THE BATTLE AT THE FORT.
Thus we sailed away. Little of account marked our voyage and, at the end
of the tenth day, we sighted the headland of St. Johns. In the meantime
I had made no change in my plans, which were to make a feigned attack on
the fort by means of the sloops, and, while it was going on, to bring my
main force up and storm the rear.
Now that our journey’s end was at hand, we prepared for what was before
us. The arms were removed from the chests they had been stored in.
Ammunition was broken out, and all useless stuff put away below decks.
In a short time we anchored in a little bay to the south of St. Johns,
where the sloops might remain a day or two unobserved. From there I
would lead my men for the detour. It was dusk when we had landed.
We camped that night on the shore. In the morning, when the sun shone
slanting through the branches of the trees, we pressed on. Our march was
through the virgin forest. Now we had to cut our way through dense
underbrush, scaring from their nests the woodland fowl. Sometimes the
sneaking figure of a wolf would be seen, protesting with a howl against
the invasion of his home. Once a great bear, again a startled deer,
crashed through the brush as we approached.
At night we lighted fires, to keep away the wild beasts, which we heard
howling on all sides of us. And thus we pushed on until the third night
when we camped in sight of the French watch-fires.
Then we ate a cold supper, nor did I permit any talk or laughter. In
deep silence we made all in readiness for the attack in the morning.
Guns that had been wet in fording streams were looked to, and the caked
powder picked from the pans. Spare flints were placed in pouches, as
were the bullets, while powder horns were freshly filled.
With the mournful hoot of the owls in my ears, I fell asleep. I awoke
with the first streak of dawn. The sentinels were called in, the last
word given, and we were ready for the attack. If Cory, in charge of the
sloops, was on hand, all would be well. We marched to the edge of the
forest, and just beyond us was the fort. It was with a heart that
throbbed with some little excitement that I arranged my men in files,
and gave the order:
“Forward!”
Out into the open we ran, and I called to the men to separate, that they
might thereby offer a smaller mark to the enemy.
Looking toward the stronghold of the French, I saw, in the gray dawn,
the sentinels on the ramparts. They looked down on us in wonder and then
they shouted a warning and fired their muskets at us. The drum inside
the fort beat the long roll of the call to arms. We were not to take
them all unawares.
As we ran on, stooping to gain what little natural cover there was,
dodging from side to side, I heard the dull boom and the roar of the
sloops’ cannon, which told me that Cory was on hand.
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.
“Fire!” I cried, and the bullets flew onward.
Yells from within the stockade told that some had been hit, probably
through the loops. Immediately I ordered all my men to drop flat on
their faces. As I expected, the volley from the fort that replied passed
harmlessly over our heads.
“Now for it!” I cried.
“Forward, in the name of the King, and for the honor of Salem!” was the
answer from the men.
I was leading the advance, and in less than a minute it seemed to me, we
were at the stockade. The men strove to climb over, but were fiercely
beaten back by the French and Indians. Guns were used as clubs now, for
there had been no time to reload on either side. Man after man of my
little force was hurled backward from the top of the stockade, some
suffering grievously. It was cut and slash and thrust with me, without
stopping to take breath. I was on top of the hickory fence, supporting
myself by a small foothold on a larger tree than some of the others.
Those below me, inside the stockade, thrust at me, but I gave back as
good as they sent, and my sword turned red.
A big Indian, hideous in paint, leaped to the top and struck at my head
with his keen little axe. I dodged the blow, and the weapon buried
itself to the middle in a sapling. Then, while he vainly tried to pull
his tomahawk out, I raised my sword and brought it down on his naked
head, shearing through his scalp lock and nigh cutting him to the chin.
He fell back, ugly enough in his death agony, and his hand clutched the
axe so strongly that it came out from where the wood clipped it.
Now there was a sudden rally to this part of the stockade. I had time to
see that soldiers were pouring from around the front, or seaward, side
of the fort, before I leaped back to the ground. This told me more
plainly than a message that the sloops no longer sufficed to hold the
enemy’s attention. The whole force of the fort would now engage us. I
hastily retreated my men, until we had put ourselves beyond musket shot.
