The Lily and the Totem; or, The Huguenots in Florida
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XIII.
FALL OF THE CURTAIN.
We need not listen to this passage. The reader will find it, with othergood things, in the huge tome of the braggart, and garrulous, but veryshrewd and valiant old Gascon. Enough to say, that this counsel didnot prevail with his friend. Gourgues determined to persevere in hisoriginal intention of presenting himself at court. His reasons for thisresolution were probably not altogether shown to Montluc. Gourgues was abankrupt, and needed employment. His expedition had absorbed his littlefortune, and left him a debtor, without the means of repayment. With thehighest reputation as a captain, by land and sea,--and with his namehonored by the sentiment of the nation, which was not permitted toapplaud,--he still fondly hoped that his friend had mistaken hisposition, and that he should be honored and welcomed to the favor andservice of his sovereign. He was one of those to hope against hope.
"As thou wilt! Unbolt the door for the man who is wilful. If thyresolution be taken, I say no more. But thou shalt have letters to theCourt, and if the words of an old friend and brother in arms may do theegood, thou shalt have the sign-manual of Montluc, to as many missives asit shall please thee to despatch."
The letters were written; and, with a full narrative of his expeditionprepared, the Chevalier de Gourgues made his appearance at court. He hadanticipated the ambassador of Spain; but he was received coldly. TheQueen Mother, and the Princes of Lorraine, with all who worshipped attheir altars, turned their backs upon the heroic enthusiast. The kingforebore to smile. In his secret heart, he really rejoiced in thevengeance taken by his subject upon the Spaniards, but he was not ina situation to declare his true sentiments. Meanwhile, the Spanishambassador demanded the offender, and set a price upon his head. TheQueen Mother and her associates denounced him. A process was initiatedto hold him responsible, in his life, for an enterprise undertakenwithout authority against the subjects of a monarch in alliance withFrance; and our chevalier was compelled to hide from the storm whichhe dared not openly encounter. For a long time he lay concealed inRouen, at the house of the President de Marigny, and with other ancientfriends. In this situation, the Queen of England, Elizabeth, made himovertures, and offered him employment in her service; but the tardygrace of his own monarch, at length, enabled him to decline theappointments of another and a hostile sovereign. But, nevertheless,though admitted to mercy by the king of France, he was left withoutemployment. Fortune, in the end, appeared to smile. Don Antonio, ofPortugal, offered him the command of a fleet which he had armed with theview to sustaining his right to the crown of that country, which Philipof Spain was preparing to usurp. Gourgues embraced the offer withdelight. It promised him employment in a familiar field, and against theenemy whom he regarded with an immortal hate; but the Fates forbadethat he should longer listen to the plea of revenge. While preparing torender himself to the Portuguese prince, he fell ill at Tours, where hedied, universally regretted, and with the reputation of being one ofthe most valiant and able captains of the day--equally capable as acommander of an army and a fleet. We cannot qualify our praise of thisremarkable man by giving heed to the moral doubts which would seek toimpair the glory, not only of the most remarkable event of his life, butof the century in which he lived. We owe it to his memory to write uponhis monument, that his crimes, if his warfare upon the Spaniards shallbe so considered, were committed in the cause of humanity!
Our chronicle is ended. The expedition of Dominique de Gourguesconcludes the history of the colonies of France in the forests ofthe Floridian.
APPENDIX.
Originally, it was the design of the Author, to write a religiousnarrative poem on the subject of the preceding history. The followingsections, however, were all that were written.
I.
THE VOICE.
A midnight voice from Heaven! It smote his ear, That stern old Christian warrior, who had stood, Fearless, with front erect and spirit high, Between his trembling flock and tyranny, Worse than Egyptian! It awakened him To other thoughts than combat. "Dost thou see;"-- Thus ran the utterance of that voice from Heaven,-- "The sorrows of thy people? Dost thou hear Their groans, that mingle with the old man's prayer, And the child's prattle, and the mother's hymn? Vain help thy cannon brings them, and the sword, Unprofitably drunk with martyr blood, Maintains the Christian argument no more. Arouse thee for new labors. Gird thy loins For toils and perils better overcome By patience, than the sword. Thou shalt put on Humility as armor; and set forth, Leading thy flock, whom the gaunt wolf pursues, To other lands and pastures. 'T is no home For the pure heart in France! There, Tyranny Hath wed with Superstition; and the fruit-- The foul, but natural issue of their lusts, Is murder!--which, hot-hunting fresher feasts, Knows never satiation;--raging still, Where'er a pure heart-victim may be found In these fair regions. It will lay them waste, Leaving no field of peace,--leaving no spot Where virtue may find refuge from her foes, Permitted to forbear defensive blows, Most painful, though most needful to her cause! The brave shall perish, and the fearful bend, Till unmixed evil, rioting in waste, Wallows in crime and carnage unrebuked! Vain is thy wisdom,--and the hollow league, That tempts thee to forbearance, worse than vain. Flight be thy refuge now. Thou shalt shake off The dust upon thy sandals, and go forth To a far foreign land;--a wild, strange realm, That were a savage empire, most unmeet For Christian footstep, and the peaceful mood, But that it is a refuge shown by God For shelter of his people. Thither, then, Betake thee in thy flight. Let not thy cheek Flush at the seeming shame. It is no shame To fly from shameless foes. This truth is taught By him, the venerable sire who led His people from the Egyptians. Lead thou thine! Forbear the soldier's fury. I would rouse The Prophet and the Patriarch in thy breast, And make thee better seek the peaceful march, Than the fierce, deadly struggle. Thou shouldst guide, With pastoral hand of meekness, not of blood, The tribes that still have followed thee, and still, Demand thy care. Far o'er the western deeps Have I prepared thy dwelling! A new world, Full of all fruits and lovely to the eye,-- Various in mount and valley, sweet in stream, Cool in recesses of the ample wood, With climate bland, air vigorous, sky as pure As is the love that proffers it to faith-- Await thee; and the seas have favoring gales To waft thee on thy path! Delay and die!"
