Acadian Homecoming – 52 Ancestors #428

You might have noticed that I haven’t published a 52 Ancestors article recently.

You might also have noticed that I’ve been swamped with conference season this fall, and while that’s part of it, there’s more to this story.

A lot more.

I’m sure you’re aware that I’m the family storyteller and legend-keeper – yet I don’t know how to tell you this.

I’ll just warn you up front that not all of this makes sense – at least not logical sense as we know it on this side of the veil.

Grab a cup of coffee or tea as I screw my courage up to begin.

You see, my ancestors called me.

Not only that, they had been calling me for a very long time.

The Calling

I surely wish I knew how to explain this – that I possessed adequate words.

The ancestors have been calling me for a long time. A cacophony of voices, each seeking to be heard. Much like the din of voices in a noisy restaurant. You can’t hear any one person, and you surely know there are voices, but you have no idea that any of them are speaking to you.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but my draw to genealogy and family history was their voices beckoning – except too jumbled for me to hear. Yet, I heeded the call, masked as curiosity. Mother apparently heard it, too. Sometimes, she would come up with tidbits, pieces of information that she “just knew” but had no idea how she knew. And you know something, she was always right.

Every. Single. Time.

Even though many of them wouldn’t be proven or confirmed for years or even decades later.

I didn’t think too much about it back then. But trust me, I’ve thought a LOT about it recently.

Sometimes, my insistent ancestors lasso other people into this drama, too. Sometimes, as unsuspecting accomplices, encouraging me. Sometimes, as people who have access to records that the ancestors need me to have as pieces of their story. Sometimes, as a passerby with just the right scrap of information – or the right direction. People literally stopped me on the street. Or perhaps, ancestors shapeshifted and took the shape of someone who had disappeared into thin air when I turned back around to ask them for clarification. Perhaps.

So much of this journey has just been surreal.

Talk about unnerving.

At those moments, all you can do is swallow and walk forward into whatever awaits – just hoping and praying you’re in the right place, and safe.

Yes, safe. When you see where I was “shepherded to” as I share this journey over the next few months, one ancestor at a time, you’ll understand.

Ancestral Fate

Sometimes, after you’ve followed an inexplicable path, you find yourself standing exactly at the juncture of fate.

Fate that changed lives. Your ancestors’ lives. Not simply one of them, but all of them living at that time in that place. In an instant, it shifted the trajectory of the lives of countless generations of descendants. Changed the very essence of my life. Had that historic, fateful juncture not occurred, I wouldn’t be here and certainly wouldn’t have been standing there.

Through the thinness of the veil, I could hear their voices, their cries, sometimes bloodcurdling screams. Palpably feel their fear as it rose in their throats and then, standing in their footprints, rose in mine.

Yes, they called me. Summoned me.

I had absolutely no idea the journey I was about to undertake.

I have only ever been on one other journey in my life that shifted time and stirred my soul with wave after wave of overwhelming emotions. An earlier journey I have never written about and shared with few.

This time, this journey, I’m sharing. With you.

I am forever changed.

Nova Scotia

Nova Scotia wasn’t Nova Scotia when this odyssey began for my ancestors. My Mi’kmaq ancestors referred to the lands where they lived as Mi’kma’ki, pronounced something Migmawgee. They were stewards of this land for more than 10,000 years, leaving their petroglyph art and secred legends.

Vikings visited before European fishermen and explorers began to arrive offshore in the 1500s. In the early 1600s, the French were establishing mutually beneficial trade relationships with the Mi’kmaq people.

The Mi’kmaq were entirely unaware of what would befall them. Diseases against which they had no immunity would devastate their population, and eventually, hordes of colonizers would all but displace them from their ancestral lands. Like the French who became Acadians, the Mi’kmaq, too, would become victims of European wars.

However, in the early 1600s, most of that was still in the future.

By the 1630s, the southern coastline of Nova Scotia, then known as Acadia, served as a fishing grounds punctuated with a few French trading forts. The French warred and argued among themselves, as people are wont to do, but for the most part, the Mi’kmaq people were impervious to the quarreling of their trading partners.

In time, European men, mostly French, sought to take wives among the Native women, and deeper alliances were formed – those of blood.

By 1632, encouraged and financed by a minor French nobleman, a few French families had settled at La Have. I will take you there on my journey, but not today. By 1636, the center or capital of Acadia was moved to Port Royal as additional French settlers and families arrived. Port Royal consisted of just a few houses and a fort.

It’s there, in historic Port Royal, later renamed Annapolis Royal in 1710 after being taken over by the English, that Acadia as we know it unfolded.

It’s there, in historic Port Royal, and for a dozen miles upstream, that I waded through marshes, climbed dykes and fortified ramparts, and communed with my ancestors. I was escorted into the marshes by newly-made friends, some of whom turned out to be cousins. I was drawn and guided to the remains of the foundations of my ancestors’ homesteads, their orchards, fields, and the wells that sustained them.

I trekked in the company of a friend from years back who I met when he was searching for his biological parents. We wound up being cousins through several Acadian lines and had a tearful, joyful reunion in our joint homeland.

We stood where our ancestors stood. Walked where they walked, and sobbed where they sobbed. I felt both their fear and unbridled joy.

I realized that my DNA permeates every inch of this land. This is the land of my ancestors.

What I didn’t understand was that they had been calling me for decades. This wasn’t my first trip to Nova Scotia – but it was the first time that I understood.

Chester, Nova Scotia

In the late 1990s, before the days of cell phones with cameras, I accidentally spent time in Chester, Nova Scotia, attending the Embroiderers’ School of Advanced Study.

By accidentally, I mean that I traveled to Chester, Nova Scotia, a small town not far from Halifax, with a few fiber artists for the purpose of art quilting and inspiration.

The inspiration I hoped for and expected was for a quilt and to sharpen my artistic skills. What happened was something else entirely.

I had absolutely NO IDEA at that time that not only was this chapter 1, but it was the first page of the first chapter. This book is not yet complete.

I thought it was just an artist’s retreat.

I received inspiration all right, but not exactly as I expected.

I Am a River

The resulting quilt that I finished months later was titled “I Am a River.”

Yes, indeed, I am that river with all its twists, turns, and rocky protrusions. Fluid, changing, morphing.

My life had changed courses dramatically through events quite outside my control. Death and destruction of lives. Rebirth and recovery. That’s what I thought I was working through.

The instructor realized that something else was going on. Something besides quilting and fabric selection. Something besides good food and companionship.

Perhaps life is art, or art is life. Perhaps our art is influenced by forces far deeper than we know.

While the instructor lectured about color selection and other artsy things, I was increasingly fascinated by something, or some things, outside the window. My mind wandered aimlessly elsewhere.

We gathered for our classes on the second floor of a beautiful historic building, lined with rock walls and old wooden fences.

I was fascinated and enthralled.

I realized that I loved the sea. The maritime landscape beckoned to me as if it was a living thing.

Boats were moored at the docks and anchored in the harbour, bobbing up and down rhythmically on gentle waves. Beautiful leaves and foliage graced rock walls. And the water, the mesmerizing sea, drew me in.

Drew me out.

Drew me away.

The instructor did something very unusual.

She dug her sketchbook out of a bag, along with a box of watercolor crayons, offering them to me. I felt very self-conscious and somewhat embarrassed. I was “that” ill-behaved student. I explained to her that I wasn’t a painter, not a watercolorist – in fact, I had never used that medium before. I didn’t even know watercolor crayons existed.

She was encouraging and told me it didn’t matter. She said to take my camera, her sketchbook, and a box of crayons that turned to watercolor when you rubbed water over them after you colored and just go out and walk. Follow my heart. The sketchbook was my diary, and I was to simply go enjoy myself.

She didn’t have to tell me twice.

I walked and walked. For days and miles, mostly along the water. Oh, I went back and sewed a bit and ate with the group most of the time. However, my classmates seemed to be much more interested in my adventures than I was in theirs. I felt rather naughty, given that I wasn’t really doing what I was “supposed” to be doing. At least I didn’t think so back then.

Now, I realize I was doing EXACTLY what I was sent there to do.

And what an adventure I had!

I even met the local police when I got stuck wiggling under a thorny bush beside a tree that I had crawled under, before realizing it sported fine-as-frog-hair needle-sharp thorns.

