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

by Howard Roger Garis

The fort was now but a few hundred yards away, and I saw that it was a place of considerable strength. It was two stories in height, built of solid logs. The upper story overhung the lower, so that when the enemy came beneath the projection he could be attacked from above.

Outside of the fort was a stout palisade, made of young hickory trees bound closely together, after the Indian fashion. The fort could be seen above the palisade, as the stronghold stood on a little knoll. I could see that the mouths of six cannon were thrust toward us, and they seemed like to speak no gentle message.

We were clearly about to meet more than a match for our little force, yet I believe that never a one halted or wished to turn back. If we were to die, we would die fighting.

On we rushed. Within the fort all was activity now. The roll of the drum continued, and the flashes and reports on the side farthest from us told me that the fire from our sloops had drawn some answer from the grim fort.

I had hoped that the force at St. Johns was a small one, and that, by reason of the attack in front, I might get near enough the rear to carry the works. But a few minutes sufficed to show how little we had counted on the French and Indian fighting abilities. For no sooner had the cannon on our sloops and in the fort begun a noisy duel than a double score of men poured out from the lower part of the blockhouse and ran down the little hill to the stockade.

We were now within good musket range, and I called to the men to halt. Then I gave the order to fire. Our band, which had, though advancing at good speed, long been in readiness for this, let fly, aiming over the top of the palisade. It was a little too great a distance to do much damage, yet a few of the bullets that had a trifle more of powder behind them than others had, found a mark. I saw two of the French fall and roll down the hill, while a third was wounded and had to turn back. An answering volley from the fort did some scath among us and three men fell, one shot through the leg, and the others through the body so badly that there was small hope for them.

Among the men that now swarmed out from the fort like bees from a hive, I discerned the half-naked and painted bodies of savage Indians. They whooped horribly, and sprang up and down in the air, whirling about. They brandished their tomahawks around their heads, and some foolish ones threw them over the stockade, thinking, I suppose, that the weapons might strike us.

The smoke from the muskets now hid the scene from view, but when the wind had blown it aside I saw, by the white cloud that hung over the sea, that the sloops were doing their best. Yet I knew they could hope to inflict no damage, and the French were likely to find this out shortly. That the battle would go against us now seemed probable, but I knew our only hope was to fight on, even though the odds were heavy. I urged my men to reload quickly. Powder horns poured their black contents down the musket barrels. Then followed the bullet, in its greased leather covering, and, with a clang of the rammer on top of all, the load was in. The clicking of the powder pans as they were sprung open, and hammers raised, mingled with the hissing, spluttering sound of the slow matches.

Once more we fired, but this time most of our bullets rattled harmlessly against the stockade. The volley that answered us laid low two more of our men. Clearly this was but a losing fight, and so I resolved that a charge, an attempt to storm the palisades, must be made. Could we but gain entrance there, a hand to hand conflict might carry the day for us. Otherwise we could but stand and be shot at, doing little harm in return.

I passed the word to the men, and again they loaded their weapons. I counted to have them rush as soon as they had discharged their pieces, as then the smoke would hang over us and afford a sort of cover.