Unfortunately, we know very little about Simon Pelletret, one of the founding settlers in Port Royal, Acadia, today’s Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia.

For decades, we only knew his surname through his daughters. Simon was long deceased by the time the first Acadian census was taken in Port Royal in 1671.

In that and subsequent censuses, his two daughters are shown with the birth surname Pelletret. His widow, Perrine Bourg, had remarried to Rene Landry by about 1645, because their first child was born about 1646.

Simon’s oldest daughter, Henriette Pelletret, was born about 1640 or 1641 in Port Royal, and married Pierre Doucet in about 1660.

Simon’s younger daughter, Jeanne, was born about 1643 and married Barnabe Martin about 1666, followed by Jacques Le Vanier about 1691.

Perrine Bourg, Simon’s wife, was born about 1626, someplace in France, so she would have been about 14 or 15 when they married.

Typically, Acadian men married when they were about 30. Based on that calculation, Simon was probably born about 1610.

Most of the early Acadian settlers were recruited first by Isaac de Razilly before his 1635 death, then by Charles d’Aulnay from the area around Loudon, Martaize, La Chaussee, and La Rochelle. The tiny Acadian fort at La Heve was established about 1632, but it’s not believed that families arrived before 1636, according to later depositions.

However, 300 soldiers, laborers and skilled craftsmen did make the 1632 journey. Some stayed, some died, and others made the return trip. Simon could certainly have been at La Heve before Port Royal.

Many ships arrived whose passenger lists did not survive. We know Simon Pelletret was not on the St. Jehan in 1636 with the earliest families. That ship landed at La Heve, reinforcing that colony. He was already in Acadia before the next ship with a roster arrived in 1642.

Early Port Royal

This earliest French fort in the Annapolis River Valley was located across the river and west of what would become the town of Port Royal, on the northern banks of the Annapolis River, and is historically reconstructed today.

Known as The Habitation, it was built as a trading outpost by Samuel Champlain in 1605, but destroyed by the English in 1613.  

The next fort was Charles Fort, built in Port Royal by the Scots in 1629, but relinquished by treaty in 1632, returning the region to French control.

After Razilly’s 1635 death, his brother, Claude de Razilly, received a grant of Port Royal from the company of New France. Charles D’Aulnay, who governed this part of Acadia for Razilly moved the seat of Acadia from La Heve to Port Royal and built Le Fort du Port Royal about 1635, replacing Charles Fort in Port Royal.

The fort, rebuilt and expanded, was later renamed Fort Anne in 1710 when the British captured Port Royal and renamed the town Annapolis Royal.

It was reported that Razilly had brought 40 families over, but I have never found substantiation for that claim. The museum at La Heve mentions soldiers and priests, but not families, although we can’t say it didn’t happen.

There are a couple of things that we do know. For example, we know that in 1654, there were about 270 residents in Port Royal and along the river. They would have resided in about 45 households.

We do know that d’Aulnay was very focused on settlement, and he was reported to have brought an additional 20 families. Eight families plus one couple traveled on the St. Jehan in 1636.

If there were 60+ families that had arrived by 1640 or so, where did they go by 1654? We also know that d’Aulnay made several trips back to France and would have brought new settlers and soldiers with each subsequent trip, so we would expect the number of households to increase with time.

Land in Port Royal

The fort in Port Royal survived several attacks and underwent multiple renovations. At least twice, it fell into extreme disrepair.

In 1705, the old fort needed to be expanded, which meant that several pieces of land adjacent the original fort, owned by the families of several founding families, needed to be expropriated.

The earliest documentation of Simon Pelletret in Port Royal was found by Stephen A. White in a document that referenced the expropriation of that land.

On the list of expropriations from 1705 are the names of François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, Simon Pelletret, and Michel Boudrot, as owners of the plots “adjoining the old fort.” Four of these five names belong to first settlers of Port-Royal. Trahan, for example, arrived aboard the Saint-Jehan in 1636, and Boudrot was a syndic in Port-Royal in 1639. By 1705, all four had long since passed away, and it must be assumed that their heirs were the current owners of these plots at the time of the expropriations. We believe the same was true for Simon Pelletret. Since there was no male of this name in the Acadian censuses from 1671 onwards, it seems likely that this Simon must have been the first husband of Perrine Bourg. Simon Pelletret would have thus received, like François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, and Michel Boudrot, one of the first land grants in Port-Royal, very close to the fort. He owned a lot adjoining the side of the old Fort.

Nicole Barrieau, in her 1994 thesis, provided a drawing of the properties.

We know that Simon Pelletret married Perrine Bourg about 1640, had two children by 1643, and died sometime between the conception of the second child and when Perrine remarried about 1645. Therefore, Simon died between 1642 and 1645 meaning we can deduce that Simon received his land appropriation along with the other earliest settlers in Port Royal.

Simon, along with the others whose land was expropriated, were probably settled here and had established farms by 1640 when he married.

Since Simon’s descendants were to receive compensation, and Perrine died between 1693 and 1698, the funds would have fallen to Henriette and her sister, Jeanne. Henriette had also died before 1705, so her children might have inherited in her stead. Jeanne died in 1706, and based on complaints by other families who were owned money from that transaction, it’s probable that Jeanne never saw any of the money either.

What probably did occur is that the daughters continued to own the land, and one of them may have lived there, at least until the fires of 1690 and 1693.

Houses in Port Royal

By 1640, the founding settlers of Port Royal would have had homes with adjacent gardens, outbuildings to support their trade, whatever it was, and to shelter their livestock. Even though they lived on the riverfront, the long skinny parcels suggested that they built their homes near the road, and the land between the house and the river was used for farming.

We don’t know Simon’s occupation, which would have informed his social status, but we do know that the upper echelon of Acadia lived near the fort. The Governor, the King’s lawyers and clerks, the engineer, the Fort Commander, Louis Allain, the miller, Jacques Bourgeois, the surgeon, Abraham Dugas, the armourer, and Michael Boudrot, the syndic.

Most Acadian houses belonged to the farming peasants and were quite small, consisting of one room and a loft.

A reproduction stands in the Annapolis Royal Historic Gardens, today.

While most homes were indeed humble abodes, that’s not necessarily the case with the original homes along the river.

In 1687, Louis Allain was awarded land 5 or 6 houses away from where Simon had once lived. Louis was quite prosperous, and in addition to owning the mill, owned at least two ships that could dock at his property. His expropriation on December 2, 1705 noted that his house was 30 feet long by 22 feet wide, further described as “old”, with a board roof, revetted on the outside with half-rotten four inch blanks, a mud chimney and a very poor floor. A partition of plain boards and two cabinets, which were smaller rooms created by moveable walls, were formed from boards that were not tongue and groove.

Allain’s land was outside the fort, but in the area to be prepared for the parade ground.

Brenda Dunn, in her paper titled, Acadian Architecture in Port-Royal, tells us more about the early homesteads gleaned from archaeological excavations.

The typical home utilized half-timbered construction, known as charpente or colombage where heavy beams are assembled with mortice and tenon joints held in place with wooden pegs.

My hand, with my mother’s ring descended from her Acadian lineage, is shown here against an original portion of the fort’s barracks which seems to be this same type of construction.

The timbers were then filled in with other materials, as shown above. Typically, the fill was clay and mud, but in the garrison, it included bricks and stone.

The Acadian house frames rested on sills, which were placed upon a foundation. The Gaudet family specialized in this type of construction. In 1702, Pierre Gaudet was hired to hew timbers and assemble the frames of the fort’s new buildings. He might even have hewed these timbers,

Brenda tells us that:

When the French engineer Pierre-Paul Delabat arrived to design and build the new fort in 1702, he made a study of local half-timber buildings in the Port-Royal area. He was struck by the impermanence of the Acadian buildings, which he claimed often did not have foundations but sat directly on the ground.

Delabat claimed that Acadians renewed the frames of their buildings every 12 to 14 years, or at least every 20 years. He complained that they used unseasoned wood, which caused the framing to crack and the joints to work, opening up the house to the weather. He also criticized the size and placement of the mortice and tenon joints in the framing. According to Delabat, the interiors were usually finished with panelling (lambrissage), possibly only boards, which he considered a waste of wood and nails. He noted the common use of cellars in Acadian houses, a detail documented elsewhere. His are the only contemporary comments on Acadian charpente construction.

Major de Villieu purchased another house, in the centre of town, which was 46 pieds by 24 pieds and consisted of “a kitchen, a parlour and five cabinets with a cellar underneath.” Described as “a house of brick and wood,” it may have been a frame building with brick fill.

Two archaeological excavations occurred across the river, one at BelleIsle on the Savoie land dating from the late 1600s, and one in the Melanson settlement.

One of the most interesting aspects of both excavations is that the original homes had burned, and the replacement home was built right on top of where the original home had stood.

The BelleIsle excavations uncovered evidence of two half-timber houses, built one after the other on the same foundation. The Acadian builders had placed tamped clay over the remains of the first house, which had burned, and immediately began construction of its replacement.

The original Savoie home, based on the excavation, was about 25 by 36 feet, with an extension on the east end.

The most remarkable feature of the house was a fireplace/oven complex, located on the west end wall. The oven was built against the outside wall on a stone foundation 2.5 metres in diameter. Locally produced clay bricks seem to have been used to line the fireplace while local blue slate tiles served as hearth tiles.

At the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center, located on the original Savoie land, Charlie Tibodeau has reconstructed an Acadian oven, and uses it regularly for visitor demonstrations and family reunions.

If you return to the Acadian homeland, be sure to stop at the Center, but call first to make arrangements, because they aren’t always there.

I wrote about the Francois Savoie homestead and archaeological site, here.

The second archaeological site, the Melanson or Melancon village eventually hosted the homes of about a dozen family members. One of those homes had been rebuilt four times. The first two were of a different type of construction, and the third and fourth were the more traditional half-timber, the walls being filled with clay and chopped marsh grass.

In both locations, tamped clay was spread to prepare the site for the replacement home. Sometimes the ovens were reused. Two styles of ovens were found. The Savoie oven was made with unfired clay tiles, embedded in clay over a plank base. The Melanson oven did not have a plank base, but was built on a wooden platform.

While both sites had some window glass, it was very limited and the Melanson site glass was stamped with a 1740 date.

Today, nothing but nature remains of the Melanson village site.

At least nothing above the earth.

Imagine how much history is buried in Port Royal and other locations beneath development, the fort – or simply beneath fields.

One of the most fascinating tidbits that Brenda reveals is that in 1701, a house in the main settlement of Port Royal, near the fort, was described as having paper windows.

Glass was a luxury, but people needed light. Oiled or greased paper was translucent and was commonly used for windows on the American frontier, and apparently in Acadia too. Greased paper was waterproof and protected the interior from the elements, and insects, while admitting light.

Did Simon’s original home have paper windows?

From what little we know about the early buildings, it sounds like fire was an unwelcome but all too common danger. Rebuilding was a way of life. Some fires would have occurred from open flames maintained for both warmth and cooking, but others were intentionally set.

Acadia, while stunningly beautiful and deceptively tranquil today, was not peaceful then.

What Happened in the 1640s?

Simon was a man in his prime when he died, probably between 32 and 35. Of course, there was all kinds of danger in Port Royal. Everything from a housefire to a capsized boat, to a hunting accident, to dysentery, to a cut turned septic, to pneumonia. Illnesses and accidents that modern medicine routinely saves us from today were fatal then.

Aside from that, there was also chronic warfare between two warring Acadian Governors.

Charles d’Aulnay, and Charles La Tour were supposed to essentially be co-governors of Acadia, responsible for different locations. Suffice it to say that didn’t go well, and the Acadian Civil War resulted.

Whether these events took Simon’s life, or something else did, this chronic clash would very much have been front and center in his life. Port Royal was a bullseye, dead center in the middle of the conflict, and the residents always had to be on guard.

La Tour’s headquarters lay across the bay, at the mouth of the River Saint John at Fort Sainte-Marie. From the mouth of the Saint John River to the mouth of the Riviere Dauphin was about 40 miles, and another 15 or so on upriver to Port Royal.

