nd helpless,
under the eye of the inexorable Adelantado. But now Mendoza interposed.
"I was a priest," he says, "and had the bowels of a man." He asked,
that, if there were Christians, that is to say Catholics, among the
prisoners, they should be set apart. Twelve Breton sailors professed
themselves to be such; and these, together with four carpenters and
calkers, "of whom," writes Menendez, "I was in great need," were put on
board the boat and sent to St. Augustine. The rest were ordered to march
thither by land.

The Adelantado walked in advance till he came to a lonely spot, not far
distant, deep among the bush-covered hills. Here he stopped, and with
his cane drew a line in the sand. The sun was set when the captive
Huguenots, with their escort, reached the fatal goal thus marked out.
And now let the curtain drop; for here, in the name of Heaven, the
hounds of hell were turned loose, and the savage soldiery, like wolves
in a sheepfold, rioted in slaughter. Of all that wretched company, not
one was left alive.

"I had their hands tied behind their backs," writes the chief criminal,
"and themselves passed under the knife. It appeared to me, that, by thus
chastising them, God our Lord and your Majesty were served; whereby in
future they will leave us more free from their evil sect, to plant the
gospel in these parts."

Again Menendez returned triumphant to St. Augustine, and behind him
marched his band of butchers, steeped in blood to the elbows, but still
unsated. Great as had been his success, he still had cause for anxiety.
There was ill news of his fleet. Some of the ships were lost, others
scattered, or lagging tardily on their way. Of his whole force, but a
fraction had reached Florida, and of this a large part was still at Fort
Caroline. Ribaut could not be far off; and whatever might be the
condition of his shipwrecked company, their numbers would make them
formidable, unless taken at advantage. Urged by fear and fortified by
fanaticism, Menendez had well begun his work of slaughter; but rest for
him there was none; a darker deed was behind.

On the next day, Indians came with the tidings that at the spot where
the French had been found was now another party, still larger. This
murder-loving race looked with great respect on Menendez for his
wholesale butchery of the night before,--an exploit rarely equalled in
their own annals of massacre. On his part, he doubted not that Ribaut
was at hand. Marching with