The Flamingo Feather | Page 3

of which they were in
search. On the beach in front of it a crowd of savage figures, nearly
naked, were dancing wildly, and brandishing bows and spears.
Meanwhile, the village that the boats were now approaching had been
thrown into a state of the greatest excitement by the appearance of the
ships, which had been discovered while yet so distant that their sails
resembled the wings of the white sea-gull. Upon the first alarm all the
warriors had been collected on the beach, and the women had left their
work in the fields of maize and hurried with the children to the security
of the forest depths. When, however, the fleet came to anchor and the
Indians could distinguish the meaning of their banners, their alarm was
changed to joy; for they had learned to love the French--who, upon
their previous visit, had treated them with kindness--as much as they
hated the cruel Spaniards, whose ships had also visited that coast. Then
the women and children were recalled from the forest, the warriors
washed the war-paint from their faces, and preparations for feasting
were begun.
As the small boats approached, the men ran down to the beach to meet
them, dancing and waving their weapons in their joy, and when they
recognized Laudonniere standing in the stern of the leading boat, they
raised a great cry of welcome that caused the forest to ring with its
echoes. As the pious leader of the expedition stepped on shore, he took
Réné by the hand, and both kneeling on the sands, gave thanks to Him
who guided them thus far in safety in their perilous wanderings.
Though the simple-minded Indians could not understand what
Laudonniere said or was doing, they were so anxious to show their
respect and love for him that all knelt when he did and maintained a
deep silence while he prayed.
When Laudonniere arose to his feet the Indians crowded about him
with shouts and gestures of welcome; but they readily made way for
him when, still holding Réné's hand, he began to walk towards the

lodge of their chief. He was as anxious as his followers to welcome the
white men, but his dignity had not permitted him to rush with them
down to the beach.
As they walked, Réné stared in astonishment at the waving palms with
richly plumaged birds flitting among their leaves, the palmetto-thatched
huts of the Indians, the shining and inflated fish-bladders that the men
wore suspended from their ears, the moss-woven kirtles of the women,
and above all, at the mighty antlered stag that, stuffed and mounted on
a tall pole, with head proudly turned towards the rising sun, rose from
the middle of the village.
He in turn was an object of astonishment and curious interest to the
natives; for, although they had become familiar with the appearance of
bearded white men, they had never before seen a white boy, Réné being
the first to set foot in this land. The Indians had thought that all white
men were born with beards, and that their closely cropped hair never
grew any longer; so that this smooth-faced boy, whose golden hair
hung in ringlets over his shoulders, was a much greater curiosity to
them than they were to him. The old chief took an immediate fancy to
him, and as he had given to Laudonniere the Indian name of Ta-lah (a
palm) upon the occasion of his previous visit to Seloy, he now called
Réné Ta-lah-lo-ko (the palmetto, or little palm), a name ever afterwards
used by all the Indians in their intercourse with him.
The chief entreated Laudonniere to tarry many days in Seloy; but the
latter answered that the orders of his own great chief were for him to
proceed without delay to the river known as the River of May, and
there erect a fort and found his colony. So, after an exchange of
presents, they parted, and taking to their boats, the white men regained
their ship. As they left, Réné gave many a backward glance at the
pleasant little village of Seloy, and would have loved to linger there
among its simple and kindly people.
As they crossed the bar, in going again to the ships, their boats were
surrounded by a number of what they called dolphins, but what are
today called porpoises, sporting in the great billows; and on their
account Laudonniere named the river they had just left the River of

Dolphins.
Spreading their white wings, the ships sailed northward forty miles
during the night, and daylight found them standing off and on at the
mouth of the great River of May. By the aid of a chart, made by
Admiral Ribault two years before, they crossed its dangerous bar, and
sailed up its broad