I was taking pictures of the stunningly beautiful sunset and foliage over the bay, but all the officers could see was a pair of legs sticking out from under a bush. Backing out was painful, and funny. After they got me unstuck, we all had a good laugh, and they showed me an easier photo location. My fellow artists saw me in the squad car, and by the time I returned, they had already created a MUCH better story. We laughed and laughed!

Everyone was incredibly nice and had suggestions and stories about picturesque locations and what to order in the various restaurants, all waterfront. By the end of the week, everyone in town knew me.

Yes, these pictures are awful because I scanned them more than two decades later. But they are also precious in so many ways.

They foreshadowed the path my life would take. I was metaphorically as well as actually at a fork in the road, a road that would one day bring me back home. To Acadia.

I had no idea that this sun-kissed and wind-swept place was already deeply etched in my psyche and carved into my heart.

I had no idea I was following my soul and that what I “heard” out there was the collective voices of my ancestors calling. Beckoning me.

I had no idea that one day, I would return.

Yes, they were speaking to me, even back then.

I was entirely unaware that I had any connection to Nova Scotia or even Canada or New England. That brick wall wouldn’t fall for at least another 10 or 15 years, and even then, in the strangest of ways.

Acadian Connection

Mother’s grandfather, Curtis Benjamin Lore was Acadian on his father’s side. Of course, Mother didn’t know that, and neither did her mother or her aunts. No one knew that family secret.

I discovered why just a few years ago, long after Mom had joined our ancestors. Our Acadian family was filled with layers of drama.

In fact, Curtis Lore’s father, Anthony, or Antoine Lore as he was baptized in the Catholic church in Quebec, left all churches altogether. Not only that, but he also left Canada for Vermont where he married before moving on to Pennsylvania with his bride. He might or might not have been a river pirate.

Mystery swirls around Anthony’s life and the circumstances of his untimely death and no one but no one talked about that. His wife, Rachel Hill, died shortly thereafter, leaving impoverished orphans trying to make their way in the world. Curtis Lore, their son left it all behind. A chance overheard conversation led me to a cousin in Pennsylvania who helped unearth that part of the story, one boulder at a time.

It took years and a completely unrelated “chance encounter” in North Carolina that led me to Blairfindie in Quebec, and, eventually, Antoine’s 1806 baptism.

Years later, another “chance encounter” with just the right person provided confirmation that the man in Vermont was the child born to Honore Lore and Marie Lafaille.

If you’re thinking this is the strangest thing ever, with all of these “coincidences,” welcome to my world.

I eventually was able to track those ancestors in Quebec, and somehow, against all odds, connected the dots and bridged the seemingly insurmountable gap between the late 1700s in Quebec, back through New England, and then to Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia in 1755 where the truly unfathomable and unspeakable had happened.

How did I ever manage to navigate those fraught waters? Eventually, DNA helped a lot in the bigger picture, but connecting the dots with individual people was extremely challenging, especially given the lack of records or even a location in New England.

There were so many synchronistic “coincidences.” After an uncanny number of coincidences, I came to question if they really were coincidences.

There were surprises, too.

Native Ancestors

After DNA testing began, I was completely shocked to learn that my mother and I both carried Native American DNA. How was that even remotely possible? It was surely an error. Yes, it had to be. Everyone in her family except for that one grandfather, who I didn’t yet know was Acadian, was either German or Dutch.

But, as it turned out, it wasn’t a mistake.

Then, I assumed our Native DNA came from Pennsylvania where Curtis Lore lived, once we figured that out – but, again, I was wrong. It didn’t. It came through the Acadian lines in early Nova Scotia – a word I didn’t even know yet at the time I discovered Mother’s Native American genetic heritage.

I needed to associate a person with the genetic evidence, but that seemed impossible, given that I couldn’t even figure out Curtis’s parents’ names initially.

Years later, I was able to positively identify one of Mother’s Native American ancestors by combining autosomal DNA testing and ethnicity segments with mitochondrial DNA results of matrilineal descendants of my Mi’kmaq ancestor whose name we don’t know.

We do know she married Philipp Mius and had daughter Francoise about 1684. My Mi’kmaq ancestor didn’t join Philipp in the French Acadian villages. He joined her in the Native villages, up and down the southwest coast of Nova Scotia, including the islands off Chester, Lunenburg, then known as Merliguesch, and Halifax. None of those locations had English names at that time.

Yes, my ancestors lived on and frequented the exact islands I photographed in the 1990s before a future series of coincidences revealed those ancestors and their history.

What are the chances?

Those ancestors were loudly insistent.

Metamorphosis

By the time 2023 rolled around, my life had metamorphosed and changed completely from that of the 1990s. Morphed much like caterpillar emerging as a butterfly from a cocoon and drying its wings.

Discoveries about my Acadian ancestors were flowing like a waterfall, one after the other. Many were shocking, incredibly sad, and horrifying. At the same time, they spoke of incredible courage, bravery, and fortitude.

At first, I was thrilled to break down those brick walls one after the other – but ultimately – I realized that my role was to research, reveal, and document their struggles, loves, and lives as they lived them.

One day, it dawned on me – at least a few of them survived genocide. I never realized the 1755 deportation, or Le Grand Dérangement, the great upheaval, as they called it, was cultural genocide – a crime against humanity. Many people simply disappeared into the abyss of the unknown.

You can’t tell the good without the bad. You can’t document the wins without the losses. Someone needs to tell their individual stories, and I’m doing exactly that.

This had probably been my calling all along.

Generational Trauma

I never understood what generational trauma was or what it meant before I met my Acadian ancestors.

I understand generational poverty all-too-well, and that children suffer from the unfortunate cultural circumstances of the families into which they are born. Circumstances they often cannot escape.

What I never really considered was that generational trauma can span centuries, cultures and many, many generations. Leaving your homeland isn’t enough to escape. I have to wonder how much of this cumulative trauma has been seared into our genetics – epigenetics – genetic memory – whatever.

Does it also lead us home?

Homecoming

Can you experience a homecoming to a homeland you’ve never been to before? Can it feel so incredibly familiar that it moves you to tears? Just simply “being” there? Touching the soil? Feasting your eyes?

Yes, I had been to Chester as an appetizer decades ago, but I had never been anywhere else in Acadia, which spans all of Nova Scotia.

Can generational memories somehow lead and bring you to places you aren’t even consciously aware of? Those places that were the pivot points where your ancestors’ lives were uprooted and changed forever? Is there some unseen force guiding or sometimes pushing us?

Do descendants carry the markers in some way of cultural genocide?

Is there a path back for us? Are the events and memories seared into our ancestors’ souls passed down to us in some way?

How can one possibly be so connected to a place you’ve never been before?

I don’t have answers.

Three Weeks in August

I spent three weeks in August 2024 on the ground in Nova Scotia, tracing my ancestors’ collective footsteps, beginning along the LaHave River, visiting locations I knew that my ancestors had visited and lived.

They sent messages and guided me, including through one man I had just met a few minutes earlier. He took me aside and very uncomfortably said to me, “Don’t think I’m crazy. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you – but your ancestors know you’re here. They are here with you.”

Imagine my shocked look as my mouth fell open. But he wasn’t finished.

“Also, your mother. Is your mother with you?”

What a question.

Yes, mother was with me in multiple ways. Her body had departed this realm in 2006, but this was “her trip” and was she ever with me.

I was also wearing Mom’s ring, the one given to her as a teen by her grandmother, the wife of her Acadian grandfather. She wore it every day of her life, and I wore it on this adventure, taking pictures of “her” in her ancestor’s locations.

Each successive place we visited offered additional adventures of its own. I’ll be taking you along with me as I finish processing not only the photos and research, but the incredible avalanche of emotions.

Let me share just one extremely poignant moment.

The Expulsion

In 1755, following over a century of escalating tensions between the Acadians, who had peacefully lived and farmed in Nova Scotia, and the British, who sought to control the region, the British ultimately succeeded in forcibly deporting and expelling the Acadian population.

Acadian families were rounded up and kidnapped, their farms burned in front of their eyes, their livestock shot, and their dykes that kept the sea at bay from their fields were destroyed. The British wanted absolutely no question in the minds of the Acadians that there was nothing to return for. They had no homes left. No fields. No family. Nothing.

