Marie Broussard was 11 days old that cold January day when the 1686 Port Royal census was taken. She was born “upriver,” near BelleIsle, now part of the Annapolis River Valley in Nova Scotia, where the Broussard family lived.

It was here, on the banks of the river, that Marie’s storied life began.

Marie’s parents are listed in the census as Francois Broussard, 33, and Catherine Richard, 22. She had two older siblings, and her family owned seven cattle, five sheep, five hogs, and one gun.

1690

One of the defining events in Acadian history was the 1690 English attack. Marie was just four, but she may have had some memory, given how traumatic it was.

The attack was horrific, devastating the town of Port Royal itself. Homes and the church where Marie had been baptized were burned. Thankfully, most of the upriver farms, where Marie’s family lived, were spared.

That’s likely because the river beyond Port Royal, or upriver of Hogg Island, was essentially impassable to ocean-going vessels – not to mention that the river, then known as Riviere du Port Royal, is tidal. Water rushes in and out at various times of the day, threatening to slam unwary boats and ships against the rocks.

Gravely outnumbered, the Acadians surrendered to the English. The men Acadian were rounded up in the Catholic church and forced to sign a loyalty oath to the English crown. Marie’s father signed, because he had no other choice.

A few weeks later, pirates followed the English soldiers, plundering and burning much of what was left. Given where the Broussard family lived, comparatively far upriver, 9 or 10 miles, they likely escaped the pirates, too.

It was just too dangerous for pirates, and the English, to fight on unknown and unfamiliar terrain where they could not escape to their waiting ships. The narrowing, meandering, rocky, tidal river protected the Acadian families.

1693

The next Acadian census was taken three years later, in 1693, where Marie is listed as seven years old.

Marie now has three siblings, the two older siblings listed in 1686, but only one younger sibling, born about 1690. Clearly, at least two siblings had been born and died, one about 1688 and another about 1692.

In May of 1693, the English attacked Port Royal once again, burning at least a dozen and probably as many as 30 homes.

Marie’s parents probably tried to shield their young children from the worst of it – especially the part about families being locked in their homes and burned alive. That’s the stuff of nightmares.

Additionally, the English slaughtered the livestock – not for food, just because. Although with enough warning, the upriver families were probably able to turn their hogs and cattle loose and chase them into the woods in the hills that lined the valley, behind the farms.

After 1690, they assuredly would have had “attack plans” at the ready.

Marie was clearly old enough to remember the 1693 attack and would have grown up hearing about both 1690 attacks.

We think that the census was taken after the 1693 attack. The Broussard family was living on 7 arpents of land, had 15 cattle, 20 sheep, and 16 pigs – all of which were defended by one gun. The amount of livestock suggests they were spared the wrath of the English, or they successfully hid their animals.

I’d wager that the Acadian children learned to both fear and hate the English.

French Once Again

Since 1690, Acadia has been under English rule. In 1697, Port Royal was returned to the French through treaty. I think this was the first and only time in the history of Acadia that there was a transfer of power between the French and the English without conflict and bloodshed.

The following year, the 1698 census shows Marie, now 13, with her parents and six siblings. This year, surprisingly, they also had an unnamed servant, so they were clearly doing well. They owned 2 guns, had increased their land holding to 16 arpents, had two fruit trees, 15 cattle, 20 sheep, and 14 hogs.

BelleIsle and the area on the north side of the river is some of the most productive farmland in the valley.

Early 1700s Unrest

In 1700, the census lists Marie as 14. Her family now farms 14 arpents of land with 24 cattle and 26 sheep. No hogs this year, though, and no servant either, although servants weren’t always listed.

In 1701, Marie is 15, marriage age, and assuredly flirting with the local Acadian young men. She has 7 siblings now, the family is farming 10 arpents of land, owns five guns, 10 cattle, 18 sheep, and 17 hogs.

Marie’s family would have been attending church at the little Mass House at BelleIsle where you can see the Broussard family name just above and to the right of the building. The church at Port Royal had not been rebuilt, so the Acadians worshipped where they lived. They established a cemetery in that churchyard too.

Today, the Mass House and those graves are lost to time.

Marie Marries

Sure enough, Marie married Rene Doucet sometime after the 1701 census, but probably not long after, because in the 1703 census, the newlyweds have one child, and Rene is listed as an arms-bearer.

They are shown with a girl, but their oldest known child was actually Pierre, born on Christmas Eve in 1703. This tells us that their first child, a daughter, was probably born in early/mid 1702 and died as an infant.

Working 18-24 months back from Pierre’s birth places the daughter’s birth between December 1701-June 1702. Nine months before that places their marriage between March and September of 1701.

We don’t know what date the 1701 census was taken. We only know that Marie married Renee after the census was taken.

When Marie married Rene, they set up housekeeping across from Port Royal. Not long after, they would witness the 1704 blockade of Port Royal by the English.

Given the history of the relationship between the two nations, Marie was probably on constant alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or, in this case, listening for cannon fire.

English Major Benjamin Church had not been authorized to actually attack Port Royal, though, so he had to settle for a blockade. On July 2^nd, he sailed two English warships and seven smaller ships up the river and anchored within sight of Port Royal.

On the way upriver, they captured the guard station across from Goat Island, in addition to four Acadians. I’m standing on the shore, right about where they would have come ashore to capture that guard station. You can see Goat Island in the river.

Taking an unknown family prisoner, they sent a woman from that family to the fort to demand surrender. We don’t know the identities of the four captured Acadians or the family, but other times, captives were often taken to Boston and held for more than a year – if they were ever released.

That 1704 hostage strategy didn’t work. The fort and town were not surrendered, and the blockade lasted 17 days.

For 17 long days and nights, the Acadians waited for what they felt sure was the inevitable attack, but Church tired of the wait and set off to raid Grand Pre, Pisiguit, and Chignecto instead. On his way back, he stopped by again and, after a brief exchange of gunfire, continued on to Boston.

Marie had a front-row seat.

1707 Was Hell!!!

The British tried to take Port Royal again in 1707, twice.

The first attack by Colonel John March of Massachusetts began on May 26^th and ended on June 8^th, after a failed assault the previous day. During their retreat on June 7th, the English burned many, if not most, of the homes near the fort.

The second 1707 assault began on August 20^th and ended on September 1^st. I’m guessing that the English thought that the Acadians would have been weakened after the assault just two months earlier, especially with so many homes burned, and only a total of 300 men to defend the fort.

During the second siege, the English landed on the same side of the river and established siege lines – but Mother Nature came to the aid of the Acadians, serving up bad weather which allowed Governor Subercase to successfully defend both the fort and town.

Subercases’ report to Versailles that October stated that the Acadian habitations had been “ravaged by fire” in June and that new fortifications and the rebuilding of the homes “in the banlieue” were underway.

Unfortunately, living directly across from the fort, Marie would have witnessed the horrors unfolding. Arguably, that was better than being in the midst of the inferno.

The siege was terrifying, and on June 7^th, Marie watched Port Royal burn, right across the river. She would have smelled the smoke and probably heard the screams if she hadn’t already headed for safety.

The Labatt Map

Thanks to a map drawn the following year by the fort’s engineer, Labatt, we know what happened and whose homes were burned. You can view his original map, here.

On Labatt’s 1708 map, the names of the residents are noted by letter with their homes and adjacent fields. Rene Doucet is shown across from Port Royal, with Abraham Bourg and several Granger families as neighbors.

Labatt’s map reveals the level of devastation in Port Royal itself. The legend details landmark locations, such as the fort, in addition to the homes that were and weren’t burned. I asked ChatGPT to transcribe, then translate the legend.

The translated version:

Plan of the Suburbs of Fort Royal in Acadia and its Surroundings

June 7, 1707. Fort taken by the English and the houses burned.

A. the fort
B. houses and garden of the King
C. butcher’s shop belonging to Mr. du Labourage
D. King’s barn
E. houses and land of Mr. d’Inglisier
F. houses and land of Mr. d’Orantin
G. house of the widow of Dominique
H. house of Mr. St. Calbet
I. house of Mr. Poirier, chief surgeon
K. house of Lachausse, blacksmith
L. storehouse of Allain Bulger
M. Mr. Beaumont, blacksmith, burned
N. house of the master carpenter, same (burned)
O. house of Mr. Lognonnet, burned
P. house of Madame Fenonce
Q. house of the son of Brouillan, burned
R. house of Mr. Deslauriers, same (burned)
S. fields and woods behind
T. palisade burned
V. house of the farmer Poisson
X. house of Langouin, same (burned)
Y. house of François Coste, same (burned)
Z. dwelling of Jasquin, same (burned)

a. (looks like L) house of François Loiseau, burned
b. entrenchment made by the English in 1707

Note: not all of the marshlands are enclosed,
only those surrounded by the great tides.

c. house of André Lavingé, same (burned)
d. house of Joseph Brouin, burned
e. house of Denis
f. house of Lavergne, same (burned)
g. house of M. l’Abbadie
h. house of Boisbriand, burned
i. house of Prudent Robichaud, same (burned)
k. house of Pierre Landry, same (burned)
l.  house of Jean Arbin, same (burned)
m. house of Pierre Pellerin, same (burned)
n. house of Villiers, same (burned)
o. house of Claude Doucet, same (burned)
p. house of Bernard Doucet, same (burned)
q. house of Maillet, same (burned)
r. hill called in this country “Rançon,” or “Monsieur de Cours,”
where Mr. de Brouillan withdrew in the year 1707.

