ts and burns and seethes with a
steady, unquenchable fierceness. "Comrades," he said, "the time has come
to show our courage and our zeal. This is God's war, and we must not
flinch. It is a war with Lutherans, and we must wage it with blood and
fire."

But his hearers would not respond. They had not a million of ducats at
stake, and were nowise ready for a cast so desperate. A clamor of
remonstrance rose from the circle. Many voices, that of Mendoza among
the rest, urged waiting till their main forces should arrive. The
excitement spread to the men without, and the swarthy, black-bearded
crowd broke into tumults mounting almost to mutiny, while an officer was
heard to say that he would not go on such a hare-brained errand to be
butchered like a beast. But nothing could move the Adelantado. His
appeals or his threats did their work at last; the confusion was
quelled, and preparation was made for the march.

Five hundred arquebusiers and pikemen were drawn up before the camp.

To each was given a sack of bread and a flagon of wine. Two Indians and
a renegade Frenchman, called Francois Jean, were to guide them, and
twenty Biscayan axe-men moved to the front to clear the way. Through
floods of driving rain, a hoarse voice shouted the word of command, and
the sullen march began.

With dire misgiving, Mendoza watched the last files as they vanished in
the tempestuous forest. Two days of suspense ensued, when a messenger
came back with a letter from the Adelantado announcing that he had
nearly reached the French fort, and that on the morrow, September
twentieth, at sunrise, he hoped to assault it. "May the Divine Majesty
deign to protect us, for He knows that we have need of it," writes the
scared chaplain; "the Adelantado's great zeal and courage make us hope
he will succeed, but for the good of His Majesty's service he ought to
be a little less ardent in pursuing his schemes."

Meanwhile the five hundred had pushed their march through forest and
quagmire, through swollen streams and inundated savannas, toiling
knee-deep through mud, rushes, and the rank, tangled grass,--hacking
their way through thickets of the _yucca_ or Spanish bayonet, with its
clumps of dagger-like leaves, or defiling in gloomy procession through
the drenched forest, to the moan, roar, and howl of the storm-racked
pines. As they bent before the tempest, the water trickling from the
rusty headpiece crept clammy and cold betwixt the armor and the skin