Again Menendez returned triumphant to St. Augustine, and behind him marched his band of butchers, steeped in blood to the elbows, but still unsated.  Great as had been his success, he still had cause for anxiety.  There was ill news of his fleet.  Some of the ships were lost, others scattered, or lagging tardily on their way.  Of his whole force, but a fraction had reached Florida, and of this a large part was still at Fort Caroline.  Ribaut could not be far off; and whatever might be the condition of his shipwrecked company, their numbers would make them formidable, unless taken at advantage.  Urged by fear and fortified by fanaticism, Menendez had well begun his work of slaughter; but rest for him there was none; a darker deed was behind.

On the next day, Indians came with the tidings that at the spot where the French had been found was now another party, still larger.  This murder-loving race looked with great respect on Menendez for his wholesale butchery of the night before,—­an exploit rarely equalled in their own annals of massacre.  On his part, he doubted not that Ribaut was at hand.  Marching with a hundred and fifty men, he reached the inlet at midnight, and again, like a savage, ambushed himself on the bank.  Day broke, and he could plainly see the French on the farther side.  They had made a raft, which lay in the water, ready for crossing.  Menendez and his men showed themselves, when, forthwith, the French displayed their banners, sounded drums and trumpets, and set their sick and starving ranks in array of battle.  But the Adelantado, regardless of this warlike show, ordered his men to seat themselves at breakfast, while he with three officers walked unconcernedly along the shore.  His coolness had its effect.  The French blew a trumpet of parley, and showed a white flag.  The Spaniards replied.  A Frenchman came out upon the raft, and, shouting across the water, asked that a Spanish envoy should be sent over.

“You have a raft,” was the reply; “come yourselves.”

An Indian canoe lay under the bank on the Spanish side.  A French sailor swam to it, paddled back unmolested, and presently returned, bringing with him La Caille, Ribaut’s sergeant-major.  He told Menendez that the French were three hundred and fifty in all, on their way to Fort Caroline; and, like the officers of the former party, begged for boats to aid them in crossing the river.

“My brother,” said Menendez, “go and tell your general, that, if he wishes to speak with me, he may come with four or six companions, and that I pledge my word he shall go back safe.”

La Caille returned; and Ribaut, with eight gentlemen, soon came over in the canoe.  Menendez met them courteously, caused wine and preserved fruits to be placed before them,—­he had come with well-stocked larder on his errand of blood,—­and next led Ribaut to the reeking Golgotha, where, in heaps upon the sands, lay the corpses of his slaughtered followers.  Ribaut was prepared for the spectacle; La Caille had already seen it; but he would not believe that Fort Caroline was taken till a part of the plunder was shown him.  Then, mastering his despair, he turned to the conqueror.