Her name is Jeanne, Jeanne Aucoin, pronounced Ah-QUON. I whisper her name because she is oh so near and dear to my heart.
You see, she is my seventh great-grandmother, and I’ve walked in her footsteps. Trod where she trod. Stood where she stood – and probably cried where she cried – in the old medieval city of La Rochelle.
Something about that changes you.
Her name and spirit flutter across my heart and then across the centuries. Connecting her to me through a timeless linkage.
Stephen White first reported that Jeanne was born in France based on the depositions of her great-grandson, Pierre Richard, and another by Louis Courtin, husband of her great-great-granddaughter, Marie-Josephe Martin, on the French island of Belle-Île-en-Mer, decades after her death.
Today, we know so much more.
Let’s reach back in time and attend Jeanne’s baptism.
Tuesday, November 26, 1630 in La Rochelle
Priests baptize babies every day of the week because babies arrive whenever they and God decide. No one waited until Sunday. Not all babies lived and the babies who perished during the terrible famine caused by the 1627-1628 Siege of La Rochelle were fresh in the minds of everyone.
So much death.
Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguet have been married just over a dozen years now. Somehow, they had survived the famine. They had brought other children into the world. Michelle, their firstborn, was 12 now, and Francois was 8. Of course, the child born between them and those born since had all perished. They had buried at least three babies since Francois’s birth, although this morning, as Martin prepared to rush to the church, all of that was a blur now.
He tried not to look at the cemetery in the churchyard where his children and countless others rest. There was no room or time to dig individual graves, so many were buried together. Four of every five people in LaRochelle died during the siege.
So much grief.
La Rochelle, once the second largest city in France had shrunk from about 27,000, active, busting residents to 5,000 during the terrible siege when the Huguenots held the city and King Louis XIII and Philippe de Champaigne, known as Cardinal Richelieu, were trying to recover the city for France, and God, of course. Finally, after 14 months of death and horrific famine, Cardinal Richelieu’s soldiers captured and liberated La Rochelle.
Martin remembered it well – all too well. He shuddered every time he thought of it. Finally, there would once again be food and water. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had survived.
Victoriously entering the city, Cardinal Richelieu, in his red vestments, held mass on the morning of November 1st in the Chapelle Saint-Marguerite, the church where Jeanne was about to be baptized just two years later.
This baby would be baptized as a Catholic and live. Yes, she had to live. There had already been far too much death. May God have Mercy on their souls.
Martin crossed himself before snugly swaddling his new daughter on this cold November morning.
Martin quietly slipped down the ancient steps with the carefully bundled baby, watchful not to fall where others had trod for centuries, wearing deep bowl-shaped grooves in the stones, and left the house at first light while Barbe rested. She was still so thin, frail, and exhausted from all those months with no food.
Martin headed out into the empty streets with his warmly wrapped bundle of joy. November is cold on the Atlantic coast and the wind bites, cutting through you like the icy blade of a knife. He’d stop briefly on the way to gather the two required witnesses if they were up, or maybe someone would be at the church.
Martin passed the city gate. Normally busy and bustling with commerce, only one person was up this early and Martin didn’t have time to talk today.
Walking up the street, Martin thought he heard someone call his name, but when he turned around, no one was there. The street was empty in both directions. Must have been his imagination, or, perhaps an ancestor or one of those who had died in the famine walking with him. His protectors. He could use all the protection he could get.
He crossed himself again, just in case.
Martin turned right and headed up the cobblestone street into town. He could hear distant sounds of people rising, a clank here and there, but no one was discernably moving yet.
He could see the sun beginning to rise in the distance.
Martin had to be watchful because, first thing in the morning, people dumped chamber pots out of the windows.
The cobblestones from the ships’ ballast paved the narrow passageways, creating a gutter of sorts in the center designed to drain the contents of chamber pots, rain, and everything else into the bay, just outside the city walls.
Perhaps he’d better walk beneath the palisades in the little piazza where it was safer. After all, he didn’t want to enter the church smelling like “that,” and then there was his newborn daughter to think of.
Martin noticed the spires of another church along the way, but he was headed to his home church.
He hoped that the priest would be awake and perhaps in the church already. This baby was a little small, but otherwise, she seemed to be fine. However, you just never know, and the quicker the baby is baptized, the better.
If the Priest wasn’t in the church saying his morning prayers, Martin would have to tap on the door of the rectory and hope that the priest wasn’t in someone’s home having breakfast or maybe giving last rites. Priests were called by frantic family members at all hours of the day and night.
A few blocks up the street, Martin looked up and to the left, where he saw the bell tower of Saint-Barthelemy of the Great Temple Church.
He had been in that church many times, but not today. The bell would ring soon though, on the hour, announcing morning.
