mustered his command and proceeded to put the fortress in the best possible condition for defense. Work advanced slowly in consequence of the continued bad weather. The whole force left in the garrison consisted of but eighty-six men capable of bearing arms. Ribaut, relying upon the impression that he should find his enemy at sea in full force, stripped the garrison of its strength. His vessels being swifter than those of the Spaniards, he was certain that if any demonstration should be made against La Caroline, he could interpose. He made no calculation for the caprices of the weather and cool prudence of Pedro Melendez. He intended first to destroy the fleet of the enemy, and then make a descent upon the troops on land before they could fortify their camps, thus overcoming them with his superior and unembarrassed forces. The condition of things at La Caroline when Ribaut took his departure was deplorable enough, but rendered still more so by a scanty supply of food for the helpless who remained. Laudonnière proceeded to assume the defensive attitude in the event of an attack; but at the recurrence of stormy weather they ceased work, supposing the Spaniards would not expose themselves during the severity of an equinoctial gale.
While Melendez was busy with the preliminaries incident to founding a new settlement, having celebrated the divine mysteries in a manner both solemn and ostentatious, the fleet of Ribaut made its appearance at the mouth of the inlet. His extreme caution in sounding the bar to which his vessels were approaching lost him two precious hours, but for which his conquest must have been certain. Had the two remaining vessels been captured, and Melendez made prisoner, then a descent upon the dismayed troops on shore, not yet intrenched, when the annihilation of the settlement must have ensued: thus the whole destiny of Florida would have been changed, the Huguenot colonies established upon the soil, a firm possession of the land given to the French, that might have kept the fleur-de-lis waving from its summit to this day. At the very instant when the hands of Ribaut were stretched to seize his prize, the sudden force of the hurricane parted them—the trembling ships gradually disappearing with their white wings in the distance and darkness, like feeble birds borne onward in the wild fury of the tempest. Meanwhile the mind of Melendez was not idle; a bright thought had flashed across his pathway which opened daring exploits. His officers were summoned to a council of solemn debate and deliberate action in regard to their future movements. It was midnight when the assemblage of the Spanish captains took place in the great council-house of the savages of Selooe. Rude logs strewn about the building, even as they had been employed by the Indians, furnished seats for the Spanish officers. They surrounded a great fire of resinous pine, which now blazed brightly in the apartment. Silently the Castilian noblemen took their seats. Melendez encouraged an immediate attack on Fort Caroline while weakened by the absence of Ribaut and his forces. His arguments and inflexible will silenced opposition, when all the council gradually became of his mind—the whole scene closing with a benediction from Father Salvandi. Every preparation being completed, Melendez, with five hundred picked men, commenced an overland march to Fort Caroline. It was on the night of the 19th of September, 1565, Monsieur de La Vigne, being appointed to keep guard, with his company, and having a tender heart for the men in bad weather, pitied the guards so much he permitted them to retire to their lodgings, and also went himself. Foul weather appeared to agree with the Spaniards, who enjoyed the showers from which the French retired so willingly, and that night found them in readiness for an attack on the Huguenot colony. The surprise being complete, all show of resistance was useless. “Slay! smite! and spare not!” was the dreadful command of Melendez. “The groans of the heretic make music in the ears of Heaven!” Laudonnière, with eighteen of his companions, succeeded in escaping. Among this number was the celebrated painter Le Moyne, whom we owe much for illustrations of Floridian scenery, lineaments, and costumes, preserved in De Bry and other collections. These sailed out the River May, and, after numerous adventures and detentions, arrived on the coast of England. The most cruel portion of this drama is the last act in regard to the fate of the wretched Huguenots taken at the capture of La Caroline, and the dark deed by which the Spanish chief tarnished the record which might have immortalized his name. All resistance having ceased on the part of the Huguenots at Caroline, the standard of Castile was unrolled from its battlements, instead of the white folds and the smiling lilies of France. The name of the fortress was solemnly changed to San Matheo—the day on which they found themselves in its possession being dedicated to the honor of that saint. The arms of France, and also of Coligny, which surmounted the gateways of the fort, were erased, and those of Spain graven instead. The keeping of the fortress was assigned to a garrison of three hundred men, under the command of Gonzalo de Villaroel. These services occupied but little time, not interfering with other performances of the Adelantado, which he thought not the less conspicuous among the duties required at his hands. The surviving prisoners were brought before him, among whom were many