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Duc D’Anville Sails for New England in 1746 to Burn the Town of Boston

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In 1745, William Pepperrell led an expedition to Acadia that stunned the French government. The French king, Louis XV, ordered the Duc D’Anville to retaliate.

Pepperrell, his men and a contingent of British naval vessels had captured the French fortress at Louisbourg. Louisbourg, a key fort for the French, protected the mouth of the St. Lawrence River so essential to Canadian trade.

William Pepperrell

Furious, Louis XV decided that Louisbourg must be retaken. Not only that, all of New England must be conquered. And Boston, which celebrated Pepperrell’s victory, must be be bombed and reduced to ashes.

Those were his orders to Jean-Baptiste Louis Frédéric de La Rochefoucauld de Roye, or as he was known by his royal title, Duc D’Anville.

The Duc D’Anville had orders to assemble the largest fleet ever to sail to North America (up until the American Revolution) and retake the region. He began provisioning 64 ships (some estimates say 66) in Brest. He also rounded up the 11,000-man army that would carry out the mission.

Why Louisbourg?

The reason Pepperrell attacked Louisbourg in the first place — and risked retaliation from the Duc D’Anville — went back many years.

The French province of Acadia had been perilously positioned for decades before Louisbourg fell. The British had established a strong toehold in the area in 1710 with the capture of Annapolis Royal, originally a French settlement in Nova Scotia. Despite repeated attempts, the French couldn’t recapture it.

louisbourg

The capture of Louisbourg, the most celebrated English victory in all the French and Indian wars.

When the on-again, off-again wars with the French and Indians resumed in 1744, the British decided to expand their holdings by taking Louisbourg. New Englanders were only too happy to join the fight, as they viewed the French as a hostile threat to the Georges Bank fishing grounds.

And over the years, New Englanders had built up the reputation of Louisbourg far beyond reality, exaggerating its wealth and the strength of its fort.

The fall of Louisbourg seemed almost miraculous, and Pepperrell was celebrated throughout New England. However, as word began to spread that the French planned retaliation, the New Englanders grew fearful that the British would not protect them.

Disillusion

The soldiers who had conquered Louisbourg were somewhat disillusioned with their victory. They had been ordered not to loot the town. For the most part, they didn’t harass the townspeople as they loaded their belongings onto ships bound for France.

When the soldiers did move into the city, they found it far from the seat of elegance they imagined. And making matters worse, the long siege required to take the town had left virtually every house battered with cannon shot and explosions.

The men made the best of the situation. For a while they prospered by leaving the French flag flying over the fort to lure French ships into the port. That way, they could seize them easily as war trophies and sell their valuable cargoes.

Privateer Boscawen engaging a Fleet of French Ships in 1745

Duc D’Anville

Gradually word spread of the Duc D’Anville’s planned return, and the forces braced for an overwhelming assault. In Brest, however, D’Anville struggled.

In April of 1746 he dispatched two ships to scout the area around Louisbourg. These advance scouts would help him direct his full forces when they arrived soon after.

Duc D’Anville

But his planned departure in early May didn’t happen. He shad a hard time getting his suppliers to meet their deadlines and outfit his ships. His fleet only left in late June, and a storm quickly blew the vessels back to land in Rochelle.

From there the Duc D’Anville regrouped and headed across the Atlantic again. The fleet’s troubles grew only worse. Another storm on the open ocean cost the expedition even more vessels. Lightning exploded the munitions on one ship, killing sailors. Others were lost to the heavy waves.

Meanwhile, the prolonged voyage took its toll in other ways. Food supplies began running low and typhoid, influenza, scurvy and other diseases began decimating the force.

The crew managed the grim daily exercise of burying the dead. They sewed the corpses inside canvas and weighted them down with a cannon ball before dropping them over the side. Morale was awful.

Nova Scotia

By late September, the invasion force arrived in Chebucto Bay (now Halifax Harbour), Nova Scotia. Two ships arrived first, carrying the Duc D’Anville. D’Anville had been separated from the majority of his forces. The two ships arrived at the Nova Scotia coast with no knowledge of the terrain or the ports. He fortuitously captured a local vessel and hired the captain to pilot his vessels to safety.

Halifax Harbour from the air

When the captain decided to renege on the deal, he was told he would either pilot the ships to safety or be thrown overboard with his legs bound in irons. He relented.

