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

by Howard Roger Garis

I would have gone up, before them all, to kiss her heartily, but she held me off with her little hands, while a chorus of protests from all the women told me I must respect the manner in which she was adorned. Indeed, she made a handsome appearance. The dress was of soft, gray-white, shimmering silk, with pieces of lace as long as my gun barrel all about it, hung on after the manner of the clinging vine that twines about a tree. The sleeves had it in, I think, also, the neck, while there was a plenty trailing down the front and lower edge. She wore a crown of glossy green leaves, a single white flower in her dark hair.

The plan was for the party to go to the block house in carts, half a score of which, festooned with evergreens, were in waiting. Instead of letting Lucille and me go on together, which seemed to me to be the most sensible way, she rode with James Blithly, a great booby of a chap, while I had to sit in the cart with Mistress Alice Turner, a sweet enough maid. She was talkative, and I was not so, on the way, I had to keep answering “yes” and “no” to her questions.

It looked as though all the Colony and the folk from ten miles around had come to the wedding. There were nearly three hundred people in view when we neared the place where Dominie Worthington was awaiting us. There were a number of Indians and their squaws, friendly, all of them, who had gathered to see how the pale faces took their brides. They laughed, smiled and greeted me with “How, Cap’n,” while some held out their pipes, which, as was their custom, I puffed a few whiffs from, to show that we were at peace, though indeed, the ceremony lacked much of the solemnity usually associated with it.

The block house at last. The drum beat as Carteret, in my honor, drew the men up in double file. Lucille and I, with those who were to attend us, dismounted from the carts, marching between the lines of soldier-colonists into the main room. Then I was allowed to move up beside Lucille, while both of us looked about in wonder.

Never had such a bower for the plighting of love been constructed before. The rough hewn walls had been covered with green boughs, red berries gleaming amidst the foliage. On the floor the boards were hidden from view by furs in such quantity that they overlapped. The stag antlers, fastened here and there, served as hooks, whereon were suspended bows, arrows, swords, guns, powder-horns, Indian shields, curious stone hatchets, and many of the red-men’s household implements. Gay colored baskets added to the color of the scene.

A little wooden altar had been made, but it was almost hidden from view by trailing, green vines. The men-at-arms filed in, taking their places on either side of the chamber. Then came the town-folk, and the friendly Indians, squaws, and even settlers from Newark, so that the place was well nigh filled.

Dominie Worthington took his place. Lucille and I stood together, with Alice Turner and James Blithly on either side. Then, ere he began to say the words that would unite us, Master Worthington lifted up his voice in prayer.

Then came the promises, the pledges--“Love, Honor and obey”--“till death do you part”--solemn yet sweet. “Whom God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

We were man and wife.

Then indeed came happy confusion and laughter. We were overwhelmed, Lucille and I. But Carteret charged down on us, in the nick of time, to rescue us from the friendly enemy that swarmed about us. How quick was the journey back to the Captain’s house, and what a feast was there spread out for all who wished to come.