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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