The site previously called “la petite rivière” has a mill.

t. land of Louis Allain, where he planted an orchard.u. house of Joseph Brouillet
v. house of Charles Robichaud, same (burned)
w. mills of Landry
& c. surveys of the land given by Mr. de la Boularderie in 1708.

I corrected anything that was an obvious transcription error, but I’m not a native French-speaker.

Next, I correlated the names with the 1708 map locations.

Each of the stars represents a burned home. While not shown or mentioned, Father Justin Durand, the local priest, lived in the monastery adjacent to the original church that was destroyed in 1690. Since that time, services had been held in a makeshift structure. Both were destroyed in the 1707 attacks.

The dashed lines labeled “b” are the English entrenchments, and the properties surrounding those were all torched.

Of course, one wonders why all of the properties in Port Royal weren’t burned. Perhaps some of the residents were friendlier with the English than others.

Or, perhaps the group closest to the fort was the most well-protected, which might explain why most of those weren’t burned. The English must have taken special pains to burn the rectory since it was literally in the yard right beside the fort’s rampart.

It’s worth noting that of the 24 burned properties, only 11 of those residents appear in the 1707 census. What happened to the rest? Did some people die?

Pierre Pellerin probably died. We know who his parents were, and he is never found again after the 1707 burn list.

Did some go back to France? Did some head for Beaubassin or elsewhere? We don’t find them anyplace in Acadia in the 1707 census, which was clearly taken in the fall after the English depredations.

Cemeteries

We think of Port Royal as a small town, with maybe 500 people total, including the surrounding area. However, these attacks left a lot of people to be buried, many at the same time.

St. Jean-Baptiste parish records between 1702 and 1755 are incomplete, but more than 2500 baptisms took place, and 400+ burials were recorded.

We also know from the census records that a lot of babies and young children died – probably approaching half of those born. They too had to be buried, so the cemetery at the original church by the fort wouldn’t have been close to everyone, and it had to be getting full.

Plus, that church only existed for about four years before it was burned and never rebuilt – and the land was under English control.

Maybe the Acadians didn’t want to bury all of their deceased family members there, all things considered – not to mention that traveling to Port Royal from far upriver in the dead of winter would have been difficult, if not impossible. .

On Labatt’s map, it’s worth noting that there’s a cemetery south of the town, marked by the cross at the top of the map, along “Chemin du Cap,” or “Path to the Cape”.

Clearly, someone was being buried in this new cemetery. Perhaps many of the Acadians, especially those south of Port Royal who lived along the road are buried here. This cemetery is lost today.

It’s clear from Labatt’s map that reflects the residents in Port Royal in 1707, combined with the 1707 census, that people we don’t think of as Acadians resided in Port Royal from time to time, as did soldiers stationed at the fort’s garrison.

The church at the fort was burned in 1690 and not rebuilt. In fact, its stones were used in the later reconstruction of the fort.

We know that another church was in use at BelleIsle, called the Mass House, and residents who lived in that area were buried there as well.

Another church was referenced on the north side of the river, but we don’t know if it was the Mass House, or a church between today’s Granville Ferry and the Melanson village – near Marie’s home.

As for Marie’s family – they could have been buried either at Port Royal, which was just across the river after she married, or up at the BelleIsle Mass House, which is where her parents and siblings lived.

The Te Deum

Marie must have heaved a huge sigh of relief as the English ships weighed anchor and began to sail away in the early fall of 1707.

The Acadians believed they had been saved by God’s hand. When the English left, Subercase’s garrison of soldiers and the Acadians celebrated with a Te Deum in the church in Port Royal, such as it was. Subercase reported, “we sang the Te Deum in the church to thank God for our deliverance.”

A 1699 visitor to Port Royal remarked that the makeshift church resembled a barn more than a church, and in 1701, a nun noted that the church had a straw-covered roof, log walls, and paper windows. There was no church bell, and people were called to Mass by beating a drum.

Marie would never have known a different church in Port Royal.

The Te Deum reaches back to the fourth century when St. Ambroise baptized St. Augustine, and the hymn was reportedly first sung together. Te Deum, a Catholic hymn of thanksgiving, means “We praise Thee, O God” and would have been sung to celebrate either a military victory, or deliverance, or, in this case, both. The service would have been a community-wide celebratory event, a group exhale, at least for a little while.

Close your eyes and listen to this beautiful Gregorian chant of the Te Deum, here. Think about Marie and her family in the early fall of 1707, singing this very song, their voices mingling with those of their neighbors and the rich barritones of the soldiers stationed at the garrison.

Then, open your eyes and watch the video once again with the English subtitles. I promise, this will bring you peace and connect you with our Acadian ancestors.

The Acadians were grateful, but their deliverance wouldn’t last forever.

1707 Census

The 1707 census shows Marie and Rene with one boy less than 14, one girl less than 12, four arpents of land, 19 cattle, 17 sheep, 8 hogs, and one gun.

As indicated on the 1708 map, their neighbors in the census are Abraham Bourg, three Granger families, then on the other side, towards the east, Clement Vincent and Francois Levron, “Le Bonhomme Nantois.”

These families were all interrelated, or would be soon.

1710 – Acadia Falls

Ever since the foiled 1707 attacks, rumors swirled that the English were planning to attack Acadia again.

From across the river, Marie watched the fort being reconstructed and reinforced. One of the few remaining structures, the Powder Magazine, was being built.

The Powder Magazine not only kept the powder dry, it served as a bunker.

Prisoners rescued from English corsairs in 1708 and 1709 told the Acadians that an attack was coming, sooner rather than later.

Morale at Port Royal was at an all-time low. The French had consistently ignored pleas for help, reinforcements, and supplies, and now Acadia was attempting to reconstruct the fort on its own. Many French soldiers, who had gone years without pay, had run away and defected to the English and were now providing espionage information. This further weakened Port Royal and depleted the ranks. Worse yet, the defectors would soon accompany the English on the warships when they attacked Port Royal.

The Powder Magazine, also known as “The Black Hole”, was a subterranean structure designed to keep gunpowder dry and provide shelter to the women and children of Port Royal in the event of an attack. It also served as a defacto prison.

Unless Marie went upriver to BelleIsle, and then into the hills, she would have been exceedingly grateful for the new Powder Magazine on September 24, 1710.

The interior is small and claustrophobic, but barring English soldiers literally running down the steps and breaking the door open, it was safe – safer than any house in or within sight of Port Royal.

In 1710, when the English returned to Port Royal, they were more determined than ever. They intended to finish what they had started in 1707. With 36 ships and 2000 men pitted against a combined force of roughly 300 French soldiers and Acadian men, they would not fail.

Marie’s husband, Rene Doucet would be fighting. It was up to Marie to protect their children, 6, 3 and an 8-month-old baby.

A hand-drawn English map detailed their attack strategy, including where they would come ashore – right beside the Doucet homestead. One thing is certain – Marie had already vacated the premises – or I wouldn’t be writing about her as one of my ancestors.

Did Marie witness her home burn? Was everyone able to escape? What happened to Marie’s baby born in 1708? Where did she take her children and hide? Was she in the crowded Powder Magazine for ten days? Did she literally run the 10 miles upriver with her baby and small children to her parents’ home?

What I wouldn’t give for her diary.

The Acadians held out from September 24^th to October 2^nd, but defeat was inevitable – only a matter of time, and how. Would they fight to the bloody end, or would they surrender?

Surrender allows one to live and fight another day. The surrender terms provided that:

• The Acadian soldiers could leave the fort, flags flying and drums beating. In other words, with some dignity.
• The fort and everything beloning to “France,” meaning supplies, was handed over to the English.
• The Acadian inhabitants within cannon-shot, 3 English miles, could remain for two years, which meant they had two years to move their “moveable items” to a French Territory, which was any of the rest of Acadia.
• Those who stayed for the two years had to pledge an oath to the Queen.
• The French soldiers and administrators would be transported back to France.

After the surrender terms were signed, the Acadians handed the fort keys over to the English and signed the despised oath.

As a woman, Marie didn’t need to sign, but her husband would have.

Many of the residents who lived even slightly beyond the 3-mile radius felt that the restrictions did not apply to them. Clearly, Marie and Rene did not fall into this category, but her parents did.

Soon, the town’s name would be officially changed from Port Royal to Annapolis Royal, and the river to the Annapolis River.

Never again would Marie live under French control.

Ever hopeful, the Acadians procrastinated.

The Acadians, en masse, planned to leave, so they did not plant crops in 1714. Then, they were unexpectedly forbidden from leaving, which meant they had no food during that winter.

Marie was pregnant again.

1714-1716

By 1714, when the final Acadian census was taken, Marie and Rene had 1 son and three daughters. They lived beside her brother, Pierre Broussard, but still in the same neighborhood. If their home had been burned, which is almost guaranteed, they had rebuilt and continued to farm the same land. Rebuilding after fire was a way of life in Acadia.