The steps of the church and some of the houses protruded into the streets, so he had to take care not to trip on either the steps or uneven cobblestones. Of course, the horses and animals from the day before would have left their calling cards in the streets too. Lots of landmines to avoid.
Finally, Martin arrived at the church. The church in 1630 isn’t a church today. This simple church started out as a convent for Catholic Nuns in the 12th century, then became a Catholic church that was at one time shared with the Protestants, then a hospital and movie theater.
When Martin arrived that early Tuesday morning, the large, heavy front door wouldn’t have been unlocked yet.
Martin turned the corner and walked up the side street, alongside the church. Le College was across the street, although that’s just a memory today. The tall building in the rear didn’t exist then and in its place was the churchyard, meaning probably the cemetery, in 1630.
Martin hoped that one of the side doors would be open.
Ever since the conflict and resulting siege of the last decade, many of the church doors were barred from the inside for protection.
Surely, one of the doors would be open if the priest were already there. During services, especially when it was beastly hot, the doors would have been latched open.
Were these hooks here that morning, or were they added later? A carpenter, had Martin perhaps repaired these doors at one time? Maybe he replaced this door after the siege?
As the sun’s early rays played on the church’s walls, Martin approached the original doors at left. With one hand, he tugged at the heavy wood anchored with massive hinges to see if they were unlocked. Perhaps Martin was in luck.
Being shifted from arm to arm, the baby, only a few hours old and as yet unnamed, began to cry.
Martin heard someone moving inside the church, heard muted footsteps approach the door. “Qui est là?” Who is there, the Priest queried?
“C’est moi, Martin Aucoin, avec le nouveau-né bébé,“ Martin replied, relieved to find the Priest in the church. “It’s me, Martin Aucoin, with the newborn baby!”
The parishioners entered through the larger door and the clergy through the smaller one. The priest opened the door, saw Martin’s bundle, and was relieved to hear the muffled cry, much like the soft mewing of a kitten. Crying babies were always wonderful signs, blessings, in fact. The Father saw far too many babies that weren’t crying anymore. A few minutes, some Holy Water, and a few tears later, Jeanne was named and baptized.
Jeanne’s baptism was recorded by the Priest later that day, Tuesday, November 26, 1630, in the registers of the Chapelle Ste-Marguerite inside the walls of the old city of La Rochelle, France. Cousin Mark found the baptism document in the Archives Départmentales de la Charente-Maritime; MS 253-La Rochelle; Église Sainte-Marguerite baptisms, 1620-1639, p 68 of 267.
Jeanne’s parents are listed as Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett, and the witnesses were Arnoud Giou and Jeanne Riou. Jeanne was clearly named after her Godmother who would bear the responsibility of raising Jeanne and assuring her Catholic education, such as education was, should something happen to Jeanne’s parents. Was Jeanne a relative? Was Arnoud?
Today, the church where Jeanne was baptized is no longer a church but an event venue named the Salle de l’Oratoire, owned by the municipality.
You can still see the location of the alter near where Jeanne would have been baptized, here. Looking at this incredibly beautiful candle-filled church, I can feel Jeanne and her parent’s joy-filled presence here.
More Tragedy
Tragedy wasn’t over.
Something happened to Barbe Minguett.
She died sometime before January 20, 1632 when Martin Aucoin, Jeanne’s father, a carpenter or joiner, remarried to Marie Sallee in the Saint-Barthelemy of the Great Temple Church.
Yes, that church bell tower, #26 on the map below, that Martin passed by before dawn on the way to get Jeanne baptized just 14 months earlier.
Ten days after Martin married Marie Sallee, a child, Nicholas Aucoin, presumably another child of Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett who had already died, also passed away.
Barbe and Nicholas were probably buried in the churchyard surrounding what was then Ste. Marguerite, #16 on the map above, along with their earlier children who perished. We don’t know their names, but we do know that several children are “missing” between the children we do know about.
The church is in the lower left-hand corner of the red box, above. The tall building behind the church is shown, as are the buildings to the right. It looks like there’s an enclosed garden with a tree or two behind the house immediately beside the church. Today, you can still trace the lines where the cemetery would have been, which makes me wonder if those buildings on top of hallowed ground are haunted.
There is no adjacent cemetery to Saint Barthelemy, #26.
Marie Sallee, upon her marriage, found herself an immediate mother to at least three children, including the infant, Jeanne. Martin desperately needed a mother for his children.
Martin and Marie’s first child, son Jean Aucoin, was baptized in the Saint-Barthelemy Church on November 10, 1632, just 10 months after their marriage and two weeks and two days shy of Jeanne’s second birthday. Jean’s godparents were Jean Rondeau and Marie Roucon. Sadly, this baby’s death was recorded the following June 25th, 1633, only 7 months old.
