Chapter 4

New England Fights the French

The beat of drums and the squeal of fifes awoke Johnny early one morning. He jumped from his high feather bed and rushed to the little balcony over the front door.

Three thousand militiamen were camped on Boston Common. The Royal Governor of Massachusetts had called them up this March of 1745. He planned to attack a French fort in Canada.

“Today’s the day!” John, who was now eight, thought excitedly. “The soldiers are going to sail to Nova Scotia and—”

“Johnny!” Aunt Lydia stood behind him. She wore a dressing gown. “Don’t stand out here in this damp! You’ll catch your death of cold.”

Johnny turned to her, almost dancing in his eagerness. “Oh, Aunt! The militiamen are starting. Hear the drums! Can’t we go now?”

“Mercy, it’s much too early.” Aunt Lydia closed the balcony door and pushed him into his room. “They’re not leaving yet.”

Johnny put on warm red wool stockings and a wool broadcloth suit. At breakfast he was silent, but he kept his eyes on Uncle Tom.

At last his uncle rose from the table and rubbed his long nose. “Is there a lad here who wants to watch the militia board ship this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, I do!” Johnny grinned happily.

Down at Boston harbor an air of excitement hung over the docks. Sixty ships waited there to take on men and supplies.

A crowd was gathered at Clark’s Wharf. Wearing wool cloaks to protect themselves against the sharp ocean wind, Johnny and Uncle Tom mingled with the crowd.

Two merchant friends joined Uncle Tom. They talked about the French fort called Louisburg on Cape Breton Island in Canada. “It is a threat to us and our fishing boats. It will be a threat as long as England is at war with France,” one merchant said.

The other merchant looked cross. “How can our militiamen fight real French soldiers? We need men who know how to use big cannon—and how many big cannon do we have?”

“We’ve taken the cannon from the town’s South Battery and from Castle Island Fort in the harbor,” Uncle Tom told him. “We’ve borrowed others from neighboring colonies. I helped find supplies for this adventure. However, we need big guns to storm Fort Louisburg.”

“It’ll be a miracle if our men capture it,” said the merchant. “They will fail.”

“Some of the officers know a little gunnery. I have faith in our New England men,” Uncle Tom said stoutly.

Johnny nodded proudly. “Even more so,” he thought, “since Sergeant Tim O’Toole is going to fight.” Where was Tim? Johnny couldn’t see him among the line of blue-coated men who were marching aboard the ships at Clark’s wharf. Maybe he was at another wharf.

Johnny slipped away through the crowd. He ran along the waterfront, hoping to see Tom. At Long Wharf he saw the Massachusetts Frigate, Boston’s own warship, tied up alongside the wharf. Militiamen were boarding it, too.

Guns poked their noses out of portholes along its sides. An arm waved from one of the double rows of windows across the ship’s stem.

“Johnny Hancock! Oh, Johnny Hancock! Halloo-o-o!”

And there was the black head of Tim O’Toole. Tim grinned and waved his sergeant’s cap.

“Good-by, Tim O’Toole,” Johnny yelled. He waved as hard as he could. “Good luck! Fight for New England!”

With a last wave, he ran back to seek his uncle. He felt happy to have said good-by to a soldier who was his friend.

Weeks passed by, and all Boston waited for word from Canada. In May a fishing boat brought word that the ships were waiting near Cape Breton Island for the ice to break up in the harbor at Louisburg.

One July night that same year Johnny was deep in dreams. Suddenly the boom of a cannon awoke him. He sat up, his heart thumping. It was almost dawn.

He heard someone gallop up Beacon Hill, shouting, “Fort Louisburg has fallen!” Then church bells began to ring and muskets to fire.

Molly, the Irish maid, came in with a basin of hot water for Johnny to wash in. “Our brave militia has beaten the French soldiers,” she said excitedly. (Image 4.1)

Image 4.1: He waved as hard as he could. “Good luck! Fight for New England!”

“Huzzah for them!” Johnny shouted. He pranced barefooted about his room.

“It’s a great victory for Massachusetts Colony,” Uncle Tom declared at breakfast. He helped himself from a silver bowl of hasty pudding that Molly held. “Everyone knows we gave most of the men and ships. And it was the Governor’s idea to capture Louisburg.”

“To think that Tim O’Toole saw it all!” Johnny burst out. “How soon will he be back?”

“That’s hard to say, Johnny. Months, perhaps. Ah, no one will work this happy day!”