Initially, the Acadians were told they had to leave with only what they could carry, then when the English realized they needed the Acadians to farm in order to feed the English soldiers, the Acadians were forbidden from leaving.

The English “occupation” was anything but peaceful.

In 1715, the English tried to starve the Acadians into submission, shut the gates to the fort, and forbade trading with the Indians as well. The Acadians now desperately wanted to leave, and tried, by both land and sea.

Marie’s parents were aging, and her father, Francois Broussard, died on the last day of the year in 1716. The parish register notes that he was about 70 years old. Marie’s mother, Catherine Richard, was about a decade younger than her father. Catherine is shown in the 1714 census, but then nothing. It’s possible, but unlikely, that she survived to the 1755 Expulsion.

This was a brutal time in Acadia.

The 1720 Ultimatum

By 1720, tensions had risen again, with the English trying to force all of the Acadians to sign an unconditional oath of allegiance to England, which the Acadians had consistently refused to do. They were willing to sign a conditional oath, remaining neutral in the case of conflict between England and France. Their Native neighbors feared the same thing, because they did not want the Acadians fighting on the side of the English, against them. Everything was complex, and emotions ran high.

A new English governor, General Phillips, proclaimed that all Acadians had to take the oath or leave within three months – with nothing. This caused quite the uproar, but the Acadians continued to refuse. Philips pronounced them ungovernable and stubborn, stating that they were being influenced and directed by bigoted priests.

I’m guessing that the Acadians probably took that as a compliment.

France began sending people to Louisbourg and encouraging the Acadians to come and settle there.

The English begrudgingly tolerated the situation at Port Royal, in part because they desperately needed the food supplies that Acadians raised, along with their knowledge of the land.

In 1725, a sort of truce was reached, and an oath was agreed upon – only to be declared too lenient in 1729.

If it feels like the Acadians were living in a constant state of churn, that’s because they were.

The 1730 Incredible Disappearing Oath

However, in 1730, a bit of subterfuge saved the day.

A new governor, Richard Philipps, who had served in Acadia earlier, returned, and reported that Acadians took this oath:

“I sincerely promise and swear, as a Christian, that I will be utterly faithful and will truly obey His Majesty King George the Second, whom I acknowledge as the sovereign Lord of Nova Scotia and Acadia. So help me God.”

The actual oath contained a second page:

“… that the inhabitants, when they have sworn hereto, will not be obliged to take up arms against France or against the Savages, and the said Inhabitants have further promised that they will not take up arms against the King of England or against its government.”

Everyone agreed upon this verbiage, and the Acadians signed. The priest and a notary signed as witnesses.

Phillips only sent the first page back to England. The English monarch didn’t know about the second part, and the Acadians didn’t know that the second part wasn’t sent.

Everyone was satisfied because both parties believed they had gotten what they wanted – and things calmed down.

Finally, for the first time in all of Marie’s 44 years upon the earth, peace fell upon Acadia. For the first time ever, she could look across the river at Port Royal and the fort, renamed Fort Anne, that now housed English soldiers, without fear clutching her throat.

The Acadian population grew at a rapid clip during this time of peace and prosperity. Marie was focused on raising her family across the river from Annapolis Royal – the town that would always be Port Royal to the Acadians.

Children

Throughout her marriage, Marie continued to have children, despite what the English were or were not doing.

1. Marie’s first child, a daughter, was born in 1702 and died before 1707. The parish registers are extant, dating back to sometime in 1702, although they are not complete.
2. Pierre Doucet was a Christmas Eve baby, born December 24, 1703, with godparents Pierre Broussard, Marie’s brother, and Marguerite Bourg. He married Francoise Dugas on September 10, 1725, in Port Royal, and had 10 known children. During the 1755 Expulsion, he was sent to Connecticut, where he is shown in 1763, requesting passage to France, with a family of 8. Connecticut Acadians were not granted permission to relocate to France.
3. A child was probably born in 1705 and died at or near birth.
4. Anne Marie Doucet was born on November 24, 1706, in Port Royal. She married Pierre Landry two decades later, on June 3, 1726, in Port Royal. They had four known children who were deported, but she probably gave birth to at least 11. During the 1755 Expulsion, Pierre Landry is listed on board the ship, Ranger, bound for Oxford, in the colony of Maryland, where Anne Marie is found in 1763, listed as a widow.
5. A child born in 1708 who died before the 1714 census.
6. Agathe Doucet was born on January 19, 1710, in Port Royal, and baptized the day she was born, with Monsieur du Chambon, Lieutenant of a company, and Agathe de la Tour as her godparents. She was nine months old when Port Royal fell to the English. On February 4, 1727, she married Pierre Pitre and had about 13 children, six of whom are known to have lived. In 1752, they were living in Chipoudie with seven children, and again in 1755, just prior to the Expulsion, with the same number of children. Their fate is unknown, but one of their children died in Chateauguay, Canada, one in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and two in Opelousas, St. Landry Parish, Louisiana.
7. A child was born about 1712 and died before the 1714 census.
8. Anne Doucet was born on March 23, 1713, in Port Royal, and was provisionally baptized by Abraham Bourg, a neighbor who often baptized babies born in the neighborhood where Marie and Pierre lived. Anne’s official baptism by the priest took place on April 22, with Mathieu Doucet and Isabelle Broussard, Marie’s sister, serving as her godparents. She married Daniel Garceau around 1730 and had 13 or 14 children, 11 of whom survived. During the 1755 Expulsion, the family was sent to New York, where they appear on the 1763 census with eight children. They had resettled in Quebec by August 1767. Anne died in Sorel, Richelieu, Quebec, on April 14, 1791.
9. Francois Doucet was born on May 1, 1715, in Port Royal, with Claude Broussard, Marie’s brother, and Renee Bourg standing as his godparents. He married Marguerite Petitot on January 15, 1742, in Port Royal, and they had nine or 10 children, nine of whom survived. During the 1755 Expulsion, they were deported to York County, Maine, where they are shown in 1756 with nine children, and again in 1764. However, in 1763, they are shown in Connecticut with five sons and four daughters. This is not necessarily conflicting information, but it does need additional research. Regardless of where they were during that time, in 1764, Acadians who took an oath of allegiance were allowed to return to an area of Nova Scotia that would be set aside for Acadians, in St. Mary’s Bay, near Digby. They returned about 1770. Several of their children died at Church Point and nearby in Nova Scotia. I wonder if they ever visited their parents’ and grandparents’ graves, if they knew where they had been buried, and if the graves were still there after more than a decade of English settlement.
10. Catherine Josephe Doucet was born on April 19, 1718, in Port Royal, with Joseph Leblanc and Catherine Broussard, wife of Charles Landry and Marie’s sister, as her godparents. She was buried on October 4, 1719, in Port Royal.
11. Marguerite Doucet was born February 5^th, 1721, in Port Royal and was provisionally baptized by Abraham Bourg. Her official baptism took place on March 22^nd, with Joseph Bourg and a Doucet as godparents. She married Charles Babineau on January 25, 1745, in Port Royal, and they brought forth at least five children and probably more. Their last known child was reportedly born on Ile St. John and baptized on September 12, 1756, noting that her mother was deceased. However, the father is listed as Jean Bario, so the identification of this child is questionable. Acadian historian and genealogist Stephen A. White states that Marguerite was listed as the widow, Marguerite Doucet, on the Connecticut 1763 census with six people, which, if correct, means that she and her family were deported from Port Royal, not Ile St. Jean, in 1755.
12. Charles Doucet was born about 1723 in Port Royal and married Marguerite Prejean about 1746, probably in or near Chipoudie. They had four children before the Expulsion, and possibly more after. Two children are known to have survived. One died in Three Rivers, Canada, in 1832. Prior to the Expulsion, they were found on the 1755 census in Tintamarre, Acadia, with 2 boys and 2 girls. Following the 1755 Expulsion, Charles was deported to Georgia, but his wife was living in Massachusetts in 1763. We really don’t know how she got there since the Acadians from Chignecto were not sent to Massachusetts, but nothing was “normal” in that time and place. Charles was deceased before the 1763 census taken on August 5^th, and his wife, Marguerite, died in May of 1777 in Trois-Rivieres, Quebec.
13. Jean Doucet was born on August 20, 1725, in Port Royal and was baptized the next day, with Jean Granger, son of Claude Granger, and Agathe Doucet, his sister, as his godparents. He married Anne Bourg on January 20, 1749, with a 4^th degree consanguinity granted because they shared great-great-grandparents. Witnesses were Francois Doucet, Joseph Doucet, Pierre Doucet, and Joseph Bourg. They had three children before the 1755 Expulsion. The fate of only one is known. Their firstborn, Anne, died in 1790 in L’Acadie, Quebec, a haven for so many. Tragically, Jean Doucet was on the ship, the Edward, struck by the horrific winter storm that blew it off course and to Antigua, arriving months later, in May of 1756. Doubly unlucky, many of the passengers on the Edward were infected with smallpox and died – Jean among them. His wife eventually made it to Connecticut, where she is shown in 1763 with her second husband, Joseph Hebert, and nine children.
14. Cecile Doucet was born on July 20, 1728, in Port Royal, with Joseph Builbaut, son of Charles Builbaut, and her sister, Anne Doucet, standing as her godparents when she was baptized the following day. On January 22, 1752, she married Charles Bourg in Port Royal, and in April of 1753, they had a daughter who was baptized, but whose name was left blank. All we know about Cecile is that on August 14, 1763, her husband is listed in Connecticut alone – no wife or child – so Cecile and the daughter have both perished.

