ians;
and here, too, were officers, old friends of Laudonniere. Why, then, had
they approached in the attitude of enemies? The mystery was soon
explained; for they expressed to the commandant their pleasure at
finding that the charges made against him had proved false. He begged to
know more, on which Ribaut, taking him aside, told him that the
returning ships had brought home letters filled with accusations of
arrogance, tyranny, cruelty, and a purpose of establishing an
independent command: accusations which he now saw to be unfounded, but
which had been the occasion of his unusual and startling precaution. He
gave him, too, a letter from the Admiral Coligny. In brief, but
courteous terms, it required him to resign his command, and invited his
return to France to clear his name from the imputations cast upon it.
Ribaut warmly urged him to remain; but Laudonniere declined his friendly
proposals.

Worn in body and mind, mortified and wounded, he soon fell ill again. A
peasant-woman attended him, brought over, he says, to nurse the sick and
take charge of the poultry, and of whom Le Moyne also speaks as a
servant, but who had been made the occasion of additional charges
against him, most offensive to the austere Admiral.

Stores were landed, tents were pitched, women and children were sent on
shore, feathered Indians mingled in the throng, and the sunny borders of
the River of May swarmed with busy life. "But, lo, how oftentimes
misfortune doth search and pursue us, even then when we thinke to be at
rest!" exclaims the unhappy Laudonniere. Behind the light and cheer of
renovated hope, a cloud of blackest omen was gathering in the east.

At half-past eleven on the night of Tuesday, the fourth of September,
the crew of Ribaut's flag-ship, anchored on the still sea outside the
bar, saw a huge hulk, grim with the throats of cannon, drifting towards
them through the gloom; and from its stern rolled on the sluggish air
the portentous banner of Spain.

Here opens a wilder act of this eventful drama. At another day we shall
lift the curtain on its fierce and bloody scenes.

* * * * *

SEAWARD.

TO ----.

How long it seems since that mild April night,
When, leaning from the window, you and I
Heard, clearly ringing from the shadowy bight,
The loon's unearthly cry!

Southwest the wind blew; million little waves
Ran rippling round the point