OF THE HORSEMAN ON THE BEACH.
There was little sleep for me that night. I had been expecting a message
from the Governor, and so had my men in fair shape for a quick movement.
Two days’ preparations, now, would put us in readiness for the
expedition.
It was nearly morning when, having dispatched several messengers on
horses to call in my company from their various homes, I lay down to
rest. It seemed that I had been on the bed but a half minute, ere the
sun came shining in through the window, and awakened me.
We had at Salem two sloops that would hold seventy men each. Of stores
and munition of war there was a plenty. But guns had to be overhauled,
and ammunition safely packed for transportation. My first care was to
see that the boats were laden. Corn meal and flour, salted meats and
fish, provisions of various kinds, and barrels of cider, were slung
aboard by the crews, and stored in the holds.
In squads of two and three my men began coming in. I detailed my
lieutenants to look after the muskets, as they were stacked in the
company room at the inn. All the spare guns that would serve, were put
on the sloops. Rests for the heavier and old-fashioned weapons, that
were fired by means of a slow match, were provided, as well as spare
matches. Bags of extra flints were also taken. The casks of powder, and
pouches of bullets, were placed out of danger of fire in the magazines
of the sloops. Throughout all Salem, that day, little was done or talked
of save what pertained to the coming fight.
The children stood about the streets, forgetting to go to school and
were not rebuked. With Cory and Nicols, I hurried here and there. Now,
seeing to it that none but serviceable arms were taken, and again,
looking to the muster rolls, or replying to the many questions that
every one wanted answered.
The air was filled with martial sounds. Two boys, barely out of their
teens, came up to me, as I was trying the locks of a musket. They
saluted gravely.
“Please, Captain,” said the taller one, “put our names down, and give us
each a gun.”
“What! To go to the wars?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” the younger replied. “The Indians killed our mother, and we
want to kill some of them.”
“Not now,” I said kindly. “When you are a little older you may both go.”
They turned away, sorely disappointed. Indeed the spirit of battle
seemed born in the children of this land, and they nursed it with their
mother’s milk. There was much need of it, though.
About noon, two long teams of oxen were seen winding along the road from
Boston. They drew heavy wagons, on which were two good sized cannon, in
addition to the small ones we had. There was also a sufficient supply of
ammunition, and I was very glad of this increase to our power.
Though it cost us no little labor to get these guns aboard, we finally
accomplished it, and they were placed, one in the bow of each sloop,
where they could do the most good.
When all this had been done, and it was well into the afternoon, I had a
chance to sit down and map out my plans. Another letter, with more
explicit instructions, had come to me from the Governor by the hands of
a second messenger. In the meantime I had learned somewhat of the man de
Vilebon, with whom I was to engage, shortly.
Soon after he came to Canada he saw the fierce fighting qualities of the
red men, and, with much cunning, he made treaties with them, persuading
them to become his allies. He promised them that the hated English would
soon be driven from the land, the homes they had builded being allowed
as plunder for the Indians. It was by such talk as this, and the manner
in which he consorted in the daily lives and practices of the savages,
that de Vilebon had won to his side many influential chiefs and their
followings.
One way the French took to incite the Indians was to pay for the scalps
of the English settlers. There was a scale of prices, so much for a
man’s, so much for a woman’s and less yet for the children’s. There were
other reasons why the Indians preferred to fight with the French and
against the English. The French almost lived with the savages, adopting
their mode of dress, painting their faces with the brilliant pigments,
and wearing the feathered head pieces.
Then, too, the Indians, contrasting us with the French, thought of them
as brave warriors, who loved swordplay, and fighting, while we English,
’twas deemed, cared for nothing but raising the crops, which was, with
the red men the work of their squaws.
So, I found to my sorrow, ere long, that the Indians loved the French
and were glad to battle against us.
Among the settlers, now, there was much fear of a sudden night attack
from the forest. Madockewando, Moxus and Egeremet, fierce Indian chiefs,
whose names were but other words for carnage, treachery and horrid
massacres, were with de Vilebon, we heard.
To these chiefs and their followers, the French had furnished not only
guns, swords, powder and bullets, but even food, so that the savages had
naught to do save fight, which they were ever ready for. De Vilebon had
established himself at St. Johns, in Nova Scotia, where a fort of no
mean strength had been thrown up. Approach by either land or sea was not
easy, I learned from scouts.
Sir William wrote that few men defended the place now, though troops
were expected in the fall. Could we but be successful against this fort,
capturing de Vilebon, the spirit of the Colonists would be much
strengthened, and a blow would be dealt the French forces that would
teach them and their Indian allies a severe lesson.
My plan for the expedition was to sail to within a few miles of St.
Johns, and land most of my force. Then the two sloops and their crews
could sail boldly up to the town, and while menacing it from the sea by
the boats, I could lead my men to the rear of the fort. I counted on the
sea attack, if the cannon were rapidly fired, to create such a diversion
as to detract attention from the rear, and while the enemy was engaged
against the sloops, I could fall upon the fort with my force and storm
it. So my plans were laid, and I called my lieutenants and made them
acquainted with the way matters stood.
Two days, busy ones in truth, were spent in getting ready. I had seen
little of Lucille in that time, though I much more desired to be near
her than at the task with which I was engaged. But night, as well as
day, was filled with work. At length, when I thought all was in
readiness, and I had looked to my own arms, and had a new edge put on my
sword, I went out one evening across the meadows to her.