Months later, on a cold November day, the first ships came back from Canada. Among them was the Massachusetts Frigate.

To Johnny’s delight, Jay Adams came to town with his father, Deacon Adams. They went with Johnny and Uncle Tom to see the militia come off the ship.

The tired men marched from Long Wharf up short King Street. They stepped between rows of British soldiers and cadets.

“Huzzah!” Johnny and Jay shouted a welcome along with everyone else.

“Look!” whispered Johnny. “Their red and blue uniforms are all rags.”

“Yes, but how proud they look! They know they did a great thing.”

“Where’s Tim O’Toole?” Johnny hopped from one foot to the other trying to see.

That night every window in the big Hancock house was lighted. Friends had been coming and going all day.

A huge bonfire blazed on the Common across the street. Fireworks banged and rockets glittered overhead. Johnny, Jay, Sam Quincy, and a group of boys sat near the fire, watching. So Johnny was able to see Tim O’Toole clearly when he walked past with a group of soldiers.

“Tim! Sergeant Tim!” Johnny ran and stood in front of the young man.

“Sure, and it’s the master’s fine boy!” Tim cried. His white teeth flashed and he clapped Johnny on the shoulder.

“How are you? Oh, I’m glad you came by! Please sit here with us and watch the fireworks,” Johnny said eagerly. “Then you can tell us all about your taking Fort Louisburg.”

“Oh? And is that all you want of me?” Tim asked. But he was kind enough to sit with the boys. He had been sent home early, he said, because he had been ill with camp fever. “Now, then, what do you want to hear first?”

“All of it,” Johnny said. “How our militia shot down the high walls of the fort overnight and how—”

“‘Twas not that easy, Johnny. First of all, our ships had to meet in Cans Bay. That’s five hundred miles north of here. The British finally decided to help and Admiral Warren met us with five warships.

“We had word that the harbor of Louisburg was solid ice. No ships could go in or out, so the French didn’t know we were near.”

“How near were you?” Johnny put in.

“Only fifty miles away. We waited three weeks. Then, on April 30, we landed half our men in a bay below Fort Louisburg and the other half the next day. The surf was high and the shore rocky, but all our boats landed safely.

“The French fired a signal cannon when they saw our sails. All the people working outside the town rushed inside the walls. A party of French soldiers came out to meet us, but we drove them away.

“We marched over rocks, hills, and through swamps. We made camp two miles from the fort. A big swamp lay between us and the French.”

“What did you do then?” Johnny asked.

“We looked up at the thirty-foot-high walls and we wondered how we would ever get in!

“You see, Fort Louisburg sat on the south point of the bay. There was a group of cannon, known as the Grand Battery, in the hills behind the bay. There was also a strong fort on an island in the harbor. We had to take the battery and the island fort as well as the town.”

“How did you do it?” Jay Adams asked.

Tom laughed. “Well, my captain, Captain Vaughn, found some naval storehouses in the hills behind the Grand Battery. They held pitch, tar, oil, and gunpowder. We set fire to them. There was a terrible flash when the gunpowder blew up, and clouds of smoke filled the sky.”

“The black smoke covered the Grand Battery,” Tim went on. “It scared the French soldiers and they ran away. Later, Captain Vaughn sent in an Indian scout to see if all was clear. It was. One of my men (there were thirteen of us) climbed the flagpole and nailed his red coat to it for a flag.”

The boys laughed loudly.

“The hardest part was yet to come,” Tim told them. “We needed bigger guns to reach the main part of the fort and the island battery. The only heavy guns we had were the ships’ guns. We brought them ashore on flatboats. Some were smashed on the rocks by the surf, but we got most of them ashore. Some of us waded in through the icy water carrying powder casks high over our heads.

“Then we pulled the heavy guns on sleds through the swamp. There were three hundred of us tied to one gun! The guns sank in the mud. All the time we were under fire from the fort.

“One by one, we placed the big guns in the hills overlooking Louisburg. Then, when the guns were ready, we poured cannon fire into the town. We kept at it for a month.

“I fell sick the day the French surrendered. The next day our men marched into the town and the French marched out to sail for France. The day after that it began to rain. It rained for ten days. If the rains had come sooner, we could not have captured Louisburg! Thank the Lord!”

“Nobody can beat our New England men,” Johnny said with pride.

Tim laughed, and then coughed. “At least, we know we can lick the French. It’s lucky I am I’m here, what with the fever and all. But I’m on the mend, lads. I must go along now.”