Depending on the conditions, a ship could cover 100 miles a day, so in essence, the forts, and domains, of these two feuding men weren’t far apart at all.

La Tour actively traded with New England, Boston in particular, and was gone for months at a time. D’Aulnay had a hostile relationship with the English and made trips back and forth to France to recruit new settlers to expand Port Royal.

Another bone of contention between the two men in their escalating feud was that La Tour was Protestant, as were the English, and d’Aulnay was Catholic, as were most of the Acadians (except Charles Melanson), which fostered an atmosphere of distrust.

La Tour was gone to Boston for five months in 1642, and d’Aulnay took advantage of his absence by blockading his fort across the bay.

La Tour returned, angry as a wet hen, with four ships and 270 men to reclaim his fort. He chased d’Aulnay back across the bay to Port Royal, but turned around and returned home without actually catching him.

D’Aulnay had La Tour charged with treason and disrespect to the French crown.

That ratcheted things up more than a notch or two.

The following year, the situation turned deadly when La Tour, on his way to Boston to trade once again, chased d’Aulnay to Penobscot Bay in present-day Maine. D’Aulnay had to run two of his ships aground. He turned to fight La Tour, losing another ship, and three men. He also managed to kill three of La Tour’s men before La Tour proceeded on to Boston.

While in Boston, La Tour garnered sympathy and gathered resources. La Tour attacked Port Royal with English mercenaries on his return trip from Boston. La Tour commanded 270 Puritan and Huguenot men who rampaged through Port Royal, killing three people, burning the mill, slaughtering cattle, and seizing more than 18,000 livres worth of furs that were destined for the next trading trip to France. One livre was worth about a pound of silver.

Another seven Port Royal men were injured.

D’Aulnay was seething, and preparing.

On Easter Sunday in 1645, d’Aulnay summoned every man in Acadia capable of carrying a gun, about 200. They boarded ships, sailed across the bay, and attacked La Tour’s fort – once again while he was in New England.

By this point, it was kill or be killed, because La Tour was in Boston seeking reinforcements and planning to violently take Port Royal. With the English and Boston merchants on La Tour’s side, d’Aulnay was in essence doing battle with a traitor who had access to a LOT more resources than d’Aulnay did. France had neglected Acadia for quite some time. Out of sight, out of mind – but that negligence made Acadia, who was vastly outnumbered, all the more attractive to La Tour and his English conspiratorial buddies.

For three days, La Tour’s wife, Francoise-Marie Jacquelin, and his 40 or 45 soldiers defended the fort. D’Aulnay lost 33 men, but on the third day, managed to breach the fort. D’Aulnay and Francoise-Marie agreed to surrender terms the following day, which included sparing the lives of La Tour’s soldiers. On the fifth day, d’Aulnay, in spite of his promise, hung every soldier from the gallows, in front of Francoise-Marie who was forced to stand on the gallows platform, with a noose around her neck, watching. She was taken prisoner and died three weeks later.

La Tour learned of these events while in New England and sought refuge in Quebec for the next several years.

While this is not the end of the Acadian saga, it’s the end of the portion that involves Simon Pelletret.

Was Simon one of the six men who died at La Tour’s hand in 1643, or one of the people who died or was injured in Port Royal later that year? Was he one of the 33 men who died on Easter Sunday in 1645?

We will never know, but what we do know is that his wife, Perrine Bourg remarried to Rene Landry around 1645, and according to the 1671 census, they had their first baby the following year.

Simon’s Land and the Fort

I visited Annapolis Royal in the summer of 2024, not realizing at the time that I was literally standing on the original land of Simon Pelletret. In fact, if we dug down beneath the fort’s ramparts, glacis and parade ground in just the right spot, we’d find the remains of Simon’s home – at least the stone foundation, if nothing else.

We know roughly where Simon lived based on the 1705 expropriation of the land within Port Royal for the fort expansion and parade ground.

We also know from Barrieau’s map approximately where she placed Simon’s land, along with the value recorded in livres. Simon’s land, along with his neighbor, Jean Blanchard, were worth 73 livres.

You can see:

1. The original fort according to the Saccardy plan
2. The fort according to the interpretation of Brenda Dunn, National Parks historian
3. Boundary of the new 1703-1705 fort
4. Dashed line indicating the glacis of the new fort

Glacis are sloped earthworks positioned in front of a fort’s wall or rampart that absorbs or deflects cannon fire and helps prevent surprise attacks.

These features are still in place today. In aerial images, you can see the fort’s ramparts, plus the glacis where the walking path surrounds the fort on top of the glacis walls. A moat ran between the two, between the glacis and the ramparts.

The approximate site of Simon’s land is marked in red.

With the aerial view rotated 90 degrees, I’ve overlayed the Pelletret slice of land to the best of my ability to match the Barrieau map.

Simon’s land included some marais near the water, a part of the glacis, a slice of the moat and extended into and across the rampart.

Keep in mind that significant erosion has occurred on the banks of the river, so the land would have stretched further into what is the water, today.

The Annapolis River, then the Riviere Dauphin, is a tidal river, and the brown portion on the riverbanks in the Google satellite photo below is tidal mud.

For perspective, this satellite photo shows the fort, part of the Annapolis Royal waterfront, plus the river and the land across the river where Acadian families also settled. I can just see La Tour’s ships sailing up to the Fort. Simon’s land is marked with the red arrow.

Also visible is the Queen’s Wharf, marked by the red star just above the end of the arrow, where Simon’s descendants were herded onto the English deportation ships in 1755.

This land is so richly infused with Acadian memories, and blood.

Let’s take a walk on top of the fort’s glacis and visit Simon’s land. The small tree or large bush at right is probably on his land. If not, it’s very near.

Of course, when Simon lived here, his land would have been closer in elevation to the water, but the view overlooking the river would still have been spectacular. The mouth of the river is a dozen miles to the left.

Standing on Simon’s land, looking over the Queen’s Whart and across the river. Depending on the accuracy of Barrieau’s drawing and the actual angle of Simon’s land, it’s possible that it included at least a portion of where the wharf would be built decades later.

Just over 100 years after Simon built his homestead where I’m standing, his descendants would be herded onto English ships, separated, and shipped to parts unknown.

It took more than a century, but yes, eventually the English defeated the Acadians and removed them from their homeland.

Here, standing on the wharf, the Pelletret land can probably be seen in its entirely from river level, beginning to the right of the wharf by the marsh stream, and extending up to about where the white Monument du Mons stands, at left. The white building with the three chimneys is the garrison.

Before the glacis, a fortified hill of earth and stone, was built, Simon’s land, shown here, would have included more marshland. He would have dyked and drained his land to reclaim it from the saltwater so that he could farm productively and graze his cattle. That process took about 3 years to be productive, so he might have just begun to reap the benefits of his efforts when he died. His wife may have continued living there after she remarried. 

Everyone needed dry land to build their house and barn, but the marais, or marsh, to be dyked and drained, was prime real estate too. This explains the long, skinny, parcels – assuring that everyone received some dry, higher land, and some marsh.

Standing near the wharf, looking upriver towards the town, plus the beautiful view across the river. The hills on both sides of the river protected the valley.

The white granite de Mons Monument that stands on the glacis today is either on or just beside Simon’s land.

Climbing up the hill, across the glacis, and then onto the rampart, we look out over Simon’s land, the wharf, the river and the hills beyond. You can see the tide flowing in the river, either in or out.

Standing near where Simon’s house stood, we look eastward towards town, across the lots belonging to Michel Boudrot, Jean Blanchard, Guillaume Trahan, Francois Gautrot, and others who lived adjacent the fort and were Simon’s friends and neighbors.

Turning to the left and looking the other direction, we see the rest of the glacis overlooking the river and part of the now-dry moat. The end of the fort by the river, at far left, has been eaten away by erosion.

In front of the garrison, where the contemporary road crosses the old bastion, we find the widest portion of Simon’s land where his house likely stood. At one time, this was part of the main street of Port Royal.

The bastions are steep and tall, which, after all, is the entire point of a defensive structure.

One of Simon’s two daughters, Jeanne Pelletret, who married Barnabe Martin and then Jacques Le Vanier, died in 1706, so she may have lived long enough to receive her share of the payment for Simon’s expropriated land. His eldest daughter, Henriette Pelletret, who married Pierre Doucet, had died by 1694, so hopefully, her children received her share.

As slow as France was to sent money or assistance of any kind, it may well have been Simon’s grandchildren who were the ultimate beneficiaries.

Looking down from the top of the rampart illustrates how high they stand today.

While the new fort’s ramparts were built on Simon’s land half a century after his death, the original fort would have had ramparts within view too.

Simon, and all of the Acadian men would feel very much at home here.

I sat here, with Simon’s spirit, to let it all soak in.

As I sat with Simon, I realized that remembrance isn’t only about stones or places or names – it’s about presence. The wind, the river, and the earth remember what we cannot see.

Simon is still here. He walked these hallowed grounds for at least a few years – too few. His life cut short by some unknown calamity, leaving his wife and two very young daughters to carry on without him.

Did Simon die here, defending the fort from La Tour’s men?

Regardless of how Simon met his fate, his family gathered here for his Requiem Mass in the church – now commemorated solely by this solitary marker that stands as a silent sentinel on the far rampart.

Simon’s earthly remains were carried from the church and laid to rest in the churchyard which lies just beyond where the church once stood, now beneath the rampart, opposite Simon’s home.

The priest would have spoken a final prayer – his young widow weeping, his daughters crying – as the clods of Acadian clay fell hollowly upon his coffin.

His grave, once marked with a wooden cross, so close, but so far away from the life he had shared along the river’s shore, beside the fort, with Perrine, Henriette, and Jeanne.

Only the river and the wind remember now. The wind gently whispers Simon’s story as it dances through the old fort, swirling past his home, and across the river that still murmurs his name.

_____________________________________________________________

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Henriette Pelletret was born to Simon Pelletret and Perrine Bourg about 1641 in Port Royal, Acadia, now Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia.

The first actual record of Henriette is found in the 1671 census, where she is listed in two different ways. Unlike future Acadian censuses, married children are listed with their parents in 1671, and also in their own home with their spouse.

Henriette Pelletret’s mother, Perrine Bourg, married Simon Pelletret about 1640, having two daughters born in 1641 and 1643. Simon died sometime between 1642, when Perrine would have gotten pregnant for her second child, and 1646 when Perrine’s first child with her second husband, René Landry, was born.

In this first census record, Henriette is connected with her mother and stepfather by name and her age, 30. Her full sister, Jeanne, is listed next at age 28, (married to Barnabe Martin), followed by her half siblings, Marie, 25, (married to Laurent Grange or Granger) and Marie, 23, (married to Germain Doucet). After Perrine Bourg and René Landry’s married children were listed, they were followed by a list of their unmarried children: Magdeleine, 15, Pierre, 13, and Claude, 8.

Henriette’s father, Simon, died when she was between the ages of 1 and 5. If he died when she was a toddler, she would never have known him. If he died when she was 4 or 5, she might have had at least a foggy memory of him. It’s worth noting that her mother did not have a third child, at least not one that lived, in 1645, which suggests that Simon probably died before their youngest child, Jeanne, was weaned in about 1644.

Sadly, that suggests that Henriette probably had no memory of her father.

Henriette’s stepfather, Rene Landry, was, in essence, the father who raised her.

What Was Happening in Port Royal In 1643?

Of course, before the age of modern medicine, people died from a variety of illnesses that medications like antibiotics prevent today. Accidents happen, especially living on the water.

We don’t know the occupation or trade of Simon Pelletret, but we do know they lived in a tiny town, with few inhabitants, on the maritime frontier.

Did something happen that might have killed Simon?

Perhaps.

The Acadian Civil War

Beginning in 1640, a rivalry between two governors, Charles de Saint-Etienne de LaTour, who controlled parts of Acadia, and Charles de Menou d’Aulnay, above, who controlled Port Royal and other areas, escalated into what is often called the Acadian Civil War.