In port at last, D’Anville didn’t know the fate of the remaining vessels, and he faced the despairing thought that perhaps they had all perished in the storms.

Death of the Duc D’Anville

In this frame of mind, D’Anville died on Sept. 27, 1746. Detractors suggested he had poisoned himself rather than face the consequences of his disastrous voyage. Others believed a stroke killed him, as he had suffered several seizures.

Shortly after his death, the remainder of D’Anville’s fleet did indeed arrive in Chebucto Bay. Some 40 to 50 ships tumbled into port after one final storm tossed them about.

They were filled with sick and hungry men. One captain told of his crew nearly resorting to cannibalism. Command had fallen to D’Anville’s second-in-command Constantin-Louis Estourmel, who urged them to scrap the expedition. At a war council, however, he was overruled. Fifteen-hundred men were to be dispatched to Annapolis Royal to make an assault on that town.

Annapolis Royal in 1753 by John Hamilton

Estourmel, faced with the enormity of the challenges, attempted suicide on his sword and was relieved of command. Future Canadian governor Jacques-Pierre de Taffanel de la Jonquière was placed in charge.

More Calamity

The calamity continued. The two scout ships that D’Anville had originally sent out had sailed the waters around Nova Scotia for months before concluding that the armada of invading ships was not coming. They turned back to France. Upon arrival the sailors on the scout ships were shocked to learn that no one knew D’Anville’s situation.

The two ships were dispatched back to Nova Scotia with further orders for the Duc D’Anville. Arriving in October, they couldn’t find the fleet.

Meanwhile, the attempt on Annapolis Royal had led nowhere. The war council met again, and this time the evidence of defeat was overwhelming. The remaining soldiers and sailors were dying off at a rapid pace. Disease had spread to the Indians, who the French relied on on for assistance. The epidemic would eventually wipe out uncounted hundreds of the local Indians. In addition, the weather was turning cold.

Action between HMS Nottingham and the Mars by Samuel Scott

Some estimated the fleet was now reduced to roughly 1,000 healthy fighting men, and some of those falling ill every day. The French force now had no hope of retaking Louisbourg, let alone conquering New England, and a war council in late October decided it must return to France.

While returning to France, one of the French vessels, Le Mars, was captured by HMS Nottingham.

Waiting for the D’Anville Expedition

As the invasion imploded in Canada, New Englanders initially knew nothing of the problems facing the French. The news reached New England that the Duc D’Anville had arrived in Nova Scotia – but the condition of his fleet was not reported.

New Englanders reacted with fear. Massachusetts Gov. William Shirley ordered 1,500 soldiers to Boston. They strengthened forts and put cannons in place. They sunk hulks in the harbor to make it difficult for invading French ships to make their way. And the city waited.

Gov. William Shirley

The governor ordered a Fast Day on October 16. The Rev. Thomas Prince famously offered up a prayer in the Old South Meeting House, “Deliver us from our enemy! Send Thy tempest, Lord, upon the waters to the eastward! Raise Thy right hand. Scatter the ships of our tormentors and drive them hence. Sink their proud frigates beneath the power of Thy winds!”

When news arrived that the city was safe, the thankful New Englanders gave credit to God for keeping the Duc D’Anville and his formidable fleet away from New England.

Louisbourg, meanwhile, would return again to French control as part of a treaty between the French and British before farmers from New England resettled it in 1760.

This story about the Duc D’Anville last updated in 2021. Images: Halifax Harbour By Plismo – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7232048

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Seven Strange Facts About Colonial Funerals

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New England’s early colonists paid a great deal of attention to death and funerals. Many people attended colonial funerals, and would think it strange for a town’s resident not to pay respect to an upstanding citizen by attending a funeral.

Customs at colonial funerals were quite different from today.

Customs at colonial funerals were quite different from today.

Many of today’s traditions, such as giving right of way to a funeral procession, stem from the earliest days of America. Other traditions from colonial funerals have died out or changed over time.

Here are seven strange practices of colonial funerals that faded away:

2 sets of pall bearers, sometimes 3

Early colonists carried the body of the deceased all the way from the funeral service to the graveyard. The older, more respected members of the community often found that a long way to carry a heavy coffin.

So two sets of men got pallbearer duty. The younger men of the community would be assigned as under bearers to carry the bier on which the coffin rested. Older men would carry the pall, which draped the casket. In cases where the graveyard was a long way off, a second set of under bearers spelled the first group.

