There’s a lot we don’t know about Jean Garceau, Goicheau, Gaucheau, Gourseau, or Garsseaux, but a few fascinating things that we do. To begin with, I doubt that he ever intended to become an Acadian. So he came as a soldier, not as a settler.
We know for a fact that Jean was a soldier at Fort Anne because his marriage entry in the parish records tells us that he was serving in the garrison.
Jean Garceau, or as it was spelled in this record, Garsseaux, dit Tranchemontagne married Marie Levron in Port Royal on November 20th 1703.
On the 2oth of November in the year one thousand seven hundred and three, I, a religious minister performing the curial functions in this parish, after the publication of the three banns on three consecutive Sundays, without any impediment having been found, united in matrimony, by words in the presence of our Holy Mother Church, Jean Garsseault, called Tranchemontagne, soldier of this garrison in the company of Duvernay, son of Pierre Garsseaux and Jaquette Soulard of the parish of St. René in the diocese of Poitiers, and Marie Levron, daughter of François Levron and Catherine Savoye, of this parish. And they declared that they could not sign, but made their mark, along with those witnesses whose names I have signed below on the same day and year as above.
Among other things, this marriage entry tells us that Jean, Marie, and her parents could not read or write – not even just sign their their names. However, the second X on this document was made by Jean, so it’s as close to his signature was we will ever have – and it’s his mark!
The following page contains some witness names, sign by the priest, which was rather unusual. The first looks to be Brouillan, who was the Governor of Acadia at that time. The second Bonaventure something, maybe L’Echofour? The third is Bourgeois Defoyer, perhaps? This signature looks different that the first two.
The signature at the bottom is Felix Pain, the Recollet priest at Port Royal.
Jean’s dit name, or nickname, translates literally as “mountain trench,” but we have no idea how his military nickname was acquired. It could have been in France or Acadia, and it could have been something related to where he lived, simply a nickname, or even something humorous.
We know that the church in Port Royal had been burned by the English in 1690 and had probably not been rebuilt. The Acadians either worshipped at the priest’s home on the main street in Port Royal, or at the Mass House, a small church at BelleIsle.
Jean, the French soldier fell in love with the lovely Acadian Marie Levron whose parents lived across the river. He must have spent evenings staringly longingly across the body of water that separated him from his love – that is – until he worked up the courage to speak with her father.
Given that Jean was stationed at the garrison in Port Royal and Marie lived right across the river, they may have been married at Father Pain’s residence. Maybe within a month of Jean’s discussion with Marie’s father. No need to wait more than the required three weeks for the banns to expire.
According to the 1710 map of Port Royal, the rectory was located near this present-day park and wharf, near the Theatre.
Standing on the wharf along the waterfront behind the Priest’s home, you can see the area of the Levron homestead directly across the river at far right.
Marie’s parents would have rowed across the river, with her of course, in a boat much like this, landing right about here on the shore. It was probably cold on that late fall day, but the soon-to-be-married couple assuredly didn’t care.
Initially, I entertained the possibility that they married at the bride’s home or maybe at the St. Laurent Chapel at BelleIsle, but given that Brouillan, the Governor, was a witness, this had to have taken place in one of three locations. Either at the priest’s home in Port Royal, possibly at Brouillan’s residence on either Hogg Island or at the fort, or in the Fort Chapel if it had been completed in time.
The next time we should have seen this couple is in the 1707 Acadian census.
Jean Garceau, by any name or his wife, are not reflected in the 1707 census, probably because he was a soldier and not an Acadian settler, although that surprises me a bit since he married an Acadian woman in 1703. Plus, she was Acadian and they had two children by this time. It’s clear that he had no intention of leaving and had joined the local community. Their first child was born in October of 1704, and the second in April 1707. Where were they?
Prior to his marriage, he would have lived at the garrison with the other soldiers, so he would not have been reflected in any census.
Jean Garceau’s Origins
We are very fortunate that Jean and Marie’s marriage record contains the parents of both the bride and groom.
Jean provides us with the name of his father, Pierre Garsseaux, and mother, Jacquette Soulard from the parish of St. Rene of the diocese Poitier.
We really have no idea how old Jean Garceau or Garsseaux was based on his marriage information, but we may be able to figure something out.
Nothing is ever easy in Acadian genealogy.
We’re going to take Jean at his word that he knows who his parents are and that the priest recorded them correctly, even though the spelling would have been phonetic. .
Cousin Mark, in preparation for my Acadian trip to France, spent weeks researching this line and found some very interesting information. I’ll just share our conversation with you, slightly modified for readability and continuity.
December 19, 2023
Hi Roberta – I looked to see who I may find located in France, just in case you visit in April.
There aren’t many Acadians that we can track due to the absence of records. A lot of guessing and speculation, but no real evidence.
One that I thought would have been easy was Jean Garceau, whose marriage record you have to Marie Levron, of 20 Nov 1703. In the record, where his name is spelled Garsseaut with the dit name Tranche Montagne (mountain trench), he apparently gave his parents’ names and location, Pierre Garsseaut and Jacquette Soulard, of parish St. René (or Rémi) of the diocese of Poitiers. Stephen White shows it as St-René.
Easy, right? NOT!!
I first tried to find a parish of either St. René or St. Rémi(y) as either could have been what was written. Surprisingly, given the proliferation of saint’s names in France, there was only one church listed in the entire country with the name Saint-René and it was near Paris. I used the excellent site for such research, gcatholic.org. There are only a couple of towns, all in Brittany, with that name as well. The diocese of Poitiers doesn’t list any. Nor did the departmental archives for Deux-Sèvres and Vienne that retain all parish records, meaning one did not exist back in the 1600s either.
But there are quite a few Saint-Rémy parishes and towns throughout France, including several in the two departments that comprise the diocese of Poitiers. The diocese was elevated to a “Metropolitan Archdiocese” in 2002, but the website still shows its history as a Diocese.
It now covers and appears to have the same boundaries as the combined departments of Deux-Sèvres and Vienne. The map on the website shows its extent. It used to be even larger, and I saw in my research the pages of the records printed with “Généralité de Poitiers” that appears to have stretched to the ocean.
The diocese even includes all the Loudunais, including Martaizé and La Chaussée.
So first of all, the trees and Find-a-Grave that may show the city Poitiers or just the Vienne department, have it wrong. There is not now and never was a parish or church with the names of either Saint-René or Saint-Rémy in the city of Poitiers or close by.
There are three parish churches named Saint-Rémy in the department of Vienne, all some distance northeast of Poitiers, one in the village of Saint-Rémy-sur-Creuse and two in the villages of Chenevelles and Liegné-les-Bois, near to each other. Departmental parish records for each go back to the period of time of my research.
By Eliane Promis – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21377477
There is also a very old parish church in the town of Saint-Rémy, just northwest of Niort in the Deux-Sèvres department.
Unfortunately, despite the church’s obvious age, departmental parish records for Saint-Rémy, Deux-Sèvres, only go back to 1693, but I believe this is the one referenced in the marriage record, based on my review, page by page, of the parish records in the other three parishes and what I found at Filae.com.
