chance to invade.

Late in 1744 Europe breaks into that flame of war known as the Austrian
Succession. Before either Quebec or Boston knows of open war,
Louisburg has word of it and sends her rangers burning fishing towns
and battering at the rotten palisades of Annapolis (Port Royal). Port
Royal is commanded by that same Paul Mascarene of former wars, grown
old in service. The French bid him save himself by surrender before
their fleet comes. Though Mascarene has less than a hundred men, the
weather is in his favor. It is September. Winter will drive the
invaders home, so he sends back word that he will bide his time till
the hostile fleet comes. As for the Abbe Le Loutre, let the
treacherous priest beware how he brings his murderous Indians within
range of the fort guns! Meanwhile the Acadian habitants are threatened
with death if they do not rise to aid the {216} French, but they too
bide their time, for if they rebel and fail, that too means death; and
"_the Neutrals_" refuse to stir till the invaders, from lack of
provisions, are forced to decamp, and the Abbe Le Loutre, with his
black hat drawn down over his eyes, vanishes into forest with his crew
of painted warriors.

News of the war and of the ravaging of Acadian fishing towns set
Massachusetts in flame. To Boston, above all New England towns, was
Louisburg a constant danger. The thing seemed absolute stark
madness,--the thoughtless daring of foolhardy enthusiasts,--but it is
ever enthusiasm which accomplishes the impossible; and April 30, 1745,
after only seven weeks of preparation, an English fleet of sixty-eight
ships--some accounts say ninety, including the whalers and transports
gathered along the coast towns--sails into Gabarus Bay, behind
Louisburg, where the waters have barely cleared of ice. William
Pepperrell, a merchant, commands the four thousand raw levies of
provincial troops, the most of whom have never stepped to martial music
before in their lives. Admiral Warren has come up from West India
waters with his men-of-war to command the united fleets. Early Monday
morning, against a shore wind, the boats are tacking to land, when the
alarm bells begin ringing and ringing at Louisburg and a force of one
hundred and fifty men dashes downshore for Flat Cove to prevent the
landing. Pepperrell out-tricks the enemy by leaving only a few boats
to make a feint of landing at the Cove, while he swings his main fleet
inshore round a bend in th