If Henriette’s sister, Jeanne Pelletret, was born about 1643, then we know Simon was living in 1642. He was probably gone before Jeanne was weaned in 1644, but could have lived into 1645 IF Perrine had a child in 1645 that died before the 1671 census. That’s somewhat unlikely, though, because her first child with René Landry was born about 1646, so she probably remarried in 1645.

A second marriage for a widow was a matter of survival, and that wedding could have happened very quickly.

We don’t really know how many people lived in Port Royal in the early/mid 1640s, but there were only about 270 residents later, in 1654, and many of those would have been children. If the average family size was 5 or 6 people, then there were maybe 45 homes in 1654 after additional families had arrived and put down roots. There would have been fewer a decade earlier.

We know from later records that Simon Pelletret lived in a house on the main street, beside the fort, in the riverfront merchant portion of Port Royal where trading and business transactions took place.

This map shows the families whose land was expropriated in 1705 when a new, enlarged, fort was built. You can see that the Pelletret land was incorporated into the future fort. This is where Henriette was born and probably grew up.

In the 1640s, this was the merchant center of Port Royal, the capital of Acadia.

For five months in 1642 while La Tour was absent, trading in New England, d’Aulnay blockaded the river at Saint John where LaTour’s Fort Sainte-Marie was located and where he lived. La Tour had obviously heard what was taking place, because in July, he returned from Boston with four ships and 270 men to retake his fort, chasing d’Aulnay back across the bay to Port Royal, but not actually catching him.

In 1643, still miffed about d’Aulnay’s blockade of his fort, LaTour chased d’Aulnay to Penobscot Bay in present-day Maine, where d’Aulnay was forced to run two of his ships aground.

In the resulting skirmish, d’Aulnay lost another smaller ship, and three men from each side died. Satisfied with his damage, La Tour proceeded on to Boston to trade. D’Aulnay was left licking his wounds, burying the dead, and fuming.

Later in 1643, La Tour, on his way back from Boston, attacked Port Royal again, killing three men and injuring 7, while La Tour only lost one man.

This 1686 map, although drawn more than 40 years later, shows the main street in town, along with the water mill and fort.

In 1643, bent on destruction and revenge, La Tour’s men rampaged through Port Royal, burned the mill, stole furs and gunpowder, killed livestock and pillaged homes. For some reason, LaTour did not attack the fort directly, which was only defended by 20 men.

We know from these descriptions that in 1642 and 1643 six Port Royal men were killed and seven more injured. We don’t know if any of those later died from their wounds. We don’t know if those men were French soldiers stationed at the fort, or Acadian settlers, or some of each. We also know that the Pelletret family lived in the exact area that was pillaged – so it’s certainly possible that Simon was one of the men killed.

In 1645, on Easter Sunday, d’Aulnay gathered every man, which would have consisted of all soldiers and every Acadian man who could carry a gun – reportedly about 200 in total.

He proceeded to cross the Bay and attack La Tour’s fort, once again, in his absence.

La Tour’s wife, Francoise-Marie Jacquelin, only 23 or 24 years old, commanded the soldiers and defended the fort for days, but ultimately, had to negotiate surrender terms.

In spite of those terms, D’Aulnay proceeded to hang all of La Tour’s soldiers after promising that they would not be harmed. He forced Francoise-Marie to watch, while standing on the scaffold, with a noose around her neck. She died three weeks later as a hostage.

The death of La Tour’s young wife, and the murder of his soldiers caused the warfare between La Tour and d’Aulnay to cease. For the next few years, La Tour lived in exile in Quebec.

For the next five years, d’Aulnay recruited new settlers from France, Port Royal grew, and Acadians lived in peace.

However, in 1650, that era came to a close when d’Aulnay drowned in an accident. One might say karma was at work.

What happened next is simply jaw-dropping. As astonishing as this is – in 1653 d’Aulnay’s widow, Jean Motin, married Charles LaTour in an effort to end the division and unite Acadia. LaTour returned to Acadia, but change was already in the wind.

1654 was arriving like a run-away freight train!

1654 – Port Royal Under Attack Again

In 1654, Henriette would have been about 13 and probably spent her days helping her mother with household chores and taking care of her younger siblings. Maybe she coyly flirted with some of the Acadian boys and young men at church. In particular, perhaps Pierre Doucet, the handsome nephew of the Fort’s Captain at Arms, Germain Doucet.

Pierre Doucet was an orphan, and his uncle, Germain Doucet and his wife had no known children. So Germain raised Pierre and his siblings as his own – at least until 1654 when the unimaginable happened.

Perhaps Pierre Doucet, then about 33, viewed Henriette at 13 as just a child, even though many Acadian girls began marrying about that age. There weren’t a lot of marriage age people in Port Royal, so the pool was limited. However, six years later, Pierre had assuredly noticed Henriette. They married about 1660 and brought forth at least 9, and probably around 14 children.

But 1654 was a horrible year, and Pierre probably suffered more than many, if not most. He was already an orphan, and he lost his uncle and aunt who had stepped in to raise him.

Yes, yes, Pierre was an adult – but perhaps cast adrift. No matter how old you are when your parents, followed by your parental figures, pass out of your life – it’s unmooring.

So, what happened?

Frenemies No More

The Acadians in Port Royal had suffered from prolonged neglect by France for many years. Consequently, they had established a trading relationship with the English in Boston to fulfill their needs. Frenemies. An economic alliance made of necessity.

Everything seemed to be going well. According to some Acadians, perhaps too well.

But then…

On July 14, 1654, the English unexpectedly attacked Port Royal. English Colonel Robert Sedgewick was prepared to attack New Netherlands when, on June 20^th, he was informed that peace had unexpectedly been reached. Drat it all! What was a Colonel to do? “All dressed up with no place to go,” Sedgewick decided to attack Acadia instead.

Apparently, there was just too much adrenaline flowing.

Sedgewick and his men boarded their ships and made a beeline North.

One hundred thirty soldiers in Port Royal attempted, valiantly, to defend the fort from Colonel Sedgewick’s 533 New England militia members, plus the 200 professional soldiers under his command, sent by Oliver Cromwell.

Not only were the soldiers in the garrison unsuccessful, Port Royal fell. The Englishmen ransacked Port Royal, stealing what they could and destroying the rest.

St. Johns fell before Port Royal and Fort Pentagouet, in today’s Maine, fell after, defended by 18 men under the command of Germain Doucet, Pierre’s uncle.

Henriette was probably too young to remember the 1645 attack, but in 1654, she assuredly watched as the flames destroyed the church where she worshipped and the savagery that took place.

Given their proximity to the fort, their home could not have escaped the carnage. The only question was “how bad”? The good news, if there was any, is that the English did not torch the entire town.

When Port Royal fell, 113 Acadians were being held by the English. We have no idea who they were, but I’d wager they were some combination of men, women, and children.

When the terror was over, most of the livestock had been killed, but the Acadians were allowed to retain whatever of their personal possessions were left. According to the surrender agreement, personal property and posessions were supposed to have remained untouched – but that agreement didn’t hold.

The French soldiers and administrative officials were shipped back to France – which included Pierre Doucet’s uncle, Germain Doucet, who had raised him.

Perhaps Henriette Pelletret and Pierre Doucet were friends in 1654. Perhaps they prayed together in a makeshift church. Maybe they grieved together as they buried their common friends, and family at the cemetery. Every person in the small congregation would have attended every funeral.

Soon, Henriette and Pierre would be more that friends.

After the 1654 military actions, many Port Royal residents moved upriver, to the BelleIsle area, further out of harm’s way. Based on the neighbors in later censuses, it appears that Henriette’s mother and stepfather had not moved, so Henriette would continue to see Pierre often while passing on the waterside street in Port Royal.

Wedding Bells

Approximately six years later, around 1660, when Henriette was 19 or so, and Pierre was 38 or 39, they married and lived in Port Royal, along the waterfront. Their marriage year is calculated based on the birth of their first child in about 1661, so if their first child died before the 1671 census, they would have married a year or two earlier.

After Acadia fell in 1654, a council of Acadian men would govern under the tutelage and eye of the English for the next 16 years – until Port Royal was returned to France by treaty in 1670.

After that return, a census was taken the following year, in 1671, which is when we find Henriette married to Pierre Doucet. By then, they had been married for more than a decade.

Henriette as a Wife

A second entry in the 1671 census shows Henriette as the wife of Pierre Doucet in Port Royal.

Pierre Doucet is a mason, age 50, and Henriette is 31, placing her birth in about 1640. It’s interesting that her age is given as 30 with her parents, and 31 with Pierre. Either she had a birthday, or there was uncertainty, or it didn’t really matter. Her surname is spelled Peltret, but we know that surname spelling and accurate ages were somewhat arbitrary.

Pierre and Henriette have five children: Anne, 10, Toussaint, 8, Jehan, 6, Pierre, 4, and an unnamed daughter who was three months old. That’s unusual, because Catholic babies were named at baptism which generally occurred within hours or at least days of their birth. They lived just a short walk from the church, or the priest’s home, so perhaps the priest was visiting elsewhere.

The list of children also suggests that they had a child that died who would have been about 5, and another baby should have been about 2, had they lived.

At least one, but probably at least three of Henriette’s children had died before the 1671 census.

They would have been buried, here, in the cemetery beside the Catholic Church, probably someplace near Henriette’s father.

The 1671 Census  Details and Messages

In 1671, Pierre and Henriette owned seven cattle, six sheep and had four arpents of land under cultivation.

Port Royal had been under the control of the English since 1654, so there were no censuses taken until 1671. Unfortunately, there are also no remaining parish records, so we have to infer that Henriette and Pierre married about 1660.

By 1671, some families had moved upriver where there was more land, but many of the core families, especially those engaged in either commerce or government, remained in Port Royal.

There were a total of just under 400 residents, who lived in 68 households.

The Pelletret family is found in two clusters.

Group 1:

• Laurent Grange, seaman, 34, Marie Landry, 24, children ages 3 and 9 months, 5 cattle, 6 sheep, 4 arpents of land
• Perrine Landry, 60, widow of Jacques Joffriau
• Pierre Doucet, mason, 50, Henriette Pelletret, 31, Anne, 10, Toussaint, 8, Jehan, 6, Pierre, 4, and an unnamed daughter who was three months old
• Francois Bourg, 28, wife Marguerite Boudrot, plus their children
• Marie Salé , 61, widow of Jehan Claude and also the second wife of Martin Aucoin prior to her marriage with Jehan Claude
• Germain Doucet, farmer, 30, Marie Landry, 24, 3 children, ages 6, 4 and 3, 11 cattle, 7 sheep on 3 arpents of land

The two Marie Landrys are sisters, both daughters of Rene Landry and Perrine Bourg, so half-sisters to Henriette.

This Germain Doucet in the census is the apparent adopted son of Germain Doucet, Pierre’s uncle who was sent back to France in 1654. Y-DNA testing tells us that this Germain had a Native American father, while the other Doucet men had European forefathers.

Pierre Doucet’s mother is believed to be a Bourg.

Clearly, these people are interrelated.

Group 2 begins 15 houses away:

• 15 houses
• Barnabe Martin, 35, farmer, Jeanne Pelletret, 27, 2 children, 4 and 8 months, 3 cattle, 2 sheep and 2.5 arpents of land
• Clement Bertrand and family
• Antoine Belliveau and family
• René Landry, farmer, 52, Perrine Bourg, 45, with family

Of course, Perrine Bourg is Henriette Pelletret’s mother and René Landry is her stepfather. Jeanne Pelletret is her sister.

1678

The next census taken in 1678 shows Pierre Doucet and Henriette Pelletret with five boys, two girls and 10 cattle on 1.5 arpents of land, which is equivalent to about 1.2 acres. Additionally, they own a gun.

We know they have seven living children at this point, although children’s names are not recorded in this census.

They are listed in Port Royal beside three families who we know lived where the present-day Fort Anne stands today.

