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, 83scaring 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.

84looking 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 85on 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, 86and 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.

87i 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 88blow, 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 89savages 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 90back 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 91them 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 92encouragingly 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 93french 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. 94one 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 95several 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.