Then we halted to take account of the damage we had received, and to
plan how we might save ourselves from utter annihilation; for it would
not be long ere we should have to battle against fearful and heavy odds.
Three of our men had been laid low at the first volley from the fort,
and two at the second. Then, in the assault on the stockade, several had
received sword thrusts, which must eventually cause their deaths. A few
suffered minor hurts, and four were killed outright, so that, in all we
had been deprived of eleven men. I looked toward the fort. There seemed
to be some movement inside, and presently the great gate swung open.
Half a dozen naked savages came out uttering their war cry. Then, while
my heart turned faint with horror, I watched the Indians approach the
bodies of our dead that were just without the palisade. There was a
gleam of steel flashing in the sunlight above their earth-pillowed
heads, then the bloody scalp trophy was snatched from them; from some
ere the breath of life had departed. One poor fellow, Peter Rankin (he
had been next to me when we stormed the stockade), had received a cut in
the breast from one of the tomahawks. He yet breathed when his hideous
tormentors stooped over him. As we looked on in anguish we saw Rankin
rise to a sitting position. The Indian never paused. His knife described
a quick circle, and the blood red scalp was torn off. Then the savage,
mercifully, though he did not intend it so, thrust his knife into poor
Rankin’s heart, and a groan went up from my men.
But in the midst of it a rifle cracked. The Indian threw up his hands,
one holding Rankin’s scalp, and, with a screech, pitched forward, dead.
I looked around. Samuel Hopkins, the best marksman in the Colony, had,
with his gun, crept forward in the grass when he saw the Indians come
out. He it was who had taken swift vengeance on Rankin’s slayer. The
groan of the men was turned into a wild cheer, and the other Indians
fled in confusion to the protection of the stockade, slamming the gate
behind them.
“There is one devil the less,” said Hopkins as he came back among us,
and several of his comrades silently pressed his hand.
But it was high time that we looked to ourselves. The hill about the
fort was black with the French and Indians now. We were outnumbered four
to one, and it would be useless to continue the fight longer. How to
escape was now the question. I had an idea that they would not advance,
and attack us for a little while yet, as our strength was not fully
known. They would naturally suppose that we had some reserve, and
probably would not charge us until they saw what this amounted to. If we
could get to the coast, board the sloops and sail away all might yet be
well; save for those we had lost. Bitterly as I hated to return to the
Colony without having accomplished our object, I knew that it was the
best we could attempt. Perchance we could not even succeed in this.
After a hurried consultation we concluded that our only hope was in
fleeing along the north side of the fort. On that face it was the least
heavily cannoned. Also there was a little gully, which, if we could
enter, might afford some protection from the fire. Once in this, though
we had to pass a hail of lead, we could gain the shore and signal the
sloops. It was, at best, but a dangerous and hazardous undertaking, yet
we must act on that or some other quickly if we ever hoped to see Salem
again. It was with anxious spirits then that my men began to load their
guns again for what might be our last struggle. I had them leave behind
such of their accouterments as could be dispensed with, to enable them
to travel light. With a rapidly beating heart, though it pulsated not
with fear, I gave the word.
We started off on the run, as if we intended once more to advance to the
assault. Then, when within good musket fire distance, we suddenly
swerved to the left. It was well that we did so, for there was a shout
from the forces in the fort, and, at the same time a belch of flame and
smoke, followed by the roar of a cannon that had been pointed so as to
cover us, had we kept on our course. The shot with which the gun was
loaded, tore up the earth.