The story of Marie’s children is crushingly tragic.

Where was Marie?

Where was Marie during this time?

That’s a great question.

For the most part, Marie was doing what Acadian wives and mothers did prior to the Expulsion – interrupted from time to time by an attack or drama surrounding moving, taxes, and that dreaded oath of allegiance.

She cooked and baked, tended her gardens and the livestock, and reliably produced another child every 18 to 24 months. Obviously, Acadians loved their children, and their Catholic faith taught that the purpose of marriage was for the procreation and education of children, calling for them to “be fruitful and multiply.” (Genesis 1:28)

In Acadia, children meant hands to help with the incessant chores needing to be completed, from building and mending dykes to planting and harvesting produce. Of course, there was the ever-present need to defend Acadia, Port Royal, and their habitations, as their homes were called.

Marie must have learned to live with the persistent background hum of anxiety.

We don’t know when Marie’s husband, Rene Doucet, died – just that it was sometime after September 10, 1731. He was about eight years older than Marie.

The good news is that Marie was present to see every one of her children marry, less Charles who married around 1746, probably in Chipoudie where his bride was born.

Marie would have welcomed a good many grandchildren into the world as well. She had at least 55, and would have buried several more. Some were born after the 1755 Expulsion, and of course, she wouldn’t have known many, if any, that were born during or after 1755.

We know that Marie was still living on January 22, 1752, when her youngest child, Cecile, was married.

What we don’t know is what happened between January of 1752 and December of 1755 when the Acadians were rounded up like so many cattle and forced aboard various English ships waiting at anchor in the river.

There’s no record of Marie’s death prior to the Expulsion, but we also know the records aren’t complete.

The great irony is that Marie had spent her entire married life looking at the fort, the three chimneys of the garrison, and the Queen’s Wharf from her home across the river. This was her view every single day. The wharf, barely visible near the water, at left, is now inhabited mostly by the ghosts of deported Acadians.

The waterfront would have been bustling when Marie lived here.

If she survived to December of 1755, Marie would see that wharf in a way she could never have imagined. In the winter, in the snow, as a hostage in her own homeland. If she lived that long, there’s no question that she endured that unspeakable tragedy.

If Marie was forced upon one of those ships for the torturous journey, she probably had little or no choice about which ship, and with whom.

Marie may have been entirely separated from her family and forced to leave any possessions she might have been carrying on the dock. Four years later, when the new English settlers arrived, they reported finding belongings stacked on and along the wharf where the Acadians were forced to abandon whatever they were carrying before boarding the death ships.

Did Marie catch a final glimpse of her children, and grandchildren, being herded, pushed and shoved into the holds of those freezing ships, never to know what happened to them?

Then, as the ultimate cruel twist of fate, Marie had to, was forced to, view her home directly across from that wharf. The fields that she, Rene and her children had worked now covered with wind-blown icy snow. The ship would have departed from right here – right in front of her home – perhaps still smoldering, her animals, forcibly abandoned, begging to be fed.

My God, my God, the unspeakable agony.

I can only imagine her unanswered prayers.

Marie’s children unquestionably boarded ships at this wharf, looked one last time at their childhood home as they sailed into the horrors that lay beyond. They were deported, hopefully as families, to Maryland, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Georgia, and Antigua. One child, Charles, was in Chipoudy before the Expulsion, but he wasn’t safe either.

In other words, Marie could have died between Cecile’s wedding in 1752 and the Grande Derangement in December of 1755, during the horrific winter conditions at sea, or somewhere in one of the colonies, or Antigua.

As another researcher pointed out, it’s possible, but not probable, that she was the Widow Doucet with six children on the 1763 census in Connecticut. Children might have been grandchildren. In 1755, she would have been one month shy of 70, and in 1763, she would have been 78, so I doubt the widow in Connecticut is our Marie. .

Standing on the rampart, above Queen’s Wharf, one can see Marie’s home in the clearing across the river. Marie and Rene drained those marshes, worked the land, and raised their children there.

When I placed roses here on the wharf last year, honoring my Acadian ancestors, I didn’t realize I was literally leaving roses directly across from Rene and Marie’s home – that clearing across the river. As I stood tranfixed in the silence, transported to another time and place, I was staring at what was left of their life in Acadia.

I hope Marie died peacefully, in her own bed, in her sleep, beside the river, across from her beloved Port Royal. I hope she never lived to see her family ripped apart, sent in different directions as captives, never to see or know what had become of each other.

I pray she never stood on this very wharf, as those English ships waited to carry her away. I hope she didn’t have to endure the grief of witnessing the final destruction of her homeland, her beloved Acadia.

I hope the sun set on Marie’s earthly journey as beautifully as the sun sets today over her Acadian home, reflecting timeless beauty across the river that nourished her family.

Marie’s light lives on.

_____________________________________________________________

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I wish we knew who Perrine’s parents are, but we don’t.

A significant amount of work has been done disproving several theories.

Based on Acadian census data, combined with the birth years of her children, we know that Perrine was born between 1620 and 1626, and probably closer to 1626.

We know that Perrine was born in France, because no Acadian settlers lived in Acadia before at least 1632, and probably not before Charles d’Aulnay began settling families in Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia, about 1635 or 1636.

We also know that Perrine likely arrived with her parents, because she married around 1640 when she was about 14 or so, assuming her 1626 birth year is accurate. That young age wasn’t uncommon for Acadian brides. If she was born in 1620, she would have been 20 when she married – which still meant it was likely that she arrived with her parents. That also means that none of Perrine’s siblings, or their offspring, or her parents survived to the first census in 1671.

The 1671 census shows us that Perrine was married to her second husband, René Landry, but had two daughters from her first marriage. The household consisted of:

• René Landry, farmer, age 52
• Perrine Bourg, his wife, age 45, so born about 1626

They have a total of seven children, four of whom are married. The 1671 census was the only census that showed children listed both with their parents and their spouse.

• Henriette Pelletret, age 30, married to Pierre Doucet
• Jeanne [Pelletret}, age 28, married to Barnabe Martin, living 4 houses away from her parents
• Marie [Landry], age 25, married to Germain Doucet
• Marie [Landry], age 23, married to Laurent Grange (or Granger)

The rest of Perrine and René’s children are unmarried and living at home.

• Madeleine, age 15
• Pierre, age 13
• Claude, age 8

They have 19 cattle, 6 sheep, and 12 arpents of land, which seems to be twice as much as the “normal” allocation. Perhaps that is because René has an allocation, and they are also farming Perrine’s first husband, Simon Pelletret’s land too.

From this census, we know that Perrine’s age suggests her birth about 1626, and their first child’s birth in about 1641 suggests their marriage about 1640. They would have been married by the priest in Port Royal.

Other Bourg’s in the Census

Of course, there was more than 30 years between Perrine’s arrival in Acadia and the 1671 census. Her parents had died, assuming she was not an orphan when she arrived. It’s always possible that she arrived as a servant or with another family.

Other Bourgs in the census included:

• Antoine Bourg, 62, wife Antoinette Landry, 53, 11 children including married children, Marie (26), Francois (27), Jehan (24) and Bernard (22).
  • Bernard Bourg, 28, married to Francoise Brun, 19, one child
  • Jehan Bourg, 26, wife Marguerite Martin, 27 two children
  • Francois Bourg, 28, wife Marguerite Boudrot, 23, two children
  • Vincent Brot, 40, wife Marie Bourg, 26, four children

The four younger Bourgs are the children of Antoine Bourg and Antoinette Landry.

Clearly, Antoine was also born in France about 1619 and would be a perfect candidate to be Perrine’s brother. Right?

Nope. Candidate, yes, but Antoine and Perrine were not siblings.

In 1994, Stephen A. White proved they weren’t siblings using Catholic marriage dispensations. There were at least eight marriages between Perrine’s great-grandchildren who descend from her marriage with Simon Pelletret and Antoine Bourg’s great-grandchildren, and none of those marriages received dispensations by the priest. A priest might have missed one, but eight aren’t all going to be missed, especially not in a very small population group where everyone knew everyone and their family history.

Brides and grooms who were third cousins or closer needed a dispensation by the priest to marry. A 4-4 dispensation meant that the bride and groom were third cousins. Any relationship further away did not need a dispensation.

This graph shows the relationship between the great-grandchildren of Perrine and Antoine IF they had been siblings. Third cousins were a dispensation of a blood relationship of 4, so they needed a dispensation to marry.

There was no dispensation, so Perrine and Antoine were not siblings. There was no difference between full and half siblings in terms of dispensations, so they also were not half-siblings.