• Bonaventure Terriot and Jeanne Boudrot
• Michel Boudrot and Michelle Aucoin
• Abraham Dugast and Marguerite Doucet
• Pierre Doucet and Henriett Pelletret
• Antoine Bourg and Thoinette Landry
• Laurans Granger and Marie Landry

Unfortunately, no ages were given.

Rene Dies

Sometime between the 1678 census, and the 1686 census, Henriette’s step-father, Rene Landry, died.

In 1686, Perine Bourg, age 74, was living with her son, Claude Landry, his wife, and child – 7 houses from Pierre Doucet and Henriette Pelletret.

1686

The 1686 census provides significantly more detail about the family.

Pierre Doucet, 55 (who is actually 65), Henriette Pelletret, 40, children: Toussaint, 23, Jean, 20, Pierre, 18, Marguerite, 6, and Mathieu, 1. They have 8 cattle, 12 sheep, and 6 hogs on 5 arpents of land, plus they own two guns.

Five or six arpents of land seemed to be standard issue, given that it’s a very common amount. Abraham Dugas is listed as having ‘2 parcels” and in another census, he is shown with 12 arpents, so that tallies.

Disastrous 1690

If 1654 was bad, it was only a trial run for 1690, which was pure Hell.

In 1654, the English “accidentally” captured Acadia. There was no pre-planning – just opportunity, which they seized with much gusto – then, like the dog that caught the car, wondered quite what to do.

1690 was another story altogether.

In 1689, New France and their Native American allies launched select raids on towns on the frontier in New England. One raid in Schenectady, NY, and one in Salmon Falls, NH were reported to the Massachusetts Bay Colony authorities, which prompted their decision to launch a retaliatory expedition against Acadia.

This decision was more than a little awkward due to the ongoing trade relations between the two entities. In fact, John Nelson was rejected as the leader due to his extensive dealings with the Acadians. John Nelson and Jacques Bourgeois, by far the most prosperous Acadian, had a long-standing friendship that reached beyond Port Royal, although Nelson schemed and plotted against Acadia. There seemed to be more than a little subterfuge involved with Nelson, and I’m not sure which way that river ran.

Instead, Sir William Phips was selected to lead the charge, a man with no military experience other than finding a lost treasure ship. He had, however, survived an attack that destroyed his hometown in Maine during the First Abenake War in 1676, so he welcomed the opportunity for revenge and was thereby commissioned on March 24, 1690.

Just a month later, on April 28, 1690, Phips sailed out of Boston harbor with a fleet of seven ships, 446 men, and a total of 72 mounted cannons. Two more ships joined up along the way.

On May 9^th, Phips slipped inside the mouth of the Dauphin River and visited Pierre Melanson dit Laverdure, a French Huguenot known to be friendly with the English. Melanson was the first homestead to be encountered on the north side of the river. Phips inquired about the state of Port Royal and the fort, so he knew well in advance what to expect.

Phips probably didn’t even really need to stop, given that the fort had been in disrepair for years, bordering on completely useless. Beginning in October of 1689, a French military engineer had been razing the fort to build a new one, so the fort, and the town it was supposed to protect, were at their most vulnerable.

Worse yet, the garrison only possessed 19 muskets, which was only one gun for every 3.7 soldiers. How is that supposed to work? The French were VERY negligent about supplying and supporting Acadia – inviting attacks. They might as well have advertised their weakness and slapped a target on Port Royal! Essentially, that’s what they did.

The 1686 census, four years earlier, showed 71 guns scattered between 103 homesteads. Not only is there not a gun for every male that is old enough to handle one, there’s only one gun for every house and a half, or two guns for every three houses.

That means roughly one third of the homes were completely undefended. If 42 of the men were gone, hunting perhaps, that suggests that more than half of the guns, if not more, were absent too, leaving even more homesteads without protection.

Fort Anne, and by extension, Port Royal, were sitting ducks.

The following day, May 10^th, Phips and his flotilla sailed on up the river to Port Royal.

This 1686 map from the Barrieau thesis shows the layout of the town, plus the ruined fort.

Acadia fell without a shot being fired. Phips sent an emissary to the fort to demand surrender. Louis-Alexandre Meneval, the Acadian Governor, knew that any resistance was futile, although he was later criticized for giving up without a fight. Not only was the fort unable to be used, the enceinte was open, and the fort’s 18 cannons weren’t mounted. Fighting would have been a death sentence for all men involved – and potentially the rest of the residents too.

Furthermore, Phips assuredly could see both the condition of the fort and the lack of cannone clearly from his position in the river.

What Phips may or may not have known, depending on what Melanson knew and told him, was that there were only a total of 70 soldiers in the fort, and 42 Acadians were absent.

Still, Governor Meneval was determined to obtain the best possible surrender terms, so he sent the local priest, Father Louis Petit to Phips ship, the Six Friends, anchored in the river, to negotiate surrender terms.

The agreed-upon terms included that:

• The French King’s property and the fort be surrendered to the English
• The goods belonging to the Acadian settlers would remain untouched
• The people would be unharmed
• Equally, or maybe even more important to the Acadians, they would retain the right to worship as they saw fit – meaning as Catholics

Unfortunately for the Acadians, Phips refused to sign the agreement when Meneval went to the ship the following day, although several witnesses on both sides confirmed the agreed-upon terms.

Disaster Unleashed

What happened next was disastrous.

One thing is unquestionable. The terms were breached and the English destroyed the town, church, homes, including private property, and killed livestock. They even uprooted and destroyed the gardens. This behavior continued for days and went far beyond plundering for valuables. This was outright malicious destruction.

According to Robert Rumilly’s 1981 article, 28 homes were burned as well. If that’s true, that includes every home along the water in Port Royal, and probably equally as many either along the Cape or along the river approaching Port Royal.

Phips claimed the English behavior was justified because some of the French were removing stores from the fort which would belong to the English. Not only did Phips claim that voided the entire agreement, he authorized the plunder.

The French story is a bit different. Meneval didn’t leave detailed orders when he went to Phipps’ ship to sign the agreement, and some of the soldiers began imbibing – although I have to wonder why one would do anything to dull one’s responses with the enemy anchored within sight. In any case, some of those drunken soldiers broke into the stores of one of Meneval’s political opponents and removed his goods from the community storehouse.

It’s unclear whether the goods removed belonged to the French King, which would rightfully belong to the English, or whether they were personal property. Not that it mattered, because the act itself was all the English needed to achieve their actual goal.

Regardless, the over-the-top reaction was far too severe for the infraction, even assuming the worst – and was clearly just an excuse.

When Meneval and Father Petit reported the ensuing events, they said that Phips was unhappy with the condition of the fort he was to receive as spoils, and the size of the garrison, and he used that as an justification to terminate the agreement.

If Phips did as he was accused, he would have been looking for any excuse to terminate the agreement, since he clearly knew about the condition of the fort in advance – both from Melanson and by virtue of being unable to see any mounted guns on the nonexistent fort walls. This act seems to be calculated, and his story doesn’t wash.

Later biographers suggested that Phips expected the plunder to pay for his expedition, so he refused to sign the agreement with that in mind. He got what he wanted – surrender – and then he simply took the rest.

In other words, the entire negotiation and terms of surrender agreement was a calculated, premeditated charade by the English.

The Oath

Phips then required a loyalty oath to the King of England. He rounded up all of the Acadian men in the church, clearly before it was burned, and forced them to sign. A total of 61 men signed, including Henriette’s husband, Pierre Doucet.

If 42 men were missing, they must have returned fairly quickly, because almost every household, except for a few elderly men, are accounted for on the signature document.

These 1690 events destroyed the sometimes tenuous and fragile trust between the Boston merchants and the Acadians in Port Royal, which makes what happened next all the more baffling.

Governance

England clearly planned to take Acadia, but apparently, they did not plan to govern Acadia.

Upon their departure, the English did not leave a garrison of English soldiers at the fort as one would expect, and Phips appointed a council of Acadian leaders to govern in their absence. Meneval was captured and taken to Boston.

Former Governor Joseph Villebon was reappointed and returned from France in June. He moved the seat of Acadia to Fort Nashweaak on the Saint John River for a better defensive position, and to coordinate New England ambush raids with the Abenaki.

Port Royal, under English control, was on her own.

The 1690s would be haunted by questions of who was actually in control of Acadia until 1697 when Acadia was returned to France in the Treaty of Ryswick.

The Church and the Land

The Acadians, especially in times of trouble and turmoil turned to their religion, to their church, their Catholic rituals and familiar practices.

Watching their beloved, sacred church burn must have been devastating to the Acadians. The church was their respite, where they retreated for comfort – and now it had been wantonly destroyed.

The church that was burned in 1690 was never rebuilt, and eventually, the nearby cemetery was probably at least partly covered by the glacis of the expanded fort.

MapAnnapolis shows the original church location and the original cemetery site, here. You can read more about the cemetery project, here.

That fort expansion is also how we know that Henriette Pelletret’s parental home was in the literal shadow of the fort. Simon Pelletret’s descendants were compensated when the land was later expropriated in 1704 or 1705

After the church was burned in 1690, services were held at the priest’s home until a new church was built many years after Henriette’s death.

Then Pirates

As if 1690 wasn’t already bad enough, Port Royal was subjected to a pirate raid a few weeks later.

Nicole Barrieau, in her 1994 thesis, quotes a letter from Villebon saying that the pirates burned all of the houses situated between the mouth of the Dauphin River and the fort.

Charles Clarence Webster, in a 1934 paper, reports that “they burned 12 of the houses closest to the sea, 15 or 16 of those at “Le Cap,” and the church… The Mills were apparently left standing.”

This 1686 map shows all of the homesteads. Based on the various descriptions, it’s possible that between the dozen or so homes in Port Royal, the 17 homes in “Le Cap,” just inland from the waterfront street in Port Royal, and the 14 houses shown on this map, that every home in Port Royal and west were burned. That would only have left the homes upstream from Port Royal where ocean-going ships couldn’t sail.

Not only did the pirates capture the ship that delivered Villebon, the new Governor, they destroyed homes and cattle, and allegedly killed some of the inhabitants.

The residents reported that little was left, and the pirates not only took what little there was, killed their remaining livestock and torched everything for spite or entertainment.

Families were been horribly uprooted, with many hostages taken. Sixty prisoners were still being held a year later when Villebon tried unsuccessfully to negotiate their freedom.

Their identities, where they were being held, by whom, and their eventual fate is unknown.

Where Was Henriette?

It’s very likely, given that Pierre was a mason, and combined with their census location, that they lived in Port Royal proper, probably right on the main street, possibly in her childhood home, meaning that Henriette was caught in the thick of things. The 1654 and 1690 surrenders, the duplicitous agreements, the horrific plundering and destruction of the town, followed in 1690 by burning and then cruel pirate attacks.

If Henriette and Pierre’s home miraculously escaped the English 1690 devastation the first time, it assuredly did not escape the pirate raids and fires.

Port Royal was left a smoldering pile of rubble.

Then, three year later, it happened all over again.

Rinse and Repeat in 1693

In 1693, once again English frigates sailed into the Dauphin River to launch a retaliatory raid on Port Royal. This time, it was to exact revenge for the notorious pirate, Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, who lived in and operated out of Port Royal. Baptiste fought with the Acadians in 1690, recruited young Acadian men for his ships, armed the Acadians, and preyed on English vessels. Needless to say, the Acadians loved this man. The English did not.

In some ways, while not a full military attack, the June 1693 raid was more brutal. Some accounts say that two citizens were hanged and that their families were locked inside their houses and burned alive.

I pray Henriette did not suffer that horrific, terrifying fate. The reports indicated that a woman and her children were among those burned. That doesn’t sound like Henriette because while some of her children are missing in 1693, not all of her children are missing. However, nothing is confirmed about the report, so we really don’t know – other than the 1690 attack and 1693 raids were both terrifying and horrific.

I shudder to think…

Henriette Dies

Henriette was alive in the 1678 census, gave birth to her youngest child in 1685, and is shown with a one-year-old in the 1686 census.

