XII. THE CONSPIRACY OF LE GENRÉ.—

CHAP. I.

Le Genré, one of the lieutenants of Laudonniere, was of fierce and intractable temper. His passions had been thwarted by his superior, whose preferences were clearly with another of his lieutenants, named D’Erlach.[21] This preference was quite sufficient to provoke the envy and enmity of Le Genré. His dislike was fully retorted, and with equal spirit by his brother officer. But the feelings of D’Erlach, who was the more noble and manly of the two, were restrained by his prudence and sense of duty. It had been the task of Laudonniere more than once to interfere between these persons, and prevent those outrages which he had every reason to apprehend from their mutual excitability; and it was partly with the view to keep the parties separate, that he had so frequently despatched D’Erlach upon his exploring expeditions. One of these appointments, however, which Le Genré had desired for himself, had given him no little mortification when he found that, as usual, D’Erlach had received the preference from his superior. It was no proper disparagement of the claims of others that D’Erlach had been thus preferred. That he was a favorite, was, perhaps, quite as much due to his own merits as to the blind partiality of his superior. In choosing him for the command of his most important expeditions, Laudonniere was, in fact, doing simple justice to the superior endowments of caution, prudence, moderation, and firmness, which the young officer confessedly possessed in very eminent degree. But Le Genré was not the person to recognize these arguments, or to acknowledge the superior fitness of his colleague. His discontents, fanned by the arts of others, and daily receiving provocation from new causes, finally wrought his blood into such a state of feverish irritation, as left but little wanting to goad him to actual insubordination and mutiny.

Laudonniere was not ignorant of the factious spirit of his discontented lieutenant. He had been warned by D’Erlach that he was a person to be watched, and his own observations had led him equally to this conviction. His eye, accordingly, was fixed keenly and suspiciously upon the offender, but cautiously, however, so as to avoid giving unnecessary pain or provocation. But Laudonniere’s vigilance was partial only; and his suspicions were by no means so intense as those of D’Erlach. Besides, his attention was divided among his discontents. He had become painfully conscious that Le Genré was not alone in his factious feelings. He felt that the spirit of this officer was widely spreading in the garrison. The moods of others, sullen, peevish, and doubtful, had already startled his fears; and he too well knew the character of his personnel, and from what sources they had been drawn, not to be apprehensive of their tempers. Signs of insubordination had been shown already, on various occasions; and had not Laudonniere been of that character which more easily frets with its doubts than provides against them, he might have legitimately employed a salutary punishment in anticipating worse offences. The looks of many had become habitually sullen, their words few and abrupt when addressed to their commander, while their tasks were performed coldly and with evident reluctance. Without exhibiting any positive or very decided conduct, by which to leave themselves open to rebuke, their deportment was such as to betray the impatience of bitter and resentful moods, which only forbore open utterance by reason of their fears. Laudonniere, without having absolute cause to punish, was equally wanting in the nice tact which can, adroitly, and without a fall from dignity, conciliate the inferior. Angry at the appearances which he could neither restrain nor chastise, he was not sufficiently the commander to descend happily to soothe. In this distracted condition of mind, he prepared to despatch his third and last vessel to France, to implore the long-expected supplies and assistance.

It was a fine evening, at the close of September, such an evening as we frequently experience during that month in the South, when a cool breeze, arising from the ocean, ascends to the shores and the forests, and compensates, by its exquisite and soothing freshness, for the burning heat and suffocating atmosphere of the day. Our Frenchmen at La Caroline were prepared to enjoy the embraces of this soothing minister. Some walked upon the parapets of the fortress, others lay at length along the bluff of the river, while others again, in the shade of trees farther inland, grouped together in pleasant communion, enjoyed the song or the story, with as much gaiety as if all their cares were about to be buried with the sun that now hung, shorn of his fiery locks, just above the horizon. Laudonniere passed among these groups with the look of one who did not sympathize with their enjoyments. He was feeble, dull, and only just recovering from a sickness which had nigh been fatal. His eye rested upon the river where lay the vessel, the last remaining to his command, which, in two days more, was to be despatched for France. He had just left her, and his course now lay for the deep woods, a mile or more inland. He was followed, or rather accompanied, by a youth, apparently about nineteen or twenty years of age—a younger brother of D’Erlach, his favorite lieutenant. This young man shared in the odium of his brother, as he also was supposed to enjoy too largely the favors of Laudonniere. The truth was, that he was much more the favorite than his brother. He was a youth of great intelligence and sagacity, observing mind, quick wit, and shrewd, capacious remark. The slower thought of his commander was quickened by his intelligence, and relied, much more than the latter would have been willing to allow, upon the insinuated, rather than expressed, suggestions of the youth. Alphonse D’Erlach, but for his breadth of shoulders and activity of muscle, would have seemed delicately made. He was certainly effeminately habited. He had a boyish love of ornament which was perhaps natural at his age, but it had been observed that his brother Achille, though thirty-five, displayed something of a like passion. Our youth wore his dagger and his pistols, the former hung about his neck by a scarf, and the latter were stuck in the belt about his waist. The dagger was richly hilted, and the pistols, though of excellent structure, were rather more remarkable for the beauty of their ornaments than for their size and seeming usefulness as weapons for conflict.

