The Hopewell, Captain Henry Marshall commanding, sat in the harbor of Philadelphia throughout the winter of 1703. Lord Pembroke spared no expense on out fitting his latest ship of war with 24 guns and a full crew.
The Fall of War had been exceptionally profitable for his lordship. Under Captain Lewis's command his fleet had grown from a single vessel, the Essex, to now three ships including the Goodman and the Hopewell.
In the early Spring of 1703, Lord Pembroke had received word from his accountants in London that the profits from the raid upon the French fleet exceeded 1,500 pounds sterling. He stared out of the windows of his comfortable manor house in the City of Brotherly Love, marveling at the great prospect of profits that this war presented to him.
If only the Spring of 1703 was as profitable as the Fall of War, soon he would be able to procure thousands of acres in the Americas. He began to dream, just a bit, of the kind fortunes he would secure in the New World for himself and his family for generations to come.
Lord Pembroke's dreams of wealth were suddenly interrupted by a knock upon the door.
"Enter."
In to his chambers walked Ensign John Crossland, who had fully recovered from his injuries sustained during a brief and dark chapter in the otherwise glorious exploits aboard the Essex, along with Captain Marshall.
Both men removed their hats and bowed before his Lordship.
"Gentlemen, rise. What is the meaning of this grand entry?"
Captain Marshall approached with a map in his hand, a map of Acadia.
"Sir, a merchant vessel from Boston entered the harbor this morning and I had an opportunity to speak rather briefly with her captain. He informed me that all is not well in New England. Apparently the Acadians and their Native allies have been raiding all winter along the frontier, causing a great deal of carnage. With such a large border Her Majesty's forces have been unable to protect the colonists. Well sir, it seems that in less than one month's time the men of New England intend to strike back with a large force of their own with an attack upon Port Royal."
Lord Pembroke interrupted:
"And you wish to join them instead of meeting up with the Essex and the Goodman of the coast of the Azores?"
"Not entirely your Lordship. I still intend to rendezvous with the Essex and the Goodman but perhaps not off the coast of the Azores but rather in Bristol, with a cargo of fine beaver pelts from Acadia. If I may, show you on the map we seized from the French Captain."
Lord Pembroke nodded his consent as Captain Marshall rolled out the map.
"If I may your Lordship, the men of New England intend to attack Port Royal, which is a brilliant military strategy to inflict harm upon the French in the hopes of ending the raids upon the frontier. While the former captain of the Hopewell was our guest, he had a tendency to enjoy his wine a bit too much. He informed me that while Port Royal is the Capitol of the French colony, it is not the only port from which furs are exported."
Captain Marshall pointed on the map.
"Here, is Port Royal and it is well defended. I would never recommend sailing the Hopewell into the guns of that fort. Nay sir, while the men of New England seek glory on the battlefield, our endeavors are shall I dare say more base, as we seek not glory but rather profit. The French Captain, while rather intoxicated, informed me that here in the harbor of Chepoudy, smugglers seeking to avoid French taxes store their furs. What is even more intriguing is the fact that there is no fort, nor garrison guarding the warehouse in Chepoudy."
Lord Pembroke's eyes lit up for he knew the potential of such an easy plunder. Captain Marshall continued.
"What I propose is that the Hopewell set sail for Boston immediately. We shall follow the New England fleet towards Acadia. While the men of New England attack Port Royal, we shall raid the village of Chepoudy! And if the good captain was correct we shall be richly rewarded for the expedition. I imagine, or at least hope, that the sight of the New England fleet will cause all the men of Acadia to quickly rally to the defense of Port Royal. If our luck holds we might be able to secure our plunder without even firing a shot. That is of course if the furs are actually in Chepoudy. From there we shall set sail for Bristol, where kind fortune awaits us all."
Lord Pembroke smile with delight, and thought to himself, truly "blood doth tell", for only a noble mind could ever conceive of such a delightful scheme of high reward for such little risk.
"Captain Marshall, thou truly are thy father's son. Ye shall set sail for Boston and kind fortune in Acadia."
Captain Marshall made the Hopewell ready to sail for Boston. On the next day's tide the Hopewell slipped out of the harbor of Philadelphia down the Delaware Bay and into the open waters of the Atlantic with a strong south wind behind her. Within a fortnight she silently rounded Cape Cod and sailed passed Boston Harbor.
Captain Marshall determined that given his last visit to Boston, where he saddled the merchants with the care of his French prisoners, the sight of the Hopewell would be unwelcome by the good folk of New England. Rather he sailed north and lay anchor in a place marked upon the map as Lynn Harbor. He sent Mr. Crossland ashore to make his way to Boston for word of the military plans of the raid upon Acadia.