This means that Jeanne’s mother, Barbe Minguett died when Jeanne was just a baby, probably before her first birthday and was buried in the cemetery beside the church – now built over.
Growing Up
Jeanne Aucoin was raised by her father and stepmother, Marie Sallee. She probably had additional siblings, but they apparently did not survive in any known records.
We know that Jeanne married Francois Girouard around 1647, but it’s not clear whether or not they married after arriving in Acadia, or in La Rochelle before they left. The same holds true for her sister, Michelle Aucoin, who married Michel Boudrot about 1640 or 1641, given that their first child was born about 1642. We do know that Michel was in Port Royal by 1639 when he was listed as a trustee there and witnessed the baptism of Governor D’Aulnay’s daughter, although nothing precluded him from traveling back to France on business or recruiting additional colonists and marrying Michelle in La Rochelle.
Regardless, one way or another, for reasons unknown, Martin Aucoin’s family decided that they would have a better life across the great Atlantic in Acadia. In preparation, they packed up or sold everything they owned, taking only what they could stow in their portion of the hold of a ship. They probably took only what was essential, including Martin’s carpenter’s tools. Maybe only Martin’s tools. A carpenter would have been very valuable in the fledgling colony.
The Aucoin family would have sailed between the medieval towers standing sentry at the entrance to the port of La Rochelle sometime around 1640, leaving La Rochelle for the New World.
They not only left France, they left their families, if anyone was left, forever.
What an incredibly bittersweet day that must have been. Both exciting and terrifying. Anticipation mixed with fear of the unknown – plus the known dangers of transatlantic travel
I wonder if Martin made one last trip to the cemetery to say a final farewell to Barbe and their children resting with her. Sadly, Jeanne would have had no memory of her mother, but her sister, Michelle, a decade older than Jeanne, would have. Perhaps Jeanne and Michelle went with their father to pay their respects and say one final goodbye to their mother.
Maree Sallee would have said goodbye to her son as well, making one last trip to the church for prayers for safe passage too.
The New World
Weeks later, when Jeanne Aucoin and her family arrived in Nova Scotia, it may have been on the same ship with her future husband, Francois Girouard. Or, maybe they were already married.
For all we know, Martin could have convinced his two daughters and their new husbands to embark together for the New World. Or maybe it was Michel Boudrot who convinced everyone that land and opportunity awaited in Acadia. Six weeks in the cramped shipboard quarters would be uncomfortable, but they expected that their new life would be well worth it.
Michel, supported by d’Aulnay would be telling incredible stories about the wide-open space and limitless opportunities in Acadia – to an audience still stinging from being cramped in a putrid city during that horrid siege. Yes indeed, land and grass and trees and safety seemed like a wonderful, perhaps even God-sent, opportunity. They could never have or achieve any of those things in France. They couldn’t even own a cow.
But maybe things weren’t quite as rosy as they first seemed.
Upon arrival, they found themselves in the midst of conflict between Frenchmen who wanted to control Acadia, and the English who wanted the same thing. Much like a family fight and, at the same time, a fight with the neighbor.
French families had begun arriving in 1632 and initially settled at La Hève on the southern coast of Acadia, now LaHave, Nova Scotia.
In 1635, d’Aulnay, the Governor, moved the settlement from La Hève to Port Royal, later called Annapolis Royal, as seen on this 1768 map, along with Pisiquid (Pigiguid here), at upper right, which plays a role in the life of Jeanne’s descendants.
In 1641, while d’Aulnay was in France, Charles La Tour, another Frenchman, challenged d’Aulnay’s authority, attempting to oust him. In 1645, d’Aulnay captured La Tour’s fort and hung his soldiers. La Tour’s wife died soon thereafter under somewhat mysterious circumstances, and La Tour took refuge in Quebec.
D’Aulnay was now firmly in control until 1650 when he died in a “boating accident.” His widow, Jeanne Motin, married his nemesis, LaTour, in 1653.
Martin Aucoin and his wife, Marie Salee, probably arrived with their children sometime around 1640 or 1641 in the midst of all of this hullabaloo. Having said that, they could have arrived anytime after 1633, when the last record of Martin Aucoin appears in France.
If you’re thinking that this was a lot of high-stakes drama, fitting of any soap opera, you’d be exactly right.
Unfortunately, none of the parish registers survived until 1702, so we don’t know what happened to whom or when, except through indirect records.