The British fleet anchored in the harbour beside Port Royal which had been renamed Annapolis Royal when the British defeated the French in 1710. The Acadians had previously experienced sporadic attacks by the British where they burned and pillaged, but then went away again.

That’s what the Acadians expected this time, too, but it’s not what happened. The Acadians thought they were safe because the British needed the Acadian farmers to feed the British soldiers, but they were wrong.

The harbour beside Fort Anne in Port Royal was safe and protected from the Atlantic, but ships could not pull directly up to the town itself because the river was tidal and too shallow near the shores.

That was another form of protection from attack.

In 1755, the British decided to end the conflict with the Acadians once and for all by rounding them up and deporting them. Their lands would then be distributed to the much more easily controlled non-Catholic colonists from New England.

The British ships came to anchor in the bay. The Acadians prepared for soldiers to attack and force them to sign a loyalty oath to the British Monarchy.

Instead, the British came ashore and held the men at the fort while rounding up the women and children.

I knew that every one of my ancestors had stood on this hallowed ground at the fort in Port Royal during their lifetimes. Some defended the fort. Some traded there. Some died there. Everyone worshipped there, as the original church was located beside the cemetery.

The original land before the fort was extended and fortified between 1705 and 1710 had belonged to Abraham Dugas. the armorer, who married Marguerite Doucet, Simon Pelletret who married Perrine Bourg, Jacque Bonnevie, military corporal and blacksmith who married Francoise Mius, Guillaume Trahan whose wife is unknown, and possibly Martin Aucoin.

My ancestors had been born, were baptized and married, lived, and were buried on the land under my feet. This fort, cemetery, and Catholic church that had once stood here was the one location that every single Acadian ancestor has unquestionably been – not once but regularly. The hub of their lives.

Not one or some, but everyone. It represents an entire group of people who were isolated to their own community with no newcomers. Everyone was related. That’s part of the power of this place.

Tears streamed down my face.

Earlier generations, before the deportation, were buried in now-unmarked graves in the cemetery at the fort, established before the Catholic church was burned. The fort, church, and cemetery were the center of the town of Port Royal.

In 1755, many of those graves would still have been fresh – and marked.

I walked around the fort grounds several times over multiple days, understanding the central place in the lives of all Acadians.

On the last day, I noticed something off to the side, across the ramparts, extending into the water. This was actually outside the fort, kind of behind the end of the current town. The building in the photo at right is a municipal building housing the police station.

I was drawn to this…thing…whatever it was. But I couldn’t exactly get there.

The hill descending to this walkway of sorts was very steep. It overlooked the land across the river that had been the homesteads of the Doucet, Bourg and Leveron families – also my ancestors.

By the time I found this small peninsula of land, it was late in the day, nearly sunset, and I was exhausted. I had been ill the week before my trip to Nova Scotia and not fully recovered – but nothing was stopping me now.

I had to get down there somehow.

I walked part way into town and around, behind the police station, and discovered stairs descending to the river level.

When I was leaving, I saw a sign and walked over to see what it said. I’m telling you this out of order so you understand what’s coming.

Good heavens! I had stumbled onto the deportation wharf. I had absolutely no idea it still existed.

The physical location where my ancestors’ lives were ripped apart in 1755.

Where they and their unsuspecting children and family members were shoved into rowboats, rowed out into the river, and deposited onto different ships. It was chaos. No one knew what was happening.

Families, in those horrific hours and minutes, carrying only what they could, were eternally separated – never to find or see each other again.

Many searched until death.

Where did death befall them? In many cases, we simply don’t know. Some overcrowded ships sank. Others, as poverty-stricken refugees, were buried and forgotten in anonymous graves where they landed among people all too unhappy to see them.

In most cases, we have no idea where they were – as the ships were intentionally separated and sent to different colonies so that the Acadians couldn’t scheme to return home.

God rest their souls.

I walked out onto the wharf and back in time into their lives.

The fort ramparts were to my left.

The wharf in front of me, now grass-covered, was a one-way ticket to Hell. 

A death march for many. Torturous for all.

How could the British do that?

Much like Hitler’s minions in the 1930s, “just following orders”?

Torture.

Murder.

Genocide.

I reached the end of the wharf where there were only stones, preventing today’s wharf-walkers from proceeding into the endless waters.

Yellow roses for their broken hearts.

The harbour where the ships anchored, and the exit into the Bay of Fundy – the last the Acadians would ever see of their beloved Acadia.

I could see the fort behind me, just as they would have. Originally their fort, but long-since the British fort.

The ships were anchored here. Boats rowed by British soldiers from the wharf to the ships loaded unwilling and probably sobbing Acadians.

No one knew where their family members were.

Standing on the beach, the edge of the town to my right.

A panoramic from the wharf of a now-empty, deceptively tranquil, harbour, but filled with ships taking the Acadians to God-knows-where back then.

I stood here for a very, very long time, realizing that their lives and families were ripped from them. Their agony is still palpable. They did absolutely nothing, aside from simply existing, to deserve this.

We have literally no idea what became of many of these people, or their children. I’m certain that this list of my ancestors is not comprehensive.

  • Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, born about 1703, married Jacques Lore/Lord, and died after 1742. Nothing more is known.
  • Jacques dit Montagne Lord/Lore, born about 1678, married Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, was probably deported to New York and died in 1786 in Quebec.
    • Honore Lore/Lord, born 1742 to Jacques Lore/Lord and Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, fought in New York in the Revolutionary War and died in 1818 in Quebec.
  • Jean LePrince, born about 1692, married Jeanne Blanchard and died sometime after 1752, probably either in Les Mines or after deportation.
  • Jeanne Blanchard, born about 1675, married Jean LePrince, death unknown
    • Marie Joseph LePrince, born in 1715, married Jacques DeForest, and died after 1748, probably in Connecticut.
  • Francoise Dugas, born 1679, married Rene DeForest, son Jacques DeForest. She may have died about 1751 or perhaps during or after the deportation.
    • Jacques DeForest, born in 1707, married Marie Josephe LePrince and died in Connecticut sometime after 1763.
      • Marguerite DeForest, born in 1747 to Jacques DeForest and Marie Josephe LePrince, died in Quebec in 1819.
  • Rene Doucet, born about 1678, married Marie Anne Broussard, death unknown
  • Marie Anne Broussard, born in 1686, married Rene Doucet, death unknown.
    • Anne dit Jeanne Doucet, born in 1713, married Daniel Garceau, was deported to Connecticut, and died in 1791 in Quebec.
    • Daniel Garceau, born in 1707, married Anne Doucet, was deported to Connecticut, and died in 1772 in Quebec.
      • Appoline dit Hippolyte Garceau, born in 1742 to Daniel Garceau and Anne dit Jeanne Doucet, deported with her parents and died in 1788 in L’Acadie, Quebec.

Of course, it’s not “just” these people – it’s their families too. Children, grandchildren, siblings, nieces and nephews, and sometimes, elderly parents.

Cruelly separated. Gone where?

On December 8, 1755, at least 1664 men, women, and children, all of whom were related to each other, often in multiple ways, suffered this fate – launched into sure and certain Hell from this wharf.

Eventually, I turned and walked back up what’s left of the wharf, knowing that they never had that privilege. They would have given anything to do what I just did.

I walked for them – even decades and centuries later. I felt their agony as they watched this land that they loved become more distant and then disappear, a dot in the distance, as their ship sailed into oblivion. They had never known any other home or lived anyplace other than Acadia.

What were they to do?

How would they survive?

My heart is so very heavy.

The enormity of this genocidal tragedy overwhelmed me and still does. One doesn’t “recover” from something like this.

I walked a block or so into the town where they had once lived, then onto Hogg Island, formerly owned by Jacques Bourgeois, also my ancestor, watching the sun set as I walked – as I knew they had done hundreds of times in their lives.

They must have watched the sun set over their beloved Acadia from the frigid decks of those ships, slipping behind the mountains and winking goodnight – unaware that it would be the last time for all of Eternity.