After three days, Mr Crossland returned to the Hopewell appearing almost giddy with delight.
"Well Captain, all is according to plan. Four ships lay in Boston prepared to set sail for Acadia in two days time."
"Excellent. Then we shall set sail also in two days time, trailing their fleet to Acadia and kind fortunes."
As had been planned, on the second day the Hopewell set sail into the Atlantic. By mid morning, the cry from the crow's nest came forth.
"Sail ho! Four ships headed north!"
The Hopewell trailed the New England fleet just over the horizon so as not to be seen. It was but a few more days when the Hopewell approached the harbor of Chepoudy.
Captain Marshall pulled forth his spyglass and scanned the village for any sign of activity. He smiled with delight, for all he could see were a few women and some old men scurrying about as the Hopewell descended upon its prey.
Captain Marshall gave the orders to roll out the guns as the Hopewell lay anchor a mere 100 yards from shore.
Chepoudy had no defense, no cannons to fire upon this British ship of war, no militia to muster for all the men had raced to defend Port Royal, only women, children and a few old men stood between Captain Marshall and kind fortune.
"Mr. Crossland, take a landing party and search the village!"
While Captain Marshall was certain there was little danger, in a prudent measure of caution he would remain aboard the Hopewell with her guns trained upon the village in the unlikely event of an attack upon the landing party.
Mr. Crossland with a landing party of 50 men armed with muskets and broadswords made their way ashore. The village came alive with the sounds of women screaming and children crying at the sight of these men set upon the plunder of Chepoudy.
"Gather the villagers and search the houses!" ordered Mr. Crossland as he leapt from the longboat onto the shore.
In the distance, to the north in the direction of Port Royal, Mr. Crossland heard a low rolling sound, almost as thunder. A sound he knew all too well, the sound of cannons firing. The men of New England had engaged the French on French soil.
The villagers of Chepoudy were herded onto the shore and made to sit while the landing party searched the houses seeking the plunder of Acadian fur.
After almost an hour the men of the Hopewell searched in vain having found not a single fur.
Mr. Crossland noticed a beautiful young woman clinging to her father in terror. He walked across the sand of the shore which made a distinctive crunching sound beneath his boots. A sound that filled the young woman's ears at the approach of this man of war. Her heart pounded in her chest as Mr Crossland stopped and stood towering abover her. The woman cowered before him, clinging even harder to her father's arm.
Looking directly at the older man, Mr. Crossland inquired:
"Do ye speak English?"
"Yes" the old man whispered, his voice trembling with fear.
Mr. Crossland then stooped down and grabbed the young woman, lifting her to her feet.
"Excellent. Sir, we are men of commerce and I propose a trade. We are informed that somewhere in this village is a warehouse of furs. And yet all we have found of any worth in this village is . . . well how shall I say this . . . the only thing of worth in this village appears to be the beauty of your women. So sir, I purpose a trade; the furs for the honor of your daughter and all the lovely ladies of Chepoudy."
The old man's eyes filled with both terror and rage in the same instant. He paused but a second before slowly rising to his feet. He nodded towards a small building at the edge of the village.
"I shall show you where the furs are hidden, for the sake of my daughter and all the women of Chepoudy."
The old man led Mr. Crossland, who retained a strong grip upon the young woman, to the small building. As they entered the front room, the old man moved a table which sat upon a trap door to a root cellar. Within minutes the men of the landing party began pouring out of the building with large bundles of furs.
Within an hour the cargo hold of the Hopewell was packed full of Acadian furs.
Mr. Crossland returned the young woman to her father with this advice.
"Sir never gamble, it was a bluff, for never would I permit any of my crew, nor myself to engage in such unpleasantries where the honor of a lady is involved."
"Tell yourself that sir, but as a father, it is a wager that no man would ever take. Now leave our shores!" the old man defiantly retorted.
Mr. Crossland bowed and tipped his hat to the old man and his daughter. Pleased with himself and the days work, for plunder had been taken without a shot being fired.
Almost as quickly as the Hopewell descended upon Chepoudy, she set sail for the west, to England. As she departed, the sound of cannon fire continued to rage in the north about Port Royal.
The men of New England struggled for four days at the walls of Port Royal, briefly breaching the walls, only to be thrown back by the fierce fighting of the French. The men of New England failed to take the city, but did inflict such devastating harm upon Acadia, that for the remainder of the war, there were no more raids upon the frontier.