Jeanne’s father, Martin Aucoin, died sometime during this period, because Marie Sallee married Jean Claude after 1651. She was listed as age 61 in 1671, then as Claude’s widow in 1678, living with the daughter of Michelle Aucoin, and age 86 in 1686. Even though Marie remarried, she very clearly stayed close to the Aucoin girls. It appears that Marie and Martin had no surviving children.
Based on these records, we know that Marie was born sometime between 1600 and 1610, so would have been having children until around 1645-1655ish. She and Martin probably had several children who perished.
Based on later records, we know when at least some children were born to Jeanne Aucoin and her husband, François Girouard.
- Son Jacques Girouard was born about 1648, married Marguerite Gautrot, and died in 1703 in Port Royal, Acadia.
- Daughter Marie Girouard was born about 1650, married Jacques Blou, and died in 1713. They eventually lived near her brother, Germain Girouard, in Beaubassin.
- Daughter Marie Madeleine Girouard was born about 1654, married Thomas Cornier, and died after 1714. They lived in Beaubassin.
- Germain Girouard was born about 1656, married Marie Bourgeois in Beaubassin, and died before 1694 in Acadia.
- Anne Charlotte Girouard was born about 1660 in Port Royal, married Julien Lord, and died in 1742 in Port Royal, Acadia.
By 1686, three of Jeanne’s children, Germain, Marie, and Madelaine, had settled in Beaubassin.
Sadly, Jeanne outlived all but one of her children, Anne Charlotte.
Jeanne had at least 43 known grandchildren and probably more.
The English
A decade or so after the Aucoin family arrived in Acadia, war erupted between the French and English.
By 1653, there were 45-50 households at Port Royal and La Have, combined, where there were estimated to be 300-350 people, including 60 single men. If the Aucoin sisters had arrived single, they had their choice of several beaus.
In 1654, war broke out between France and England, and the English from New England attacked Acadia, seizing La Tour’s fort on the south shore and then Port Royal on the north. Farms were burned, and property was seized. Eventually, the Acadians were allowed to return home, but many didn’t have homes to return to. We have no idea if Jeanne Aucoin and François Girouard’s home was spared, although based on later census records of blended families, it looks doubtful.
There is no record of Martin Aucoin in Acadia. It’s possible that he died as a result of this attack or perhaps near this time.
The English occupied Acadia from 1654 to 1670, during which time no additional French families arrived, and the French already there were forbidden from returning to France.
In 1654, Nicholas Denys, a prisoner at Port Royal, described life in Port Royal and estimated that there were about 270 residents.
“There are numbers of meadows on both shores, and two islands which possess meadows, and which are 3 or 4 leagues from the fort in ascending. There is a great extent of meadows which the sea used to cover, and which the Sieur d’Aulnay had drained. It bears now fine and good wheat, and since the English have been masters of the country, the residents who were lodged near the fort have for the most part abandoned there houses and have gone to settle on the upper part of the river. They have made their clearings below and above this great meadow, which belongs at present to Madame de La Tour. There they have again drained other lands which bear wheat in much greater abundance than those which they cultivated round the fort, good though those were. All the inhabitants there are the ones whome Monsieur le Commandeur de Razilly had brought from France to La Have; since that time they have multiplied much at Port Royal, where they have a great number of cattle and swine.”
The French Governors before the English occupation were:
- Isaac de Razilly 1632-1635
- Charles de Menou d’Aulnay 1635-1650
- Charles de Saint-Etienne de la Tour 1653-1654
France regained control of Acadia in 1670, taking a census in 1671 where 392 people were recorded, although it’s believed to have been undercounted.
In the 1671 census, François Girouard, a farmer, age 50, is shown with wife Jeanne Aucoin, 40. They had three married children, Jacob, 23, Marie, 20 and Marie Magdeleine 17. Unmarried children include Germain, 14, and Anne, 12. They lived on 8 arpents of land with 16 cattle and 6 sheep.
Jeanne’s age of 40 puts her birth at approximately 1631, which meshes with her 1630 baptism in La Rochelle. Jacob’s age of 23 suggests his birth when Jeanne was about 17, or in about 1648.
The 1678 census shows François Girouer and Jeanne Aucoin, no ages given, with 15 “acres” and 18 cattle, according to Lucie LeBlanc Consentino. Additionally, Germain, age 22, is shown in the household. By 1680, Germain was in Beaubassin where he married Marie Bourgeois. Jeanne may never have seen her son again, nor the resulting grandchildren.
The 1686 census at Port Royal (and nearby) shows Françoise Girouard, now age 70, along with Jeanne, 55. None of their children remain in the home, but they have 1 gun, 13 cattle, 16 sheep, and 8 hogs on 5 arpents of land. Daughter Charlotte was living next door with her husband Julien Lord and their children, but had no livestock or land, which suggests that the families are living on the same land.