 

La Chaussée – French Birthplace of Acadia – 52 Ancestors #427

Many of the families that settled Acadia in the New World in what is now Nova Scotia originated in the Poitou region of France before deciding to embark on a life-altering journey to the New World beginning in the early/mid 1600s and continuing through the first half of the 1700s. The history of the Poitou revolves around the wealthy Charles de Menou d’Aulnay (1604-1650), and his family, specifically his cousin Isaac de Razilly. Both were members of the French nobility

De Razilly became governor of Acadia in 1632 and began the settlement of French families in earnest at La Hève, now LaHave, but died unexpectedly in 1635.

D’Aulnay became governor of Acadia following Razilly and served from 1635 to 1650, when he, too, died. D’Aulnay moved the settlement and center of government from La Hève to Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, in 1635-1636.

During a recent trip to France, I was privileged to visit the location of many of my Acadian ancestors with Claude Beaudreau through his travel company specializing in Acadian tourism travel, Les Voyages DiasporAcadie.

In fact, here’s a photo of our group of cousins.

In case you’re wondering, no, I’m not being paid for this (or any) article, ever, and Claude doesn’t even know I’m doing this. I would take this trip again in a heartbeat. It was that good and I would know more today.

Aulnay

On the way to La Chaussée, we stopped for a photo op at Chateau d’Aulnay, just outside Aulnay.

You can’t get near the Chateau d’Aulnay today. Our bus stopped alongside the road and we took photos through the gate. D’Aulnay was wealthy, but the Acadian pioneers were mostly peasant farmers, with a few craftsmen and trusted others hand-picked for their skilled contribution to the new colony.

The towns of Martaizé, La Chaussée, and the area surrounding Aulnay are known to be the original homelands of many of the Acadian pioneers who lived on d’Aulnay’s land holdings.

You can see that Aulnay is dead center in between, and those two villages are less than four miles apart.

The Cassini map of 1733 shows the La Chaussée de Renouee church and residences to the left of the church.

La Chaussée translates to “the roadway” and La Chaussée de Renouee translates roughly to “the knotweed causeway.”

Of course, back then, every little crossroads village had its own church for the residents who all walked to services. Adjacent the church was, of course, always a cemetery where everyone’s ancestors were buried.

The Road Home

If you’re not Acadian, you’re going to fall in love with La Chaussée today and wish you were. Regardless, there’s a lot of historical information that is relevant to more than Acadian history.

If you are Acadian, get tea or maybe a glass of wine, and Kleenexes, because I’m taking you back in time.

The bus rocked gently back and forth, but if you dozed off, you could easily have been napping in the back of a coach or wagon, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses.

As we drove along the quaint backroads of France, we felt like we were literally on the road home.

Excitement mounted as we neared La Chaussée, then saw the sign beside the field.

Around another curve or two, the buildings began to appear.

In these storied villages, filled with history, the roads nearly touch the sides of the buildings that were built here long before the roads existed.

These stones hold the secrets of the past, our past.

The old often blends gracefully with the new. The 20th century shoring up the 19th that shored up the 18th, and so forth.

The gardens, courtyards, and farms hold a medieval charm never found stateside.

You know when you’re approaching the center of a village because the houses get progressively older. Except they are not characterized as old, but are wise witnesses to the past and stunningly beautiful – visually transporting us back to the time when our ancestors probably lived in these very houses.

There are few houses in any small village. Everyone knew and was related to everyone else.

You can hear the lady next door calling out to see if you have any salt, or calling someone to get the midwife because her baby is going to arrive shortly.

Or maybe, sending someone to fetch the priest.

Homes are clustered closely and often share walls. Sometimes, new homes or newer structures are built adjoining ancient ones, melding centuries.

Often homes too deteriorated to restore and maintain become the next generation of barns.

The old blends with the modern. Children who gaze out the windows are very probably related to Acadian children who gazed out the same windows centuries ago. They would be related to today’s Acadian descendants in hundreds of ways, their common ancestors reaching back countless generations to the time when Julius Caesar mentioned the inhabitants of this region, calling them the “Piktones.”

The Gallic Piktone tribe became the French who inhabited the Poitou region, some of whom became the Acadian settlers who pioneered settlement in Nova Scotia, then were scattered to the winds in 1755.

We have returned home, much like the swallows that return to the Mission at San Juan Capistrano

Acadian history and culture reach deep into this soil.

The oldest structures are always found at the crossroads, which means sometimes they haven’t survived, and buildings that are still old, just not as ancient, take their place today.

Of course, in the center of the village, which is always the original settlement, we inevitably find the church – the heartbeat of the village. The lives of the villagers revolve around religious rituals and their faith – from birth until death do us part.

La Chaussée

Welcome to La Chaussée, birthplace of Acadia!

In the travel tour book provided during our adventure, Claude notes that half of the La Chaussée parish entries between 1626 and 1650 can be linked to about 20 of the 53 Acadian family names found in the 1671 Acadian census.

The 1671 Acadian census in Nova Scotia included the following French surnames by many various spellings. Bolded names represent males found in this census. Some of the original settlers had clearly died by that time. In other cases, women may have married in France, or their father and brothers, if any, had already died in Acadia. One or the other of those circumstances is why females had their birth surname listed, but had no paternal male line in Acadia in 1671. Those surnames are not bolded.

  • Aucoin
  • Babin
  • Bagard
  • Bajolet
  • Bayon
  • Beliveau (Bellieveau)
  • (de) Bellisle
  • Belou (Blue) (Bleu)
  • Bertrand
  • Blanchard
  • Boudreau (Boudrot)
  • Bourg
  • Bourgeois
  • Breau (Brode)
  • Brot
  • Brun
  • Caissy (Kuessy) (Scottish surname)
  • Chebrat
  • Claude
  • Colleson
  • Comeau
  • Cormier
  • Corporon (La Tour)
  • Cyr (Sire)
  • Daigle (Daigre)
  • D’Entremont
  • Doucet
  • Dugas (Dugast)
  • Dupeaux (Depuis) (Dupont)
  • (de) Foret (Forest)
  • Gaudet
  • Gauthier
  • Gauterot (Gautrot)
  • Gillebault (Guillebault)
  • Girouard
  • Gougeon
  • Granger (Grange)
  • Guerin
  • Guilbaut
  • Guyon
  • Hebert
  • Helie
  • Joffriau
  • LaBatte
  • Lalloue
  • Lambelot
  • Lambert
  • Landry
  • Lanoue
  • LaTour
  • LeBlanc
  • Lefevbre
  • LeFranc
  • LeJeune
  • Martin
  • Melancon (Melanson) (Huguenot, perhaps English)
  • Mercier
  • Mius (Muis) (also d’Entremont)
  • Morin
  • Nicollas
  • Ouestnorouest
  • Pellerin (Pelerin)
  • Pelletret (Peltret)
  • Peselet (Pesseley)
  • Petitpas
  • Pitre
  • Poirier
  • Poulet
  • Rau
  • Richard
  • Rimbault
  • Robicheau (Robichaud)
  • Sallee
  • Savoie
  • Terriau
  • Thibodeau (Thibeaudeau)
  • Trahan
  • Vigneau
  • Vincent

Some of the Acadian lineages are found in La Chaussée, including Brun, Belliveau, Breau, Chabrat, and Chaumoret, and several others are likely from there or nearby.

Jean Chabrat is my ancestor, born to Antoine Chabrat and Francoise Chaumoret and baptized on February 5, 1627, in La Chaussée. She was probably born either that day or the day before. It would have been a short walk to the church for the father or other family member.

Today, we will find their origins in this small crossroads village in the French countryside.

Click to enlarge image

La Chaussée really is a tiny crossroads. We’re going on a walk together, so here’s the aerial view with a few labels to help you orient yourself.

La Chaussée was and is a tiny, dense village. You can see the church and the buildings just to the left, with a small walkway in between. Those would be the buildings drawn on that 1733 map.

We were all VERY excited to arrive. Everyone spilled out of the bus and began taking photos.

For many Acadians, this is ground zero.

In La Chaussée , the Maison de l’Acadie and the church mark the crossroads where our cousins awaited our arrival.

The welcoming committee was waiting for our bus to arrive. This small Acadian museum, staffed by volunteers, is attached to and shares a wall with the church.

Seeing this for the first time, knowing my ancestors literally walked here brought tears to my eyes. I was overwhelmed by a sense of awe.

Awash in a sense of place.

Our cousins greeted us by waving Acadian flags in welcome.

