dens captive to their watery fastness,
espoused them all, and, as we are assured, "loved them above all
measure."

Outina, taught by Arlac the efficacy of the French fire-arms, begged for
ten arquebusiers to aid him on a new raid among the villages of Potanou,
again alluring his greedy allies by the assurance, that, thus
reinforced, he would conquer for them a free access to the phantom
gold-mines of Appalachec. Ottigny set forth on this fool's-errand with
thrice the force demanded. Three hundred Thimagoa and thirty Frenchmen
took up their march through the pine-barrens. Outina's conjurer was of
the number, and had well-nigh ruined the enterprise. Kneeling on
Ottigny's shield, that he might not touch the earth, with hideous
grimaces, howlings, and contortions, he wrought himself into a prophetic
frenzy, and proclaimed to the astounded warriors that to advance farther
would be destruction. Outina was for instant retreat, but Ottigny's
sarcasms shamed him into a show of courage. Again they moved forward,
and soon encountered Potanou with all his host. Le Moyne drew a picture
of the fight. In the foreground Ottigny is engaged in single combat with
a gigantic savage, who, with club upheaved, aims a deadly stroke at the
plumed helmet of his foe; but the latter, with target raised to guard
his head, darts under the arms of the naked Goliath, and transfixes him
with his sword. The arquebuse did its work: panic, slaughter, and a
plentiful harvest of scalps. But no persuasion could induce Outina to
follow up his victory. He went home to dance around his trophies, and
the French returned disgusted to Fort Caroline.

And now, in ample measure, the French began to reap the harvest of their
folly. Conquest, gold, military occupation,--such had been their aims.
Not a rood of ground had been stirred with the spade. Their stores were
consumed; the expected supplies had not come. The Indians, too, were
hostile. Satouriona hated them as allies of his enemies; and his
tribesmen, robbed and maltreated by the lawless soldiers, exulted in
their miseries. Yet in these, their dark and subtle neighbors, was their
only hope.

May-day came, the third anniversary of the day when Ribaut and his
companions, full of delighted anticipations, had explored the flowery
borders of the St. John's. Dire was the contrast; for, within the
homesick precinct of Fort Caroline, a squalid band, dejected and worn,
dragged their shrunken limbs about the sun-scorc