Hell Arrived in 1690
I wonder if Jeanne ever thought back to La Rochelle and questioned her family’s wisdom in leaving. If so, 1690 might well have been that time.
In May of 1690, Acadia was again savagely attacked, plundered, and burned by the English out of Boston. This would have been the second time Jeanne witnessed this – the first time 36 years earlier, in 1654.
After the initial attack, organized pillaging began. For the next 12 days, the English militiamen ransacked houses and gardens, seized the wheat and clothes of the Acadians, killed their cattle, sacked the church, and demolished, then burned the stockade.
Undefended Acadian farms and homes were burned for no reason and in contravention to the surrender agreement negotiated by the Acadian priest with the English. Acadian soldiers were imprisoned in the church and the governor in his home. Belongings were stolen, and farmland was destroyed, severing any remaining shred of trust.
In Port Royal, the church and 28 homes were then burned, but not the mills and upriver farms.
Because François Girouard and Jeanne Aucoin lived at least somewhat upriver at what is now Tupperville, his farm may possibly have been spared, but based on later census where households have combined, it’s doubtful.
The English were now unquestionably in control and required a loyalty oath.
The Acadians in Port Royal relented when they had no other choice and swore an oath of allegiance, transcribed here, hoping to de-escalate the situation. Francois Girouard is not among the signers. Did he perish during this ordeal? Was he one of the 45 Acadians taken hostage and imprisoned in Boston? He would have been in his 70s and Jeanne would have been 59.
A few weeks later, two English pirates took advantage of the opportunity and burned homes again, killing people and livestock. I think some people just take pleasure in being cruel.
The 1693 census confirms François Girouard’s’ death and the combination of households by showing Jeanne Aucoin, now a widow, age 60, living in the same household with Julien Lord, her son-in-law, age 41, Charlotte, age 33, their 5 children, 20 cattle, 40 sheep and 10 hogs on 20 arpents of land
Son Jacob Giroud, age 46, lives two houses away with his 11 children, 25 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 hogs on 20 arpents of land, with two guns.
They are living in what is known as the Girouard Village, which is today Tupperville.
A marker there states that Jeanne Aucoin and François Girourard were from what is now Granville Ferry, directly across from Annapolis Royal.
Granville Ferry isn’t far from the Lor/Lord land.
Beautiful Granville Ferry today looking from across the River in Port Royal.
Passing Over
Jeanne was lucky that she enjoyed the company of her sister, Michelle, for most of her life, on both sides of the Atlantic. Michelle died on December 17, 1706, and was buried the next day – just a few days before Christmas. She is noted as being more than 95 years old and the wife of Michel Boudrot.
Despite the many hardships and heartaches that Jeanne faced, she lived a long life. Her burial took place on April 18, 1718, in Port Royal, so she likely died the previous day. She is noted as more than 90 years old, the widow of “Girouer le Pere.”
The original parish records were clearly recopied, above, as the original is found in the Nova Scotia Archives and is shown below.
If Jeanne were 90, she would have been born in 1728, so 90 is close. Often the ages of the super-old are remembered as older than they are. Who would be left that remembered?
Jeanne would then have been buried along with her family members, close to her husband, sister, and children, in the Catholic churchyard’s cemetery at Port Royal. She rests among the unmarked graves in what is known as the Garrison Cemetery at today’s Annapolis Royal.
This may mark the end of Jeanne’s earthly life, but it certainly isn’t the end of her story.
Belle-Île-en-Mer
Jeanne would be happy to know that at least some of her descendants survived the forced deportations – the horrific, genocidal events that began in 1755.
Fortunately, those with some of the most arduous journeys left other types of records because any official records or registries were destroyed.
The Acadians were intentionally strewn to the winds by the English so those tenacious Acadians would not wind up together and continue causing trouble for their conquerors.
Jeanne’s grandson, Honoré Lore, my ancestor, was wandering around someplace in New England during this time, for more than three decades prior to settling in Quebec in the 1780s.
Not all Acadians were deported to the colonies, and some who arrived in some colonial locations were not accepted and ended up being shipped elsewhere.
After the Acadians were expelled, beginning in 1755, many began a long journey that culminated with their arrival back in France on the starkly beautiful, rocky island of Belle-Île-en-Mer in 1765.
It was an incredibly long, deadly, decade.
After their arrival on Belle-Île-en-Mer, the French were trying to figure out what to do with these Acadian refugees who had already been bounced from place to place and imprisoned because of their French heritage, so they asked each family about their ancestry. Fortunately for us, the refugees provided depositions about their family back to the original French settlers who had arrived in Nova Scotia more than a century and several generations earlier.
Today, their descendants, proud Acadians still, live on the island and keep their ancestors’ documents safe and their memory alive.