Seeing that this firing did us no harm the men in the fort ran to the
north side to pick us off as we passed. The rifles began to crack, and
the bullets to sing about our ears like angry hornets, but my men held
their fire for closer quarters. Now we were abreast of the northern wall
of the stockade. It took some little time, however, for the enemy to get
to the loop holes, and, by a good providence it happened that the cannon
on that side were not loaded. Running at top speed we pressed on. One
man fell behind me, shot through the head; another stumbled at my right
hand, pitched on his face, and, with a gush of blood from the mouth, was
dead. Three or four were hit but kept on. We had entered the little glen
now, and were somewhat screened from the musket fire. Just ahead I could
discern the sea, and, calling encouragingly to my band, I pressed on.
Ah, if only the sloops were at hand.
“Cory! Cory!” I cried. “Bear off to the right of the fort! Cory to the
rescue!”
Whether he heard me at the time I know not, but a dull boom from one of
the sloop’s cannon told me that some on board were still alive. I
reached the shore and halted to let my command pass me. The fire from
the fort could reach us here, and every minute it was becoming more
deadly. Several men were killed. Little clouds of dry sand, caused by
the striking of the bullets, rose all around us. I glanced to where the
sloops floated. The sails were set and they forged toward us slowly.
There was a chance that we might yet be saved. Panting from their run
the men drew up on the beach. Nearer and nearer came the vessels.
“To the rock, Captain! To the rock!” Cory cried. “We can take you off
there!”
Then I saw that on our left hand there was a small headland of rock,
which jutted out into the sea. It went down straight into the depths of
water, and the top part overhung so that a skillful pilot might sail a
small sloop beneath, and receive his passengers from the rock above, if
they would but drop to the deck.
“To the rock, men!” I called, understanding Cory’s plan.
They heard me, but now a new danger presented. The French and Indians
were making ready to unbar the northern gate, and pour out upon us. Even
as I looked I saw the first of them coming from the stockade. I called a
score of the best marksmen, and had them take each a spare loaded rifle
from their comrades. The other men hurried on, and reached the rock.
Cory directed his sloop beneath, and I saw that in a short time the men
could drop to the vessel’s deck. Then the rush of the Indians and the
French began. The air resounded with the yells of the savages.
“Kneel down!” I cried to the score.
They dropped as one man, and the enemy, thinking we were begging
quarter, whooped in derision.
“Fire!” I shouted, and I could see, when the smoke had cleared, that the
enemy had halted in confusion. About half of them had fired in return,
but we had killed eight of them, while only two of our men died. I
looked around, and saw that but a few men remained on the rock. Cory’s
sloop, receiving its load, had passed from beneath. The other vessel
came up quickly to perform the same office.
Casting aside the discharged guns the recruits leaped to their feet, and
ran toward the rock. But the enemy had again rallied, and came on with a
rush. Once more my band knelt down and delivered the last volley at
short range, as they stood on the rock. The sloop was now beneath. One
by one the men, taking advantage of the confusion in the enemy’s ranks,
dropped to the deck.
“Jump, Captain!” called out several.
“I go last,” I answered, drawing my sword.
There was one huge, and fiercely painted, Indian in the lead, having
outstripped his fellows. Only two of my men were left on the rock now.
The Indian halted when a few feet away, and fired point blank at me. I
felt a sudden sting as the bullet went through the flesh of my left arm.
Then, uttering his whoop, the savage cast aside his now useless gun,
and, shaking his uplifted tomahawk, rushed at me.
“Jump, Captain,” called one of my men. “We are all off now.”
The Indian raised his sharp little weapon, and it glittered in the air
above me. While he hesitated only for an instant to concentrate all of
his force into the blow with a quick motion I passed my sword through
his body under his upraised arm.
The savage fell forward, dragging the sword from my grasp. I was in no
mind to lose my bit of steel, so, placing a foot on the Indian’s still
quivering breast, I managed, with some use of force, to draw out the
blade. Then I turned, the bullets singing all about me, and leaped from
the rock, landing square on the sloop’s deck.
There was a shout of disappointed rage behind us, and several shots
pattered in the water around the sloops. Then the friendly breeze and
tide carried us out of harm’s way. We had failed to capture St. Johns,
and the power of de Vilebon was unbroken.