Across the street, a street sign made it official and announced where we were.

I couldn’t help myself, I had to take a closeup of the snails on the white cover at bottom left below the street sign. Even the snails are beautiful here!

Rue des Acadiens translates to “Street of the Acadians.”

This wall is ancient and likely stood, protecting the home of an Acadian family or someone related to one. At that time, they weren’t Acadians yet, but they soon would be.

The narrow walkway between the church and another ancient building, today’s village hall, at left.

The pathway and archway are important. We will pass beneath it, as our ancestors did.

I felt that this was a portal into the past, and it actually was. Wait until you see what I found.

But first, we turned and entered the church through the doorway that you can see, at right, before the steps.

Walking into Notre Dame de La Chaussée where my ancestors celebrated and grieved all of their life’s events was simply breathtaking – as in steal your breath away and transport one through time.

Local lore says that the Acadian families prayed here before leaving on their long journey, from which there was no return.

Those who stayed behind would have known that they would never see their family members who left – so this was a mammoth decision. The family story that they prayed for guidance would have brought comfort to those remaining in La Chaussée  – understanding that their family members were doing God’s work, or at least had asked His blessing.

Returning home, almost 400 years later, was equally as emotional. I hope somehow they knew.

You can read more about the church, here, and here, in French. I have translated relevant portions using ChatGPT.

Razilly and d’Aulnay were the Seigneurs of La Chaussée, which means that they owned the land and charged rent to the peasants who farmed here.

From the brochure:

Why not let yourself be surprised by the first contact with this church, then sit on one of the old benches in its nave and let yourself be penetrated by its simple and captivating atmosphere? Why not think for a moment of all those inhabitants of La Chaussée who prayed here? Why not evoke all those that Charles Menou d’Aulnay, governor of Acadia, recruited to populate New France and who were led across the Atlantic by the lord of the town, Mr. Le Godelier, in the 17th century?

Prior to reading this brochure, I didn’t realize that the “lord of the town,” which I’m presuming would be something equivalent to the mayor, actually led a group of people to Acadia that had been actively recruited.

Welcome to the church of our ancestors.

A basin, probably for Holy water, by the entrance.

Our cousins and guides did their best to make it inviting and decorated accordingly, or maybe I should say, Acadianly. Here, the flags of both Acadia and Acadiana.

From the brochure, you can see many of these items in the photo above and below.

    • The statues of Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and Saint Radegonde, on either side of the altar, and of Saint Anthony of Padua, between the choir and the chapel, are more indicative of popular devotions.
    • The stained glass window, featuring Saint Paul and Saint Genevieve, was offered by Julie Goudon de La Lande.
    • In a beautiful Gothic niche, to the right of the altar, a statue of Saint Roch evokes the formidable plague epidemics that decimated populations from the 14th to the 17th century.
    • Roch, born in the 14th century into a wealthy family in Montpellier, became a hermit and spent a large part of his life on pilgrimage. Legend has it that when he was afflicted with the plague, he took refuge in a forest where a dog belonging to a nobleman came to feed him. Along with Saint Sebastian, he is invoked during epidemics. He is often depicted as a pilgrim (with a hat, staff, and panetière…), showing his leg with a sore caused by a bubo, and accompanied by a dog holding a loaf of bread in its mouth.
    • To the left of the altar, you should notice a beautiful Pietà from the 15th century, unfortunately mutilated.

This child, whom you have joyfully engendered to the song of angels, now you receive him from the cross in your sorrowful arms. Have compassion on Christ and his mother, faithful soul, if you want to rejoice eternally with them in heaven. Jesus, son of God, take pity on me, by virtue of the prayers of your joyful mother, save me through the cross, lead me to true light, with you, I will rejoice in heaven.

Thomas de Kempen – “a Kempis” – (1379-1471)

I wonder how badly impacted this region was by the plague that swept through Europe from the 1300s to the 1600s, again and again.

The plague arrived in France with a vengeance in 1347, spreading rapidly and being interpreted as God’s wrath. Roughly half of the population died in a five-year period, with estimates ranging from 40% to 60%. We know for sure that half of the people living in Paris and 60% of the population of Florence died.

It took another 150 years for the population to recover to pre-pandemic levels, which would have been about a century before the Acadians began to immigrate.

Plague outbreaks ebbed and flowed across the next several centuries, with the last French epidemic raging in 1720, after most of the Acadians were already settled far away in Acadia. They were facing a scourge of a different kind.

The cemetery outside this church would have been filled with plague victims, somehow singled out by God to suffer and die for their evil deeds, while others were chosen to live.

According to the University of Iowa, as with more recent epidemics, home remedies, mostly hopeful, sprang up, along with advice, including:

  • Plague is a scourge from God for your evil deeds – by scourging yourself with a whip like a flagellant, then God has no reason for scourging you with plague.
  • Apply a mixture of tree resin, roots of white lilies, and human excrements.
  • Bathing should not be avoided, and be done with vinegar and rosewater—alternatively in your own urine.
  • Drink the pus of lanced buboes.
  • Quarantine people for 40 days (quarantine comes from Latin for 40) – first done in Venice in 1348.
  • Place a live hen close to the swellings to draw out the pestilence then drink a glass of your own urine twice a day.
  • Grind up an emerald and drink it in wine.
  • Ingest snakeskin, a bone from the heart of a stag, Armenian clay, precious metals, aloe, myrrh, and saffron.
  • Roast the shells of newly laid eggs, and grind them to a powder – add Marigold flowers and treacle – drink in warm beer every morning and night.

If the plague didn’t kill you outright, some of these cures just might.

Look at those ancient stones in front of the table with the cross, worn concave by hundreds of years of worshipers’ feet. My ancestors would have trod on those very stones.

Be still my heart.

I noticed some broken statuary, tucked respectfully into a corner, likely for protection.

It was probably whole when they worshipped here.

ChatGPT translated part of the French document about the church, which says:

To conclude, we take the opportunity to highlight two sculpted elements:

    • The statue of the Virgin of Pity (or Pieta) unfortunately amputated of the heads of Jesus and his mother (during the revolution?) dated from the 15th century. It was once painted in polychrome. Its execution quality is remarkable.
    • The lower fragment of the statue of Saint George or Saint Michael fighting the dragon (of which a clawed paw is visible at the back) also dated from the 15th century. The leggings and armored shoes of the fighting saint are perfectly visible.

As a little anecdote, one of these statues was found in a cache made in a wall of the church during work undertaken in the neighboring house.

Given that this does not look like a statue of Mary and Jesus, I’m presuming it’s Saint George or Saint Michael.

Regardless, given that it dates from the 1400s, and the French Revolution didn’t occur until 1789, this statue was very likely intact and installed someplace in the church here when Acadian ancestors lived.

This little area is the transition between the older and newer parts of the church. There’s a buttress rising above.

Rear steps in the original part of the church, but not the original doors, according to the church history. Piscinas for Holy Water, perhaps, on each side?

I don’t know what the worn-away areas are in the back walls of the little alcoves, but they remind me of generations of fingers that wore areas like this in the limestone in some of the Hospitalier buildings on the Camino de Santiago – worn away over centuries by those seeking blessings or communing with the Lord.

My ancestors climbed these steps.

I walked in their footsteps.

Me, at far right, taking it all in – or trying to.

I’m actually inside the church of generations of my ancestors. Where they began and ended their lives. Where they came to baptize, bury, and marry.

Jeanne Chebrat’s parents, who stood in this very church and baptized their daughter, were 11 generations removed from me, assuming that this Jeanne Chebrat is my Jeanne Chebrat. But there were untold and unnamed generations before her.

I don’t know when the “new” portion of the church was built, but the history says that the building was extensively remodeled in the early 1500s with the addition of the south chapel which is open to the choir. That means that this church, structurally pretty much as is, was here when Jeanne was baptized in 1627. The stained glass windows apparently came later.

Given that the church was originally built in the 1200s, it’s probable that another dozen generations of my ancestors worshipped here – and are buried outside.

As I sat in the front pew, I closed my eyes slightly, staring at the stained glass and transported myself back in time to hear the Priest as he would have baptized and buried so many generations of my ancestors.

I heard the droning of his voice, in unintelligible Latin, then the melodic singing of the church members.