Henriette died sometime between the 1686 census, where she was reported to be 40, with a one-year old child, and seven years later in the 1693 census.

We don’t know when the 1693 census was taken, meaning before or after the English attack, nor do we know who died.

Seven years elapsed between the 1686 census and the 1693 census, plus the two attacks of 1690, and the one in 1693, so a lot of people in Port Royal could be expected to pass over during that timeframe, even without any exceptional circumstances.

There may be clues though.

In the 1671 census, Henriette is listed as age 30 and 31 putting her birth about 1640 or 1641. Her oldest child is 10, which means Henriette got married and pregnant about 1660. In the 1686 census, she is listed as 40, which puts her birth in 1646, which means that she would have been 16 when her first child was born. That’s not impossible and is fairly typical for Acadian brides.

If Mathieu was age one in 1686, and his mother was actually born in 1640, so was age 46, Henriette had her last child at age 45 and would not have been expected to have any additional children. That’s also a little late for a final child, but again, not unheard of.

If Henriette was actually born in 1646, so 40 in 1686 as the census indicates, she could probably have been expected to have at least one more child the following year, in 1687, if not two more children.

Unfortunately, we don’t have a third tie-breaker census with ages to more closely resolve Henriette’s age. Either age is well within the normal age range for Acadian young women to marry.

What we can say is that Henriette died leaving relatively young children.

If Henriette died closer to 1686, she was not subjected to the 1690 and 1693 depredations. She passed over between the approximate ages of 40 and 46 and left at least two children under the age of 10, one just a baby, for Pierre to raise. At least one of her children seem to be missing from this census.

I tend to think Henriette died later, rather than earlier, because had she died with a baby in the house, I suspect that either another Acadian woman, maybe her sister, would have taken the baby to raise, or Pierre would have remarried.

If Henriette died close to 1693, she suffered through at least some of the 1690 and 1693 events, if she didn’t perish during one of them.

We can say with almost certainty that their home burned, either in 1690 or 1693, or maybe both. In the 1693 census, Pierre Doucet was still living in Port Royal, based on his neighbors. Five years later, in 1698, he was living across the river, again based on the neighbors. He is listed there on the 1707/1708 maps.

In 1693, Henrietta was between the ages of 47 and 53 and left only Mathieu below the age of 10. Three children still lived at home and were probably a help to Pierre. With no young children to raise, Pierre would have bad less motivation to remarry.

In the 1693 census, Pierre was listed as a widower with three children remaining at home, ages 19, 13, and 8,

If Henriette was born around 1640 or 1641, she was between the ages of 45 or 46 and 52 when she said her final goodbye.

If she was born in 1646, she was between 40 and 47 and could have died giving birth to a final child.

Regardless of when Henriette died, I certainly hope it wasn’t violently. Her death, too early, was tragic enough.

Henriette’s mother, Perrine Bourg, then in her 60s, wept at her daughter’s funeral Mass, the location now veiled in the mists of time where the serene church once stood. She laid her daughter to rest someplace in the now unmarked Acadian cemetery, alongside Henriette’s father and stepfather, surrounded by the children who passed before her.

Children

Henriette brought about 15 children into this world, assuming her first child or children did not die.

1. Anne Doucet, born about 1661, was with her parents in 1671, but by the 1686 census, is shown with her husband. Anne married Jean Hebert about 1676, when she was about 15, and by 1686, had blessed Henriette with 5 grandchildren – 4 boys and a girl. By 1693, she had eight children, and eventually had 14, but four died young.
2. Touissant Doucet was born about 1663, left for Beaubassin sometime after the 1686 census and married Marie Cassie there around 1690. They had 11 known children, with the first one arriving the following year. Henriette probably never met either Marie or her one or two grandchildren that may have arrived before her death. Touissant had 11 children in total, but only 6 reached adulthood.
3. Jean Doucet was born about 1665, married Francoise Blanchard around 1692 in Cobequid, and had 7 children. Three are known to have lived to adulthood.
4. Pierre Doucet, his father’s namesake, was born about 1667 and is living with his parents in 1686 at age 19. Sadly, he is not found thereafter. If alive, he would have been expected to marry in the 1690s, but he is not found anyplace in 1693. His mother has also died.
5. Unknown child born about 1669, but deceased by 1671.
6. Madeleine Doucet was born about 1671 and married Rene Bernard about 1689. They had eight children, with the first one being born about 1690. By 1693, they were living in Beaubassin, so she would not have been present in Port Royal when her mother died. Rene died and Madeleine remarried in 1709 in Beaubassin to Pierre Doiron, having two more children. Eight of her 10 children lived to adulthood.
7. Possible unknown child born about 1673 and deceased by the 1678 census.
8. Louis was born about 1674 and married Marguerite Girouard about 1702 in Beaubassin. They had seven known children, six of whom lived to adulthood.
9. Louise (also known as Jeanne) Doucet was born about 1676. About 1691, she married Pierre Chenet, a Parisian in the employ of the King, about 30 years her elder with whom she had three children. After his death, she then married Jean Chrysostome Loppinot in 1702 in Port Royal. They had at least five children. Loppinot had been appointed Court Clerk in 1699, so he was also a government official. However, in yet another attack by the English, their home was burned to the ground in 1707 or 1708, which, according to Loppinot in a note written on Christmas Day 1708, “reduced his family to beggary.” In June of 1710, their home burned again, but this time, by accident. Notes housed in the Canadian Archives reveal that, “The wife and children of the said Mr. Loppinot, along with Mademoiselle Morpain, were in front of the house with a few belongings that had been brought to them, having escaped in their nightclothes. Upon investigating the cause and how the fire had started, those who had arrived first told us that it began in the room facing the tide, where there was a large amount of cotton…” I hope all of Louise’s children were able to escape. We only know the fate of one child born in 1703, and that another child had died in January of 1710. Marie Joseph Morpain had been his godmother at his baptism. I wonder if she was their servant. In 1712, Loppinot obtained the position of court clerk in Plaisance, Newfoundland. By 1733, when their oldest child was married in Louisbourg, both parents were reported as deceased.
10. Rene Doucet was born about 1678 and married Marie Broussard in 1702 in Port Royal. They had either 10 or 11 known children, with 8 reaching adulthood.
11. Marguerite Doucet was born about 1680 and married Alexandre Comeau about 1700 in Port Royal, having six known children. Five of her children are known to have reached adulthood.
12. Unknown child born about 1682 but deceased by 1686.
13. Unknown child born about 1684 but deceased by 1686.
14. Mathieu Doucet was born about 1685 and married Anne Lord in 1712 in Port Royal, having seven children, all of whom survived.

Epilogue

By 1685, only Henriette’s eldest daughter, Anne, had married and already had 5 children that Henriette would have been able to enjoy. In fact, Henriette and her daughter were probably pregnant at the same time.

If Henriette lived until 1693, she would have witnessed Madeleine’s marriage in 1689 and Louise’s in 1691. The first baby usually arrived the year following the wedding – and Henriette might have gotten to hold and rock some of those babies!

Of Henriette’s children:

• Two and possibly three moved away before 1693, so she would have lost contact, if not entirely, then mostly. She probably never saw them again.
• Henriette buried at least five children. Her son, Pierre, a young adult, died in the same window of time as Henriette.
• Three children were still living at home in 1693, after Henriette had passed.
• Four children married and lived in Port Royal permanently, and one until at least 1712. Henriette would have known the first few children born to her eldest daughter, but the rest are doubtful.
• Four children moved to either Beaubassin or Cobequid, the next Acadian frontiers.

I’m left wondering if the horrific events of 1690, or 1693 might have had something to do with Henriette’s death. I hope not, but it’s certainly possible, especially given that one of Henriette’s older children disappears from the records in the same timeframe.

FIRE!

Henriette’s daughter, Louise, would have been about 15 in 1690 and 18 in 1693 when the English and/or pirates torched their home. Louise’s own home burned twice more in her adult life, in either 1707 or 1708 and 1710, when she was 33 and 35. Four times in 20 years – that’s astounding. Louise must have developed a terrible fear of fire.

Pierre Doucet, Henriette’s husband, didn’t die until 1713. He would have witnessed all of those disastrous events.

I can see him awakened suddenly in the dark to terror – the crackling of flames.

OMG!

FIRE!

Saints, protect us!

Rushing – rushing – rushing in the dark to find, gather, and hold his family and assure their safety in 1690 and 1693.

Then, in 1708 and 1710, he clutched his daughter, Louise, and her children, holding them close as they stood in the chill by the river in their nightclothes, enveloping them in love, sheltering them as their home was reduced to smoking embers. Not once, but twice he saved her from fire as a child. Then, twice more as an adult – not three times, but four.

Thank God!

Thank God they are alive.

Maybe Henriette was there too, embracing and protecting Louise from the other side.

Perhaps it was Henriette who awakened her in the night!

Nothing – not time, distance or death – can crush a mother’s love.

The mist still drifting where the church once stood, their dust mingling with the earth of their homeland – a silent reminder that love outlives everything and warms the souls of all of Henriette’s descendants.

_____________________________________________________________

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Until recently, not a great deal was known about Sarah Hickerson who married Daniel Vannoy in Wilkes County, NC, on October 2, 1779.

I always thought that it was odd that neither Sarah’s father, Charles Hickerson, nor her oldest brother, David Hickerson, signed her marriage bond. Maybe that makes more sense now.

Did her family disapprove of this marriage? Did they know something we don’t, or that she didn’t?

Was Sarah head over heels in love with Daniel, blinding her to common sense, or something else?

Were they too much alike, or a bad influence on each other?

Did Sarah have a premonition – a niggling nagging feeling that she tried to ignore and push to the back of her mind where it would eventually rear its ugly dragon head, along with the rest of its body?

Until recently, I thought the problems between Daniel and Sarah’s family began about the time her father died without a will, sometime between 1790 and 1793, when her mother, Mary Lytle Hickerson, died with a cryptic nuncupative will that did not mention Sarah by name.

Mary left some things to individuals specifically, then only says that “all the balance of my property to be equally divided amongst my daughters.”

I also thought that Sarah was pretty much a silent wallflower.

I was very, very wrong. Even quiet people, when pushed too far, eventually find their voice.

Let the Feuding Begin

Let the feuding begin. Except – it had already begun before Sarah’s marriage.

Not only was Daniel Vannoy all too familiar with the court, nearly a year before their marriage, Samuel Steward/Stewart aka Hickerson, aka Little/Lytle, aka Little D. Hickerson, Sarah’s nephew, sued Daniel in November 1778 for slander. And yes, I’m positive that all of those names are the same person because the court documents over the years say so.

I’m not surprised that Sarah’s family was opposed to their marriage, given that court documents tell us that Daniel and Samuel were still feuding in September of 1781. It makes me wonder about their attraction to each other, and the courtship, all things considered. Having said that, the Hickerson family engaged in more than their own fair share of feuding, so I’m not implying “fault” on either side here.

The pace accelerated, and the feuds and court cases came fast and furious after the deaths of Sarah’s parents – but that’s not all…

New Information Surfaces

Information about Daniel Vannoy was spotty and piecemeal until recently, when a newly-discovered document in the NC Archives, plus the new full-text AI search at FamilySearch, facilitated finding MANY previously unknown interactions, fleshing out his life substantially.

However, we knew even less about Sarah. That’s typical for the time period, because women didn’t serve on juries nor work on road crews. They were seldom in court records. Until 1850, unless they were the head of household, they weren’t recorded by name in the census either, so we must do a lot of inferring.

You might want to read the article, Sarah Hickerson (1752-1760 – before 1820), Silent Member of a Feuding Family, before moving on to our new information here. Even if you’re not particularly interested in Sarah herself, trust me on this one – Daniel and Sarah’s story puts soap operas to shame. I literally had to make a dance card to keep track of who sued who, and who testified for, or against, whom, in which trials. Sarah was only mentioned occasionally in what I had found earlier.

That’s been remedied, in spades, now.

Sarah, it turns out, was notorious in her own right! And I’m sure we’ve only discovered a tiny sliver of her story.

