The forest folk in terror broke and fled
Like fish before the fierce pursuing pike.
The stubborn chiefs as hostages were led--
And in the wilderness, a grisly dyke
Of slaves and captives, lay the heathen dead,
And the black bayou claims all dead alike.
Then southward through the haunted bearded trees
The Spaniards fought their way--Mauila's fires
Devoured their vestments and their chalices,
Their sacramental wine and bread--the choirs
No longer sang their requiems, and the seas
Lay between them and all their sacred spires.
At last in a lone cabin, where the cane
Hid the black mire before the lowly door,
De Soto died--although they sought to feign
By some pretended magic mirror's lore
That still he lived, a gentleman of Spain,--
And the dread flood rolled onward to the shore!
XIV
THE FACE OF THE TERROR
"Paris is no place in these times for a Huguenot lad from Navarre," said
Dominic de Gourgues, of Mont-de-Marsan in Gascony. "His father, Francois
Debre, did me good service in the Spanish Indies. One of these days,
Philip and his bloodhounds will be pulled down by these young terriers
they have orphaned."
"If the Jesuits have their way all Huguenots will be exterminated, men,
women and children," said Laudonniere, with a gleam of melancholy
sarcasm in his dark pensive eyes.
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