However, if Perrine and Antoine had been at least one generation more distant, say, first cousins, their great-grandchildren would NOT have needed a dispensation.

We don’t know if Perrine and Antoine were related, but it wouldn’t be unusual for multiple family members to immigrate together to establish a better life on a new frontier with opportunities, like owning land, not available in France.

Widowhood and Remarriage

Based on Perrine’s children’s ages in the census, we know that her second child with Simon Pelletret was born about 1643, and her first child with René Landry was born about 1646. Therefore, Perrine’s first husband, Simon Pelletret, died sometime between the conception of Jeanne Pelletret, about 1642, and about 1645 or early 1646 when Perrine would have married René Landry.

What Happened to Simon?

Simon’s unhappy fate is a long story in a short window of time.

We only know Simon’s first name because in 1705, when a new fort in Port Royal was built, his descendants were reimbursed for taking the land he had been given before his death. His only two descendants would have been his daughters and their children. By 1705, both Perrine and one of his daughters had died, and his younger daughter, Jeanne, would pass away the following year.

Simon was probably born about 1610, given his marriage to Perrine about 1640.

We don’t know if a small church had been built by that time in Port Royal, or if the settlers were attending services in the priest’s home.

Either way, their wedding would have been a small affair. There probably weren’t more than 20 or maybe 30 families at the most in Port Royal at that time.

I wonder if Perrine’s parents were still living to join in the festivities.

Everyone probably celebrated, shared food and drink, and the newlyweds began their married life – welcoming their first child the following year.

Clearly, they were married at least through 1642 or so, because they had at least two children. We don’t know if a first child died, or if a child was born and died in 1645,

Life was dangerous and fragile on the maritime frontier. An unexpected squall and a capsized boat was all it would take to drown.

Adding to the danger that was inherent in living in a small, hopefully self-sufficient, maritime village was that Charles d’Aulnay, the Governor of Port Royal, and Charles La Tour, the Governor of another part of Acadia were engaged in perpetual warfare with each other.

Tensions and attacks escalated from about 1635 through 1645.

In 1642, d’Aulnay blockaded La Tour’s fort at Saint John, across the Baye Francoise, today’s Bay of Fundy, and La Tour chased d’Aulnay back to Port Royal. Neither one was the worse for their cat and mouse chase.

In 1643, La Tour, whose fort lay about 55 miles across the bay, chased d’Aulnay’s ship to Penobscot Bay, in present-day Maine, where three of d’Aulnay’s men were killed in the resulting skirmish.

Was Simon one of the men who died in Penobscot? If so, he was probably buried at sea and Perrine only received word when he wasn’t among the men who returned.

After the skirmish in Penobscot, La Tour proceeded on to Boston to trade and gather resources. On the way back, he attacked Port Royal. Hundreds of English soldiers under his command ran ripshod through Port Royal for days, looting, stealing, and murdering. At least three more men lost their lives and another seven were wounded.

Simon, whose land lay right beside the fort, as shown on this map from Nicole Barrieau’s 1994 thesis, would clearly have been in the bullseye.

Was Simon injured?

Did he die?

We don’t know.

Easter Sunday of 1645 was even worse. This time, d’Aulnay gathered 200 Acadian men and soldiers from the fort – essentially anyone old enough to carry a gun – and attacked La Tour’s fort in his absence. La Tour had gone to Boston to recruit English forces to overrun Port Royal. La Tour’s wife and 40 or 45 soldiers held their ground for three days – managing to kill 33 of d’Aulnay’s men in the process.

Was Simon one of those men? It’s certainly possible, and if so, he was probably buried near La Tour’s Fort Sainte-Marie, across the bay from Port Royal on mainland Canada, or at sea. It’s possible that d’Aulnay could have transported the deceased soldiers back to Port Royal for burial, but it would surely have been a mess, and probably not tenable a few days after they died.

In other words, Perrine, such a young widow, may not have been able to say goodbye to Simon in a traditional way. No mass, no funeral, no burial, and no grave to visit.

One way or another, by 1646, not only was Simon deceased, but Perrine, just 20 or so, with one child about 5, and one maybe 3, had remarried to René Landry and gave birth to her first child with him.

For all we know, Simon’s funeral and Perrine’s marriage may only have been weeks apart – especially depending on the season and what has taking place in Port Royal.

A pragmatic marriage reflected the harsh realities that Perrine faced.

Living  Under the Chronic Threat of Attack

The French and English warred with each other until, in 1755, the English finally defeated the Acadians in what is now Nova Scotia, rounded them up onto several ships in the dead of winter, and sent them off to their fates elsewhere. Ironically, the Expulsion occurred right on, or beside the land where Perrine lived and included many of her descendants.

Many Acadians perished on that deadly journey, as was intended.

Of course, that was about 60 years after Perrine had already passed from the earth.

The incessant warfare and constant anxiety about the next attack, who would die, would their food be destroyed, and would their homes be burned had to take a toll.

Perrine wasn’t even 20 yet when she remarried, with two small children – if not three. For widows in Acadia, nearly immediate remarriage meant survival. I doubt that falling in love, as we know it today, had little if anything to do with spousal selection. There were few eligible candidates and the considerations were more about decency, being kind, a hard worker, attending church, not drinking too much, and being able to provide for a family.

We don’t know if Perrine’s parents, whoever they were, were still living, but I tend to think not.

When the 1705 documents about the fort’s expropriations were discovered, there is no Bourg on the list that reflected the 1640 era settlers.

So, Perrine was truly alone, and very young to be saddled with an untenable situation.

Her closest relatives, unless Antoine was her cousin, were thousands of miles across the Atlantic, far removed from her life in Acadia.

Perrine needed a partner.

Life With René Landry

René Landry (c1618-before 1686), Perrine’s second husband, was known as René “L’aine,” or “the elder” to differentiate him from another René Landry “Le Jeune” born about 1634. Based on Y-DNA test results, these two men do descend from a common paternal ancestor, someplace back in France. Both lived in Port Royal and would have known each other well. Hence, their “dit” names, “the younger and “the older” to differentiate them.

Life settled into a familiar routine in Acadia, ruled by tides, seasons, and the arrival of babies.

• René and Perrine’s first child, Marie Marguerite Landry, was born about 1646, married Germain Doucet about 1664, and died sometime after the 1714 census. Perrine would have been present for her marriage to Germain, but possibly not for her marriage to Etienne Comeau between 1693 and 1698. Marie Marguerite had at least 9 and probably 12 children with Pierre, and Perrine would have known them all. I can only imagine the joy of welcoming her first grandchild, Charles, about 1665.
• There’s a “blank spot” in the census between Perrine’s children, which represents a child born about 1648 who died before 1671.
• Marie Landry was born about 1650, married Laurent Grange or Granger about 1667, and was buried on October 26, 1719 in Port Royal. She had at least 9 and probably 12 children, all of whom were born before Perrine’s passing.
• Another child would have been born about 1652.
• Depending on whether the child born in 1652 lived for awhile, or died soon after birth, the next baby would have arrived in 1653 or 1654 – and also died before 1671.

The English Strike

In July of 1654, less than a decade after Perrine remarried following the horrific La Tour battles, the English would strike.

English Captain Robert Sedgewick’s troops vastly outnumbered not only the Acadian men and soldiers, but probably everyone in Acadia, combined. Sedgewick, out of Boston, had been planning to attack New Netherlands (New York) when peace was unexpectedly declared.

Instead, since Sedgewick’s four ships were ready, manned by 533 New England militia and more than 200 professional soldiers, he decided to attack Acadia. His primary ship, the Hope, was a substantial warship, with 34 mounted cannons. On the way to Port Royal, he captured more cannons when Fort La Tour fell.

Sedgewick was a force that Port Royal did not expect and could not repel. His warships, followed by the others carrying hundreds of armed men sailed into the Riviere Dauphin and up to Port Royal.

Port Royal residents were familiar with English merchant vessels slipping in and out, especially trading with Jacques Bourgeois who lived at the eastern end of the town, on Hogg Island.

Trade with the English was illicit, or informal at best, resulting from the French neglect of the needs of the Acadian residents. English traders were more than willing to fill that gap, and most people simply turned a blind eye. English ships came and went in the river, docking at Hogg Island and probably elsewhere.

No one was expecting a warship, with cannons, instead of a trading vessel.

Either the Acadian men, or the soldiers in the fort, or both attempted to defend Port Royal, but that was an impossible task with only about 130 men.

On August 16^th, the siege ended with Port Royal surrendering. Sedgewick granted reasonable terms. The Acadians were allowed to keep their personal property, they could continue to worship as Catholics, and the soldiers at the fort, and anyone else who wished, would be transported back to France.

That said, the English slaughtered the livestock, captured 113 men, 23 cannons, 500 weapons of one sort or another, 50 barrels of gunpowder, and Acadian Governor Emmanuel Le Borgne’s ship which was filled with quite valuable alcohol. Le Borgne, long believed to be a treasonous traitor, traded surrender for allowing him to keep his ship, AND all of the alcohol.

After the fort surrendered, and the French soldiers boarded the transport ships headed for France, along with the French administrators of Acadia – redcoats remained in the garrison – within sight of Perrine’s home.