women and children. Besides those rescued by Laudonnière, several had fled to the forests, taking shelter with the tribes of neighboring Indians, who in some instances were protected by them with fidelity, but in the greater number of cases, terrified by the sudden appearance and strength of the Spaniards, they yielded up the fugitives at the fierce demand of the Adelantado. Others of the unfortunate Huguenots, warned by the Indians that they could no longer harbor them, were shot down by their pursuers as they fled through the forests. The sight of weeping and trembling women and children, of naked captives, worn, exhausted, enfeebled by years, by disease, and cruel wounds, all pleading for his mercy, only seemed to strengthen him in his most cruel resolutions. “Separate these women from the other prisoners!” This was done. “Now, detach from these last all children under fifteen years.” His command was obeyed. The women and children thus set apart were consigned to slavery: the younger ones were more readily persuaded to the Catholic altars, and thus finally achieved their deliverance. The more stubborn perished in their bonds, passing through various grades of degradation. With reference to the remainder history is terribly definite. Fixing his cold, dark eye upon the male captives, of whose fate he had said nothing, he demanded: “Is there any among ye who profess the faith of the Roman Catholic Church?” Two of the prisoners replied in the affirmative. “Take these Christians away, and let their bonds be removed. The holy Father Salvandi will examine them in the faith of the Mother Church. For the rest, are there any among ye, seeing the error of your faith, will renounce the heresy of Luther, and seek once more communion with the only true Church?” A dread calm ensued, the captives looking mournfully at each other and the Adelantado, in whose face there was no encouragement, and nothing but despair in the appearance of their companions. “Be warned!” continued the Adelantado. “To those who seek the blessings of the true Church, she generously openeth her arms; to those who turn away indifferently, or in scorn, are decreed death, both temporal and eternal. Hear ye, and now say!” The silence was unbroken. “Are ye obdurate? or do ye not comprehend that your lives rest upon your speech? Either ye embrace the safety which the Church offers, by an instant renunciation of that of the foul heretic, Luther, or ye die by the halter!” One sturdy soldier advanced from the group—a bold, high-souled fellow—his brows lifted proudly with the conscious impulse which worked within his soul. “Pedro Melendez, we are in your power. You are master of our mortal bodies; but with the death before us that you threaten, know that we are members of the Reformed Church of Christ, which ye name to be of Luther, and, holding it good to live in this faith, we deem it not amiss to die in it.” Then the speaker looked around him into the face of his fellows, as they lightened up with a glow of cheerfulness and pride, though no word was spoken. “Speak this man for the rest of ye?” demanded Melendez. For a moment there was silence. Finally a matelot advanced—a common sailor—a man before the mast. “Aye, aye, captain! What he says we say, and there’s no use for more palaver. Let there be an end of it. We are of the Church of Monsieur Luther, and no other. If death’s the word, we’re not the men at the end of the reckoning to belie the whole voyage!” “Be it even as ye say!” answered Melendez, coldly but sternly, and without change of action or show of passion. “Take them forth, and let them be hung to yonder tree!”
The air was rent with the shrieks of women and cries of children—women endeavoring to save their husbands, and children clinging to the knees of their doomed sires, all of which produced no relentings—the parties being separated by a strong hand, and the doomed men hurried to the fatal tree, the priest standing ready to receive their recantations. Exhortations were not spared—soldier and sailor had equally spoken for the martyrdom of the whole—the reverend father preaching and promising all in vain. Amid cries and shrieks, the victims were run up to the wide-spreading branches of a mighty oak, disgraced in its employment for such a purpose, where they perished with fidelity to the faith which they professed. Their bodies were left hanging in the sun and wind, destined equally as trophies of the victor and warnings to the heretic. Melendez caused a monument to be raised beneath the tree, upon which was printed, in large characters, “These do not suffer thus as Frenchmen, but as heretics and enemies to God.” Melendez thus became master of Fort Caroline, wresting a country from the Huguenots which they had acquired through so many vicissitudes. Before leaving he lingered to review the garrison, and founded with his own bloody hands a church dedicated to the God of mercy. He then departed with a small body of troops, arriving at his camp in safety. He was received as the vanquisher of heretics. After this slaughter the victors entered St. Augustine in solemn procession, with four priests in front, chanting the Te Deum in triumph. However, his victory was not without its disquietude, having heard of Ribaut somewhere on the coast, and his own shipping destroyed. The unfortunate Ribaut, driven before the hurricane, had been wrecked with all his squadron upon the bleak, unfriendly shores of Cape Cannaveral, his troops being saved, but the crew drowned.