The 78 Acadian families settled in 120 villages in four regions on Belle-Île-en-Mer where many of the original homes can still be identified to the founding families, including the small stone home of Pierre Richard. Pierre eventually gave the home to his son a few years later when he subsequently left for the next frontier – Louisiana.
Two of Jeanne Aucoin’s descendants gave detailed depositions a dozen years after the 1755 removal when some of the Acadian people were first exiled to Virginia, then to England, then after 1763 to Belle-Île-en-Mer in France. The French government wanted to know as much as possible about the origins of the earliest family members of the Acadian refugees in order to determine who, by virtue of their French ancestry, was eligible for assistance.
Those depositions have been carefully preserved today and are available for their descendants to view..
Lucie LeBlanc Consantino’s website provides the translation of the original depositions which can still be found on Belle-Île-en-Mer, above. Cousin Brian is reviewing his ancestors’ documents with the assistance of Anne-Christine, our tour guide.
We find two depositions from descendants of François Girouard and his wife, Jeanne Aucoin:
On February 9, 1767, appeared Louis Courtin, farmer, living in the village of Aprens de Triboutons, Parish of Sauzon, who, in the presence of Simon P. Daigre, Joseph Babin, Jean Baptiste Le Blanc, and Armand Granger, all Acadians living on this island, stated that he was born in St. Nicolas de Prete Vales, County of Dunois, Diocese of Blois of Jean Baptiste (Courtin) and Marie Anne Pellereau, born at Blois, St. Honore Parish, married at Cork, Ireland on Sept 15, 1761, to Marie Josephe Martin, born at Port Royal in 1740, of Michel Martin and Magdeleine Girouard. Michel Martin issued from Etienne and Marie Comeau, and Etienne issues from Rene Martin, who came from France and married at Port Royal to Marguerite Landry. Both died there. Madeleine Girouard was born at Port Royal of Guillaume and Anne Renauchet. Guillaume issued from Jacques Girouard and Anne Gautrot of Port Royal and Jacques Girouard descended from another Jacques who came from France with Jeanne Aucoin, his wife; both died at Port Royal.
On February 9, 1767, appeared Pierre Richard, from Kbellec, in this Parish, who, in the presence of Honore LeBlanc, Joseph LeBlanc, Oliver Daigre, and Laurent Babin, all Acadians living on this island, witnesses and states that he was born at Port Royal principal town of Acadia on November 15, 1710, of Pierre (Richard) and Madeleine Girouard. Pierre Richard, Sr., died at Port Royal in 1726, son of Rene Richard and Magdeleine Landry, both died there. Rene Richard was the son of another Rene de San Souci who came from France, married at Port Royal to Magdeleine Blanchard, and both died there. Magdeleine Girouard died at Port Royal in 1752 and was the daughter of Jacques (Girouard) and Anne Gautrot, Jacques Girouard is issue of another Jacques dit La Varanne who came from France with his wife Jeanne Aucoin, who settled at Port Royal and both died there.
You might notice that these depositions state François Girouard’s name as Jacques. We can verify the accuracy of his wife and children’s names in the census, thereby confirming that his name was François. In the intervening generations, many devastating events had occurred. Their family had literally been torn apart and uprooted – children ripped from their mother’s arms during the deportation. We can forgive their descendants this error in memory three and four generations later.
What’s interesting here is the phrasing of the information regarding their arrival.
- “…descended from another Jacques who came from France with Jeanne Aucoin, his wife.”
- “Jacques dit La Varanne who came from France with his wife Jeanne Aucoin.”
Given that both of these descendants had been exiled together, it’s certainly possible that they had jointly misremembered François’s name or that somehow it hadn’t been passed down correctly. Perhaps his middle name was Jacques, or maybe genealogy just wasn’t that important when the English, then other French commanders, and then the English again, were continually attacking.
How are these people on Belle-Île-en-Mer descended from Jeanne Aucoin? I had to draw this out.
Both of Jeanne’s descendants that wound up back in France descended through son Jacques Girouard and Anne Gautrot who lived near his parents in Acadia. They were deported from Port Royal to Virginia, where the refugees were rejected. The Acadians were shipped to England a few months later, where they were held as prisoners of war for several years.
Regardless of how difficult farming was on hilly, rocky Belle-Île-en-Mer, the Acadians who first had to live in warehouses while things were sorted out, were grateful for anything.
Eventually, the Acadians were granted small portions of land equal to those of other settlers. They were able to build a 27-square-meter one-room house, about 270 square feet, with thatch or slate roofs.
In addition to the descendants of Jeanne Aucoin, several of the families also descended from her sister, Michelle.