Perrine must have been terrified.

Based on where Simon’s land grant was located, and where Perrine and René lived in 1671, it’s reasonable to conclude that they were living in Port Royal, probably on Simon’s land grant – adjacent the fort.

Perrine was assuredly either pregnant, or had a small child, or both.

Acadians Move Upriver

Port Royal was a small town, with about 270 residents as estimated by Nicolas Denys, a prisoner held at Port Royal in 1653. Sometime thereafter, he did us the favor of penning this description of what happened next:

“There are numbers of meadows on both shores, and two islands which possess meadows, and which are 3 or 4 leagues from the fort in ascending. There is a great extent of meadows which the sea used to cover, and which the Sieur d’Aulnay had drained. It bears now fine and good wheat, and since the English have been masters of the country, the residents who were lodged near the fort have for the most part abandoned there houses and have gone to settle on the upper part of the river. They have made their clearings below and above this great meadow, which belongs at present to Madame de La Tour. There they have again drained other lands which bear wheat in much greater abundance than those which they cultivated round the fort, good though those were. All the inhabitants there are the ones whome Monsieur le Commandeur de Razilly had brought from France to La Have; since that time they have multiplied much at Port Royal, where they have a great number of cattle and swine.”

Madame de La Tour was Charles d’Aulnay’s widow who had married Charles Le Tour in 1653 after d’Aulnay’s 1650 death.

For the next 16 years, under English rule, there were no new settlers from France, so the only growth in and around Port Royal had to come from Acadian marriages and resulting families. By the first census in 1671, there were only about 350 people in the Port Royal area. The population had increased roughly 30% in 17 years.

When Denys mentioned that many Acadian families had moved upriver after the 1654 attack, this distribution is what he’s referencing, with many settling at BelleIsle. This map wasn’t drawn until 1686, but the families still primarily lived in the same clusters.

After d’Aulnay’s death in 1650, his business partner and major creditor, Emmanuel Le Borgne de Belle-Isle claimed d’Aulnay’s estate as a seigneury and granted land in the most fertile portion of the Annapolis River valley, BelleIsle, named after him. In a twist of fate, Le Borgne’s son, Alexander, married one of the daughters of d’Aulnay’s widow and La Tour.

If your head is spinning, just know that there was a surplus of drama in Acadia – if not via the English, then via the French.

Based on who we know lived at BelleIsle, and who did not, Perrine did not live among the BelleIsle families, although one of her children may have settled there.

Life in Acadia Resumes

• Perrine’s next child, Madeleine Landry was born about 1655, married René Richard about 1680, then Pierre Dupuis about 1692. Perrine would have wished her daughter well in person at both of her weddings. She would also have stood with her daughter as she buried René Richard. Madeleine had 5 and possibly 6 or 7 children with René, all of whom Perrine would have welcomed into the world. Madeleine had four children with Pierre. All were born between 1693 and 1697, the timeframe when Perrine died, so she may or may not have known them. Madeleine lived a very long life for that time and place, not passing away until February 17, 1740 in Port Royal at about 85 years of age.
• Another unknown child would have been born to Perrine about 1657.
• Pierre Landry was born about 1658 and married Madeleine Richard about 1682. They had 6 known, and probably at least 10 children. Three living children, and probably three who died were born in Perrine’s lifetime. The final three who lived, plus at least one who died were born between 1693 and 1698, so Perrine may or may not have met them. Pierre died sometime after January 22, 1723 when he was noted in his son’s marriage, and not stated as deceased.
• Perrine lost several children – another one was born about 1660 and perished before 1671.
• The sixth blank space tells us that another baby arrived about 1662 and died before 1671.
• Claude, Perrine’s last child who lived to adulthood was born about 1663, married Marguerite Theriot about 1683, and died on December 12, 1740 in Port Royal. They had at least 10 and probably between 19 and 21 children. Perrine lived to greet at least four and probably six of those babies, and may have welcomed four more, but the rest arrived after she had departed.

Claude and his wife lived with Perrine in the family home after René Landry died sometime between the 1678 and 1686 census, so Perrine would have been present when these babies were born and raised them, alongside their parents.

Intergenerational parenting was a way of life in Acadia.

Acadia Returns to French Control

In 1667, Acadia was returned to French control in the Treaty of Breda, but it took until 1670 for the treaty to functionally take effect.

In 1670, when the new French Governor, Hector d’Andigne de Grandfontaine arrived with 30 French soldiers and 60 settlers, he ordered a census. Thank goodness. The 1671 census includes the names and ages for everyone, including children. The wives birth surnames are a godsend for Acadian genealogists.

The 1678 Acadian census isn’t nearly as informative, giving only the parents, the number of sons and daughters, with no ages for anyone, and the amount of land and livestock. Perrine and René are listed on one arpent of land with 10 cattle.

In 1684, Francois Marie Perrot became the new governor and compared the Acadian way of life to those of Canadians.

They lived better than Canadians … for they never lacked bread or meat. But they weren’t as industrious and never put away harvests in case of a bad year. The dowries were usually less than 20-25 francs in goods, a cow in calf, a ewe and a sow. Well-off families sometimes included a feather bed.

This made me smile as I can picture in my mind’s eye the negotiations between the bride’s and groom’s fathers in the barnyard, with the young couple nervously looking on.

The 1686 census is interesting, because Perrine, age 74 (born 1612), is listed as the head of household, with son Claude, age 24, and his wife and child living with her. They have 1 gun, 3 arpents of land, 7 cattle, 8 sheep and 6 hogs. This tells us that Perrine is still living in her homestead, wherever that was.

We know that Perrine can’t be 74 if Claude is 24, in part because she did not have him at age 50. A 1612 birth year for Perrine is nigh on impossible.

If Claude was Perrine’s last child born, and she was maybe 42, that places her birth year about 1621, which is probably more reasonable than 1626, marrying at 14 in 1640. If she was born about 1621, she would have been 19 at her marriage.

We can’t tell exactly where Perrine is living based on her neighbors, but we do have a 1686 map of Port Royal.

On this map, you can see the homes along the waterfront in Port Royal, plus the 17 along the street heading inland towards the right, known as “Le Cap.” The residents there would have farmed the marshland along the Allain River/Creek, shown here with a dark color, probably representing mud flats.

The earliest settlers, such as Simon, would have owned homes along the main street in Port Royal, on the Riviere du Port Royal, and as we saw earlier, adjacent the fort.

Calculating Perrine’s Birth Year

Using all of the available census information, we have two censuses with her birth year at 1626, and one at 1612.

Her youngest child, Claude’s, birth year is given as 1663 in the 1671 census, which is the closest to his birth. Then, we find it given as 1662, 1660, 1663, 1661 and 1666 in 1701. I would discount the 1666 year entirely, based on the 1671 census, and I would say that 1663 is either accurate, or within a few months of being accurate.

Therefore, if Perrine had him at age 42, then she was born about 1620. Given this, either she had another child or two after Claude who died before 1671, or she was born around 1620 instead of 1626.

All things considered, I think the best we’re going to do for Perrine’s birth years is the range of 1620-1626, with 1626 getting two votes. I wish we could do better.

The Escalation Prior to 1690

Perrine had already survived a lot, but 1690 was the worst.

The 1643-45 attacks were devastating, especially since it’s not unlikely that one of them took Simon – but when they were over, they were over.

Life was peaceful for a few years.

The 1654 English attack was more or less spontaneous, one of opportunity – not lengthy calculated planning, but the 1690 attack was different.

Tensions had been mounting once again between the English out of Boston, and Port Royal. In 1684, Claude Landry, Perrine’s son, along with others, swore a deposition against James Taylor of Boston that he captured him and others near Halifax and stole their boat.

We, Abraham Boudrot and Pierre Collas, being at Chibouctou (Chebucto, now Halifax) in the barque L’Espérance of Port Royal while engaged in fishing, came into the port of Canso to declare to Monsieur Rogier that we were taken by English privateers, commanded by a man named James Taylor of Boston. He carried off our vessel, which caused us considerable loss, as well as to our other friends from Port Royal who were captured just as we were. In witness whereof we have signed this declaration, done at Canso, coast of Acadia, the twenty-first day of September, 1683.
— Abraham Boudrot, mark of Pierre Collas.

We, Michel Boudrot, Claude Landry, and Michel Bourg, declare that we heard and affirm that we were all in the barque L’Espérance, together with the said Abraham Boudrot and Pierre Collas named in the above declaration, confirming the truth that it was the man named James Taylor of Boston who captured us and carried off the shallops, which caused us considerable loss. In witness whereof we have signed this declaration, done at Canso, coast of Acadia, the twenty-sixth day of September, 1684.
— Mark of Michel Boudrot, mark of Michel Bourg, mark of Claude Landry.

We, Michel Boudrot and Nicolas Babinot, declare and attest to Monsieur Rogier that a few days earlier, while we were at Boston in the hands of the English, we heard them say in the streets of Boston that a man named James Taylor of Boston had captured the boats of our fellow countrymen from Port Royal, and that the English were greatly rejoicing over our capture. In witness whereof we have signed this declaration, done at Canso, coast of Acadia.
— Mark of Michel Boudrot, mark of Nicolas Babinot.