Based on court cases involving her husband, Daniel, it seems that life was always tense and dicey in the Hickerson family, probably stemming from a wide variety of sources. The common thread running through everything is that the Hickersons seem to fight with each other and anyone else who had the bad luck to cross them. Turns out, Sarah wasn’t silent at all. Not one bit.

In fact, Sarah had a LOT of spunk – unheard of, literally, in the day and time in which she lived. I admire her bravery.

Sarah was a VERY spicy woman!

I would not want to be on the wrong side of that equation.

Unraveling

Before these new records were unveiled, we had indirect evidence that Sarah’s life may have been unraveling. Little hints that may or may not have meant anything, at least not individually.

For example, she and Daniel moved to far western Wilkes County, the part that would eventually become Ashe County. Then, following several lawsuits, Daniel sold their land, but doesn’t purchase more. After 1795, he never appears on a tax list again.

He’s also missing on the tax list for a few years intermittently before that, which is very odd.

While I chalked all of this up to “early records,” the combination of so much that was “unusual” was beginning to be a pattern and not an anomaly.

Something was going on, but what?

Sued!!

Our spunky Sarah sued Daniel!

What courage this must have taken.

To the sheriff of Wilkes County, Greetings. You are hereby commanded to take the body of Daniel Vannoy if to be found in your county and him safely keep so that you have him before the justices of the county court of pleas and quarter sessions…on the fourth Monday of January to answer Sarah Vannoy, wife of said Daniel Vannoy in a pleas of trespass on the case. To her damage 500 pounds [illegible]…

Dated the 4^th Monday of October 1786.

What the heck is going on?

Trespass?

How could Sarah exclude Daniel from someplace where he lived and had as much right to be as she did? And this in a time and place where there was no recourse for domestic violence or other similar offenses? Married women couldn’t even own property in their own right. Women, literally, had no rights separate from their husbands, so how could she sue him? Is “trespass” here code for something else, unsaid?

Were they living separately? If so, how could she support herself and her small children? That was almost an impossible scenario, and is why newly widowed women remarried so quickly. It had little to do with love and a lot to do with survival. Plus, the new husband would own all of the goods of the former husband, so the widow came with benefits.

There’s a 1787 tax list that tells us that Daniel and Sarah were living together.

Whatever happened, it must have been quite egregious for the court to allow the 1786 suit. And the court didn’t just summon Daniel to appear, while legally rolling their eyes at Sarah, they ordered him taken into custody. If he didn’t post bond, he’d be sitting in jail for the next three months, until the next court.

Whatever Daniel did must have been something far outside the norm, because the judges or justices used their discretion in a way that indicated they took Sarah’s accusation very seriously.

I have never, in all of the years I’ve done genealogy, seen a woman sue her husband. It’s very unclear how Sarah was able to sue Daniel for trespass, and what exactly that meant? There’s clearly a LOT that we don’t know.

Women simply did not do such things! Especially not in Wilkes County, NC in 1786.

Then, Sarah dropped the suit. The only problem was that you couldn’t drop a suit without paying the costs already incurred by the court, and Sarah had no money. Either Daniel didn’t either, or he wasn’t about to pay to have the lawsuit against him dropped – which seems counterproductive.

You are hereby commanded that the goods and chattels lands and tenements of David Hickerson, in your bailiwick, you cause to be made 1 pound 70 shillings and 8 pence which lately in the county court…recovered against him on a suit brought by Sarah Vannoy against Daniel Vannoy and dismissed on David Hickerson assuming clerk and sheriff fees in open court. David Hickerson is convicted and liable as appears of record and to have the said monies before the said court at Wilkes aforesaid on the 4^th Monday of April 1787.

Here’s the case packet with the details.

Sarah’s brother, David Hickerson, agreed to pay the court costs. I can’t help but wonder is Sarah was pregnant, or something had occurred to cause her to rethink the suit.

We will never know what happened, but, based on what followed later, that household was not peaceful.

The 1790s

In 1790, Daniel and Sarah were enumerated together on the census with their children, like any typical couple, but then Daniel seemed to disappear about 1795. Daniel sold their land in November of 1794, then his two enslaved people in January of 1795 to his brother Nathaniel – although those transactions were never registered until 1802 and 1805 by the oaths of witnesses. Daniel was not present in court to swear to the transactions himself.

What happened to that money? According to 1800 court records, it was gone by then, and Daniel had nothing.

I thought Daniel had died, but recent information proved, unquestionably, otherwise.

Daniel was still in Wilkes County, feuding with various Hickersons and others in the late 1790s, including David Hickerson, who paid so his sister could drop her lawsuit against Daniel back in 1787. Daniel was also found guilty in other suits, and in April of 1799, Daniel lost a lawsuit brought by David Hickerson, with Sarah’s sister, Jane Miller, testifying on David’s behalf. The court ordered a fine and court costs against Daniel. There was also a suit involving Jane Hickerson Miller’s husband, Leonard Miller.

In April of 1800, the sheriff reported back to the court that “nothing of any value” of Daniel’s was found to settle those debts. We now know that Daniel had left. I can’t help but wonder if he took the money from those sales with him.

In the 1800 census, neither Daniel nor Sarah are found.

Sarah is listed in the 1810 census, which led to the presumption that Daniel had died.

But he hadn’t.

He had left, abandoning his wife and family, and was living as an “intruder,” a squatter inside the Cherokee Boundary in Georgia, where US laws could not reach him.

It’s unclear whether or not Sarah knew where Daniel was, whether he was alive or dead, or if she cared. Sarah was much too busy raising their children and scraping by however she could.

Sarah in the Court Records

We find Sarah in court records again, beginning in 1810.

Some of these cases overlap, so I’ve grouped everything having to do with each case together.

1810 – Sarah Vannoy vs Joel Chandler

State of North Carolina To the Sheriff of Wilkes County, Greeting you are hereby commanded to Summon Sarah Hickerson, David Hickerson Junr and Amy Hall personally to be and appear before the Justices of the County Court of Pleas and Quarter Sessions to be held for the County of Wilkes at the court – house in Wilkesboro on the fifth Monday of October next, then and there to testify and the truth to say in behalf of Joel Chandler in a certain matter of controversy before said court depending and then and there to be tried, wherein Sarah Vannoy is plaintiff, and Joel Chandler is defendant. And this you shall in no wise omit under the penalty by law enjoined. – — Witness Robert Martin Clerk of our said court, at Office the fifth Monday of July 1810

So, to be clear, Sarah’s nephew, David Hickerson, and Amy Hall are both summoned to testify AGAINST Sarah. I don’t know who Sarah Hickerson is.

Apparently, there is a second suit as well.

On Thursday, August 1, 1811, Sarah Vanoy filed against Joel Chandler, Plea in abatement, jury sworn, “the def sustained his plea in abatement.”

State of NC to the sheriff of Wilkes – Summons William Gilbreath Sr. personally to appear at [the court] house to give evidence on behalf of Joel Chandler in a suit depending wherein Sarah Vannoy is plaintiff and Joel Chandler deft. Signed July 31, 1811.

Sarah lost that suit. I surely wish we knew what the “matter of controversy” was.

Ordered that the goods, chattels, lands, and tenements of Sarah Vannoy to cause to be made the sum of 9 pounds 6 shillings and 6 pence, which lately in Wilkes court Joel Chandler recovered against her for costs and charges in suit expended, and have monies at the next court. August 1812.

The back of the paper has dates of November term 1811, then Feb. 1812, then May term 1812, then November term 1812. The report was that nothing was found.

This tells us that Sarah Vannoy has no assets that the sheriff can sell to pay her fines and court costs.

What an incredibly sad statement for a woman trying to raise her children, alone. This is a peek into the circumstances of Sarah’s life. She’s 50 years old and doesn’t have any livestock or produce to sell, and she certainly doesn’t own any property or “moveable assets.”

How did she manage to survive? I’m guessing by the skin of her teeth.

1810 Sarah Vannoy vs James Laws

The suits against Joel Chandler and James Laws were filed within a month of one another in the summer of 1810, which makes me wonder if there was some incident that sparked both suits.

State of North Carolina, Wilkes County

To any lawful officer…to execute a return according to law this day came James Laws before me…a justice of the peace…and maketh oath that he having the body of Mary Landtrip under execution at the suit? of Sarah Vannoy and sayeth that she[the] said Mary Lantrup did refuse to go with him and further that she did with force and arms strike beat abuse and tear the clothes of him the said James Laws on the 20^th of August against the peace and dignity of the state.

Command you to arrest the body of her the said Mary Lantrip and her as being before me or some other justice of the peace for said county to answer to this above charge and be further dealt with answering to law from under my hand and seal Aug. 20, 1810.

The way this is stated, James is complaining that Mary assaulted him – although how Sarah is involved is unclear.

James Laws prosecutor and Joshua Mitchell in State vs Mary Landtrip, acknowledges themselves indebted to the state in the following: James Laws in summon for the sum of 25 pounds and Joshua Mitchell in the sum of 10 pounds to be found of the goods and chattels, land and tenements to said on condition that they make their appearance of the defendants. [illegible] Mary Landtrip acknowledges herself bound in the sum of 50 pounds and William McGill in the sum of 20 pounds…on the condition that said Mary Landtrip appear at the next court and answer the charges and not depart the same without having acknowledged before me.

William McGill is Mary’s father. She married Amos Landtrip in 1802.

The Raleigh, NC newspaper stated that 250 acres belonging to Mary Landtrip on the waters of Warrior Creek will be sold on August 24, 1811 in Wilkesborough due to insufficient taxes for the year of 1809. This may or may not have anything to do with the situation, other than indicating that Mary had fallen on hard times.

Things Escalate

As my friend used to say, “And that’s when the fight started…”

I was going to say that Sarah had a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day on September 3, 1812, but perhaps, at this point, we should just say it was definitely “memorable.” As in an unforgettable legacy.

Sarah’s day probably wasn’t quite as bad as James Laws’, though.

Sept 4, 1812

Officer to return within 30 days.

Came before me James Laws before me a justice of the peace…under oath says that on the night of the third instant September that Sarah Vannoy thru a window threw upon him a parcel of stinking chamber lie of odorous smell which said action is against the good order of government.

Command you to take the body of said Sarah Vannoy and her to have before some justice of the peace…and answer the above charge and be further dealt with according to law. Signed Sept. 4, 1812

William Laws was bond for James Laws and possibly Joseph Laws.

Wait? What?

I had to read this three or four times. Yes, it did say what I thought it said.

Next thing you know, Sarah is sitting in jail, probably uncowed and very much unrepentant.

State of North Carolina, Wilkes County, September term 1812. Jurors for the state upon oath present that Sarah Vannoy on the fourth of September 1812 force and arms in the county aforesaid and upon one James Laws thru [document damage] there being in the peace of God and did make an assault and him James did then and there and ill treat to his great damage the peace and dignity of the state.

On the back of the verdict is written that Joseph Laws, William Laws and Susannah Rich were witnesses.

Ummm, I’d like to have been a witness. Someone please tell me what happened, and don’t leave out any details!

I would never have discovered this intriguing document without this next gem.

Plot Twist

The record that launched this marathon search for both Sarah Hickerson Vannoy and Daniel Vannoy was sent to me by Jason Duncan.

Roberta,

While searching for records to fill in the story of Nathaniel Vannoy shooting the horse of James Welborn in 1813, I stumbled upon the attached document.

I remember reading where you wrote about a Daniel Vannoy being last seen in Wilkes County in 1795, and he was never heard from again. Could this page be about him?

Maybe you’ve seen this page before, but I wanted to share it in case it’s something new!

This deposition, given by Nathaniel Vannoy, Daniel Vannoy’s brother, on Sept. 23, 1812, reads:

North Carolina, Wilkes County

Nathaniel Vannoy maketh oath that Daniel Vannoy & Sarah Vannoy lived together as man & wife for about the space of fifteen years in this county and during that time had several children. That several years ago his brother [the] said Daniel left this part of this Country & hath not returned. This deponent hath frequently heard from said Daniel by letters & otherways. Who the last time this Deponent heard from him lived in the boundary of the Cherokee Indians. This deponent heard from said Daniel last February at which time he was alive & in good health. Signed Nathaniel Vannoy.