On the 28th of September, when the weary Adelantado was taking his siesta under the sylvan roof of a Seloy, a band of Indians came in with news that quickly roused him from his slumbers: “A French vessel had been wrecked on the coast toward the south. Those who escaped from her were some four leagues off, on the banks of a river, or arm of the sea, which they could not cross. Melendez immediately sent a detachment of men to reconnoiter. They rowed along the channel between Anastasia Island and the main shore. After landing they struck across the island on foot, traversing plains and marshes, reaching the sea toward night. Craftily concealing his troops on the opposite shore, he climbed a tree for the purpose of reconnoitering. From this point he saw the dismayed band of Frenchmen grouped together, about two hundred strong, and, on account of rough waters, were unable to cross in a raft they had constructed.”
We have now seen how, when Jean Ribaut was making an attack on the Spaniards, his plans were thwarted by a storm of strange fury. One of the ships was wrecked at a point farther northward than the rest, and it was her company whose camp-fires were seen by the Spaniards at their bivouac among the sands of Anastasia Island. They were attempting to reach Fort Caroline, in regard to whose fate they knew nothing, while Ribaut, with the remainder, was farther southward, struggling through the wilderness toward the same goal. Of the fate of the former party there is no French record. Solis, the priest and brother-in-law to Melendez, was eye-witness to the following scenes, a report of which was sent to Spain:
When the Adelantado saw the French fires at a distance, he dressed in the garb of a common sailor, and rowed toward the shipwrecked men, the better to learn their condition. A bold Gascon succeeded in making the passage by swimming, when Melendez demanded, “Who are you?” The Frenchman replied, “We are the people of Ribaut, Captain-general of Florida.” “Are you Lutherans?” “We are Lutherans.” “Gentlemen,” continued Melendez, “your fort is taken, and all in it put to the sword, save the women and children under fifteen years of age.” In proof of which he caused articles of plunder from Fort Caroline to be shown to the unhappy Frenchmen.
He then left and went to breakfast with his officers, first ordering food to be set before his petitioners. Having eaten, he returned to them. “Are you convinced, now, that what I have told you is true?” The French captain assented. “But assist us to leave—that is, in truth, what we demand.” “Demand nothing of me, for I tell you, as a gentleman and an officer, holding a high commission from the Court of Spain, that, if the heavens were to mingle before my eyes, the resolution I once make I never change. If you were Catholics, and I had ships, I would help you, but I have none.”
The supplicants expressed a hope that they would be allowed to remain with the Spaniards till ships could be sent to their relief, since there was peace between the two nations, whose kings were friends and brothers. “We are men made equally in the image of Deity, and serve the same God, if not at the same altars.” “If you will give up your arms and banners, and place yourselves at my mercy, you may do so, and I will act toward you as God shall give me grace. Do as you will, for other than this you can have neither truce nor friendship with me.”
One of the Frenchmen recrossed to consult with his companions. After two hours he returned, offering a large amount for their lives, which was not accepted. Privations had demoralized these starving Frenchmen, who then gave credence to vain hopes which they would not have entertained from an enemy at any other time. They had no other resource but to yield themselves to his mercy. The boat was again sent across the river, and returned laden with their banners and weapons of warfare. The Adelantado ordered twenty of his men to bring over ten Frenchmen at a time. He then took the French officers aside, and, with a semblance of courtesy on his lips and murder in his heart, he said: “Gentlemen, I have but few men, and you are so many, that, if you were free, it would be easy for you to take your satisfaction on us for the people we killed when we took your fort; therefore it is necessary that you should go to my camp, four leagues distant from this place, with your hands tied.” Accordingly, as each party advanced, they were led out of sight behind the sand-hills, and their hands tied behind them with the match-cord of the arquebuses, though not before they had been supplied with food. Twelve Breton sailors professed themselves Catholics, together with four carpenters and calkers, “of whom,” writes Melendez, “I was in great need,” who were put on a boat and sent to St. Augustine. The remainder were ordered to march thither by land. The Adelantado walked in advance until he came to a lonely spot not far distant among the bush-covered hills. Here he stopped and drew a line in the sand with his cane. Not one of this wretched company, not being Catholics, was allowed to cross, and the whole two hundred perished.