Before I engaged in the very tedious and difficult reading of old parish records in French, I consulted and thoroughly researched Jean and his parents’ names at Filae.com. Filae is the primary genealogical site for French genealogy, similar to Ancestry.com, and was purchased by MyHeritage a couple of years ago. I’ve subscribed to it for several years, since I started my research into French origins. They have original records, but only back to about 1700. Besides family trees, they include the database of what genealogical societies in France have researched for older records. I have found, by comparing what is listed and my own viewing of the records, that the two in the area, Cercle Généalogique Poitevin and Cercle Généalogique des Deux-Sèvres are very reliable and comprehensive.
I searched between 1650 and 1700 for Jean Garceau and the name’s phonetic variants, and for Pierre Garceau and Jacquette Soulard between 1630 and 1730. For Jean Garceau there were only two family trees and absolutely no records for the Vienne department; both trees were Acadian, and one of those was Karen Theriot Reader’s.
Searching Deux-Sèvres there were 14 genealogical society entries for a Jean Garceau spelled a few different ways. None could be the one we are looking for as either they were born too late, married showing children births and one born in 1681 but to a François Garseau and a Marguerite Payneau.
For Pierre Garceau it was about the same, no records for Vienne, 1630-1730, but for Deux-Sèvres for the longer time frame there were 51 entries by genealogical societies. This is one reason I believe it likely the Saint-Rémy indicated was the town in Deux-Sèvres and not the three villages in Vienne. Again, however, none of the entries pointed to the Pierre we are seeking and with no wife named either Jacquette or surnamed Soulard.
But I hit pay dirt with my search for Jacquette Soulard. While there were just three entries for Vienne, none of interest, there were 47 entries for Deux-Sèvres.
Five of them showed children’s births to her and a Pierre Gaucheau or Goicheau, between 1686 and 1698, at two villages about 30 miles to the north of Saint-Rémy, Saint-Marsault and Moncoutant.
Given the wide variations in spelling in parish records based on varied pronunciation of the names and the subtle changes over time, it is very easy to see Gaucheau becoming Garceau or Garsseaut by the time Jean arrived in Acadia. White even mentions that Jean is listed in a military detachment as spelled “Gourseau“.
This finding of course necessitated further research into Pierre’s name as spelled in these entries. While Gaucheau is listed in seven entries, Goicheau is listed in 51, including his marriage record to Jacquette Soulard on July 2, 1685 at Saint-Marsault, a village now part of La Forêt-sur-Sèvres commune, and about 30 miles north of Saint-Rémy. Parish records for Saint-Marsault date back to 1643.
Filae shows the ages and the names of the parents.
Also attached is a copy of the original record I obtained searching through the Deux-Sèvres archives.
Transcribed as:
Le deux juillet mil six cent quatre vingt cinq après les fiançailles et la publication des bans sans opposition faite au prône de notre messe paroissiale, je soussigné, prêtre, ai reçu le consentement mutuel de mariage de Pierre Goicheau, laboureur, âgé de trente trois ans, fils de Jean Goicheau et de Marie Martin, de la paroisse de Saint-Geoff en Nicolas, et de Jacquette Soulard, âgée de dix-huit ans, fille de Pierre Soulard et de Marie Boque, de cette paroisse.
En présence de Jacques Soulard, Louis Cochin, la veuve de Pierre Boque, et plusieurs autres qui ont déclaré ne savoir signer.
Translated as:
On the second of July, sixteen hundred and eighty-five, after the engagement and the publication of the banns without opposition, announced during the sermon of our parish mass, I, the undersigned priest, received the mutual consent of marriage between Pierre Goicheau, laborer, aged thirty-three years, son of Jean Goicheau and Marie Martin, from the parish of Saint-Geoff in Nicolas, and Jacquette Soulard, aged eighteen years, daughter of Pierre Soulard and Marie Boque, from this parish.
In the presence of Jacques Soulard, Louis Cochin, the widow of Pierre Boque, and several others who declared that they did not know how to sign.
Back to Mark’s letter:
I then searched for records of a Jean Gaucheau and Jean Goicheau. There were apparently several Gaucheau/Goicheau families in the area and a few Jeans, but none that I could with confidence conclude was the Jean we are looking for.
The closest was a Jean Goicheau that appears as a godfather to a Renée Falourd in 1695 at Saint-Marsault.
A Marie Falourd appears as godmother to two of Pierre’s children, so there was a definite friendship if not familial relationship between the two families. In the event, as records do not appear before 1693 at Saint-Rémy, I could not verify with certainty that the Pierre and Jacquette I found were those reported by Jean Garceau. I believe it very possible, however that they were, although given the marriage date and the list of children appearing regularly thereafter, it seems likely that if they were his parents, he was born out of wedlock before 1685. Pierre was 33 when married and Jacquette 18. It would also account for Jean Garceau joining the military at a young age and going overseas. But all that is speculative.
Besides my search through the original records at Saint-Marsault, I searched those parishes with the name Saint-Rémy from the Vienne department. I could not find any Garceaus nor Gaucheau or Goicheau. In fact, I did not see any surnames I recognized as being Acadian. There were certainly several non-Acadian surnames, such as Paget and Champion that appeared on a regular basis through the years at Saint-Rémy-sur-Creuse for example, but, as Filae entries indicated, none of interest to this search.
I’m incredibly grateful to Cousin Mark for his incredible research, especially given that these are not his ancestors AND his research allowed me to visit the church where Jean’s parents were married.
Moncoutant Old Churches
Before moving on to that visit, though, I want to include images of the old churches in Moncoutant.
Given that Pierre Goicheau and Jacquette Soulard had five children baptized between Saint Marseault and Moncoutant, let’s take a tour of the old Moucoutant churches in the area. One of these HAS to be the right one, and they assuredly passed by and perhaps attended baptisms, weddings, and funerals at other nearby churches. In other words, they would have been familiar with all of them.
I’m not sure which one, or ones, so here are the possible candidate churches in the region. There could have been children baptized in various churches, as their father was a laborer and perhaps moved from place to place with the seasons.
In Moncoutant, the Church of St-Gervais and St-Protais is located in the center of the city, on the old road. All old churches were either on the main road, or at crossroads.
The visitor who provided the photography of the above church says that this is a 15th century Gothic-style church with a massive bell tower. The church was enlarged in the 17th century, and was partially rebuilt in the 19th century.
The Eglise Saint-Pierre (Pugny) is located here, outside Moncoutant itself, and you can see several photos, here. You’re viewing the old portion of the church, above.
The visitor who posted these stunning photos said that it’s an 11th-century building, modified in the 15th century, devastated during the wars of religion, after which it fell into ruin. It was restored at the end of the 19th and in the middle of the 20th century.
