me on at once. I was
out there, you know, when you were, two years ago."

"And you would like to go back?" asked the other, gruffly.

"If there were a chance of killing Menendez, yes," answered Moreau with
a fierce flash of white teeth.

The trumpeter's guess was a shrewd one. When the tiny fleet reached the
West Indies, the commander took his men into his confidence and revealed
the true object of his voyage--to avenge the massacre at Fort Caroline.
The result proved that he had not misjudged them. Fired by his spirit
they became so eager that they wanted to push on at once instead of
waiting for moonlight to pass the dangerous Bahama Channel. They came
through it without mishap, and at daybreak were anchored at the mouth of
a river about fifteen leagues north of Fort Caroline. In the growing
light an Indian army in war paint and feathers, bristling with weapons,
could be seen waiting on the shore.

"They may think we are Spaniards," said Dominic de Gourgues. "Moreau,
if you think they will understand you, it might be well for you to speak
to them."

No sooner had the trumpeter come near enough in a small boat for the
Indians to recognize him, than yells of joy were heard, for the war
party was headed by Satouriona himself, who well remembered him. When
Moreau explained that the French had returned with presents for their
good friends there was great rejoicing. A council was appointed for the
next day.

In the morning Satouriona's runners had scoured the country, and the
woods were full of Indians. The white men landed in military order, and
in token of friendliness laid aside their arquebuses, and the Indians
came in without their bows and arrows. Satouriona met Gourgues with
every sign of friendliness, and seated him at his side upon a wooden
stool covered with the gray "Spanish moss" that curtained all the trees.
In the clearing the chiefs and warriors stood or sat around them, ring
within ring of plumed crests fierce faces and watchful eyes. Satouriona
described the cruelty of the Spaniards, their abuse of the Indians and
the miseries of their rule, saying finally,

"A French boy fled to us after the fort was taken, and we adopted him.
The Spaniards wished to get him to kill him, but we would not give him
up, for we love the French." He waved his hand, and from the woods at
one side came, in full Indian costume, bronzed and athletic, Pierre
Debre.

Greatly as he was surprised and delighted, Gourgues dare