Again Melendez returned to St. Augustine, gloating over his success. Great as had been his victory, he still had cause for anxiety, as Ribaut could not be far off. On the next day Indians came with the tidings that on the spot where the first party of the shipwrecked Frenchmen had been found was now another still larger party. The murder-loving race looked with great respect on Melendez, for his wholesale butchery of the night before was an exploit rarely equaled in their own annals of massacre. Melendez doubted not that Ribaut was at hand. He started on a march thither immediately with one hundred and fifty men, reaching the inlet at midnight, when, like a skulking savage, he intrenched himself on the bank. After daybreak flags of truce were displayed on both sides, when La Caille, Ribaut’s sergeant-major, informed Melendez that the French were three hundred and fifty in number, on their way to Fort Caroline, and, like the former party, begged for boats to aid them in crossing the river. Melendez gave them assurances of safety, and sent for Ribaut and six of his companions. On their arrival he met them courteously, caused wine and preserved fruits to be placed before them, and next led Ribaut to the reeking Golgotha, where, in heaps upon the sand, lay the corpses of his slaughtered followers; but he would not believe Fort Caroline had been taken until part of the plunder was shown him. Ribaut then urged that the kings of Spain and France were brothers and close friends, and begged that the Spaniards would aid him in carrying his followers home. Melendez gave the same unequivocal answer as before to the other party. Ribaut, after three hours’ absence, came back in the canoe, and told the Adelantado that some of his people were willing to surrender, at discretion, but many refused. “They can do as they please,” was the reply of Melendez. Ribaut offered large rewards for those who had surrendered. Melendez replied, “I have great need of the money,” which gave the French encouragement, when they asked permission to cross the river. In the morning he returned, and reported that two hundred of his men had retreated from the spot, but the remaining one hundred and fifty would surrender. At the same time he gave into the hands of Melendez the royal standard and other flags, his sword, dagger, helmet, and the official seal given him by Coligny.
Melendez entered the boat and directed his officers to bring over the French by tens. He next led Ribaut among the bushes behind the neighboring sand-hills, when he ordered his hands to be bound fast. Then the scales fell from his eyes, and face to face his fate rose up before him. The day wore on, and, as band after band of prisoners were brought over, they were conducted behind the sand-hills, out of sight from the farther shore, like their general. “Are you Catholics or Lutherans? and are there any among you who will go to confession?” asked Melendez. Ribaut answered, “I and all here are of the Reformed faith,” at the same time intoning the psalm, “Memento, Domine.” A few were spared. “I saved,” writes Melendez, “the lives of two young gentlemen about eighteen years of age, besides the fifer, the drummer, and trumpeter; but I caused Jean Ribaut, with all the rest, to be put to the sword—judging this to be expedient for the service of God our Lord and your majesty.”