Also located slightly outside of Moncoutant is La Chapelle-Saint-Etienne, here in this beautiful crossroads village lost in antiquity. I love this, because you can even see the old well in the yard to the right of the church. The church dates from at least 1219 when it was mentioned in a Bull on Honorius. Destroyed in the 100-Years-War (1337-1453), it was partially restored later.
In 1598, the year the Edict of Nantes was signed, church was reported to be in very poor condition.
“We found the church very desolate of all that is required, the nave completely uncovered, the choir with a vaulted chapel and half covered with curved tiles, most of the walls of which are tending to ruin, for lack of repairs (…).
The church is very poor in tablecloths, chasubles, and other required things.
We found the baptismal fonts to be overturned on the ground, because of the troubles.
In the bell tower there is a bell hanging and another that is not hanging”
Things didn’t improve much. In 1686, the church was reported to be in danger of collapse, inside and out. However, the record further notes that:
“In a chapel there is an arm in which there is a silver vase containing some linens, without the appearance of relics and which is nevertheless traditionally called the arm of Saint-Etienne.
The small cemetery, completely cut off by roads, is in the middle of the town. The priest is sick and crippled.
Going to the waters of Bourbon, he has taken as his replacement a priest named Avice, previously in Largeasse and coming from the diocese of Bayeux. The inhabitants are very unhappy about it. He let three people die (sic) at the door of the church, without giving them communion. He has no sign of a priest, neither in his clothes nor in his speech. He drinks wine very often and, in church, does nothing decent.”
And then, in 1695:
“The sanctuary is still in danger of ruin and has only 4 bushels of rye as income.”
If this is the church closest to where Pierre Garsseau and Jacquette Soulard lived, the condition of the church and the resident priest explains why they might well have looked elsewhere to have at least some of their children baptized.
This church barely hung on until 1922 when at least a minimal restoration began, and then in 2008 when the belltower was to be roofed and the transepts shored up.
I so desoerately want to bring flowers and light a candle here.
Of the three candidate churches for where Jean’s parents had their children baptized, this one is my favorite because I can see them climbing the stairs and entering the humble church through the red wooden door in belltower.
No soaring buttrices, no huge wooden doors, no pomp – maybe not even a priest, or at least a sober one. Just a beautiful little crossroads church where the local peasants walked in the hope that they could find their priest so they didn’t have to go someplace else.
This church has not undergone the extensive restoration of the others, so it’s more authentic to the age when Pierre Garceau and Jacquette Soulard, by whatever spellings, would have been living and worshipping in the churches in this region.
It is here that I feel their presence.
Their children were baptized someplace near here, even though our Jean Garceau was older, and therefore not included in the records. He was probably baptized in one of these churches too – maybe St. Etienne and the priest, having had a bit too much wine, never recorded it!
Why Saint-Marsault?
We will never know why Jean Garceau’s parents married in 1685 at Saint-Marsault, although the conditions at Saint Etienne might be a clue.
Jean said he was their child. We know from Mark’s research that his parents had a baby in 1686, and it wasn’t Jean.
We also know that his father, Pierre, was 33 when they married in 1685, and Jacquette was 18.
Let’s do some math.
If Jean married in 1703, in Acadia, as a soldier, he could not have been born in 1787 or later. If he were born in 1787, he would have been only 17 when he married, and even younger when he joined the military.
Acadian and French men simply did not marry that young. Furthermore, Marie Levron was not pregnant when she and Jean married, based on the birth of their first child a year later, so that was not a factor either.
So, one of two things has to be the case.
Jean could have been born before his parents were married. If that’s the case, then he was born in 1685 or earlier. It does cause one to wonder why his parents didn’t marry then, when Jacquette was pregnant for Jean, since they clearly did marry in July of 1685. French girls were considered of marriageable age at 14.
Or, maybe they WERE married at St. Etienne, and Jean WAS baptized there, but neither was recorded so his parents decided to marry again where there was a sober priest who recorded it in the parish register. Yes, that’s extremely speculative and would be highly unusual – but then so is the priest letting three people die at the church door.
If Jean was born in 1685, he was 18 when he married. That’s still exceedingly young for a French male.
The second possibility is that his father, Pierre, was married previously and Jean was born to Pierre’s first wife who died. Pierre then married Jacquette, who was functionally Jean’s mother, so he thought nothing of listing her as such.
If Pierre, who was 33 in 1685, married at 23, in 1675, which was relatively young, Jean would have been someplace between 18 and 28 when he married Marie Levron in Acadia.
That makes a LOT more sense. Again, Saint Etienne could have been involved.
However, being born out of wedlock might have been a reason for Jean to join the military relatively young too.
And yes, all of this is speculation because otherwise, there’s really no way for Pierre Garceau and Jacquette Soulard to be the parents of Jean Garceau who married in 1703. Yet, he clearly said they were his parents.
If Jean’s parents were married in Saint Saint-Remy, there’s a good possibility that Jean was baptized there too. Or, perhaps he was a toddler attending his parent’s wedding.
Based on Mark’s findings, it appears evident, assuming this is the correct family, that Jean Garceau spent his childhood and much of his formative years at Saint-Marsault.
Saint Marsault
Thanks to Mark’s exhaustive work, I was able to visit Saint Marsault in the spring of 2024, and you’ll forgive me if I tell you that I literally felt my ancestors here – from the minute I set foot inside.
Our tour bus pulled up outside on the main road, at a pulloff beside a park along the village stream. These old churches are often difficult to get to, with little if any parking. The original members didn’t need parking as they simply walked or perhaps rode in a wagon.
There it stands. L’ Église St-Martial (St-Marsault,la Forêt-sur-Sèvre). This ancient church reaches back to the middle ages in this little village and was named after a third century saint venerated for his role in the spread of Christianity in France. The church was restored in the 18th century, but the various parts date from different periods in its history. The bell tower dates from the 12th or 13th century so would have already been “old” when Jean and his parents were here.
We walked up the slight hill from the road that now bypasses the church
The priest promised to meet us, but no one was there. Our knocks echoed on the thick wooden door but went unanswered. I wanted to cry.
We walked around to the side. Almost every French church has a monument to those who gave their lives in either WWI or WWII.
I was trying to console myself my telling myself that at least I was there, in that sacred place, and got to walk around and view the exterior. It would have looked much the same as Jean and his parents would have seen.
Then, one of my cousins discovered that they had left the side door open for us. Oh, happy day!
This beautiful door looks to be authentic. Pierre and Jacquette would have come and gone through this door, perhaps announcing themselves to the priest through the window if they were in need of a baptism or were sent to fetch the priest for last rites for someone.
This church is stunningly beautiful. I could see my ancestors here. Could hear their voices echoes across time.
Young Jean, probably being hushed to stay quiet during the wedding service.
He would have sat in the pews and perhaps knelt on the floor.
Of course, I lit a candle to honor my ancestors. I lit candles for my ancestors in all of the churches they, too, had lit candles in. Light and sacred prayers reaching across the ages – 339 years from their wedding to my return. I always wonder if they are watching or somehow know.
Are they here with me?