“And you think, Alphonse,” said Laudonniere, when they had entered the wood, “that Le Genré is really anxious to return to France in the Sylph.”

“I say nothing about his return to France, but that he will apply to you for the command of the Sylph, I am very certain.”

“Well! And you?——”

“Would let him have her.”

“Indeed! I am sorry, Alphonse, to hear you say so. Le Genré is not fit for such a trust. He has no judgment, no discretion. It would be a hundred to one that he never reached France.”

“That is just my opinion,” said the youth, coolly.

“Well! And with this opinion, you would have me risk the vessel in his hands?”

“Yes, I would! The simple question is, not so much the safety of the vessel as our own. He is a dangerous person. His presence here is dangerous to us. If he stays, unless our force is increased, in another month he will have the fortress in his hands; he will be master here. You have no power even now to prevent him. You know not whom to trust. The very parties that you arm and send out for provisions, might, if they pleased, turn upon and rend us. If he were not the most suspicious person in the world—doubtful of the very men that serve him—he would soon bring the affair to an issue. Fortunately, he doubts rather more than we confide. He knows not his own strength, and your seeming composure leads him to overrate ours. But he is getting wiser. The conspiracy grows every day. I am clear that you should let him go, take his vessel, pick his crew, and disappear. He will not go to France, that I am certain. He will shape his course for the West Indies as soon as he is out of our sight, and be a famous picaroon before the year is over.”

“Alphonse, you are an enemy of Le Genré.”

“That is certain,” replied the youth; “but if I am his enemy, that is no good reason why I should be the enemy of truth.”

“True, but you suspect much of this. You know nothing.”

“I know all that I have told you,” replied the young man, warmly.

“Indeed! How?”

“That I cannot tell. Enough that I am free to swear upon the Holy Evangel, that all I say is true. Le Genré is at the head of a faction which is conspiring against you.”

“Can you give me proof of this?”

“Yes, whenever you dare issue the order for his arrest and that of others. But this you cannot do. You must not. They are too strong for you. If Achille were here now!”

“Ay! Would he were!”

They now paused, as if the end of their walk had been reached. Laudonniere wheeled about, with the purpose of returning. They had not begun well to retrace their steps before the figure of a person was seen approaching them.

“Speak of the devil,” said Alphonse, “and he thinks himself called; here comes Le Genré.”

“Indeed!” said Laudonniere.

“See now if I am not right—he comes to solicit the command of the Sylph.”

They were joined by the person of whom they had been speaking. His approach was respectful—his manner civil—his tones subdued. There was certainly a change for the better in his deportment. A slight smile might have been seen to turn the corner of the lips of young D’Erlach, as he heard the address of the new comer. Le Genré began by requesting a private interview with his commander. Upon the words, D’Erlach went aside and was soon out of hearing. His prediction was true. Le Genré respectfully, but earnestly, solicited the command of the vessel about to sail for France. He was civilly but positively denied. Laudonniere had not been impressed by the suggestion of his youthful counsellor; or, if he were, he was not prepared to yield a vessel of the king, with all its men and munitions, to the control of one who might abuse them to the worst purposes. The face of Le Genré changed upon this refusal.

“You deny me all trust, Monsieur,” he said. “You refused me the command when my claim was at least equal to that of Ottigny. You denied me that which you gave to D’Erlach, and now—Monsieur, do you hold me incompetent to this command?”

“Nay,” said Laudonniere, “but I better prefer your services here—I cannot so well dispense with them.”

A bitter smile crossed the lips of the applicant.

“I cannot complain of a refusal founded upon so gracious a compliment. But, enough, Monsieur, you refuse me! May I ask, who will be honored with this command?”

“Lenoir!”

“I thought so—another favorite! Well!—Monsieur, I wish you a good evening.”

“You have refused him, I see,” said Alphonse, returning as the other disappeared.

“Yes, I could do no less. The very suggestion that he might convert the vessel to piratical purposes, was enough to make me resolve against him.”

And, still discussing that and other kindred subjects, Laudonniere and his young companion followed in the steps of La Genré towards the fortress.