These murals – I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I raised my gaze in awe as I saw what they saw. Trying with my vision to reach across the centuries.

What did they think?

They couldn’t read the Latin in the Bible, but they surely understood the drawn images on the murals.

Did they interpret them as encouraging or threatening? At least one, Saint Lucia, a martyr, is depicted being brutally killed.

I walked along the walls of the church to see what was in the little alcoves or niche, as the church’s document calls this.

Murals surround the statue. In the bottom of the alcove is a square hole and on either side are round ones.

The documentation states that this mural was degraded by what it refers to as a “large niche housing a liturgical sink.”

In old Catholic churches, holes in the bottom of alcoves are piscinas that allow the Priests to pour sacramental wine or Holy water used in and left over from masses into the wall of the church to return to the earth so that it could not be harvested for nefarious purposes, such as witchcraft.

These incredible murals were discovered a few years ago, but the church does not have the funds to restore them.

Dating from the 1200s, these murals were, until recently, hidden beneath plaster.

Here’s what the La Chausse document says about the murals, translated to English using ChatGPT:

While the entirety of the church walls seems to retain painted panels covered with several layers of plaster, only those of the oldest nave are currently considered worthy of being revealed. The others, more recent and more fragile, keep their mysteries and certainly their beauty. These narrative scenes on the walls of the western nave are authenticated from the late 13th century.

The south panel is truncated by the piercing of a large niche and the modification of the former opening. However, the north panel is almost complete.

The conservation states of the decorations are uneven, making the work of updating and restoration perilous. The oldest decor, depicting martyrs, occupies almost the entire surface of the two south and north walls of the first bay. These decors have been prioritized for conservation and presentation. To the north, it is partially covered by a very altered Saint Christopher, of which only the upper part of the body remains (estimated from the 16th century).

Unfortunately, the lower part was chipped away during the redoing of the plasters from the ground up to about 1.45m in height during the late 18th century. This Saint Christopher has been preserved as is as a punctual testimony but also because it was not wise to risk finding nothing underneath. The three adjacent registers occupy the entire wall (covered in the center by the 16th-century Saint Christopher). Only the left panel reveals a name: Saint Cecilia (Sancta Cecilia), while the right panel is too altered to allow any reading.

The south wall presents three well-visible panels, unfortunately degraded in the middle by the piercing of a large niche housing a liturgical sink, and also degraded along its entire length up to 1.40m from the ground. The three identified saints are martyrs: Saint Catherine (Sancta Catharina), Saint Anastasia (Sancta Anasta sia: the saint’s head is interspersed in the middle of the name), and Saint Lucy (Sancta Lucia). Executioners performing their grim task can also be identified.

I’d love to know more about the messages in these stunning old murals from centuries ago.

What stories were they trying to tell? Were they just religious interpretations from the Bible, or were there historical aspects from this region interwoven, too?

Who painted the murals?

Do other churches from this timeframe have murals?

How rare are these?

What were our ancestors told about them?

Notice the old iron candle holder, at far right, that would have lit the inside of the church in the darkness.

Look how thick these walls are.

This old window may have been original. The oldest windows in small churches often didn’t have colored glass, which was expensive.

My ancestors would have sat in these small pews, or similar ones, with their neighbors who were all family members, I’m sure, perhaps daydreaming as they looked out the windows. The sermon would have been in Latin, not French, so they had lots of time to think.

Is it going to rain?

I wonder if I should plant seed yet?

Is the cute boy two pews behind me noticing my new dress and bonnet?

Should I visit my sweetheart’s father and ask for her hand in marriage?

What if he says no? What do I do then?

Am I pregnant again?

I forgot to go to confession.

Should I go to the new world?

The extent of the oldest part of the church, the west nave, is seen here. These very old murals are only found in the oldest portion of the church, although apparently, some are still covered in the newer part.

The fact that experts don’t feel that they can uncover and save the newer murals makes me sad.

This is what my ancestors would have seen, looking towards the older end of the church from beneath the buttress, the dividing line between the newer and older.

Who sat where? Was there a hierarchy? Did the moms with babies sit near the doors? Did sinfulness or money matter, or was seating first come, first choose?

Notice the unevenness of the stones on the floor.

This is the only detailed photo I managed to take of the side chapel by the door in the new portion of the church. “New” is a matter of perspective, because even this new part built in the 1500s is older than America.

From the brochure:

The altar of the side chapel is the altar of the Virgin, as indicated by its monogram formed by the intertwined letters M and A (Ave Maria) and the statue of the Virgin with the Child.

This looks like a Crusader’s cross to me. That’s entirely possible, given that the Crusades occurred in the 1100s and 1200s.

Claude near the altar.

I wonder if the white statues in those alcoves above the two wooden doors were there when our ancestors worshipped here. I would presume that they were.

Unfortunately, I didn’t take closeups of the items on the altar as there was a lot going on up there. I felt a bit intimidated and didn’t want to get in the way. Of course, now I wish I had a photo of at least that Pieta – but I didn’t realize there WAS a Pieta until after I was back home.

Given that French is not my native language, I also misunderstood and thought that the newer part of the church was built after the Acadians left. It was not, but it was remodeled long after they departed.

Look at those ancient steps along the side wall of the new portion of the church and the blue remnants of a mural.

The Madonna and child.

Every mother and her child.

We listened to and sang a French Acadian song that had great meaning and brought tears to those who grew up Acadian or in the Acadian diaspora. Anne-Christine, one of our guides, is playing the music from her phone.

Jim took a photo of the group of cousins as they sang.

This church is actually quite small. Just a little country church. These always speak to me, more so than larger churches. I experienced a deep feeling of belonging.

We all felt that we had returned home.

Notice the darkened arched doorway, at right.

I’m going to explore. (I can’t even begin to tell you how many times this phrase has gotten me into trouble over the years.)

This is inside the arched doorway to the right in the new part of the church. I’m not sure what the small stone archway near the floor was.

It kind of looks like an old oven, but an oven would not be in a church and not on the floor.

The bell tower with a modern ladder reaching to the top.

Looking upward. Imagine the people who would have originally climbed all these levels to ring the bell on some type of wooden ladder.

Say your prayers first.

Having said that, I’m sure that every little boy aspired to climb the bell tower ladder and ring the bell. Maybe it was a rite of passage.

Plaque honoring the Brun and Braud line.

These people are not my ancestors, at least not that I know of, but with Acadians, you never know for sure about some of the unknown wives. Even if they weren’t directly my ancestors, since our families all lived within walking distance of this crossroads for time immemorial, you know they were all somehow related and probably many times over.

There’s an Acadian saying that is absolutely true, “If you’re related to one Acadian, you’re related to all Acadians.”

I am standing beside the first pew, looking back into the old portion of the church through the newer portion. By the 1600s, when Jeanne Chebrat was baptized here, the parishioners would probably not have realized that there was an older and a new portion of the church. The older portion had already been in place for several generations, and the oral history probably didn’t descend to them. For those people, all that really mattered was that this was their church and played a crucial role in their everyday lives. It was just “the church” that had always been there.

Given the large number of children born to each family, there were an equal number of baptisms and eventual deaths. Almost universally, those who didn’t die married. Many people would have visited the church multiple times each week, not just on Sunday.

The church bell summoned people and often announced a death. The local communications medium long before the phone.

I can see the spirits of my ancestors here.

This part of the church, to the rear beyond the arch, with the murals, is the oldest portion of the church from the 12th century. The church was built here only after people were settled in the region and, of course, after Christianity took root.

I wish I could put my feelings into words. Some combination of awe, gratitude, and a knowing in my soul.

I slipped quietly outside.

Something, or someone, was calling me.

“Daughter…follow me…”

“I’m coming!”

Exploring

Outside the church door, I turned right and stepped through the old archway, heading towards the rear of the church.

To the right is the original, oldest portion of the church, more than 800 years old.

Clearly, at one time, there was either another entrance or another chapel.

I turned and glanced in the other direction, to my left, and suddenly…I drew a sharp breath.

I knew exactly what I was seeing.

Glory be!!!

The old well.

Moreso than even the church, the communal well was the lifeblood of a small village.

No one, not man or beast, can survive without clean water.

This well would have provided life-giving water to my ancestors and their ancestors too.