Alexandre Aucoin from Mines declared that he descended from Alex Aucoin who died in 1759, the son of Martin Aucoin and Marie Gaudet, and that Martin Aucoin came from France and died with his wife at the Riviere aux Canaards. The relationship between that Martin and Jeanne’s father, Martin, if any, is unclear.
Today, this Acadian cross marks the location of a crossroads meeting location on Belle-Île-en-Mer where Acadians would gather to catch up on the neighborhood news.
The Cajuns, Acadians who traveled on to Louisiana, descend from these families, as do many families who still reside on Belle-Île-en-Mer and those who removed to Saint-Malo, Nantes, and elsewhere.
Pierre Richard
Jeanne, if you’re listening, I want to tell you about the life of your great-grandson, Pierre Richard. Surely you must wonder what happened to him.
Many of your great-grandchildren were scattered to the winds, but we know at least something about Pierre. You knew him as a baby. You held him, rocked him, and sang him beautiful French Acadian lullabies that Acadian women still sing to their children. He was born in 1710, so when you passed from the earth, he was 8 years old.
Pierre never forgot you. He told the story of how you and Francois “dit La Varanne” Girouard traveled from France to Acadia. Of course, when you were telling him the stories of that journey, he had no idea that he, himself, would one day travel back to France. In fact, he lived there and gave a deposition about your origins. I don’t think he knew you were born in La Rochelle 135 years earlier. If so, he didn’t include that in the deposition he provided after he was deported. I’m sure you would never, in your wildest dreams, have imagined that some of your descendants would one day live in France again.
Yes, sadly, Pierre Richard and his family were rounded up and expelled in 1755 from Pisiguit, first to the colonies and then to Liverpool, England in the summer of 1756, and then, back to France. Pierre’s first wife had died before they left England, and he remarried in Morlaix, France, on October 3, 1763, to Francoise Daigre. She had been held in Falmouth. Their child, Anselme Richard was born in Morlaix on February 2, 1765. Two decades later, in 1785, Anselme, his parents, and 3 of his siblings would sail on the ship, “Le Beaumont,” for Louisiana and settle there as Pierre’s final destination – but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Pierre was fortunate that he had not been separated from his wife and children when they were deported from Pisiguit in September of 1755. The family may have originally been sent to Philadelphia or Virginia, arriving two months later. Soon thereafter, 366 Acadians were sent to Liverpool, in England where they were held against their will as prisoners until the end of the Seven Years’ War. Put up after arrival in Liverpool in old potters’ workshops, they were greeted by deadly smallpox. Their numbers were reduced to 224 by the end of 1762.
While they couldn’t leave, they did receive 6 cents a day per adult, 3 cents for children each day, and $1.20 a year for lodging in prison quarters. Catholic parish records of a few Acadians have been found.
The Acadians petitioned to whomever might come to their assistance, and eventually, one of their messages reached the King of France who was impressed by their continued loyalty, despite their circumstances and what they had undergone.
On the last day of December 1762, the French envoy went to the Acadian prison quarters in Liverpool and informed the Acadians that the King had agreed to repatriate them to France. Raucous cheering broke out. “Long live the King.” The envoy recorded that, “They were beside themselves, clapping, raising their hands, hitting the walls, and crying like children.” So loudly that they alarmed the local residents.
That was one incredibly Happy New Year!
The King of France began to arrange for the repatriation of the Acadians, who were destitute and in great need, to both Morlaix and Saint-Malo on the Atlantic coast of France.
On June 7, 1763, the surviving Acadians boarded the king’s ship, L’Esturgeon, and sailed for Morlaix, France.
In July 1763, Brittany, who spoke a different language, proposed to bring the Acadians to Belle-Île-en-Mer, hoping the industrious Acadians would rebuild there.
By 1765, Pierre’s family had arrived on the beautiful island of Belle-Île-en-Mer, which, at that time, was war-torn as a result of English occupation. The King was seeking industrious farmers to repair and rebuild.
By this time, Pierre was 54 years old and surely tired of the constant strife. Initially, 78 families totaling 355 people lived in the King’s warehouses on Belle-Île-en-Mer as they awaited promised land, animals, and tools.
In 1766, Pierre was assigned his plot of land in Kerbellec in the Le Palais district. Although quite small – only 30 meters – an amount that could all be plowed in one day, the Acadians were grateful for their allotment and set about building small homes.
Recently, our group of Acadian descendants visited Belle-Île-en-Mer where we walked in the steps of the Acadians.
Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.
We visited the home where Pierre lived in a cluster of other Acadian families. Regardless of how many children Acadian families had, they all lived in a small house of this size. Some lucky people stored hay in the attic and teenage boys were allowed to sleep there.
Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.
Pierre chiseled the year, 1766, in the block above the doorway. He must have been oh-so-grateful to have any place to call home again.
Most of these homes are still in use, sometimes expanded by joining two small homes that were built sharing a wall.
Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.
The door was only as wide and tall as an adult, meaning a relatively small adult today.
Several Acadian families settled together, sometimes with their homes sharing walls, and usually surrounding a common area in front of their homes.
Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.
This well, just a few feet across the common area, provided life-giving water to Pierre Richard and the families of his three adult children and others who settled there, along with their children and animals.
You can take a look for yourself in this video, with Claude Boudreau, the proprietor of Les Voyages DiasporAcadie, translating for Maryvonne Le Gac, a local Acadian.
Video courtesy of cousin Brian Stevens.
Jeanne, Pierre must have thought about what you went through in your life too. At first, Pierre, along with the rest of the incredibly homesick Acadians, dreamed of returning to their homelands but finally accepted the reality that their homes had been burned, their land was redistributed, and return was not a possibility.
Instead, a new Acadian settlement in Spanish Louisiana became the next dream, and many Acadians, Pierre being one of them, set out for Louisiana where he settled in Acadiana and died sometime after 1785, possibly in Baton Rouge in 1794.
Pierre Richard passed his land and home on Belle-Île-en-Mer to a son before leaving, so some of Pierre’s descendants live in Louisiana, while some continue the Acadian tradition on Belle-Île-en-Mer, hosting cousins who return to find their roots.
Bless this cousin for her hospitality and generosity – helping me find a warm coat for Jim. Oh, and perhaps a smattering of quilt fabric for me.
She even let Jim warm up in her car while she and I went shopping. That might have been just a tad dangerous:)
Did I mention how much fun we had?!!! I hope to see her again soon.
Jeanne Aucoin’s Mitochondrial DNA
We are fortunate to have Jeanne Aucoin’s mitochondrial DNA through her descendants.
Mitochondrial DNA is passed from women to both sexes of their offspring, but it is only passed on by females. Therefore, everyone who descends from Jeanne or Michelle Aucoin carries the mitochondrial DNA of their mother, Barbe Minguett. Several testers descend from one or the other sisters, and their mitochondrial DNA matches exactly.
Because of the lack of records during this time, we don’t have a marriage record for Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett, nor do we have Michelle’s baptism record. That means we don’t know for sure that Jeanne and Michelle share the same mother.
While mitochondrial DNA can’t prove with exact certainty that they share the same mother, an exact match can go a long way toward eliminating other possibilities.
If Barbe Minguett was not the mother of both Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin, and their mothers were sisters to each other, or closely related through their direct maternal lines, like perhaps first cousins, the mitochondrial DNA of their matrilineal descendants could and probably would still match. However, the fact that several dispensations of consanguinity in the marriage records of Michelle and Jeanne’s descendants who married, along with their mitochondrial DNA, confirms that, indeed, Jeanne and Michelle were sisters.
Jeanne and Michelle’s mitochondrial DNA falls into haplogroup H which is the most common haplogroup in Europe, although most people fall into a subgroup and the Aucoin sisters do not – at least not yet.
Most of their exact matches descend from people in North America, but at least one exact full sequence match descends from Jeanne Chevoleau who was born before 1760 in Venansault, Vendée, France. If accurate, Jeanne Chevoleau’s birth before 1760 eliminates the possibility that her parents were some of the displaced Acadian families who returned to the Atlantic coastal region of France after the 1763 Peace Treaty followed by the Acadian arrival in 1765.
Venansault isn’t far from La Rochelle where we find Barbe Minguett in the church records.
Other exact matches hail from different locations in France, multiple locations in Canada and the US, two in Bulgaria, and one each in Austria, Germany, Haiti, and Poland.
In addition to 29 exact matches, there are another 142 matches with either one or two differences, and some of those people also descend from the descendants of Michelle and Jeanne Aucoin.
Not every match has recorded their earliest known ancestor’s location so that it can be displayed on the Matches Map. If you descend from either Jeanne or Michelle Aucoin through all females to the current generation, which can be male, please order the mtFull test here, and complete your Earliest Known Ancestor information. You’ll find instructions here.
The Million Mito Team is refining haplogroups. After release, the new mitochondrial haplotree may further define and split Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin’s haplogroup. Some of the extra and missing mutations stem from unstable regions, but some do not, so we’ll see. There are 24 people who match this lineage exactly, and several descendants who have one, two, or three mutations difference. The new tree will assist with determining the age of the mutations.
We may also discover that the Aucoin sisters and their mother, Barbe Minguett, match some ancient DNA samples, which may provide more insight into the history of their and our ancestors.
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