She was waiting for me.
“You have only come to say good bye, I fear,” she said.
“Only for a time, dear heart,” I answered.
“Oh, Edward, if you should not return,” she whispered, softly.
“Would you care, then, so much?”
“Does the flower care when the sun goes down? Does it not droop at the
close of day, and does it not smile when the light comes again? Do you
know how I feel?”
“I hope so, dear heart.”
“Then ask not if I care. If you should not come back to me----”
The rest of the sentence was unfinished, for I had her in my arms, and
her lips could not speak for the kisses I pressed on them.
Long did we talk of what might be held locked in the future, and yet the
time I was there seemed woefully short. But I knew that I must go now,
for we had prepared for an early start--Lucille promised to be near when
the boat should sail, and with that I must be content.
“And now God keep you, dear,” she said bravely, though there were traces
of tears in her eyes.
“And God keep you,” I said.
Neither of us knew how soon we would be in need of His care. I pressed a
last good night kiss on her lips, and then, with the look of her dear
eyes in mine, I went away.
With the rising of the sun all was activity about Salem inn. Many
details remained to be looked after. The men, few of whom had before
been with such a large expedition, were much excited.
There was a clattering of swords and muskets; good byes were being
called out on every side; and some careful men were doing up extra pairs
of socks that their good dames had provided.
“What canst thou do with that weapon, friend John Post?” called one man
to another who carried an exceeding heavy and clumsy musket.
“Shoot an Indian or a Frencher for a surety,” answered John.
“Then thou’lt have to get a squad to help ye load and fire it. For if ye
don’t the Indians would eat you up before you could put match to the
powder.”
“Never mind, never mind,” responded he with the ancient weapon. “The gun
did damage to the enemies of His Gracious Majesty, when thou wert hiding
behind thy mother’s skirt. ’Tis a good arm, and will serve now as well
as thou!”
A laugh showed that the would-be jester had not hit the mark, and John
Post marched on, well pleased with his little skirmish.
There were other wordy tilts between the men. Some, having nothing
better to do for the time, engaged in leaping, running and wrestling, so
that the inn yard looked like a fair ground. At length I ordered the
drum beat and the men fell in, after some confusion.
About one hundred in all had responded to the summons, and I formed them
into two commands, giving Cory one and letting Nicols lead the other. I
would have a general command over both, and had made arrangements to
sail on board the larger of the two sloops. Truly it was a goodly sight
that morning, to see the little Colonial Army marching out, each man
with his musket well cleaned, and with his bundle of matches, or his
pouch of flints and ammunition slung by a thong on one side. Stout and
able-bodied men they were, too, much given to prayer. Yet they need be
none the less well thought of for that. For I had heard of their earlier
battles against the Indians, and I knew that a well rounded psalm tune
stayed not the sword arm, nor weakened the trigger finger. And, as they
stepped out to march from the inn yard to the sloops, Master Willis, who
stood on the steps, did lift his voice up in prayer, and after that the
deep tones of men singing was heard.
Of the God of Israel they sang, pleading that they might be led on to
battle against the enemy, as were their fore-fathers of old, in the days
of King David.
The sloops were soon filled. I walked to one side and met Lucille. Our
parting was brief, for wind and tide served, and we must shortly lift
anchor. The last words were spoken, and then, with a final embrace, I
left her. I boarded the vessel and the sails were run up. They filled,
and we began to gather headway. I stood in the stern, whence I could
take a last look at the little town and the people on the shores. Amid
the crowd I saw Lucille. She was looking earnestly after us, and when I
waved my helmet in a good bye her hand signaled an answer. We were
fairly off to the wars at last.
Suddenly, coming along the road at a furious gallop, I saw a single
horseman. He waved over his head a paper. Even at the distance I knew
him for the same man I had seen in the Governor’s room the day I
received my commission, and for the messenger who had come from Sir
William a few nights before. But it was too late to turn back now. The
horseman spurred on to the beach and waved the paper frantically. It
might be some message from Sir William, but, if it was important, a boat
could be sent to overtake us. I snatched up a ship’s glass and turned it
toward the shore.
“In the King’s name!” cried the horseman, leaping violently from the
saddle.
“But I am away in the King’s name,” I called back.
Then, while I was watching through the glass, I saw the horseman turn
about. Lucille had advanced from the crowd and stood, shading her eyes,
to see the last of us.
As the man caught sight of her, I could see a cruel smile curl the
corners of his mouth. Lucille suddenly shrank back, as she had that
night when she saw the messenger in the hallway of her home, and she
seemed frozen with fear, like unto the day the snake of the glen was in
her path.
My heart misgave me, and I was half minded to turn back. Would that I
had been of a whole mind! For, had I been, I would have leaped into the
sea and gone to her. But I knew not, until afterward, who I left behind
me there on the sea sands. Of the deadly enemy he was; who caused me to
strike many a fierce blow for Lucille and for myself ere I conquered.
And the warfare was not alone that of the sword.
And so I stood, watching the shore fade away, seeing the crowd grow
smaller, while, as long as I could, I held the glass to my eyes, to
catch the last glimpse of Lucille.
Then, with no very cheerful heart, I set to work to get matters arranged
in soldierly fashion.