Seeing what they saw in the alcove. Acadians were staunchly religious. They fought and sacrificed for the right to worship in the Catholic faith.
Drinking in the elixir of their religious sanctity.
These doors were reinforced because the church served as a place of safety during times of attack.
Knowing that they sat here, stood here, and walked through that doorway – it was difficult for me to leave. Part of my soul is connected here through an invisible, timeless, silver thread..
I shed more than one tear as I walked back down that hill, away from the church.
Tears of joy, tears – just tears. How could I possibly have been so connected so quickly. Or maybe it wasn’t quickly – it was threads and ropes and chains reaching across the centuries. Maybe it was my ancestors holding me, calling me.
I saw the lush green foliage and spring flowers beside the stream and knew this was the stream that sustained them. Gave them life and nourished them. Water that the priest blessed to become sacred – except it was already the sacred key to life and had been back into time immemorial.
A community well was dug near the stream to provide clean water, and everyone took their bucket to the well, where they exchanged news of the day. Today, that’s just a memory, but the well-casing remains, as do the whispers of our ancestors, traveling on the breezes.
My family stood exactly in this spot – right here – some 250 years ago. Today, the well is in the little park beside the stream, probably because it floods in the spring, across the main road down the hill from the church. Dandelions bloom on this day just as they did on those long-ago spring days, too.
It was less than 5 miles between Moncoutant and Saint-Marsault, so Jean Garceau’s parents probably lived someplace halfway in-between.
The small village of La Ronde is located at a crossroads between Montcoutant and Saint Marsault and has its own church, L’Eglise Notre Dame La Ronde, la Foret-sur-Sevre, which dates from the 12th century and was rebuilt in 1478 following a fire.
This historic building at the main intersection across from the church in La Ronde probably marked the way for Jean Garceau’s parents too.
Today, a Madonna figure still resides in the alcove between the door and window, faithfully guarding the residents of the home and looking across the street at the church..
These quaint French villages of a few houses each are all connected by tiny one-lane roads threading their way like ribbons through farm country that has been tilled since before time was recorded. It seems that every couple of miles there’s a tiny crossroads village, so small there’s not even a stop sign, with its requisite Catholic church to serve the local villagers and farmers.
It was someplace here that Jean Garceau was born, grew up, and ultimately said goodbye to as a soldier. He probably remembered them well – the crossroads, the churches, the villages, and yes, his parents and siblings.
Did he think he would one day return?
Did he realize he would never set sight on France, or his parents and siblings again?
What did Jean expect when he left?
In Acadia
Exactly when Jean arrived in Acadia is uncertain, but we know he was unquestionably a soldier.
Stephen White states that he was with the Charcornacle Company, which may be accurate. Joannes de Chacornacle, a lifetime military man, became Captain of a company of infantry in Acadia on February 1, 1702. The Dictionary of Canadian Biography states that three years later, Charcornacle was in Placentia where he died in 1707. We don’t really know where Charcornacle was in late 1703.
We don’t know how many companies were at the fort when Jean married Marie, but he certainly could have been in Chacornacle’s company if Chacornacle was still there. Even if not, Jean assuredly knew him.
I could find nothing about Duvernay, the man whose company he’s noted as being a member of in his 1703 marriage record.
The fort had fallen into disrepair after the 1690 attack and had never been repaired. France had been neglectful. In 1702, work resumed on the fort as, under then-current conditions, it couldn’t possibly defend Port Royal successfully – if at all.
In 1702, Pierre-Paul Delabat, a master engineer who specialized in designing and building forts arrived.
He drew up plans to build a new fort with a low profile, making it less of an easy target.
The new fort had earthworks to absorb cannon fire and expose approaching attackers.
The fort was on the point of land with the harbor in front, the Allain River to one side, marshland, the town upstream of the fort, and woods behind with no good way of approaching unnoticed.
The fort was built in the shape of a double four-pointed star, with bastions and a dry moat, or ditch between the two, but the old fort had to be torn down, which left Port Royal and the soldiers exposed during the time they had no fort. The new earthenworks were constructed bucket by bucket and cart by cart of stone and dirt. Men were few and the Acadian families also needed to farm.
The Governor was dragging his feet and taking his time – precious time they didn’t really have.
Understanding their predicament, a force of men from Grand Pre came to assist with the construction of a stone fort, as compared to the earthen one that had failed earlier.
There were only 100 soldiers and some local men who helped with the backbreaking work of setting each stone and building the reinforced ramparts. .
Jean was unquestionably one of those men.
The project was estimated to take two years, 1703 and 1704, to complete. The French government contributed, but not enough and not fast enough. Port Royal residents contributed 800 livres with which they built a hospital and new church in addition to the work on the fort.
Jean would have been involved with all of those projects.
Everyone was unhappy with the commander, Brouillan, for a wide variety of reasons, and those complaints made their way back to France. He interfered incessantly with everything, but most concerning was his constant interference with Pierre-Paul De Labat, a military officer who had been appointed to build the new fort that was so desperately needed.
Brouillan had a residence at the fort, as governor, but he somehow swindled Etienne Pellerin out of his land and spent his time, and the money that was supposed to be for the new fort, to build himself a fine country home with a courtyard, gardens, and several outbuildings. Rue St. Antoine was even extended to provide easier access from his house to the fort. Pellerin had bought Hogg Island from Jacques Bourgeois a few years earlier.
But that wasn’t even half of the scandal. Even in this small French outpost, Brouillan had a mistress, Jeanne Quisence, Madame de Barat, who followed him to Port Royal. It’s not like it could possibly have been a secret. She opened a tavern and sold watered-down wine to the soldiers, charging terribly inflated prices. Who was to stop her? Music was even provided by the garrison’s own fifer.
Scandalous!
Jean Garceau was probably well acquainted with her establishment. Soldiers probably weren’t likely to judge, especially since they had a place to drink and socialize. Plus, they were probably wise enough to know not to criticize the Governor’s mistress and her activities, which he clearly sanctioned.
The worst part, though, was that Brouillan was excessively harsh and cruel, torturing the soldiers and destroying morale. I hate to think of Jean in this circumstance.
Finally, Brouillan was recalled to France in 1704 to answer these allegations and regain the confidence of the French government. He denied everything, and his lies apparently worked because, in 1705, he set sail once again for Port Royal but died at sea.
However, the slow progress in building the new fort, the size of the Port Royal forces, the delays caused by Brouillan, plus the dissent within the ranks caused by him began to take a heavy toll. It did not go unnoticed by the British.
To be clear, the French officers IN Port Royal begged for expeditious repairs, but were ignored and overruled. They knew they could not defend themselves well and were essentially sitting ducks.
This sign shows the fort long after the English took it, in the 1730s, but Jean built the foundations of this fort, including the officer’s quarters and chapel. That building, #11 at upper right, is today’s museum.
1704 Attack!
The fort was not prepared for another attack, but in July of 1704, in retaliation for a raid on Deerfield, CT, ready or not – it happened.