I felt my mother standing beside me.

We stood there for a long time, just drinking everything in.

I didn’t want to move, because I didn’t want the feeling of Mom beside me to dissipate, but eventually, I had to.

I invited Mom to come with me on a walk.

The Walk

I decided to take a walk in this ancient ancestral crossroads and see what else awaited.

The spirits weren’t finished showing me around.

A beautiful cross marked the entrance to a walled communal park-like garden area by the church. This is the area marked on the old map with houses. I entered.

I was alone. No one else was here.

This, too, was ancient, and as I stood here, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the old cemetery. However, it’s probably more likely, given the ancient houses, that this was the communal yard in front of all of the homes.

The entire area was walled.

The archway at far left in the photo leads to the well. This would have been the original village and assuredly where the original villagers lived before expanding across the street from the church..

The back of these buildings shares the arched walkway with the wall of the church.

Whatever this was, it’s quite old and was here originally.

Original peasant homes were small and often shared with animals, or animals were housed in the other “half” of the building.

The walkway with the wood box area above probably at one time led directly to the church door. Today, this building is the village hall.

The back wall of this building is the side of the arched walkway.

The well is in this open archway that passed through to where I was standing earlier.

These beautiful, sacred old stones were placed in the surrounding wall by the inhabitants of La Chaussée. Building communal walls was probably a community effort.

The community bulletin board provides information to residents. I have no idea what it says.

However, the QR code takes you to this village link: https://lachaussee86.com/

That QR code seems like something from the far future here.

This grapevine may be as old as the building!

I desperately want to know what this is, but I have no idea. I also wanted one of those rocks but didn’t touch them. If there had been someone to ask if I could have one, I would have.

They’ve reinforced the original construction. You can see the foundation boulders, stones, and beams.

Windows, but no glass or shutters, so I’m not sure what this is.

This must have been the churchyard or a cross placed to bless and protect the villagers.

I can’t help but think of my mother.

I stood here for a very long time.

How my ancestors must have prayed for Divine guidance.

I turned around and crossed the courtyard one last time, thinking how many times my ancestors had done that exact same thing.

Through the Archway

I stepped through the covered archway that sheltered the well, into the area behind the church.

To my left was what remained of the churchyard, which was, at first glance, nondescript.

To the right was the beautiful old entrance to the church.

The flight of stone steps led down from these double doors to the double piscinas on both sides.

From the outside, it looks like this facade might have been added.

The report on the condition of the church contains information about this, the west nave entrance, and the required restorations to prevent further decay.

It was during the summer of 2016 that the municipal council considered undertaking works in the Church of Notre Dame de La Chaussée due to significant humidity rising from the ground, attributed to the building’s low-lying structure. This humidity is accompanied by severe contamination from microorganisms, such as green algae, at the lower parts of the walls and the floor of the west nave. This issue is also exacerbated by the absence of gutters on the entrance porch and by infiltrations on the building’s buttresses. Due to its listing as a historical monument, the designation of a heritage architect was necessary and mandatory. The various funding searches, administrative procedures, and various authorizations finally allowed the work to begin at the end of 2018. Major external drainage, roofing, and masonry work were planned, accompanied by essential archaeological research. Some remnants of objects and bones have been collected and are currently being dated in a specialized laboratory. Simultaneously, research for possible painted decors has been undertaken by specialists (Atelier Moulinier from Vendôme).

I’m dying to know about those bones! Whose bones are they, and how did they get there? Where, exactly, were they found?

You can see the church, along with the archway joining the church to the buildings alongside. These would have been the original village buildings, clustered together for protection. Of course, the well served them all.

Much of the area behind the church has been paved.

This now stone-filled archway may well have been the original entrance or perhaps a long-gone chapel.

The Crusades ended about the time the original church was built, but the Hundred Years War broke out not long after. It seems that France has never been peaceful, and the peasants had a LOT to pray about.

I turned around to walk behind the church.

The Churchyard

I stepped into the small grassy area between the church and the home behind the church.

The church has graciously placed benches, I’m assuming for both rest and reflection.

I walked into the grassy area, trying to determine if this had once been the cemetery. Was there any hint left, at all?

I turned around to see the church through beautiful blooming trees.

The blossoms framed the steeple beautifully.

Descendants of the people who lived here hundreds of years ago probably mingle outside on Sunday mornings now – much like our ancestors did in the past.

As I continued to walk around the church, I noticed the petals from the flowering trees had collected along the path.

Pink snowflakes mixed with the beautiful dandelions and other wildflowers that nourish the bees, descendants of the bees that nourished our ancestors with their honey a long time ago.

I couldn’t help but think of the analogy about the Acadians, blown on wild winds across the world, yet, finding our way back again.

This area, too, may have been the cemetery. One thing is for certain: it was one place or the other and adjacent to the church. I suspect, here, behind the church rather than in the other area due to the proximity to the well, the courtyard arrangement, and the villagers’ homes.

April is beautiful in France and touches the soul.

I noticed, from this view, the old iron support in the rear of the wall near the archway walk. That form of wall support is ancient, too.

The well is located in that archway.

The tiny cross on the original portion of the roof is visible here.

Sometimes it’s the little things. I suspect this was original and they all viewed this same cross – since the 1200s.

I turned around and noticed an iris blooming – one that looked exactly like Mom’s.

Yes, Mom was definitely here with me. I would have said a prayer for her soul, except her soul didn’t need a prayer.

Instead, I simply gave thanks for being here, for her strength in the face of unbelievable adversity, most of which has never been revealed.

Did she inherit that fortitude from these hearty people, survivors of the plagues, brave enough to forge on ahead to an unknown world?

God bless you, Mom.

Thank you for this sign.

Even as fully grown adults, sometimes we need the presence of our mother.

I smiled and walked around to the far side of the church.

You can see the window well that is probably 3 feet deep that one looks up into when inside the church. Those daydreaming windows.

This church was built into the slope of a hillside.

The bell tower is in the newer part of the church.

I was incredibly glad that I was able to take this sacred walk alone in the churchyard, especially finding the well.

The Walk

Next, I decided to walk down the small road.

The roads here are so small that they are paved, but there are no center lines. Pretty much everyone is courteous in the countryside, and no one needs lines.

Ancient walls whisper their secrets, amid the doors offering entrance into their mysteries. Houses were attached to the walls and often barns as well.

Was this perhaps where my ancestors lived?

Hundreds of years ago, someone had to be the first to build this beautiful “new” farmhouse when there was no more room in the little village enclosure beside the church.

The bowed roof tiles speak to the age of this building, as does the wrought iron support at left. Normally, these wrought iron devices, called tirants, from the verb tirer, to pull, were sunk into the beams of ancient walls to keep the stones from pulling apart near the beams, offering additional support. They usually correspond to upper beams, sometimes to floor levels in multi-floor buildings. Tirants can reach back into the Middle Ages and were still used in the 1500s.

Sometimes, in prosperous cities, the iron was shaped into a year, so a house built in 1592 would have four irons, each shaped into that number, and any extra irons would have been shaped into something decorative.

However, in the countryside, I saw no years, just lots of practical reinforcing tirants.

The newer concrete block structure almost looks obscene beside the building so full of character and heritage.

Peasant homes didn’t have glass panes, so they simply used shutters. Closed them at night and opened them in the morning. Many places still do, although most do have windows inside the shutters now. Last year, I saw a few in southern France that didn’t.

I’m so incredibly glad the current owners have preserved these old buildings with their centuries of history instead of simply tearing them down.

The maintenance must be unreal.

Sometimes one side looks to be from a different century than the other side.

My Dad used to maintain structures like this. He almost never tore anything down, even when he should have.

I love the old holes where the original beams, probably now long rotten, would have been. Even the newer portion on the road-facing side is probably hundreds of years old. The corner has clearly been reinforced.

When our ancestors lived there, this road would have been a simple cart path.

Peering around the corner into the barnyard. Beautiful blending of the old and new. I love the single old stone wall in the more distant building with the red tractor.

Another historic building saved.

Seeing this part of my ancestors’ lives makes me feel infinitely closer to them and what their lives were like.

Whoever you are that has preserved all this – thank you! My heart is bursting with gratitude.