These declarations, recorded at Canso (Canceau) on the coast of Acadia in 1683 and 1684, document an early episode of Anglo-French maritime conflict in the North Atlantic. The signers—Abraham and Michel Boudrot, Pierre Collas, Claude Landry, Michel Bourg, and Nicolas Babinot—were all Acadian fishermen from Port Royal, operating from the small barque L’Espérance at Chibouctou (modern Halifax).

While fishing, their vessel and others were seized by English privateers from Boston, led by James Taylor, an English captain known in New England records as active in coastal trade and privateering in the early 1680s. England and France were officially at peace, but hostilities often flared in the fishing grounds, where competition for cod, furs, and control of the coast blurred the line between commerce and piracy.

The Acadians’ testimony reveals both the economic vulnerability of the small French settlements and their dependence on maritime trade. A single privateer raid could devastate an entire season’s livelihood. Their statement also shows how early the Boston–Acadia rivalry took shape – a handful of years before the more formalized conflicts of King William’s War (1688–1697).

In broader terms, these accounts are among the earliest surviving first-person Acadian narratives of English aggression at sea, capturing a moment when the Acadians still considered themselves peaceful fishermen—caught between empires that would soon plunge their homeland into chaos and eventually, displacement.

When we think of the Port Royal men fishing, we think of fishing in the nearby Bay of Fundy, not in the far-away Halifax region. Fishing in the Bay of Fundy and in the Riviere Dauphin, aka the Riviere du Port royal, now the Annapolis River was probably a common occurrence for food, but for commercial fishing the Acadians had to go where the schools of fish they sought were found.

The situation continued to escalate.

In 1688, the British attacked and plundered Acadian Fort Pentagouet, along with the Abenaki village, along the coast in Maine.

In 1689, news reached both New England and Acadia that England had declared war on France, formalizing the ongoing conflict.

Fort Pemaquid in present-day Bristol, Maine, fell to the French and their Indian allies in August, 1689.

This declaration of war, combined with the previous years’ activities, prompted New France and their Native American allies in the Wabanaki Confederacy to launched raids on towns on the frontier border in New England, including the February 1690 Schenectady Massacre in New York which was in retaliation for the LaChine Massacre near Montreal in August, 1689.

None of these events had anything to do with Acadia, other than Acadia was a French colony, and a poorly defended one, at that. Yet, Acadia was on the precipice of being dragged into the fray.

New England citizens were both terrified and outraged at the events at Schnectedy, prompting the Massachusetts Bay Colony authorities to launch a retaliatory expedition against Acadia, hoping to unseat the French – along with the French ships and privateers that obtained safe-harbor at Port Royal.

This decision was more than a little awkward due to the ongoing “unofficial” trade relations between the two entities. In fact, John Nelson, who was rejected as the expedition leader due to his extensive dealings with the Acadians, had a long-standing relationship with Jacques Bourgeois, by far the most prosperous Acadian.

While maintaining a “close” friendship with Jacques, behind the scenes, Nelson schemed and plotted against Acadia. For example, Bourgeois had trusted Nelson to take all of the Acadian land titles granted by d’Aulnay to Boston, ostensibly to have them bound. Nelson never returned them and tried to claim Acadia for himself in 1692.

It appeared that the English did not trust Nelson, and Bourgeois and the Acadians shouldn’t have.

Instead, Sir William Phips was selected to lead the charge against Acadia and was commissioned on March 24, 1690, just four days before another French and Indian raid in Salmon Falls, NH. It should be noted that the Native people and tribes were not united, and fought on both sides in different locations. Truth be told, neither side had their interests at heart.

A month later, on April 28, 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 approached the mouth of the Riviere Dauphin and slipped in to visit Pierre Melanson (Melancon) dit Laverdure, a French Huguenot who spoke both languages and was friendly with the English. Melanson’s home was the first Acadian homestead to be encountered, and Phips wanted to determine the “state of Port Royal.”

Port Royal was entirely unprepared. The fort, shown and labeled as “ruined” in the 1686 drawings had not been rebuilt. The French sent an engineer to rebuild the fort in the fall of 1689, when the war was declared. By the time Phips arrived, the old fort had been razed, but no new fort had been constructed. None of the 18 cannons were mounted to defend the river approach to the fort and the town.

The garrison remained, however, but only housed about 70 soldiers at the time. Between them, they were only armed with 19 muskets, a ridiculous predicament, given that France CLEARLY KNEW that the English had declared war – and that Acadia would absolutely be a target.

Nevertheless, Port Royal was on her own, with almost no defenses. Additionally, Acadian Governor Meneval later reported that 42 of the Acadian men were absent at that time. According to the 1686 census, several Acadian men had guns, but if they had taken them hunting, or with them for protection, both the men and their arms were absent. Meneval said he sounded the alarm, a cannon shot, to summon the men to the fort, but only three Acadian men came.

That seems insane and self-sabotage. Perhaps, instead, it was self-preservation. It’s hard to say from a distance of 335 years.

This was a no-win situation.

Port Royal stood no chance of defending itself. Phips had 446 trained fighting me, and in the 1686 census, Port Royal had a total of 592 individuals, mostly children, divided among 95 households. Not every homestead had a male head of household. Some were headed by widows but some households also had sons who could have helped to defend Port Royal, so they had multiple men of fighting age.

Of the 197 men and women, let’s assume that about 100 were men. I counted roughly 75 boys in the 1686 census that would have been 16 or older in 1690. Of course, a few would have died and some families would have moved to the newer Acadian frontiers in the intervening years. Regardless, absolute best case, Acadia had about 175 men and older boys, with a total of 71 guns between all of the families.

That means that of the 103 families counted, 32 didn’t even own a gun, or orughly one-third of the households..

With 42 men absent, probably most of the guns were absent too.

Therefore, Phips 446 trained, armed men faced less than 175 untrained men and older boys, mostly without guns, plus around 70 soldiers with 19 muskets.

How were there only 90 guns in all of Acadia AFTER war had been declared? That’s INSANE! To say France was negligent doesn’t even begin to capture the reality facing those Acadian families who were literally staring at warships and English soldiers as they prepared to attack.

Port Royal and the surrounding area was in big trouble, but the town of Port Royal itself, where Perrine lived, would be destroyed.

On May 10^th, Phips sailed up to Port Royal, probably right in front of Perrine’s home, with his flanking ships following, filled with men itching to plunder. Phips demanded surrender. He clearly wasn’t worried about being fired upon. He could see there were no cannons, and I’m sure Melanson had filled him in as well. The ruined state of the fort wasn’t exactly a secret, or even recent news.

Simon Pelletret’s land was located here, where I’m standing in this photo. While the photo is taken from the top of the bastion that would be built in the future, the view of the river, and the ships sailing towards Port Royal, would be the same – just closer to water level.

This is what it should have looked like that day – but it didn’t.

The fort’s walls were gone, and the enceinte was open, allowing ready access to the garrison and the buildings inside the fort – not to mention the town that the fort was supposed to protect.

Perrine was probably used to seeing merchant ships flying the English flag as she looked out towards the river, but not warships, with cannons – plus a flotilla.

Perrine’s blood must have run cold.

What was Perrine thinking?

How was she preparing to protect her children and grandchildren, especially those she lived with?

Attempting to engage in battle would have been a death sentence for everyone in or near Port Royal, so Governor Meneval surrendered without a fight. He did, however, negotiate the best possible surrender terms.

Under the circumstances, the English terms were certainly reasonable, if not generous. That might have been because Phips never had any intention of honoring them. After the terms were agreed upon, he refused to sign them.

The local priest went to negotiation with Phips on his warship, anchored in the river. Phips agreed to only take the French King’s property, meaning the fort and such, and that the Acadians be allowed to retain their property. The settlers and French soldiers would remain untouched, and the Acadians would retain the right to worship as Catholics.

In other words, from the Acadian perspective, the English would now be governing, but they wouldn’t be harmed, and life would continue in Port Royal and along the river, much as it was.

However, that’s not what happened.

Phips immediately breached his own terms, claiming later that he didn’t know the condition of the fort, or the size of the garrison, and some French soldiers were removing stores from the fort. That’s remarkable, considering that Phips was anchored directly in front of the fort’s walls that weren’t there, and he could see the garrison from the river.

But, whatever…

In retribution, or maybe as he had planned all along, Phips unleashed his soldiers who were just waiting to plunder the prosperous merchant town. That was probably the plan all along.

The English soldiers destroyed the town, even plundering, desecrating and destroying the church. For days, they rampaged through Port Royal, destroying everything, even gardens, killing livestock, and burning homes.

According to a 1981 article, they burned 28 homes. Another articles says they burned every home between Port Royal and the entrance to the bay. Probably excluding Melanson’s.

The Required Oath

Phips then required all of the Acadian men to sign an oath of allegiance to the English King. That wasn’t part of the surrender terms, but by that time, they had little choice. The men were rounded up and sequestered in the church where the oath was signed. Ultimately, the church, too, was burned – and never rebuilt.

