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Updated: June 15, 2025
Ribaut answered, "I and all here are of the Reformed Faith." And he recited the Psalm, "Domine, memento mei." "We are of earth," he continued, "and to earth we must return; twenty years more or less can matter little;" and, turning to the Adelantado, he bade him do his will. The stony-hearted bigot gave the signal; and those who will may paint to themselves the horrors of the scene.
Ribaut vainly called on the Adelantado to remember his oath. By his order, a soldier plunged a dagger into the French commander's heart; and Ottigny, who stood near, met a similar fate. Ribaut's beard was cut off, and portions of it sent in a letter to Philip the Second. His head was hewn into four parts, one of which was displayed on the point of a lance at each corner of Fort St. Augustine.
"Perhaps fifteen minutes; maybe until after daylight," Ribaut replied, with a shrug. "What is the object?" "Who can say? But a barrage fire is being laid down between our first and second lines. That means that no reinforcements can reach us from the support trenches. And our own trench is being shelled furiously, to drive all into shelters.
He was eager to anticipate Ribaut, of whose designs and whose force he seems to have been informed to the minutest particular, but whom he hoped to thwart and ruin by gaining Fort Caroline before him. With eleven ships, therefore, he sailed from Cadiz, on the twenty-ninth of June, 1565, leaving the smaller vessels of his fleet to follow with what speed they might.
Had it been left to the Americans to find their own way they would have been hopelessly confused in this network and maze of intersecting ditches. Berger, however, proceeded with the certainty of one long familiar with the locality. "Here is one of our defence trenches," said Captain Ribaut, halting at last and calling softly to Berger to stop.
Then as trumpets blew and drums beat the Spaniards fell upon their helpless prisoners and slew them to a man. When Ribaut saw that his hour was come he did not flinch. "We are but dust," he said, "and to dust we must return: twenty years more or less can matter little." So with the words of a psalm upon his lips he met the swordthrust.
A Frenchman swam out to meet him. Menendez demanded what men they were. "Followers of Ribaut, Viceroy of the King of France," answered the swimmer. "Are you Catholics or Lutherans?" "All Lutherans." A brief dialogue ensued, during which the Adelantado declared his name and character, and the Frenchman gave an account of the designs of Ribaut, and of the disaster that had thwarted them.
"Declare your minds freely unto me," he said, "and remember that if you decide to remain you will for ever be famous, and be known as the first white men who inhabited this land." Ribaut had scarcely finished speaking when nearly all the men replied with a shout, "We ask nothing better than to remain in this beautiful country."
Francois Ribaut, a true Frenchan at heart, looks forward to some quiet cloister, where he can see once more the twin towers of Notre Dame. The golden dome of the Invalides calls him back. He sadly realizes that his life has been uselessly wasted. The Indians are either cut off, chased away, or victims of fatal diseases. The Mexicans have fallen to low estate. Their numbers are trifling.
"Come, my American comrades," urged Captain Ribaut, "there is much more to be seen at other points along this line." Until within an hour of daylight the French captain and lieutenant and their American pupils continued along the first line trench. Save for occasional shell fire it proved to be a rather quiet night.
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