As each successive party landed, their hands were bound fast behind their backs, when they were driven, like cattle, toward the fort. At a signal from drums and trumpets the Spaniards fell upon them, striking them down with swords, pikes, and halberds. Ribaut vainly called on the Adelantado to remember his oath. By his order, a soldier plunged a dagger into the French commander’s heart, when Ottigny, who stood near, met a similar fate. The head of Ribaut was then hewn into four pieces, one part of which was displayed on the point of a lance at each corner of the fort in St. Augustine. Great fires were kindled, and the bodies of the murdered burned to ashes. At night, when the Adelantado again entered St. Augustine, there were some who blamed his cruelty, but many applauded. A few days after, the remainder of the shipwrecked Frenchmen were discovered by the Indians, who again informed Melendez. In all haste he dispatched messengers for a reënforcement of one hundred and fifty men from Fort Caroline. On the 2d of November he set forth with such merciless energy that some of his men dropped dead with fatigue. When, from their frail defenses, the French saw the Spanish pikes, they fled, panic-stricken, taking refuge among the sand-hills. Melendez sent a trumpeter, summoning them, also pledging his honor for their safety. Some of them sent word they “would rather be eaten by savages than trust themselves to Spaniards,” and, escaping, fled to the Indian towns. The rest surrendered, and Melendez kept his word. Those of high birth ate at the Adelantado’s table. The captives’ fate may be learned from a reply to one of Melendez’s dispatches. “Say to him,” writes Philip the Second, “that, as to those he has killed, he has done well, and, as to those he has saved, they shall be sent to the galleys.” Melendez, although victorious over the unfortunate Frenchmen, had other troubles to contend with at St. Augustine and San Mateo. The Spaniards became restless, mutinied, and deserted, leaving his forces much weakened. In addition to this, a hostile cazique lived between the two forts—thus cutting off all communication by land between them. Melendez made an attack on this chief, in which he was repulsed—thus compelling him to act on the defensive. As these improvident Spaniards consumed every thing, and raised nothing, the Indians became weary feeding them without any reward: for this cause Melendez was forced to sail for Cuba to obtain supplies. During his absence a Spanish fleet arrived, bringing both men and provisions, which gave them much encouragement. The missionaries heretofore meeting with such rough treatment, some time had elapsed since any new arrivals. However, three Jesuit priests were discovered off the coast, near the mouth of San Mateo River, making inquiries for the fort. These were the first of that Order that had ever come to America, the others being Franciscans. One party of Indians directed them, while afterward they were murdered by another on St. George’s Island, at the entrance of San Mateo River. Melendez now sailed for Spain, to interest the crown in behalf of his colony. After a prosperous voyage across the sea, he landed on the shores of Spain, where he was received with a great display of empty honors, which did not satisfy the cravings of his ambition. It was money he wanted, to strengthen his newly-acquired territory, build up his dominions, and with them a great name for himself. He was also impatient and apprehensive in regard to a threatened revenge which the French had proposed taking into their own hands. In vain had petitions been sent by the relatives of the slain, but never, until a new Cavalier entered the field, as contestant, in the person of the daring Chevalier de Gourgues, did injured humanity find an avenger, or outraged France a champion. De Gourgues, being of gentle birth, according to the chivalrous custom in those days, was educated to the profession of arms. He entered upon his duties as a private, but was soon promoted on account of laurels won in battle, being afterward commissioned to an office of distinction, as captain in the regular army. He was given the command of a fortress, which, being attacked by a greatly superior number of Spaniards, compelled him to surrender; his men were all killed, and himself made prisoner and condemned to servitude on the galleys. Fortunately for himself, the vessel on which he worked was shortly afterward captured by the Turks, which enabled him to obtain his liberty. Activity being his motto, he sailed on an expedition to Brazil, from which enterprise he realized a considerable fortune. On the return of De Gourgues to France, and hearing of the cruelties committed against his countrymen, the iron of revenge was driven deep into his soul, not only for their mistreatment, but the indignity he had suffered from the Spaniards himself. He accordingly fitted out two vessels and a tender, obtaining a charter without difficulty, under the pretext of going to Africa and bringing back slaves. He communicated his plans to no person, but secured the services of one of Laudonnière’s men, who had remained in Florida long enough to have some knowledge of the country and the language of the natives. He also enlisted the services of one hundred and fifty picked men, and set sail from Bordeaux August 2, 1567. In order to better conceal his plans, he first landed on the coast of Africa, where he encountered some of the natives, whom he repulsed—afterward, sailing westward, he came in port for repairs and supplies at Santo Domingo. When he reached this point he revealed to his crew the design of his long and perilous voyage. He depicted, in glowing colors, the wrongs sustained by their countrymen, which yet remained unavenged. The crew, with one voice, replied that they would sustain him in the undertaking. The voyage was soon completed, and so entirely unsuspecting were the Spaniards of an attack that, on passing Fort Caroline—now Fort San Mateo—De Gourgues was honored with a salute of two cannon, supposing them to be of their own nation. He entered the mouth of the Altamaha, and, as his galleys drew but little water, and were provided with oars, he had no difficulty in ascending that river. The natives received them kindly, and the soldiers of Laudonnière being recognized, their mission was not regarded as a friendly one.