Sure enough, the Acadian’s worst fears were coming to pass. English Major Benjamin Church entered the harbour and established a blockade at Goat Island.
The men waited, stationed inside the fort, anticipating a full-on attack – which, thankfully, never materialized.
Unexpectedly, Church moved on to the Minas Basin. After raiding, burning the homes, destroying the crops, killing the cattle, and tearing down the dykes in Grand Pre, Pisiguit, and Chignecto, he returned to Port Royal. His ships sailed into the harbor and laid Fort Anne and the town of Port Royal under siege.
They captured the guard station opposite Ile aux Chevres, or Goat Island as it’s known today, probably near the original fort that overlooks Goat Island from the North side of the river. Goat island is visible beneath the tree, so the guard stations would have been near the Habitation park today.
Then, Church and his men destroyed many of the dykes that kept the salt water out of the farmland and looted the church, which tells us that there was a church of some type, probably in the fort.
The English kidnapped four Acadians, but we don’t know who.
For 17 days the soldiers holed up in the fort, awaiting the attack they were just sure was coming – but it didn’t – although confusion reigned. When the English were finally satisfied that they had extracted adequate retribution and destruction, they left.
Jean Garceau must have been sick with worry that July. Marie was heavily pregnant with their first child, Pierre, who would be born on October 22nd.
Port Royal was actually very fortunate, because Major Church was both meticulous and vengeful and proceeded to raid Castine, Maine and other locations in New Brunswick as well. For some reason, he spared Port Royal the worse and returned to Boston.
Sometimes, during these attacks by the English, Fort Anne’s own officers had to give orders to burn the houses, buildings, and even trees near the fort so that the British wouldn’t use them for cover to sneak up on the fort during an attack. At least, under those circumstances, the families had notice to leave, but that was but small comfort.
After the attack, anger seethed, though, sometimes beneath the surface, and sometimes not hidden at all. Anger at the English, but also anger at Brouillan and the French for not fortifying Port Royal in a timely manner.
Soon thereafter, 600 feet of the ramparts were washed away by torrential spring rains, probably on the harbour side near Allain Creek. This had to be incredibly discouraging, maybe even causing people to question why God would do that to them.
The officers were reported to be young and inexperienced, and the recruits of “no account.”
If they heard that, it too would have served to demoralize them further.
In 1703 and 1704, soldiers worked harder and more rapidly on the fort, but the new earthworks had to be hand-carried, literally bucket by bucket of stone and earth.
Brouillan, who died in 1705, was temporarily replaced by Simon-Pierre Denys de Bonaventure, who rehabilitated the 185 soldiers at the fort into a state of health and readiness. I wonder if this is the Bonaventure who was one of the witnesses to Jean Garceau’s marriage.
Unfortunately, the fort remained unfinished, and no ships arrived from France with anything.
They didn’t realize that they were truly on their own. It’s not like France said they weren’t coming. They were expected, but never arrived, with hope dwindling day by day.
Illicit trade was secretly taking place with Boston merchants, with Louis Allain being charged.
As a form of self-preservation, Port Royal became a rendezvous for privateers, more commonly known as pirates. They had become friendly with the French corsairs who were more than happy to thin out the English ships near Acadia. Yes, indeed. More than happy.
Captured Englishmen were held at Port Royal, awaiting an exchange agreement for captured Frenchmen held in Boston.
1706
The new governor, Daniel d’Auger de Subercase, arrived in 1706 and immediately went on the offensive against the English.
One of the first things he did was to take 35 English prisoners to Boston in exchange for Acadian men. Subercase and Massachusetts Governor Dudley were on friendly terms, maybe best described as frenemies – friendly enemies.
Thanks to Subercase, the fort was being reinforced, but that took time. Time was the one thing they didn’t have. Thank goodness Subercase was in charge.
1707 – Another Attack!
On April 8, 1707, Jean and Marie welcomed their second child, a son, Daniel, into the world and had him baptized.
The English launched an attack in May and June of 1707. By this time, all able-bodied men were enrolled in the militia, even though some lived at a considerable distance. Messengers were sent to notify and gather them, and to oppose the advance of the enemy on both sides of the river. The British had landed near Goat Island, and more than 320 men were advancing through the woods on both banks. Port Royal was under siege.
The two forces met near Allain Creek, with Subercase leading the French soldiers and Acadian men in battle. His horse was shot out from under him. He retreated, but uphill so that the advancing English had to face French fire. Subercase, wasn’t only brave, he was a military genius, thinking clearly under fire.
The English camped at the base of the hill, within half a mile of the fort, and across the river, probably in the area just beyond the bridge on both sides of the river.
They were fortunate that about 60 Canadians just happened to have reached Port Royal just before the English fleet arrived. The Canadians probably didn’t consider themselves so fortunate.
By now, more than 500 men had gathered to guard and defend the fort.
Guns were mounted on the ramparts, and the English were taking fire. The English militia knew that they had been out-strategized and were presently out-gunned as well.
For several days, the English resorted to guerilla warfare, burning buildings and such, but finally, on the 16th, the English began heavy musket fire. The fort was not breached as the English had expected, requiring their retreat, and then, the next day, their humiliating evacuation back onto their ships.
However, Port Royal was left entirely in ruins.
DeLabat, the engineer, drew a map detailing the burned buildings. The English proudly pointed out that they had burned the great magazine and the church which was actually Father Villieu’s home that was used for holding church services. They burned many homes near the north bastion of the fort and claimed to have fired from the top of the ramparts into the buildings within the fort.
Labat’s map, drawn after they attacked again in 1708, confirmed for posterity in the legend that, indeed, they had burned the make-do church, along with most homes in Port Royal.
The fort expansion proceeded.
The English returned yet again a few weeks later, in August, but Jean Garceau and the soldiers were able to repel them after 11 days. Subercase and his men killed sixteen New Englanders and lost three soldiers.
The French coffers were dry due to the war in Europe, but Subercase, a great leader, wasn’t about to lose without a fight. He sold his own effects, even his clothes, to obtain the continued assistance of the Mi’kmaq.
1708
The Acadians knew the English would not be deterred for long, so in the spring of 1708, Governor Subercase began working earnestly to get the fort in tip-top shape. 250 additional hands were brought in to help. They had their own man-of-war ship, the Venus, anchored at the foot of the fort as a deterrent. When France refused to help build a second one, they cozied up to the privateers who took great pleasure in assisting, bringing their “prizes” back to Port Royal. Indeed, there was more than one way to get things done!
Subercase wrote of them, “The privateers have desolated Boston, having captured and destroyed 35 vessels.” 470 prisoners were brought to Port Royal, causing another problem. “The crowded condition of the people, the lack of sanitary measures, and the intemperate habits of the sailors and soldiers, in this season of riotous abundance, brought on an epidemic of spotted fever, in the autumn of the year, from which over 50 died.”
If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.
They also received word that a great force was being gathered at Boston, upon which news Subercase gathered a force of 140 Indians and 75 militiamen from Grand Pre, in addition to his own.