Perrine’s son, Claude, signed with a “C” and Pierre signed next, with a “+”. I’m sure he and the other Acadians were gritting their teeth.

If, indeed, 28 homes were burned, the waterfront homes would have been the first candidates. If Perrine was living on Simon’s original land with Claude, her home was assuredly torched.

In the 1686 census, she is clearly NOT living at BelleIsle, and in the next 1693 census, her neighbors have changed somewhat, but not entirely. This suggests upheaval, but not a drastic change in location. .

Not Over Yet

Perrine was in her mid-60s by this time. Her primary focus would have been to protect the grandchildren that lived in her home.

I don’t know where the Acadian women and children sheltered, especially given that the fort where they normally would have sought protection was inoperable.

Maybe they traveled upriver in the night crossing over silently by canoe. Cadillac reported that, “The creoles … travel most of the time by bark canoes. Their wives do the same, and are very bold on the water.”

Maybe they escaped up into the hills behind Port Royal. The English would not have followed them there because unknown wooded terrain was just too risky.

One way or another, Perrine and at least some of her family survived.

But – they weren’t safe yet.

Pirates

Pirates are opportunists, and English pirates clearly knew that Port Royal not only had no defenses, it was in a terrible state of disarray. However, not all homesteads has been burned and plundered – so something might just be left that they could steal.

Joseph Robineau Villebon, the re-appointed French Governor, stationed across the Bay in a fort on the Saint John River, stated that the pirates burned every home between Port Royal and the mouth of the River. Charles Webster, in a 1934 paper reported that they burned the 12 houses closest to the sea, 15 or 16 at “Le Cap,” which is the area behind Port Royal, and the church.

For some reason, the mills were left standing, but the remainder of the livestock was slaughtered.

It’s unclear whether the Phips expedition captured prisoners, or the pirates captured prisoners, but a year later, Villebon was still attempting to negotiate for 60 Acadian hostages. We don’t know who they were, or what happened to them. They may never have been returned.

One thing is certain. Perrine’s life in 1690 was living hell.

1693

The Acadians weren’t very compliant tenants and resented the English greatly. One might say they went to great lengths to be difficult, and rather successfully so – frustrating the English immensely. At one point, the English described them as “recalcitrant and unmanageable.” Acadians probably took great pride in that!

In addition to their own personal protests, like refusing to pay taxes and finding every reason or excuse not to – a French pirate lived among them – and the English were NOT HAPPY CAMPERS!

The notorious pirate, Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, had a family (or two,) lived in and operated out of Port Royal. Baptiste had fought alongside 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 May of 1693, once again English frigates sailed into the river to launch a punitive raid on Port Royal for providing safe-harbour to Baptiste.

While not a full military attack, in some ways, the June 1693 raid was more brutal. Following a known pattern, at least a dozen homes were burned, along with three barns full of grain.  Some accounts say that two citizens were hanged and that their families were locked inside their houses and burned alive.

I pray that Henriette Pelletret, Perrine’s daughter, did not suffer that horrific, terrifying fate. Reports indicated that a woman and her children were among those burned.

Hopefully, that wasn’t Henriette, because while she and some of her children are missing in the 1693 census, not all of her children are missing.

Perrine, now about 67 years old if she was born in 1626, survived this attack too.

This is what, her sixth time living in the middle of a war zone?

This woman must have been both physically and emotionally exhausted.

Yet, survival meant not giving up!

The 1693 Census

We don’t know if the 1693 Acadian census was taken before or after the English raid, but it was likely taken after, based on the known dates of other censuses, all of which were taken in the later summer or fall.

In the 1693 census, some of Perrine’s near neighbors remain the same, which suggests that both Perrine, and those neighbors build on the ashes of what was left after both 1690 attacks and the one earlier in 1693.

In the 1693 census, Perrine is listed as age 67, so born about 1626 once again, and still head of household. Her son, Claude Landry, now listed as 33, is living with her with his family. The age span between Perrine and Claude puts his birth in about 1660 when she is about 36.

They have 15 cattle, 15 sheep, and 6 hogs on 32 arpents of land. That’s HUGE amount of land for Acadia. It may not all be in one place, or this could be a recording error. They also have one gun.

Perrine’s son, Pierre Landry, lives next door, probably on the same land, farming together with Claude.

Perrine’s daughter, Marie Landry, who is married to Germain Doucet, adopted child of the former fort commander, also named Germain Doucet, lives another 6 houses away.

Perrine’s second oldest daughter, Jeanne Pelletret, widow of Barnabe Martin, who is married to Jacque La Vanier, lives beside Germain and Marie.

Perrine’s daughter, Marie, married to Laurens Grange lives across the river, near the Melanson village.

Pierre Doucet, the widow of Perrine’s daughter, Henriette Pelletret, is living two doors away from Marie and Laurens.

Perrine’s daughter, Madeleine, widow of René Richard, but remarried to Pierre Dupuis, is living nearby, perhaps at BelleIsle.

And guess what…now each of these families has at least one gun in the household – and one has two.

Live and learn.

The Cemetery

René died, joining Simon and their children, between the 1678 and 1686 censuses.

If Perrine was born in 1626, she was between 52 and 60 when René passed away.

The fence around the cemetery, labeled #4, above, would have been erected to protect the graveyard from the local grazing livestock.

This 1686 map, drawn about the time of René’s death, shows the church, the adjacent cemetery, and the ruined fort at far left. I suspect that Simon’s original land was one of the homes pictured at left, probably one of the smaller ones towards the top of this image.

By this time in her life, Perrine had buried two husbands, six children, and at least 13 grandchildren. I’d say she was an old hand, experienced with death, but one never gets to be an “old hand” with grief. Grief isn’t something you ever get “good at.”

Grief is always fresh, unwelcome and crushing. Having experience with grief, over and over again, layer upon layer, if anything, makes grief worse, not better. Certainly, never easier.

We know that Perrine had 7 children that survived childhood. She buried at least 5 as children, nearly half, between their birth and 1671. It’s certainly possible that there were additional children that we can’t account for.

I wonder – did people bury their children in something similar to “family plots” so they could visit them together, and be buried beside them, or were the deceased simply buried in rows, in the order in which they died? The burials in that cemetery look rather random, but we also know that cemetery had to be much larger than pictured.

Regardless, Perrine was all too familiar with the cemetery that she would have passed every single time she went to church – or needed to bury another family member, neighbor, or neighbor’s child.

She could probably see the cemetery from her home, near the original fort.

At some point, there were more Acadians in the cemetery than there were residents in Port Royal, especially when you factor in the soldiers in residence at the fort.

Today, all of the wooden crosses are long gone, and no marked Acadian graves remain. If any did remain after the 1755 Acadian Expulsion, the markers were destroyed.

Perrine Joins Her Ancestors

Perrine died sometime between the 1693 census when Claude and his family are living with her, and the 1698 census where she is no longer found.

Perrine was probably between 67 and 72, or maybe slighly older, when she joined the rest of her family in the cemetery behind the remains of the church where she had spent so much of her life.

Her six living children would, of course, have been present. While Perrine appears in the 1693 census, her daughter Henriette does not. That means Perrine had already endured the heartbreak of burying her adult child. Maybe Perrine was buried beside her.

It’s hard enough to bury them young. It’s soul-crushing to lose them later, after you’ve known and loved them for decades. Perrine must have been inconsolably grief-stricken, especially since she had buried René not long before that.

Did she come to the graveyard to simply sit and think about those she loved?

I hope Perrine’s faith and the presence of her children and grandchildren brought her at least a small measure of comfort during those darkest years. It’s unlikely that anything else could have.

René’s death, the 1690 depredations, the 1693 punitive attack, seeing her neighbors’ homes burned to the ground, some murdered, especially those burned alive – and Henriette’s death, perhaps a result of those same attacks, must have weighed heavily on Perrine’s heart, especially in her sunset years.

How does one survive that?

When Perrine’s own time came to cross the divide, much of Port Royal—and certainly her children—gathered around the freshly dug grave in the cemetery to say their prayerful, tearful goodbyes. Between forty-eight and fifty-seven grandchildren, and perhaps two to four great-grandchildren, stood quietly on that solemn day.

The church had not yet been rebuilt, but it likely wouldn’t have been large enough anyway.

The Mass was spoken graveside, the priest’s lyrical voice floating over the waters of the river – like wings of light, lifting Perrine’s soul heavenward.

Scripture was read, and perhaps a brief prayer if the day was bitterly cold – or maybe a longer service, with people lingering to visit, if the weather was kind.

I hope Perrine was remembered with smiles amid the tears – with fond stories told and cherished memories shared before that hardest of moments: turning away from their mother’s grave, leaving her there. It grinds the soul to nothing.

Perrine’s life of resilience, even in the tiniest of fragments we can piece together, stands as an enduring example for her children, grandchildren, and descendants today. I can only image the amazing portions that we don’t, and never can, know.

Perrine truly was a phoenix – rising time and again from the literal ashes of Port Royal, through the haze of what must have seemed like abject destruction and utter hopelessness.

Yet, through it all – in spite of it all – she survived.

Sometimes, survival itself is an act of grace.

_____________________________________________________________

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