The boys thanked him for his thrilling story. Now a bright sky rocket streaked like a golden arrow through the blackness overhead.

“We can protect our country ourselves,” Johnny thought.

And by his “country” he meant the colony of Massachusetts, not England. (Image 4.2)

Image 4.2: Schoolmaster John Lovely stood over him.

Johnny carefully wiped his quill pen with a bit of cloth. He dipped the point into his inkhorn. Once again he began to copy from his Dilworth speller.

“Master Hancock!” Johnny felt a sharp rap on his hand. “You little wretch!”

He looked up while he rubbed his stinging fingers. Schoolmaster John Lovely stood over him. He held a ruler in his hand and scowled.

“You’ve spoiled your paper again,” Mr. Lovely scolded. “Hold your pen right, and you won’t splash ink on your work. And never use a pen-wiper on a pen!”

Johnny gulped. “But, sir, how do I—”

“See here.” The schoolmaster grabbed the pen. He wiped off the pen point with his little finger. Then he pushed back the old powdered wig he wore. He wiped off his finger on the thin strands of gray hair under his wig!

Johnny stared. He tried not to smile, but his teacher’s head was dotted with black ink!

“My aunt—” he began to say, then thought better of it. “I’ll do better, sir,” he promised. He took a fine linen handkerchief from his coat pocket. He wiped his wet hands and then started to work again.

He had gone to South Latin School since he was eight, over a year now. It was on School Street next to King’s Chapel and only two blocks from home.

“Will this day never end?” Johnny groaned. How could he think about his bad writing when the French fleet might attack Boston soon?

Only fifteen months before, the New Englanders had taken the great fort of Louisburg. Because of that, the French King was now sending forty warships and a hundred other ships to capture Boston.

A whaling ship and several fishing boats had raced down from the North Atlantic with the news of the mighty French fleet’s approach. “They’re strung out for miles,” the sailors from the boats said. “And they’re filled to the masts with French soldiers.” (Image 4.3)

Johnny wondered whether more New England militia had arrived today to camp on the Common’s wide green acres. “What a grand sight their tents make!” he thought. “Six thousand men are camped there, ready to fight for Boston and America if need be.”

Johnny frowned and bit the end of his quill pen. “I wish Aunt Lydia would let me visit the men in camp,” he thought. “But she says they’re not Boston men and I shouldn’t bother them.”

Just this morning she had said, “Thank Heaven, we’re safe as long as this south wind keeps blowing.” For ten days the wind had come from the south. “The French will have trouble sailing south to Boston against it.”

Suddenly the school bell broke into his thoughts. A general prayer was said, and then the boys rushed pell-mell outside.

At once Johnny noticed that the wind had changed. A gusty wind was now coming from the north. It tore showers of October leaves from the trees. And it would speed the French ships toward Boston.

He walked slowly up Beacon Street along one side of the Common. He looked longingly at the bustling camp. Some of his schoolmates were shouting and running toward it.

“If I can’t visit the camp, perhaps I can ride over to Sam Quincy’s after tea. We can talk about it all. Prince will help me saddle Imp.” Johnny loved Imp, his new red-brown pony.

With a last look at the camp, he went up the stone steps of the mansion. Inside, Molly brought Indian pudding and gingerbread on a silver tea tray, while Johnny gave Aunt Lydia a peck on her round cheek.

Uncle Tom came in from his library. There was a worried look on his pleasant face. He wore a red velvet cap on his shaved head in place of his large powdered wig.

“Remember, the Governor has set aside tomorrow as a Fast Day,” Aunt Lydia told them both. “We’ll go to Old South Church in the morning. Pastor Prince will pray for us to be saved from the French fleet.”

The next day hundreds of people prayed at Old South. Johnny listened hard as the pastor said, “Send Thy tempest, Lord. Sink their proud ships with the power of Thy winds.”

At that very moment the day darkened. Johnny could hardly see his aunt and uncle. High winds tore at the doors and windows of the church and shook the very building itself. The great church bell struck wildly once, twice—but no one was in the steeple to pull the bell. Everyone looked upward with astonishment and alarm.

“We hear thy voice, O Lord!” the parson cried out. It was an answer to their prayer, Johnny felt sure.

A week later several ships brought news that a terrible storm had sunk part of the French fleet. A fever had made ill or killed hundreds of French soldiers. Their admiral was dead. The fleet could no longer destroy the colonies.

All New England gave joyful thanks. “If God be for us, who can be against us?” everyone said.

Johnny was surer than ever that New England was a match for anyone.