With Force and Arms: A Tale of Love and Salem Witchcraft

by Howard Roger Garis

He thrust at my throat, and, when I would have parried it, he shifted his point, on a sudden, toward my heart. It was an old trick, and I knew how to meet it. When I had turned his blade away by a simple shift of my weapon, I laughed back at him, and responded with so quick a lunge that I pricked him in the shoulder, thus getting the honor of first blood. And I laughed again, as he frowned.

But mortal arms and wrists could not stand the strain much longer, and we were both panting, while the sweat stood in beads on our brows. Through it all our eyes never for an instant left each other’s gaze.

Again and again I thrust, until I had his wrist weary turning them aside. Ever I sought to reach one spot, not that I hoped to wound him there, but I had a trick I wished to work. His lips opened, that he might breathe more freely, and I saw his chin quiver, while a drop of sweat, that had come out on his forehead, rolled down on his cheek. I knew the tide was on the point of turning now, and the struggle that had been an even one, was a jot in my favor. I had forced him to the defensive.

He saw the gleam of triumph in my eye, and, as if to assure me and himself that he was as fresh as ever, he smiled and tossed back his head.

We had circled about each other so often, neither giving a step, that there was a little ridge of sand made by our feet, enclosing a spot that bore no mark. Slowly, so slowly that to an onlooker it could not have been said when it happened, Sir George began to step back. It was but a slight shifting of the feet, a settling of the body on the right leg that did it, until, when another minute or two had passed he was without the ring, and I stood in the centre.

The one sweat drop had been followed by others, and he was breathing with an effort. His face became paler, nor was his sword as quick to respond to the parry. I pressed him hard, with the result that I touched him in the arm twice. I felt, rather than saw, that I had him now at an advantage.

Ha! Another inch and I would have ended it then. But I had not given him credit for the knowledge of that trick. He met my lunge, and turned it off to such account that he nipped me in the neck; only a slight wound, however. The sight of my blood seemed to enrage him, for he came at me fiercely, and I was forced for a moment to adopt a defense.

Then, slowly but surely, I made him give ground again. I could see the fear and dread come into his eyes, as I had seen it in other eyes before.

“How long is it to last?” he muttered, foolishly using his breath in words. Yet, in his agony, and it was agony when he saw death in front of him, he smiled. And it seemed like the same smile I had seen, when he stood urging on the men, as I was beneath the great press.

I did not answer, but pushed my sword point more and more near to his heart. Twice I tried to reach over his guard, but each time he had been too quick for me, and my thrusts went high in the air. As I recovered my balance a curious thing happened.