The soldiers built a new bomb-proof powder magazine in 1708 with extremely hard stone imported five years earlier from France. Given that this stone was imported in 1703, we do know that at least one ship arrived that year, and it’s possible that Jean Garceau was upon it. He could have arrived earlier.
The new magazine held 60,000 pounds of powder for the cannons, which was kept much dryer.
This 1708 building is the only fully original building still standing at Fort Anne.
Expecting an attack in the spring of 1709, the soldiers worked to clear the riverbanks of wood so that trees and brush would not shelter the enemy.
Subercase requested reinforcements for the garrison as well but received no word or reinforcements from France. It seemed that France had, in effect, abandoned Acadia. He must have been furious.
New barracks were constructed for the soldiers and a new building, 85 feet long, to be used as the new church. They made the fort self-sufficient in the event of another siege, at least as much as possible.
The new officer’s quarters are now the museum, the white building behind the marker where the soldier’s barracks stood.
In March 1709, a corsair left her berth at Port Royal and captured nine prizes in just ten days, including prisoners that the French expected to exchange after the anticipated British attack.
The only thing that saved Port Royal in 1709 was that the British fleet never appeared in New England, having been detained for service in the Spanish war.
Nevertheless, they waited, daily expecting another attack from the English, all through 1709 and most of 1710. Word kept arriving that an attack was being planned and they knew it was inevitable – but they never expected the Hell that would eventually descend.
1710
On March 20, 1710, Jean’s son, Joseph Garceau, entered the world. His parents must have been worried sick, given what they knew was coming. I don’t know where Jean would have sent his wife and children, but it assuredly wasn’t across the river from Fort Anne.
In October of 1710, an even more devastating attack occurred – completely overwhelming Acadia – all of Acadia. Not just Port Royal, although Port Royal took the brunt. This wasn’t just at attack, it was Armageddon – the full force of the British fleet augmented by the New England one as well.
The soldiers and Acadians had rebuilt the fort as best they could. Would it stand?
We don’t know if soldiers were allowed to live with their families outside of the fort, or if they lived in the barracks in Fort Anne and visited their homes. Some men with their families lived just outside the fort on the main street, but could reach the fort within a minute or so running. That was the case for Jacques Bonnevie, but he was also an officer and had been for 17 years.
The relationship with the English was complicated. Sometimes trading partners out of Boston, and sometimes enemies. Therefore, English ships would, could and did arrive at any time. The soldiers and Acadians across the river could see their sails arriving in the Bay of Fundy, then sailing slowly up the Riviere Dauphin. They never knew if they were approaching as friend or foe that particular time, so they always had to be on guard. But they never, ever expected what transpired in 1710.
The powder magazine had been completed, and so had the new barracks. The trees and brush had been cleared along the river, so the fort had an unobstructed view of the river, but, ultimately, there wasn’t enough time, resources, or men to protect Port Royal or Acadia from the evil English. A few ships perhaps, or some Colonia militia, like before, but not the entire English fleet sent to crush their very existence.
On September 24, 1710, the English returned with their entire fleet: 36 transports, five warships, two bombardment galleys, and more soldiers than ants. 3400 of them, a combination of men from England and Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New Hampshire, along with Iroquois who had been acting as scouts. They brought more soldiers than Acadia, let alone Port Royal, had residents. There were only 1250 people in all of Acadia, and most of those were in distant locations like Beaubassin, Les Mines, and Cobequid. In Port Royal, there were only about 450, and only about 100 were men.
They were doomed.
For some time, Fort Anne, due to low morale, had been plagued with desertions, and sure enough, sailing on those British ships were those traitorous French deserters who had spilled the beans, including that morale was incredibly low. France had repeatedly failed Acadia. No reinforcements had arrived. They had either been forgotten or abandoned. It didn’t matter which, because now, they were paying the price.
They were no longer fighting for France. Now Jean Garceau was fighting for his very life and that of Marie and their three children, the youngest who had just been born in March. Would Jean ever see his six-month-old son again?
At 2:15, sentries near Goat Island spotted sails appearing in the river, sailing towards Port Royal from the bay. These weren’t boats, they were all ocean-going vessels. Soldiers quickly realized they weren’t the long-anticipated French reinforcement ships, nor their privateer friends.
They spied more and more of them.
They were endless. They couldn’t even see all of them.
The Riviere Dauphin began to look like a port. Some reports said there were 35 ships, but others said there were more.
A sea of sails swayed in the wind, creating an uneasy nausea in those waiting and anticipating the attack. They scurried to finish as much of the fort as possible at the last minute, preparing for the unknown.
An unknown that promised to be worse than anything they could have imagined.
Acadia had less than 300 hungry, ill-equipped men or boys old enough to carry a gun, plus a few Mi’kmaq warriors who just happened to be there, plus 20 men from Quebec who were visiting to trade.
Worse yet, three-fourths of the French forces were described as “raw levies from the cities of France, destitute of military training and completely lacking in enthusiasm.” They couldn’t be allowed far from the fort, or they would disappear and join the other deserters, some of whom had already turned traitor and were helping the English.
Subercase removed the boats and canoes from the riverbanks where they were normally tied for crossing to the other side, which, of course, reduced morale even further. Provisions, including food, were scarce, even though it was fall. The Governor had been paying for everything, including the soldiers’ food, from his own coffers for the past two years.
While most men would cave, Subercase would not. The Acadians would not yield without a fight, even against overwhelming odds. Even if it meant death.
The English clearly knew the layout of the fort, town, and homes. They knew the condition of the soldiers and residents. And England, their motherland, had not abandoned them like France had abandoned Acadia. It’s not that the French monarchy and nobles didn’t know.
Subercase both pathetically and heroically wrote, thus,
“I have had means by my industry to borrow wherewith to subsist the garrison these two years. I have paid what I could, by selling all my moveables; I will give even to my last shirt, but I fear that all my pains will prove useless, if we are not succoured.”
Yet, bravely, he did not bow to the inevitable, and therefore, neither did the officers and soldiers under his command.
They did have at least a little time to prepare, as their Mi’kmaq brothers saw the ships arriving along the Digby Gully and fired upon them, but to no avail, of course. A sea of sails entering Digby narrows and blocked the harbour.
By October 5th, the English ships had arrived at Goat Island, within sight of Port Royal. It was like Hell was arriving.
They gathered the women and children inside the fort. The most vulnerable were sheltered in the black hole for protection. The black hole had no light or ventilation and in other circumstances, was a torture chamber.
The next day, the English began landing both north and south of Fort Anne and Port Royal, across Allain River and elsewhere.
The Acadian men fired upon the English from the fort but the cannons could not reach their ships in the river. There was no prayer of summoning the required strength or numbers to prevent the English incursion. It wasn’t for lack of spirit. It was for lack of France.
They engaged in a “hot skirmish.”
One of the British commanders attempted to erect a mortar battery in the muddy marshes across Allain Creek, on Abraham Dugas’s old marshes – but the soldiers were able to repulse them.