II.
COLIGNY'S RESOLVE.
"And, if I perish!" the gray warrior said,-- "I perish still in France! If cruel foes Beleaguer and ensnare me to my fate, The blow will fall upon me in the land Which was my birth-place. Better there to die The victim for my people, than to fly Inglorious, from the struggle set for us By the most cruel fortunes! Not for me The hope of refuge in a foreign clime, While that which cradled me lies desolate In blood and ashes! It is better here To strive against the ruin and misrule, Than basely yield the empire to the foe, Whose sway we might withstand; and whose abuse, Unchecked, were but the fruitful argument For thousand years of woe! I would not lay These aged bones to sleep in distant lands, Though pure and peaceful; but would close mine eye, Upon the same sweet skies--by tempests now Torn and disclouded--upon which gladly first They opened with delight in infancy. This fondness, it may be, is but a weakness Becoming not my manhood. Be it so! I know that I _am_ weak; but there's a passion, That glows with loyal anger in my heart, And shows like virtue. It forbids my flight; And, for my country's glory, and the safety Of our distracted and diminished flock, Declares how much more grateful were the strife-- That proud defiance which I still have given To those fierce enemies, whose sleepless hate Hath shamed and struck at both. I deem it better To struggle with injustice than submit; For still submission of the innocent Makes evident the guilty; and the good, Who yield, but multiply the herd of foes, That ravin when the retribution sleeps! What hope were there for sad humanity, If still, when ca
me the danger, fled the brave? Fled only to beguile, in fierce pursuit, The wolfish spoiler, leaving refuge none, In heart or homestead? Not for me to fly-- Not though, I hear, Eternal Sire! thy voice Still speaking with deep utterance in my soul, Commending my obedience. All in vain, I strive to serve thee with submission meet, And move to do thy will. The earth grows up, Around me; and the aspects of my home, Enclose me like the mountains and the sea, Forbidding me to fly them. Natural ties, That are as God's, upon the mortal heart, Fetter me still to France! and yet thou knowest, How reverent and unselfish were my toils, In this our people's cause. I have not spared Day or night labor; and my blood hath flowed, Unstinted, in the strife that we have waged. The sword hath hacked these limbs--the poisoned cup Hung at these lips. The ignominous death, From the uplifted scaffold, look'd upon me, Craving its victim; the assassin's steel, Turned from my ribs, with narrowest graze avoiding The imperil'd life! Yet never have I shrunk, Because of these flesh-dangers from the work Whereto my hand was set. Let me not now Turn from the field in flight, though still to lead The flock that I must die for! _This_ I know! I cannot _always_ 'scape. The blow _will_ come! Not always will the poisonous draught be spill'd, Or the sharp steel be foil'd, or turn'd aside;-- And to the many martyrs in this cause, Already made, my yearning spirit feels, Its sworn alliance. I will die like them, But cannot fly their graves! I _dare_ not fly, Though death awaits me here, and, soft, afar, Sits safety in the cloud and beckons me."
III.
THE VOYAGE.
"And leave thy flock to perish?"--Thus the voice, Reproachful to the patriarch.--"No," he cried, "They shall partake the sweet security, Of the far home of refuge thou assign'st. They shall go forth from bondage and from death: The path made free to them, their feet shall take; My counsels shall direct them, and my soul Still struggle in their service. Those who fly, Best moved by fond obedience,--with few ties To fasten the devoted heart to earth, And looking but to heaven;--and those who still, With that fond passion of home which fetters me, Prefer to look upon their graves in France,-- Shall equally command my care and toil, Though not alike my presence. They who go forth To the far land of promise which awaits them, Mine eye shall watch across the mighty deep, And still my succors reach them, while the power Is mine for human providence; and still, Even from the fearful eminence of death, My spirit, parting from its shrouding clay, Survey them with the thought of one who loves, Glad in the safety which it could not share!"
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Even as he said,--a little band went forth Still resolute for God;--having no home, But that made holy by his privilege; Their prayers unchecked, their pure rites undisturbed, They bending at high altars, with no dread, Lest other eyes than the elect should see, Their secret smokes arise. To a wild shore, Most wild, but lovely,--o'er the deeps they came; Propitious winds at beck, and God in heaven, Looking from bluest skies. From the broad sea, Sudden, the grey lines of the wooing land, Stretched out its sheltering haven, and afar, Implored them, with its smiles, through gayest green, That to the heart of the lone voyagers, Spoke of their homes in France. "And here," they cried, "Cast anchor! We will build our temples here! This solitude is still security, And freedom shall compensate all the loss Known first in loss of home! Yet naught is lost,-- All rather gained, that human hearts have found Most dear to hope and its immunities, If that we win _that_ freedom of the soul, It never knew before! Here should we find Our native land,--the native land of soul, Where conscience may take speech,--where truth take root, And spread its living branches, till all earth Grows lovely with their heritage. From the wild Our pray'rs shall rise to heaven; nor shall we build Our altars in the gloomy caves of earth, Dreading each moment lest the accusing smokes, That from our reeking censers may arise, Shall show the imperial murderer where we hide."
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Transcriber's Note: Obvious typos have been amended. The text on the cover image was added to the original for this e-book and is granted to the public domain.