Occasionally, the men set down the bier on a slab to rest.

Gloves, Routine Parts of Colonial Funerals

Families sent mourning gloves to people expected to attend the funeral of a departed loved one. Mourners wore the gloves during the funeral and at the graveside.

They were fashionable, respectful and, for ministers at least, plentiful. Andrew Eliot, ordained pastor of Boston’s North Church in 1742, kept a careful diary of his life. In his 32 years as a minister, he received 2,940 pairs of funeral gloves.

What did he do with them? He sold them, at least as many as he could. His diary shows a steady effort to divest himself of the gloves over the years.

Old North Church

Rings Were the Thing

The families of the deceased often created commemorative rings for their loved ones. They would be distributed to families, close friends and ministers. The rings represented a steady stream of business for goldsmiths and silversmiths.

The rings frequently had inscriptions with sayings, such as:  ‘Death Parts United Hearts,’ or ‘Death Conquers All’ or ‘Prepare for Death.’ Because of the expense, mourning rings were more common at the colonial funerals of the wealthy.

The minister Andrew Eliot, in addition to collecting gloves, also had a massive ring collection. He stored it in a tankard.

Families often cherished the rings and handed them down from one generation to the next. The colonists didn’t view them as maudlin, but rather cheerful reminders of their reunion with their dead family in the afterlife.

No Sermons

While many townspeople attended colonial funerals, the services were virtually silent affairs. The earliest colonists, wishing to avoid any appearance of papistry, conducted minimalist funerals that no one could confuse with the Catholic ceremonies.

Sermons and eulogies were non-existent.  Instead, the pallbearers would silently conduct the body to the graveyard. Mourners attached notes of praise for the deceased to the bier, which would be compiled and published as memorials to the deceased.

Bostonian Thomas Lechford (1590-1644) offered a description of colonial funerals in his notebooks:

At Burials nothing is read, nor any funeral sermon made, but all the neighborhood or a goodly company of them come together by tolling of the bell, and carry the dead solemnly to his grave, and then stand by him while he is buried. The ministers are most commonly present.

At funerals for major civic leaders, a minister would say a few words at the grave about the man’s character. For the most part, however, interment was a silent affair. This custom began dying out in the early 1700s, however. Popular sentiment began to build behind the idea that the dearly departed should have a few well-chosen words said over his grave.

Sober Affairs, Funerals Were Not

Early New Englanders used colonial funerals as a great excuse to tie one on.

Lucius Manlius Sargent, in his collection Dealings with the Dead, noted that in early colonial funerals guests viewed the body and then proceeded to a nearby table – always provided. They could then choose liquor from a well-stocked bar.

Mourners then generally went outside and to chat until it was time to carry the coffin to the burial ground. Though rarely did colonial funerals cause drunkenness, the idea of not serving liquor would have shocked. And the bar tab could grow quite large.

The following listing represents the funeral expenses for David Porter of Hartford, who drowned in 1678. The biggest outlay: booze.

A pint of liquor for those who dived for him. – 1 shilling
A quart of liquor for those who brought him home. – 2 shillings
Two quarts of wine & 1 gallon of cider to jury of inquest.               — 5 shillings
8 gallons & 3 quarts wine for funeral. – £1, 15 shillings
Barrel cider for funeral. –16 shillings
1 Coffin. –12 shillings
Winding sheet. — 18 shillings

Sargent noted the practice of serving alcohol at funerals finally petered out, saddening a great many of the older citizens.

Mourning Got Out of Hand

As the colony grew wealthier, more and more mourners received rings, scarves and gloves. The wealth or popularity of the deceased was highlighted by the number of gifts distributed or the length of the funeral bell ringing.

The showiness and expense offended Puritan leaders, and several efforts limited the practices. In 1741, the Massachusetts government decided to fine a person 50 pounds for distributing wine or rum or funeral rings. The colony also restricted gloves to pall bearers and the clergy.

In Salem, the government hoped to curb excessive bell ringing and grandiose funerals by limiting what undertakers could charge for bell-ringing. Officials also limited the number of times a bell could be rung, as well as the overall cost of organizing the funeral.

Objects, Even Houses, Were Draped

People didn’t only decorate themselves colonial funerals. In some places, they decorated objects with black crape.