Across the river, from time to time, through the ships and smoke, Jean would have caught a glimpse of Marie’s parents’ home.
I’m sure he prayed with everything he had in him that they had all moved to safety.
The English erected their battery here, with the fort in full view just across Allain’s Creek.
They surrounded the fort and all of Port Royal. Across the river, above the fort, and below. Squeezing slowly from all sides, tighter and tighter.
Jean would have squinted to see the Levron home, across the river, when he could – but all he could see was ruins everyplace.
The Acadian and Mi’kmaq men engaged in guerrilla-style resistance outside the fort, firing small arms from houses and wooded areas. The Redcoats couldn’t see them well, as they dressed in skins and clothes like the Mi’kmaq that blended with nature. The French soldiers could spot their red coats easily – and there were red coats everywhere.
Many of their homes were burned.
Again.
Of course, they fired on the British from the fort, killing three, but were unable to prevent the British on the south side from establishing a camp about 400 yards from the fort – further up on or across from the Dugas land, shown in the distance, above.
The British landed along the river there, just behind the Hillsdale House.
They mounted their cannons and guns on the dykes, and pounded the Hell out of the fort every night, their cannons thundering and raining fire upon the fighters.
The star shape of the fort meant that their cannons could fire in any direction.
The English returned fire, of course, the deafening roar and blinding flash of the cannon’s discharge blending with the terrible and deadly scream of the bursting shells. And then, there were men’s screams, too.
It wasn’t enough.
The women and children were utterly terrified, praying continuously. They thought sure they would all die. Subercase requested a cease-fire so that the women and children could leave, which he was granted.
This suggests that at least some of the women were in the fort, which may have been the case for Marie and their three children.
Four days later, on October 10th, Subercase knew they were about to be massacred, along with everyone’s families who were now upstream but not out of harm’s way, He sent an officer to the English with a parley flag – but the English nearly killed him, not realizing his mission. The officer had not been announced in the traditional way, by a drummer. They exchanged blindfolded officers in good faith, hoping for negotiations.
Two days later, on the 12th, the English had advanced to within 300 feet of the fort and opened fire. They were so close that the French soldiers could hear their voices and their taunts.
They were this close – on the other side of the bushes, and the top of the hill is the Fort Anne rampart.
Not only were they just feet from the fort, the English used a new and very deadly invention for throwing grenades. All morning, the walls of the fort shook with the thunderous discharge of artillery – a murderous ball of hellfire, shells, and bursting grenades raining down upon the devoted few who stood manfully to their guns in a contest with but only one possible outcome.
Then, eerily, the fire abated, and the soldiers in the garrison waited – unable to see what was transpiring. The silence was deafening.
Two English officers could be seen approaching the fort on Dauphin Street bearing a flag of truce. Officers met them, blindfolded them, and led them in the gate, over the bridge, and to the Governor’s quarters.
The English commander had sent General Subercase a demand for surrender. That was at least better than the massacre that would have ensued otherwise.
The guns remained silent while negotiations ensued. Everyone’s future rested with the negotiating skills of Subercase, because it clearly didn’t rest with their ability to win the battle. The only possible saving grace would be the French fleet arriving in the harbour.
Those prayers would not be answered.
Still, they waited in terrified anticipation.
By the time the sun set, surrender terms had been reached. Their worst fears were not to be realized. They would not be massacred, and neither would their families. The English prisoners were released from the fort, and the British boats headed upriver to fetch the Acadian women and children. The absolute worst thing that the English could have done was to harm their families. However, they had no choice but to trust them.
The Acadians were allowed to keep six cannons and two mortars, although I have no idea why. Maybe as salve to their dignity. The English received the rest of what was inside the fort as spoils of war.
The men could not hold the fort, although they did their best in the face of insurmountable odds, and managed to last for 19 days. They also managed, thanks to Subercase, not to be slaughtered.
Hostilities ceased while the fort prepared for surrender. On October 16th, 1710, the key to the fort was handed over to the enemy by the revered and gallant Subercase. If you can’t win, save your men and at least live to fight another day.
As he did so, though, he quipped to Nicholson, the English commander, “hoping to give you a visit next spring.” Ironically, in some quarters, Subercase was accused of negligence.
Marie surely thought Jean would be massacred, but he was allowed to march out of the fort with full honors, carrying the French flag, “arms and baggage, drums beating and colors flying,” even in defeat.
Wretchedly clothed, bearing marks of bitter privation, the soldiers stood very tall and marched out of the fort with all the honors of war, saluting the English General as protocol required, as they passed through the British lines on their way to the water side of the fort that they had built. All they had left, other than their lives, was a small bit of dignity, afforded by the conquering English.
The English soldiers then marched across the bridge into the fort. Jean could hear their boots, rhythmically marching in triumph, as they stopped inside to halloo as they hoisted the Union Jack and drank the Queen’s health. The English ships and transports fired salvos of victory. The French soldiers stood stone-faced, staring into an uncertain future of defeat. Especially Jean. Yes, he was a French soldier, but he was also married to an Acadian woman. Now living on land controlled and conquered by the English, against whom he had fought. A man with a foot in both worlds. What would happen to him?
What would happen to his family?
You can see the same archway today at Fort Anne that the brave soldiers, including Jean, marched through.
As agreed, the French garrison of soldiers was transported to France by British ships. Most of the soldiers, who had been without pay or supplies for four years, were more than happy to be taken back to France and deposited on French soil, even if it was in a British warship.
We know that Jean was not required to leave. He and a few other French soldiers had married the daughters of Acadians, or Mi’kmaq. Some of those soldiers sailed away, abandoning their families, and others remained. Life was not by any means easy, as they were under constant suspicion and scrutiny. Ultimately, that may have contributed to his fate.
The surrender terms included specific provisions to protect the Acadian inhabitants. “Inhabitants within the gun range of the fort,” which was three miles, could remain in undisturbed possession of their land for up to two years if they wished, provided they were willing to swear an oath to the British Crown.
And therein lies the problem. That oath. But there was another option.
All French/Acadian residents could opt to move within those two years to any other French-held territory, such as Ile-Royal or Ile-St. Jean. Today, we know them as Cape Breton and Prince Edward Island.
Those at a greater distance than three miles were tolerated or allowed to remain on sufferance.
Previously, when the English won a battle, they eventually had simply gone away. The Acadians were hopeful that the English would just go away again and leave a few sentries as they had after past raids.
They also believed that the French fleet was just days or maybe weeks away someplace. They didn’t know that the French ships bound for Port Royal had been held and relieved of their supplies at Louisbourg. They were desperate there too.
There was no French fleet and no ships to rescue Port Royal.
This defeat had to be incredibly humiliating for a soldier.
The Acadians had done this so many times. Their homes had been burned at least twice, if not three or four times, since Jean had married Marie in 1703. But this time was different, because now the English were in charge.
There was at least a little preservation of dignity, but this was the end of French Acadia.
The next few weeks were, at best, confusing.