Sworn to before me this 23st day of September 1812. [illegible signature]

Why did Nathaniel swear this deposition? Sarah and James!

By virtue of a Writ of Habeas Corpus Sarah Vannoy was brought in to open Court & ordered to be Discharged from the Custody of the Sheriff in a Case James Laws vs Sarah Vannoy, she being a feme Covert.

Sarah may have been in jail from September 4th through the 23rd.

A “feme covert” is a married woman whose rights and obligations in that time and place were mostly subsumed by those of her husband. Habeas corpus is a legal writ that demands that a person in custody be brought before a court to determine the lawfulness of their detention.

This is about to get ugly, because a writ of habeas corpus in essence questions the lawful or unlawful imprisonment, apparently based on James’ allegation that Sarah was a single woman..

Sarah’s allegation would be that she’s legally married to Daniel, and therefore cannot be held because women have no right, property, or agency outside of their husbands.

The back of this paper says Sarah Vannoy ads James Laws – Habeas Corpus. Superior court Sept. term 1812. Then at the bottom, “obsolete Sept 1812.”

It’s ironic that Daniel’s desertion of Sarah and their children has paid off this one time. It’s probably the single time in Sarah’s life that it was beneficial.

The situation, whatever it really was, is far from over – if it was ever truly “finished.”.

The top of this document is damaged:

Third Monday of September 1812.

Commanded that the goods and chattles, lands and tenements of Sarah Vanoy to cause to be made five pounds recovered of her in an indictment besides the sum of seven pounds, three shillings and 11 pence for costs and charges in the said suit where Sarah Vanoy is liable…and have the monies before the court on the third Monday in March next (1813).

There’s another date at the bottom that says October 9, 1812.

October 15, 1812

The sheriff of Wilkes County is commanded to cause the sum of one pound, 14 shillings and 3 pence be made from the goods, chattels, lands and tenements of James Laws which lately Sarah Vannoy recovered of him on a habias corpus for costs whereas the said James Laws is liable and to have the monies to the Superior Court the third Monday in March of 1813

Dates on the back of this packet show both March term 1813, then “to Sept 1813.”

So James has to pay the court’s costs for jailing Sarah illegally.

But wait, next, James is collecting from Sarah.

March 13, 1813

State of North Carolina, Wilkes County – Command you that the goods and chattels land and tenements of Sarah Vannoy to be found in your county, you cause to be made the sum of five pounds…recovered of her the said Sarah Vanoy…and have the same monies before the court on the third Monday of September.

The back of the packet shows that witnesses for Laws were Susanah Rich and James Laws, so this is the original charge having to do with Sarah dumping the contents of a chamber top onto James. .

We already know that Sarah doesn’t have any assets.

Next, on the same day, she is recovering from him, again, and the amount is different.

March 31, 1813

State of North Carolina to the sheriff of Wilkes County that of the goods, chattels, lands and tenements of James Laws to be found in your county to cause to be made the sum of one pound 18 shillings which lately Sarah Vanoy recovered of him on habeas corpus for costs and charged in said suit expended.

The back of the paper shows the September term of 1813 in the suit of Sarah Vannoy vs James Laws.

The back of the packet said that nothing was found, and another date of September 1813 exists. Witnesses are listed as Joseph Laws, Susannah Rich and James Laws.

A form dated the third Monday of March 1814 commands that:

…from the goods…of Sarah Vanoy the sum of five dollars be made on an indictment of assault and battery besides the further sum of 7 pounds 15 shillings and two pence for costs and charges in the said suit expended whereof the said Sarah Laws (I think they mean Vannoy unless there’s more we don’t know) is liable.

As much as Sarah clearly hated James Laws, if she knew her surname was erroneously recorded as Laws, she’d probably still be rolling over in her grave.

The back of the form shows that Susannah Rich, Joseph Laws, and James Laws were witnesses.

Again, nothing of any value of Sarah’s was found.

Whatever happened, it sat like a cloud over her head from the summer of 1811 until March of 1814, at which time we know that Sarah had no property to be sold to pay her debt.

Sarah probably spent her entire adult life impoverished – first by Daniel’s suits, then by virtue of trying to feed her kids.

Second Plot Twist

Because nothing is ever easy or straightforward.

On June 3, 1811, David Laws, born about 1783 in Wilkes County married Jinny (Jane) Vannoy, born in 1788, the daughter of Nathaniel Vannoy.

John Laws signed for his bond.

On April 30, 1811, David Laws, Jr., meaning “the younger” in this case, married Elisabeth Miller. A John Laws also signed for his bond, but with an X.

Another connection is that Joel Vannoy, who signed with an X, probably the son of Nathaniel Vannoy, signed as bondsman for Joseph Laws and Elizabeth Laws to marry on May 25, 1811.

The Laws family connection to the Vannoy family explains at least some of the familiarity between Sarah and that family. The Miller line may be entirely unrelated to Sarah’s sister, Jane Hickerson who married Leonard Miller.

I don’t know who the father of either David Laws was, but it may have been John. Of course, there were two John Laws involved too. Regardless, this situation was clearly awkward, whether Sarah was warring with Nathaniel’s daughter’s husband, or her niece’s husband’s family, or perhaps both. Especially given that it was thanks to Nathaniel Vannoy’s deposition that Sarah was able to dispute her imprisonment by James Laws.

Sarah never seemed to cross hairs with David Laws until 1826, but given their enmeshment with each other, the Laws family was clearly closeknit.

1816 – Summoned to Court

S. Thronburgh(?) sued Jeffry Johnson and others, and Sarah Vannoy and Jane Laws were summoned to the February term of court in 1816.

Sarah simply cannot escape the Laws family. This Jane Laws is the daughter of Nathaniel Vannoy, Daniel Vannoy’s brother, who married David Laws (Sr.) in 1811. So she would be Sarah’s husband’s niece.

1819 – Sarah Vannoy Sues Thomas Farmer and Enoch Farmer

This lawsuit sounds much more serious and makes the others appear trivial, even though they were clearly serious at the time.

I’m left with far more questions than answers.

In 1819, the State of North Carolina, Wilkes County: Sarah Vannoy before me Leonard Linaerman(?) one of the acting justices…made oath that on the 9^th day of December about 5 o’clock on the evening one Thomas Farmer and Enoch Farmer to [the] plantation where the said Sarah Vannoy lives and did by a strong hand and force of arms did rob and take away her daughter Marthea and did take away a cone? and one corn? pot all to the damage of the said Sarah Vannoy and against the peace and dignity of the state. Bring said Thomas Farmer and Enoch Farmer before me to be dealt with…

Signed the third day of December 1819.

On the back of the document, they are released on their own recognizance plus John Judd and Thomas Irvin as security of 25 (probably pounds.)

They appeared on January 31^st, 1820 where Lendeman? signed as justice of the peace, as did one J. Vannoy – probably Joel, Sarah’s son.

Sarah Vannoy made her mark

Sarah’s mark for her signature is the only personal thing, aside from DNA segments in her descendants, that remains of Sarah.

What did Thomas Farmer and Enouch Farmer do?

Unfortunately, we’ll never know what they did unless there is a case packet at the NC Archives with greater detail. The phrase “with strong hand and force of arms” is rooted in English common law and means an act taken with physical force. The “force of arms” part may well mean that a weapon was used, but not always. In this case, it sounds that way.

This is the only time we find any record of Sarah’s daughter, Marthea, by any spelling.

My blood runs cold thinking about why they broke in, robbed Sarah’s home knowing they were there, and took Marthea with them. Don’t be confused by the word, plantation, which is what any homestead was always called, regardless of how small or meager. Plantation does not mean large or wealthy. This only tells us that she lived in house that was not in town.

Sarah must have been frantic, or furious and frantic, both. I can only imagine the terror. Those men would likely not have done that with a man in residence, although, with Sarah, they were probably taking their lives in their hands. They must surprised Sarah and Marthea. They were not prepared to defend themselves. But how does one remain constantly prepared to fight off intruders?

Sarah made her way to a Justice and filed the charges the very next day – on a Saturday. Unfortunately, we don’t know if Marthea was accounted for by then, or what information Sarah does not reveal in her complaint. Given that Sarah didn’t even wait until Monday, she must have been overwrought, and perhaps panic-stricken.

What did they do with, or to, Marthea?

Did these people actually behave this way sober?

I can’t find Enoch Farmer in any records, but Thomas Farmer was assigned to several juries and seemed respectable. What happened to him? Or maybe better stated, what possessed him?

This scenario is downright bone-chilling. The things that nightmares are made of. Even AI won’t create an image of this, because it’s too violent.

How could anyone possibly justify this?

Sarah’s Children

We know very little about Sarah’s children.

Martha makes only the third child whose name we know, although Sarah gave birth to several other children.

Nathaniel Vannoy’s 1812 deposition says Sarah and Daniel had “several children” in the 15 or so years they were married, but that only takes us to about 1794/1795 when he sold his land and then his slaves to Nathaniel. Too bad that Sarah didn’t have to sign off on that sale. We know Daniel was in the county until 1799, or so.

If Sarah was 18 when she married Daniel, she would have been born about 1761, and could therefore have been expected to bear children until about 1803, give or take a couple of years in either direction. She could also have been a year or two older or younger when she married, too.

Here’s what we do, and don’t, know.

Given that Sarah and Daniel were married in October of 1779, they assuredly had a baby in 1780, and another one in 1782. We have no record of those children, and at least one died before the first accounting on the 1787 tax list.

• 1780 – Unaccounted for child born in about 1780 who has died by 1787.
• 1782 – Unknown son born before 1787 as shown on the tax list where they have two boys under 21, and 1 girl. Let’s put this unidentified boy into the 1782 slot. He was still alive in 1790.
• 1784 – Elijah Vannoy was born about 1784 and married Lois McNiel in about 1809 in Wilkes County. They removed to Claiborne County, TN about 1811 or 1812 with Lois’s family. Sarah probably enjoyed her first grandchild, a little girl, Permelia, born in February of 1810. Elijah’s second baby would have been born in 1812, but there is no record of that child. That baby may not have been born before Sarah had to say goodbye to her eldest son forever, waving as the covered wagon creaked and pulled away, headed across the mountains.
• 1786 – Unknown daughter born before 1787 according to the tax list, who was alive in 1810. We will fit her into the 1786 slot although it could just have easily have been the 1788 slot..

Sarah sued Daniel on October 4, 1786, but the suit was dismissed in late April 1787, and they clearly had more children.

• 1788 – Child probably born in 1788 who has died by 1790.

In the 1790 census, they still have 2 boys under 16, and 1 female child, which means at least two children have died.

• 1790 – Unknown child probably born in 1790.
• 1792 – Joel Vannoy, born in 1792 according to his gravestone, or about 1790 according to the 1850 census. The 1830 and 1840 census both show him born between 1791 and 1800, and the 1820 census shows his birth between 1776 and 1794. Therefore, using the overlap of all of those dates, his birth year would have been between 1790 and 1794, so we will count him in the 1792 slot. He married twice – to Elizabeth St. Clair in 1817 and Emily Suddworth in 1832, having a total of 18 children. He was the Wilkes County sheriff beginning in 1825, and died there in 1858.
• Unknown child probably born in 1794. November of this year is when Daniel sells his land and in January 1795, sold his enslaved people.
• Unknown child born in 1796. One daughter from the 1810 census is occupying this slot and may be Marthea.
• Unknown child born in 1798. One daughter from the 1810 census is occupying this slot. Possibly Susanna, even though the ages don’t fit well.

Daniel has departed Wilkes County by sometime in 1800, but that does not mean that Sarah didn’t have a baby in 1800 or even 1801 as his parting gift.

It also doesn’t mean that Daniel didn’t come back and visit from time to time. Although somehow, I doubt he would have found a warm welcome, given that Sarah had no hesitation about suing him in 1786 – although she did drop the suit.