Immediate preparations were made to attack the fort, as one of the officers had reconnoitered its strength. These works had been much improved by the Spaniards, to which were added two other forts, the whole garrison consisting of four hundred men. Its present condition was their boast. The priest, Mendoza, said, “Not half of France could take it.” De Gourgues formed an encampment twelve miles north of the mouth of a small river. The whole affair was conducted in a most skillful and secret manner, he using the Indians as valuable accessions in the enterprise, they being no friends to the Spaniards. The French approached the fort at dawn, but remained concealed until the tide receded, that they might reach the island on which it stood. They made the attack at midday, when the two small forts were carried by direct assault, killing nearly all the men, about sixty in number, while the avenues of escape loading from Fort Mateo were guarded by the Indians. Fort San Mateo alone remained, which was three miles above. Among the prisoners saved was a sergeant, who knew the heights of the ramparts, and could draw a plan of the fort. While ladders were being prepared to scale the works, the garrison precipitated its fate by a sally, afterward making an attempt to gain the woods. The thickets were filled with exasperated Indians, and not one Spaniard escaped. A few prisoners were taken, which De Gourgues suspended on the same tree that had borne his countrymen; and for the monument and inscription of Melendez was substituted a pine plank with this inscription: “Not as Spaniards, or mariners, but as traitors, robbers, and murderers.” To render this work of destruction more complete, they entirely demolished the forts. When returning to his ships, he exclaimed, “All that we have done was for the service of the king, and for the honor of the country!” His soldiers, flushed with victory, proposed an attack on St. Augustine, but De Gourgues felt that his resources were insufficient. For some time subsequent to this period the Spaniards retained Florida, although their forts had been destroyed on San Mateo River. After the arrival of De Gourgues in his own country the French Government persecuted him, and the Spanish pursued him until his death. He died deeply involved from the expense connected with his expedition. Thus terminated all dispute in regard to French Florida—the question then to be decided was between the British and Spaniards. Melendez, after making other efforts to Christianize the Indians, having brought over more missionaries, which they murdered without distinction, regarding the priests and people as sworn enemies, abandoned the enterprise, and turned his attention entirely to arms. However, in the midst of his career, he was cut down by death, at Santander, a town situated on the northern coast of Spain, A.D. 1574, after having received the appointment of Captain-general over a Spanish armada of three hundred vessels.
From the above history it will be seen that Florida remained for many years disputed ground, the scene of numerous conflicts from different sources. Whether the priest with his cross, or the warrior with his sword, they all came to vie with each other in the establishment of creeds and division of spoils. It was in 1564 Sir Walter Raleigh, who, being present when the men from Fort Caroline, or Port Royal, were received by the queen, was thus stimulated with a desire to visit this newly-explored country. This feeling was increased by De Morgues, the companion and artist who came with Laudonnière, and had furnished them with beautiful drawings of his travels in these far-off lands. It was the intention of Sir Walter, besides making discoveries, to capture Spanish galleons, which would satisfy his desire for gain. This plundering policy, which had been pursued so extensively by all the adventurers, was in no way designed to promote the welfare of a new settlement. Under the auspices of the English throne an expedition was sent, commanded by Sir Walter Raleigh, which landed on the coast of Florida, as the division of the country was then recognized. After his arrival he thus mentions the Indians: “These people were most loving and faithful, such as lived after the golden age.” He was also much impressed with the land along the shores as they passed. “The fragrance,” he says, “was as if they had been in the midst of some delicate garden, with all kinds of odoriferous flowers.” Raleigh also visited the Indies, and on his return succeeded in capturing a ship richly laden with Spanish treasures, after which he sailed for England, where a warm welcome awaited him. Contrary to his expectations, on his arrival he became too much occupied with affairs of a different nature to visit America again. However, other expeditions were fitted out, which settled in different parts of the country. It was in 1586 that Sir Francis Drake, the English adventurer, while coming from the West Indies, discovered