When the fort fell, the priest attempted to help by reuniting the Acadian settlers “in the upper region of the river” beyond that three-mile marker to protect them from the terms of capitulation requiring that despised oath of allegiance. Considered seditious by the British, Father Durand was taken prisoner in January 1711 and transported to Boston. Later that year, he was returned in a prisoner exchange.
But Jean was not there to greet him.
Gone Too Soon
Jean died sometime in 1711, between the dates of January 17th and the end of November.
How do we know this?
Recall that Father Durand was captured in January and taken to Boston. The last date that he performed any function and recorded it in the parish registers was January 17th. Of course, baptisms, marriages, and deaths did not occur every day, but at least one occurred every few days. In other words, Father Durand might have been in Port Royal a few days longer, but not many.
At the end of 1711, Father Durand’s name appears once again in the parish registers on December 20th, where he is performing baptisms and otherwise catching up on priestly duties that were neglected in his absence.
There was a priest who performed a few baptisms in late April, but Justin Durand recorded them in the parish registers when he returned.
Given that it took about 28 days to sail from Boston to Port Royal, he probably left Boston at the end of November.
After the more pressing events had taken place, in early 1712, in the registry, Father Durand recorded the death of Jean Garceau and several others in one entry.
The Nova Scotia Archives have omitted one name in their translation, but you can see the names clearly, including “Joseph Garcot.”
There was no adult Joseph Garcot, and we know from later records that his infant son, Joseph, died in 1789, so this had to be Jean Garceau.
After the names of the people who died, Angelique Comeau, wife of Jacques Laure, Germain Bourgeois, Joseph Garcot, and Pierre Teriot, the entry by Father Durand says. “tout mortes dans 1711 devant ma captivite.”
This translates literally to either:
- All died in 1711 before (in front of) my captivity.
- All died in 1711 during my captivity.
Two entries later, another woman, Marie La Perrier, wife of Pierre Le Blanc dit Jasmin, is noted the same way, but the wording is slightly different and says that she “et mort lors que j’etais a Boston dans 1711,“ which translates to “died when I was in Boston in 1711.” This is how we know that Jean did not die during the battle in 1710.
What neither entry says is that any of these people were in Boston WITH Father Durand.
What it does say is that they died IN 1711, not before, and while Father Durand was in Boston which explains why there was no death/burial entry for them when they died.
Since Father Durand recorded other deaths in 1710 and other clerical events in early 1711, it only makes sense that if these people had died before he was kidnapped, that he would have recorded their deaths and burials at the time they occurred, not later.
Furthermore, we know for a fact that Germaine Bourgeois was NOT in Boston with the priest because he was involved in the Massacre at Bloody Creek in July of 1711 in Acadia, and died after he was imprisoned – reportedly in Fort Anne.
Additionally, a married woman, Marie Comeau, was involved. There is confusion surrounding this identification, because a marriage record for Jacques Lore clearly states her name as Angelique, not Marie. There’s also a record that I have not been able to confirm that she gave birth on September 22, 1711, possibly in Pobomcoup, to a daughter. There is no baptismal record in either 1711 or 1712, as reported by some researchers, in the Port Royal records. We do know that Jacques Lore is listed in the 1714 census with a wife and two children, and remarried in 1721. There are no baptismal records or other records involving Angelique or any other wife during this timeframe. There is only one Jacques Lord, so there is little question that Father Durand is referring to his wife – but at best, this is confusing. I also question that the English would have kidnapped a woman, but we just don’t know for sure.
Let’s look at the evidence we have surrounding Jean’s death.
Father Durand did record one burial on October 14th, 1710, stating that a child had died during the siege against the English.
No other burials were recorded during that time, which may or may not mean that the French and Acadians experienced none. However, if the child’s death and burial were recorded, it stands to reason that other deaths would have been too. I found no recorded battle deaths, but assuredly several men were injured. Two younger, soldier-age men died later in 1710, so it’s possible that Jean Garceau was injured.
I found an interesting book that gives accounts of the 1710/1711 event. I don’t see any mention of Acadian hostages in 1711 though.
The book also says Durand was held hostage for two years, and we know unquestionably that he was not.
The single most compelling piece of evidence that Jean Garceau was NOT with Father Durand in Boston is the fact that his widow, Marie Levron, married Alexander Richard only six days after Father Durand returned from Boston and recorded the entry in the parish register as the first marriage he performed less than a week after returning
Father Durand performed the marriage of Marie Levron, widow of Jean Garceau, to Alexander Richard the day after Christmas, December 26th. If he had brought the news of Jean’s death with him, informing his widow, I doubt very seriously if she would marry six days later.
It’s much more likely that Jean had died months earlier, and Marie was just waiting for a priest to marry her to Alexander.
By late December, she had had enough time to grieve, especially considering that she had three babies and needed a husband. Farming and raising a family in an agrarian society requires two people.
Based on all of the evidence, taken together, I think Jean Garceau died in Acadia and is probably buried in the Garrison graveyard at Fort Anne with other soldiers and many Acadian family founders who died during this time.
Alternatively, if he died in or near Port Royal, he could have been buried in the cemetery by the Mass House at BelleIsle, but I suspect that they buried him where he fought the good fight.
It just seems so unfair that after all he survived, that something laid him low after the battles were over.
Closing Notes
I simply could not have done this without Cousin Mark, for whom I am exceedingly grateful. Mark has the patience of a saint, and yes, I’ve told him as much. It’s wonderful to have such an amazing cousin!
Here are closing thoughts from Mark:
As for Garceau/Soulard, please remember that I had NOT found the records to be conclusive, but tentative, as I could not find Jean’s birth record anywhere.
Regarding Jean’ parents:
“I believe it very possible, however that they were, (his parents) although given the marriage date and the list of children appearing regularly thereafter, it seems likely that if they were his parents, he was born out of wedlock before 1685. Pierre was 33 when married and Jacquette 18. It would also account for his joining the military at a young age and going overseas. But all that is speculative.”
Nevertheless, the couple I found remains the best possibility, after considerable research. I placed research notes on Jean Garceau’s WikiTree profile.
And this was one of the “easiest” Acadians to research.
Easy, indeed, Mark. There is nothing easy about them – Acadian research, nor their lives and challenges they so bravely faced.
They unflinchingly stared terror straight in the eyes.
__________________________________________________
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- MyHeritage Omni comprehansive “everything included” subscription plan
- Newspapers.com – Search newspapers for your ancestors
- NewspaperArchive – Search different newspapers for your ancestors
My Books
- DNA for Native American Genealogy – by Roberta Estes, for those ordering the e-book from anyplace, or paperback within the United States
- DNA for Native American Genealogy – for those ordering the paperback outside the US
- The Complete Guide to FamilyTreeDNA – Y-DNA, Mitochondrial, Autosomal and X-DNA
Genealogy Books
- Genealogical.com – Lots of wonderful genealogy research books
- American Ancestors – Wonderful selection of genealogy books
Genealogy Research
- Legacy Tree Genealogists – Professional genealogy research