In Hartford, black cloth covered all wall decorations, mirrors and pictures. Mourners closed window shutters and sometimes tied them together with black ribbon or a sash. They kept it that way for a year-long mourning period.

Following the death of Sir William Pepperell of Kittery, mourners draped his entire house.

Again, the prominence of the deceased generally dictated the size of the colonial funeral show and the quantity of black bunting used.

If you enjoyed reading this story, you may also want to read about epitaphs in New England graveyards here. 

Hat tip to Customs and Fashions in Old New England by Alice Morse Earle. This story about colonial funerals was updated in 2021. 

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Joseph Moody, The Colonial Minister Who Wore a Handkerchief Over His Face

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The story of the Rev. Joseph Moody, who preached with a handkerchief over his face, was too good for Nathaniel Hawthorne to pass up.

The legend of the Puritan preacher in colonial Maine was passed down for generations, and Hawthorne (who lived in Maine as a teenager and young adult) got wind of it. He wrote a fictional short story about Moody called  The Minister’s Black Veil..

But Joseph Moody had already written the story of his own life in a diary written in coded Latin.

Uncommonly Qualified

The real Joseph Moody was born in 1700 in York, Maine, graduated from Harvard in 1718 and died in 1753.

As the minister of the Second Church of York, he was greatly esteemed, according to an epitaph. He was also

…an excelling instance of knowledge, ingenuity, learning, piety, virtue and usefulness, was very serviceable as a school master, clerk, register, magistrate and afterwards as a minister was uncommonly qualified and spirited to do good

Illustration from 'The Minister's Black Veil,' by Elenore Abbott, 1900

Illustration from ‘The Minister’s Black Veil,’ by Elenore Abbott, 1900

Joseph Moody was the son of Parson Samuel Moody, a longwinded, eccentric and irritable minister. Parson Moody served as chaplain to Sir William Pepperell’s regiment during the siege of Louisbourg in 1745.

There are several stories about when – and why – Joseph Moody wore the handkerchief over his face, as well as its color.

According to one version, he was happy for 14 years in various local jobs — as schoolmaster, York’s registrar of deeds, county clerk and judge. But his father thought he should preach, and prevailed upon the town to incorporate a second parish in York.

Preaching didn’t suit Joseph Moody. He sank into melancholy, his mind became disordered and he started wearing the black handkerchief knotted above his forehead and hanging below his chin. . As townspeople began to shun him, he became more of a recluse, wandering the churchyard at night.

According to another version, Joseph Moody was disappointed when his cousin Mary Hirst wouldn’t marry him. He grew increasingly eccentric, finally donning the black silk handkerchief. According to a third story, he killed a friend in a hunting accident and wore the handkerchief ever after. His father made him stay up all night with the body of his friend as atonement.

The Real Joseph Moody

Richard Bowen, a program specialist at the Museums of Old York, offered a fourth – and more plausible – explanation: Joseph Moody was vulnerable to depression and guilt. After years of overwork, he suffered a mental and physical breakdown when his wife and infant daughter died in childbirth.

Only during that period did he wear a white handkerchief over his face. He recovered, and his parishioners welcomed him back. He went on to become the esteemed minister described in his epitaph.

The Diary

When Joseph Moody turned 20 years old, he began to keep a diary, in code and in Latin. The book was tiny, about five inches long by three inches wide. (You can read excerpts from it here.)

His diary, later deciphered, records life on the Maine frontier. It contains news of conflicts with Indians, of pirates and of dangerous voyages by boat to Marblehead, Gloucester and Newbury in Massachusetts.

On May 25, 1723, for example, he wrote,

Tis said that Sergeant Card was beset by two Indians about 9 or 10 o’clock last night near Capt Harmon’s barn one of which fired on him and pierced the breast of his Jacket we scarce know what to think of so strange a story.

On April 5, 1724, he reported:

Several vessels lately taken by Nutt ye Pirate and kindly treated.
Joshua Elwells was taken from him.

Joseph Moody also seemed preoccupied with death, often recording only that someone had died – even as far away as Boston.

He died in 1753 at the age of 52. People said he sang hymns in his room during his last hours. Today, you can find his tombstone at the old Second Parish Burying Ground on Route 91 in York. It reads:

Although this stone may moulder into dust,
Yet Joseph Moody’s name continue must.

This story was updated in 2023.

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