Sarah would have reached menopause within a couple years of Daniel’s departure, so, one way or another, her childbearing years were over.

In 1800, as an abandoned wife and mother, Sarah still faced the most difficult years of her life – somehow raising a family of several children, maybe as many as 8 who were living, from newborn to about 16, without a husband.

At the close of the 18^th century and the opening years of the 19th century, I have absolutely no idea how she did it without appearing in the court records binding her children out. It’s mind-boggling, so if Sarah seems angry – I’d say she had every right to be.

The 1810 Census

The 1810 federal census shows Sarah’s household with:

• 2 females 10-15, so born between 1795 and 1800 – maybe Susanna and Marthea?
• 1 female 16-25, so born 1785 -1794 – this unknown daughter is occupying the 1786 child’s slot
• Sarah, age 26-44, which would put her birth between 1766 and 1784. If she was born in 1766, she would only have been 13 when she married, so I would assume that her age in the census is incorrect, which happens often.

Both of Sarah’s sons, Elijah and Joel, are missing in 1810. Elijah married the year before, but Joel would have been about 18 and was not married. He may have been working for another family and living there. It would seem that his mother would have needed his labor, although maybe he made enough working elsewhere to help keep them afloat. Just one more unanswered question.

Sarah’s youngest two daughters are confusing.

• One daughter shown in the 1810 census, born 1795-1800, is possibly a Susanna who Joyce Dancy McNiel, a now-deceased long-time Wilkes County genealogist, believed to have been born around 1804 and married George McNiel in 1822.

Joyce could not fit Susanna into any other Vannoy family, and she said that Susannah was thought to have lived remotely, “over there,” as she gestured with her hand, which Joyce thought was perhaps Ashe County. Joyce knew that Daniel had lived in that direction, and Elijah was said to be from “over there” or “not from around here” too, so Joyce tentatively connected Susanna to Daniel and Sarah as her parents.

It’s also possible that some of Sarah’s children were living with family members.

Granted, none of this means that Susannah is Sarah’s daughter. The dates don’t work, but we know that both birth and census dates are apt to be “off”. Additionally, Sarah had moved back to Wilkes County, probably in 1794/1795 when Daniel sold the land in what would become Ashe County. So, Sarah was not living “over there” in Ashe County, according to the 1810 census and later court records. She lived in Wilkes County.

• Thanks to that 1819 lawsuit, we now know that Sarah had a daughter named Marthea, and she fits in someplace.

The 1820 Census

The 1820 census is perplexing at best.

Sarah is listed as a head-of-household, but the oldest female is 26-44. Sarah is very clearly older than 44, which would put her birth no earlier than 1776, just three years before she married, or as late as 1794 – neither of which is possible. Did the census-taker forget or omit Sarah’s census mark in the next column, or was the form later miscopied? Probably. Something.

Is there another, younger, Sarah Vannoy living alone with a child? Possibly, but I can’t find a candidate.

Nothing about Sarah is ever “normal.”

The second female in the household is enumerated as under 10, meaning she was born between 1810 and 1820. This child cannot be Sarah’s, and it’s not Susanna either, if she was born about 1804. In fact, what’s probably more likely is that the mother of this child is the 26-44 year old female living in the household. The child’s mother could well be Sarah’s daughter, but she’s not Susanna, and if she is Marthea, she was born 1776-1794. There is no marriage for a Marthea by any spelling, nor is there a bastardry bond or court records for an illegitimate birth.

I’m striking out here with known possibilities.

It’s also possible that Sarah was taking in widows and their children, or a family member, to try to make ends meet. However, that’s generally reflected in the court records. In 1820, Sarah would have been about 65 years old, so maybe someone was helping her? 65 isn’t exactly elderly.

So far, none of this helps us unravel anything at all.

We still don’t know what happened to Marthea, who was named as the victim violently taken from her mother’s home in the 1819 suit against the Farmer men, just a year before the census.

The 1830 Census

There’s no Sarah Vannoy anyplace in the 1830 census. Sarah would have been about 75, so at that age, it’s likely that she was residing with someone else if she were still living. The most likely candidate would be her son, Joel, who was appointed Wilkes County Sheriff in 1825, but she’s not there, nor with her son Elijah Vannoy in Claiborne County, TN, nor with George McNeal and his wife, Susanna Vanoy in Wilkes County.

However, we have one last sighting of Sarah – and once again, it’s in the court records.

Final Sighting of Sarah Vannoy 

March 2, 1826

The Sheriff of Iredell County summons William Stephenson Sr., Thomas Lackey, Sr. and Sarah Vannoy for the defendant in the case of David Laws vs William Campbell to appear at the courthouse in Wilkesboro on the second Monday of March 1826.

For a brief moment, I wondered if this was actually our Sarah Vannoy, especially since it’s the neighboring county, but then I noticed that the plaintiff was Davis Laws, and Sarah is subpoenaed to testify, in Wilkesboro, for the defendant – against David. Of course it’s our Sarah.

Was Sarah living in Iredell County, or were all three people listed because one of them lived in that county, and Wilkes County wanted all their bases covered? Maybe Sarah left Wilkes after the Farmer men robbed her and took her daughter. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t present in the home where she was listed as the head-of-household in 1820.

Maybe Sarah spent her last few years living in Iredell County, but with whom?

Daniel warred with the Hickersons for two decades, until he left for the Cherokee lands, and Sarah apparently warred with the Laws family for nearly as long.

They may have lived near each other. They certainly had some ongoing connection,  because they sure seemed to know a lot about each other’s business.

Beginning in 1811, hard feelings between Sarah and at least four or five Laws family members endured until at least 1826.

By 1826, if Sarah was born in 1761, she would have been about 64 years old.

Given that the average life expectancy in this era was about 38, she lived at least another quarter century. We don’t know when Sarah died – only that it was after March of 1826.

Sarah beat the odds so many times!

Reflection

As I reflect, looking back across the landscape of Sarah’s life, I can’t help but think about the type of woman she must have been – willing to step up, step out, buck tradition and go where literally no woman had gone before.

Either she was incredibly brave, or a little bit crazy, or maybe some combination of both.

Sarah must have been known as a “difficult” woman, which I perceive as a compliment today, although I’m sure it wasn’t meant as such in her time. Of course that meant no man or men lined up to marry Sarah again – not that it mattered, because she was still married to Daniel. Legally, if nothing else. Maybe she was angry about that too.

Sarah outlived all of her siblings and most of her children. She brought at least 10 into the world, assuming a birth every other year, and buried at least five young children. She probably buried more as they grew up – all without Daniel by her side. Where was he? Off someplace in Cherokee land. He didn’t even know his children. He didn’t provide for them, or Sarah, and he didn’t shed tears, dig their graves, and bury them.

I hope Sarah didn’t have to put shovel to earth to bury her own children, but I have no doubt that she did it, with resolve, if she had to. Anger mixed with grief creates combustible energy.

We still don’t know what happened to Marthea, or when she was born.

All the rest, except Elijah and Joel, simply disappear into the ether – not found in any record – ever. The lives of Sarah and her children were unimaginably hard.

The only two that we know outlived Sarah were her two boys – one of whom moved away, which begets a different form of grief and loss altogether. Along with Elijah went her only grandchild at that time, and a son she loved and who could have helped her. A little bit of Sarah, and hope, died that day.

Sarah’s life must have been excruciatingly difficult, both from an economic perspective, as well as community humiliation and embarrassment. No one wants to be the wife whose husband absconded. People can be incredibly cruel in their judgement towards others in unfortunate circumstances. She would have seen all those sideways glances and whispers shielded behind hands as she walked by. I hope she held her head high, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. Even worse, she saw her children tarred with the same brush – something they clearly didn’t deserve.

I have no idea what happened that caused Sarah to file those lawsuits – but at least Sarah had the spunk to stand up for herself. Perhaps she had simply had ENOUGH of whatever, and that, combined with her warring Hickerson bloodline, meant that she stood up and fought.

I don’t know if she was one of the pack, or ostracized from her family. The Hickerson “family” seemed to be divided and ostracized from each other. Several of their disagreements spilled over into the courts.

I hope that one way or another, Sarah’s life was at least somewhat fulfilling. We know there were several issues, or she would not have sued Daniel for “trespass” in 1786, just 7 years after they were married. We know that’s a sign of something – we just don’t know what. Sarah’s brother, David Hickerson, paid the court costs so she could drop the suit against Daniel, yet he and Daniel filed suits against each other a few years later.

Family relations were especially rocky after the robbery and burning of Sarah’s sister’s home, abetted by another sister, followed by her parents’ deaths. Inheritance does that to families.

Sarah was certainly spicy, but the rest of the Hickerson daughters were too. Seems to have run in the family. Maybe they had little choice.

In Sarah’s case, her temperament may have been the only thing that stood between her and starvation – the ability and willingness to advocate for and fend for herself, and her children.

A bit of sass and irreverence meant survival. It probably also fueled those wagging tongues.

The Great Chamber Pot Incident of 1812

If there’s one moment where I can truly empathize with Sarah, it’s the level of exasperation that she must have felt in 1812 when she threw the contents of a chamber pot either into or out of the window, onto James Laws.

Sarah must have known that in the litigious society that defined frontier Wilkes County, that James would run straight to the courthouse. But that also meant HE had to admit, publicly, what she had managed to do to him.

I can see Sarah laughing as James stood stinking, dripping, and fuming, beneath the window. He probably heard her too. Of course, that added insult and humiliation to injury and made him even angrier.

There’s a part of me that just knows Sarah didn’t care. She literally had nothing to lose, as the court records confirm. Depending on what he had done to her, she just might have relished every moment of his stinking misery.

If you’re going to take a defiant stand and dump a chamber pot onto someone’s head, “accidentally” of course, make it memorable and do a good job. Go big or stay home. And absolutely get yourself sued so that your descendants can not only find you, but unlock the rest of the story about how your miscreant husband abandoned you with an entire passel of children.

Sarah and The Great Chamber Pot Incident of 1812 provided the key to unlock the rest.

Perhaps James Laws, and others, never allowed Sarah to forget that her husband had run off – casting ugly aspersions, or worse. Maybe that’s why Sarah “thru a window threw upon him a parcel of stinking chamber lie of odorous smell.” Perhaps he deserved it. I can’t imagine doing something like that unprovoked.

Sarah and the Laws family had a long and unpleasant history.

Sarah stood, one woman with a fiery spirit, alone, battling an entire family – perhaps an entire area.

Were it not for that well-aimed chamber pot, Nathaniel Vannoy would never have given his deposition about the fact that Daniel and Sarah were still married, even though Daniel had left years before. Daniel was still alive in the Cherokee lands, so Sarah couldn’t be imprisoned as a “femme sole.” Without that chamber pot, and resulting deposition, we would never have discovered three more decades of information, the rest of both Daniel’s and Sarah’s stories.

While I’m grateful for the chamber pot incident, my heart aches for Sarah. The circumstances we’ve simply touched upon, glimpsed through a pinhole illuminated by the court records, reveal a life no one aspires to have.

Imagine the incessant warring, and whatever caused it behind the scenes, defining your life.

Imagine desperately needing a job, but not being able to get one because you’re a woman, and women in that time and place didn’t work outside the home.

Imagine raising your children alone, in a time and place where women had no agency to do so, which would probably make you even angrier.

Imagine the cheap gossip, and perhaps worse.

Imagine wondering where your next meal, and then the next one, was coming from – for years and years.

Imagine being that vulnerable and being able to do absolutely nothing about it.

Imagine your children going hungry – and how angry you would be at the man who deserted all of you.

Imagine having your home robbed and your daughter taken.

Imagine being that woman in frontier America with little or no recourse – except for that well-aimed chamber pot in a moment of overwhelming exasperation.

Every frontier bride dreamed of her own log cabin, some chickens and livestock to feed, a garden, starting a family, and growing old with her true love. Essentially, the pioneer version of living happily ever after.

Whatever Sarah’s life was, it was none of those things.