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

by Howard Roger Garis

I ordered the cannon facing the sea to be run out of the ports. Then, bidding Cory to look to defending the land side, I waited for the sloops to come within range. Within a half hour they had stood in nearer to shore, and we let fly at them. A few splinters knocked from the bow was all the damage we did to one. But the other fared less well, for one of our shots slivered the main mast near the deck. A cheer went up from our company. In reply the sloops fired two broadsides, and badly smashed one corner of the fort, besides injuring four men, and killing one. The vessels now drew around a point, and out of range. We could see them preparing to land the men and the cannon. I made no doubt that Iberville was there in charge of the force.

It was not long before two of the mortars were in position to fire at us, some of the balls falling very near our magazine, and I was fearful lest that be set on fire and explode. The battle now began in earnest. The Indians seeing that the French had arrived, renewed their attack, so that we were between two fires. It was rattle and bang on all sides of us, and above all rose the fierce yells of the Indians. But our men stuck well to their work.

I had to divide my forces, and this left both sides of the fort rather poorly defended. Several times we were most desperately put to prevent the Indians from swarming over the palisades. They sent several blazing arrows on top of the fort, but the logs were green and would not burn readily. All the afternoon we fought, only managing to hold our own, and when night came, our situation was most precarious.

The French continued to blaze away at us with the cannon, and we could see that they were landing more guns, so that the morrow promised to be full of peril for my little garrison. I dared not make a sally, for my force was too small, and yet we were little in shape to withstand a siege. As the darkness grew deeper, the rattle of the muskets and the boom of the cannon, and the thud of the balls on the wooden walls of the fort ceased. Desperate and weary, the men sought food and rest.

As for me, I was gloomy enough. I saw no hope but to fight on to the last. Many had been hurt; several killed. Help might come from Boston, but it would scarce reach us in time now. I turned over various expedients in my mind, and had dismissed them all, when a sentinel called out:

“A white flag, Captain!”

I looked out through a loop, and saw an Indian on the clearing in front of the fort. He had a stick, to which a white rag was tied. Approaching without the least sign of fear, he knocked at the gate and entered boldly when I bade a man let him in.

In his hand, besides the flag of truce, the Indian carried a letter. It was from Castine, addressed to me.

I was told that unless the fort surrendered at break of day, it would be stormed. We could not hope to hold out, Castine wrote; and, after a resistance, he feared the Indians could not be restrained from practicing their cruel tortures. A speedy capitulation was advised.

I tore the letter into fragments, and scattered them to the wind.