The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 70, August, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 70, August, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
officers grew anxious, and urged the chiefs to greater alacrity in
collecting the promised ransom. The answer boded no good, "Our women are
afraid, when they see the matches of your guns burning. Put them out,
and they will bring the corn faster."
Outina was nowhere to be seen. At length they learned that he was in one
of the small huts adjacent. Several of the officers went to him,
complaining of the slow payment of his ransom. The kindness of his
captors at Fort Caroline seemed to have won his heart. He replied, that
such was the rage of his subjects that he could no longer control
them,--that the French were in danger,--and that he had seen arrows
stuck in the ground by the side of the path, in token that war was
declared. Their peril was thickening hourly, and Ottigny resolved to
regain the boats while there was yet time.
On the twenty-seventh of July, at nine in the morning, he set his men in
order. Each shouldering a sack of corn, they marched through the rows of
squalid huts that surrounded the great lodge, and out betwixt the
interfolding extremities of the palisade that encircled the town. Before
them stretched a wide avenue, three or four hundred paces long, flanked
by a natural growth of trees,--one of those curious monuments of native
industry to which allusion has been already made. Here Ottigny halted
and formed his line of march. Arlac with eight matchlockmen was sent in
advance, and flanking parties thrown into the woods on either side.
Ottigny told his soldiers, that, if the Indians meant to attack them,
they were probably in ambush at the other end of the avenue. He was
right. As Arlac's party reached the spot, the whole pack gave tongue at
once. The war-whoop quavered through the startled air, and a tempest of
stone-headed arrows clattered against the breastplates of the French, or
tore, scorching like fire, through their unprotected limbs. They stood
firm, and sent back their shot so steadily that several of the
assailants were laid dead, and the rest, two or three hundred in number,
gave way as Ottigny came up with his men.
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