the lookout at Anastasia Island, which commanded the approach to St. Augustine harbor. He landed, bringing a piece of ordnance, from which, after planting, he fired two shots, one of them damaging the Spanish standard, and the other striking the castle. The next day they renewed the attack, with no return of hostilities from the shore, and on landing found the town deserted. In the fort they discovered the mahogany treasury-chest, containing two thousand pounds sterling, designed for paying the troops, which Sir Francis confiscated. The castle at this time was the foundation of the Selooe defense, repaired by Melendez. It was constructed from the trunks of pine-trees planted upright, similar to our stockades of the present day, without ditches. Trunks of trees were laid across the whole structure, after which it was covered with earth. The works, being unfinished, were incapable of resisting a naval attack. An English officer, while pursuing the Spaniards, was shot, for which act the English sacked and then burned St. Augustine. It is said this town then contained a monastery, church, and hall of justice—certainly very little to tempt the cupidity of a West Indies privateer. Sir Francis made this expedition on the ground that Spain had damaged the English commerce during their troubles. In 1603, more than a hundred years from the discovery of Cabot, and twenty years from the time Raleigh sent out his first expedition, not an Englishman remained in the New World. In 1702, Spain and England not being friendly, Governor Moore, of South Carolina, proposed an expedition against St. Augustine, for the purpose of displaying his military prowess, capturing Indians, or enriching himself with plunder. Colonel Daniel took charge of the land portion of the enterprise, which ascended the St. John’s, crossed over the country from Picolata, entered the town without resistance, and sacked it. The inhabitants, being warned of their intentions, had supplied themselves with four months’ rations, and taken refuge, with their gold and valuables, in the castle, from which place they could not be dislodged. When Governor Moore landed and saw their position, he sent to Jamaica for cannon and mortars. Before their arrival the Spaniards received assistance by a fleet coming from Havana. On their appearance Governor Moore became panic-stricken, left his vessels, and fled by land to Carolina. On the return of Colonel Daniel, he, not knowing the siege had been raised, narrowly escaped falling into the hands of his enemies. The besieged prisoners now came from the castle, after a stay of three months, to find their pleasant homes destroyed.
During 1715 Florida received a new accession from the Yemassees. These Indians were found in Florida when the Spaniards first landed, but deserted the country on account of efforts being made to convert them to Christianity. They took refuge in Carolina, where, after remaining awhile, they massacred some of the English colonists, and then retreated to St. Augustine for protection. Here they were received with marked demonstrations of kindness, accompanied by the ringing of bells and firing of cannon. The Spaniards in Florida, having had a respite from troublesome invaders for some time, were progressing prosperously, until after the arrival of General Oglethorpe from England. In 1737, hostilities having commenced between Spain and England, Oglethorpe, fearing an attack from the Spaniards, planted a battery on Cumberland Island as a defense. This movement was productive of dissension among the settlers. England claimed as far as the St. John’s, on account of discoveries made by Sir Walter Raleigh, while the Spanish sent a commissioner for the English to abandon all the territory south of St. Helena’s Sound, which they refused to relinquish. When the Spanish ascertained that Oglethorpe had taken command of the English forces, a party from St. Augustine garrison advanced as far as Amelia Island, killed two Highlanders, and then cut off their heads. The English pursued them to San Mateo, on the St. John’s, drove in the Spanish guards, and then sailed up the river as far as Cavallas. After the return of Oglethorpe he commenced recruiting from the Creek and Cherokee Indians, thus making active preparations for blockading St. Augustine before men and supplies could arrive from Havana. Don Manuel being governor then, he was ready for defense. General Oglethorpe did not succeed in capturing the town, although he invested three fortifications, advancing with his forces to its gates, killing several Spanish troops under the walls of the fort. Fort Diego, twenty-five miles from St. Augustine, Fort Francis de Pupa, seventeen miles, and Fort Moosa, two miles north, commonly called Negro Fort, where the runaway slaves were harbored, all surrendered. In 1748 a treaty of peace was concluded between Spain and England, which left Florida in the quiet possession of the Spaniards for many years.