The Massacre of the French Protestants: Vasseur and Caroline

In the face of remonstrances from all the officers he persisted in this project. Disaster followed the attempt. A violent gale arose. The French ships were wrecked upon the Floridan coast; the men lost their arms, their powder, and their clothes; they escaped with their bare lives. There was no longer the question of conquering the Spaniards, but of saving themselves. The garrison of Caroline consisted of one hundred and fifty soldiers, of whom forty were sick. The rest of the colony was composed of sick and wounded, Protestant ministers, workmen, "royal commissioners," and so forth. Laudonniere was in command. They awaited the attack for several days, yet the Spaniards came not. They were wading miserably through the marshes in the forests, under tropical rains, discouraged, and out of heart. Had Laudonniere's project been carried out, not one single Spaniard would have returned to the fleet to tell the tale. Day after day the soldiers toiled, sometimes breast-high, through these endless marshes, under the rain which never ceased. The provisions were exhausted. Many of the soliders remained behind, or returned to St. Augustine, pretending to have lost their way. The officers asked each other loudly whether they were all to be killed in a bog through the ignorance of an Asturian, who knew no more about war than a horse. Menendez pretended not to hear, and they plodded on, mutinous and discontented, till their leader suddenly pointed out, through the branches of the trees, the earthworks and cannon of Fort Caroline. He invited his officers to make up their minds to an immediate attack or a retreat. Seven of them proposed a retreat: they would live on palmistes and roots on the way. But the majority declared for advance, and the attack was resolved upon.

For some reason unexplained, the French sentinels chose this fatal moment to leave their posts. There was actually no watch on the ramparts. Three companies of Spaniards simultaneously rushed from the forest and attacked the fortress on the south, the west, and the southwest. There was but little resistance from the surprised garrison. There was hardly time to grasp a sword. About twenty escaped by flight, including the captain, Laudonniere; the rest were every one massacred. None were spared except women and children under fifteen; and, in the first rage of the onslaught, even these were murdered with the rest.

There still lay in the port three ships, commanded by Jacques Ribaut, brother of the unfortunate governor. One of these was quickly sent to the bottom by the cannon of the fort; the other two cut their cables and slipped out of reach into the roadstead, where they lay, waiting for a favorable wind, for three days. They picked up the fugitives who had been wandering half starved in the woods, and then set sail from this unlucky land.

Meanwhile, Ribaut's shipwrecked crew were wandering along the shore of Florida, fifty miles from Fort Caroline. They were ignorant of the loss of the fort, and made their way with difficulty through the woods, until, to their despair, they saw the Spanish flag flying over its ramparts.

There was nothing for it but to retreat again. The unfortunate Frenchmen began miserably to retrace their steps through the wet and gloomy forest, eating leaves, herbs, and roots, their last misfortune was that they knew nothing of the new Spanish settlement [of St. Augustine, established by Menendez], and so directed their course as exactly to arrive at it.

Menendez saw from a distance the arrival of the first band of two hundred. They were like a crowd of shipwrecked sailors, destitute of the power of resistance, feeble from long fasting, fatigued with their long march. He had with him a troop of forty men. A river ran between the French and the Spaniards. A Basque swam across the stream, and asked for a safe-conduct for Ribaut, who had not yet arrived, and four gentlement. Menendez would accord, he said, an audience to an officer. One Vasseur, accompanied by two or three soldiers, crossed over the river and was brought to the Spanish commander. Menendez began by apprising him of the capture of Caroline and the massacre of the garrison. He confirmed the truth of his story by causing two prisoners, spared as Catholics, to relate it themselves. He coldly told Vasseur that all those who were Protestants should suffer the same fate, or at least that he would not promise otherwise.

There was but one alternative. The French could trust to the possible clemency of Menendez, or they could take to the woods. In the latter case they would certainly starve; in the former, they might escape with their lives. It seemed incredible that a man should, in cold blood, resolve to massacre two hundred unarmed men. They laid down their arms. They were brought across the river in small companies, and their hands tied behind their backs.

On landing, they were asked if they were Catholics. Eight out of the two hundred professed allegiance to that religion; the rest were all Protestants. Menendez traced out a line on the ground with his cane. The prisoners were marched up one by one to the line; on reaching it, they were stabbed.

The next day Ribaut arrived with the rest of the army.