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

by Howard Roger Garis

Accordingly most of the force was summoned quietly to the south face, and all the available muskets were collected, so that there was three for each man. The guns were all loaded, one being held ready to fire when the word was given, the other two being on the ground back of each defender. I had the women loaders come as near to the men as was safe, so that they could be on hand to charge the first gun as soon as it was fired, and the second one taken up. They could do the same with the second gun, and, as they were quick fingered, we would be able to fire five volleys so rapidly that I did not believe the line of Indians would be able to travel more than half way to the palisade from the place where they emerged from behind the stumps. Then having sent two more men to the little watch tower to pick off the Indians who might get to the top of the stockade I reckoned that we were all prepared.

It was a pity, I thought, that the block was not built with bastions, so that we could deliver a cross fire. But I nearly secured this effect by having the men cut the loops slanting so that the gun barrels could be pointed in to the left and right from either side.

Closer and closer came the stumps. We could see now that the twigs of green extended back beyond the logs, trailing on the ground. Beneath this green bower was the Indian. On they came slowly, like emerald serpents, with huge black heads. Of a sudden I noted that the forward movement had ceased. There were undulations of the trailing twigs.

“Make ready!” I shouted. “Here they come!”

And on they came with a rush. Whooping, yelling and screaming like so many imps of darkness, nigh a hundred of them, and each one with a gun or tomahawk. The dead stumps had come to life.

“Fire!” shouted the Captain and I in the same breath.

The volley that answered laid many of the savages low. Backward each man threw his discharged piece, to have it snatched up by the waiting women, who braved death in their own defense. Up were caught the second guns.

“Fire!” I called again.

Once more the muskets spat out death. A score of red men toppled over on their faces, their dying yells sounding high above the din. The useless guns were tossed aside, and the third musket thrust through the loops.

The bullets of the attackers rattled on the logs of the palisade as hail in winter. Several of our men were killed because the loops were so large.