All these buildings were one or two houses from the corner, if you count the church. When I said this was a crossroads village, I meant it literally. There is only one house/farm behind the church until you’re in the “country” with no more buildings for a long way. I’m headed back now – the church is on the right, just before the crossroads.

We’ve come full circle as the Rue des Acadiens sign is located on the wall at left at the corner by the white fence.

Across the road, on the opposite corner, we find a crucifix statue.

The Museum

The museum, attached to the church, is open and very welcoming.

I rejoined my cousins who were touring the museum.

The Acadian Museum shows life as the Acadians knew it.

The sign outside states their mission of retracing Acadian history, including everyday objects. The church “recalls the long prayers said when laborers and craftsmen set off from the towns of Aulnay, Martaise, La Chaussée, and St. Clair.

A bit of history.

It’s safe to say that d’Aulnay and Razilly changed the course of life for millions of people alive today.

Various headdresses worn by Acadian women.

Reproduction of Acadian food cooking in a fireplace.

An Acadian couple in front of their hearth.

An Acadian woman in traditional dress. She made all of the clothes for her family.

An Acadian man. Note the wooden shoes to prevent sinking in the marshlands. The marshlands of the Poitou prepared the Acadians for the marshlands of Acadia. That’s likely at least a part of why they were recruited.

A candleholder, clearly authentic and used.

La Have, the original seat of Acadia from 1632-1636.

Artifacts excavated from the site of the fort in La Have.

A piece of wood from the aboiteau, a type of dyke and sluice system used by the Acadians, from the homestead of Jacques Bourgeois in Beaubassin. He is also one of my ancestors.

We were only here a few hours, but what a world of difference it made.

Maison de l’Acadia translates to “House of Acadians,” but it’s really the home of the Acadians. Home is someplace you can always go back to.

The hospitality of the museum volunteers, most of whom we’re related to somehow, created a wonderful, educational day and truly made us feel at home.

While they were excited when we arrived, you can see their exuberance when we left. We all felt like we had made fast friends with our distant cousins. Much hugging ensued as we boarded the bus.

We couldn’t say thank you enough times.

There were more than a few misty eyes as we bid farewell, adieu, to our cousins at La Maison de l’Acadie.

It’s time to say goodbye, au revior, at least for now, to this tiny crossroads so vastly rich in personal and Acadian history.

_____________________________________________________________

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Claude Dugas (1649-1732), Acadian Octogenarian Armorer – 52 Ancestors #437

Claude Dugas lived more than four score years in Acadia and witnessed a lot of changes during his lifetime. Witnessed is probably far too weak a word.

Claude was born about 1649 in Port Royal to Abraham Dugas and Marguerite Doucet.

He married twice, the first time to Marie Francoise Bourgeois, daughter of Jacques (dit Jacob) Bourgeois and Jeanne Trahan, about 1673, and the second time, after her death, to Marguerite Bourg, the daughter of Bernard Bourg and Francoise Brun, about 1697.

Claude had at least 12 children with his first wife, Marie Francoise, my ancestor, and at least another 10 with his second wife, although the children’s birth years suggest that another 2 or 3 children were born to that marriage.

The early Catholic parish records of Port Royal were destroyed, so we extrapolate Claude and his family members’ birth years from the various census records where they are recorded.

Claude Reaches Adulthood

Immigration into Acadia occurred primarily between 1632, when France regained control of Acadia from the British, and 1654, when France lost control again. Most of the Acadian families, including Claude’s family, arrived during this window of time.

The French regained control of Acadia from the English again in 1667 and wanted a census. Thank goodness they did because the census are the first and sometimes the only records we have to reassemble our Acadian families

In 1671, Claude Dugas is 19 years old and living with his parents, Abraham Dugas (spelled Habraham Dugast) and Marie Judith Doucet. Two of his sisters have married, and Claude is the eldest of his 5 siblings still living at home. His father is an armurier, or gunsmith, and they own 19 head of cattle and 3 sheep. They live on 16 arpents of land.

The census shows them between Thomas Cormier and Rene Rimbault on one side and Michel Richard and Charles Melancon/Melanson on the other.

The village of Port Royal consists of 58 homesteads, quite small by today’s standards. Many of these people are related to each other by now, or soon would be, given that there had been no new French settlers arriving since 1654.

In the Port Royal census of 1678, Claude is missing, but based on where he was in 1679, we can fairly confidently say he had established a home in Beaubassin, a settlement founded by fellow Acadian and his father-in-law, Jacques Bourgeois.

By this time, Claude and Marie would have had two children, with a third probably on the way.

in 1679, in Beaubassin, Claude was a witness to his sister, Anne’s second marriage to Jean-Aubin Mignolt on April 26th. In that record, her surname is spelled Dugast. Her first husband was Charles Bourgeois, the son of Jacques Bourgeois.

In 1681, Claude’s daughter, Marguerite, was born and baptized at Beaubassin on March 19th. The date of her birth was not mentioned in the register, but she was likely born that day or the day before. Her godparents were “sieur Alexandre LeNeuf sr du Beaubasssin and Marguerite Bourgeois who named her Marguerite.”

The Dugas and Bourgeois families were heavily allied and intermarried.

High Drama!

In March 1682, the recently appointed seigneur of Beaubassin Michel Le Neuf de La Vallière sent a summons to eleven inhabitants to appear before the Sovereign Council of Quebec for having refused to accept concession contracts. These inhabitants, presumed to be heads of household who may have represented the entire settlement, were: Pierre Morin, Guyon Chiasson, Michel Poirier, Roger Kessy, Claude Dugas, Germain Bourgeois, Guillaume Bourgeois, Germain Girouard, Jean-Aubin Migneaux, Jacques Belou and Thomas Cormier. Le Neuf was attempting to impose typical seigneurial dues such as the corvée (obligatory labor), such as bulding mills or bake ovens, but was contested by the settlers who eventually won their case in court.

This fledgling settlement, comprised of three groups: Frenchmen, Acadians who had arrived from Port Royal with Jacques Bourgeois, and a few people imported by Le Neuf, might have been small, but there was still high drama.

One man, Francois Pellerin, experienced a long miserable death. Jean Campagnard was his farmhand. On his deathbed, Pellerin accused Campagnard of being a witch, blowing some mysterious substance into his eyes while they were working in the field as part of a diabolical plot to usurp his place as head of the household. Translated – Pellerin meant that Campagnard wanted to marry his widow. That accusation spurred more accusations, launching a “witchcraft hysteria” of sorts. Campagnard was eventually brought to trial in 1684, in which it was revealed that there was a plague in Beaubassin in 1678 that took the lives of several settlers. Coincidentally, 1678 is when accusations towards Campagnard peaked.

Campanard was apparently an outcast, but it’s unclear if that’s part of what spurred the witchcraft accusations, or was a result of such.

Jean-Aubin Mignaux, Claude Dugas’s brother-in-law, accused Campagnard of casting an incantation on his crops to cause a poor harvest. Campagnard said that if his crops failed, it was Mignaux’s fault for having farmed badly.

The Port Royal Bourgeois group tried to avoid this drama. Of the entire Acadian settlement from Port Royal, Germain Bourgeois was the only one to give a deposition in which he said, as a witness to Pellerin’s death, “The man was obviously delirious with fever. I did not take the accusation seriously.”

The trial in Quebec, which took place after Campagnard had been held in jail for 9 months, revealed a dark secret. Many if not most of the men who had accused Campagnard of sorcery owed him money and/or viewed him as a competitor, in the case of several suitors.

Campagnard was eventually cleared of the accusations and found not guilty, but he was also forbidden from returning to Beaubassin – a “punishment” he probably welcomed and was more than glad to honor.

Return to Port Royal

Whatever happened in Beaubassin, for some reason, Claude Dugas returned to Port Royal, although we don’t know if he intended to stay permanently.

In Port Royal in 1686, Claude, age 38, is living with Francoise Bourgeois, 25, with Marie, 12, Claude, 10, Francoise, 6, Joseph, 6, Marguerite, 5, Agnesse, 1, Jeanne, 3, and Anne, 7. They are living on 8 arpents of land with 25 cattle, 9 sheep, and a few hogs. They own 1 gun.

It looks like Francoise and Joseph might have been twins. Future censuses or eventual parish records might tell us more.

His neighbors are Marie Sale (Martin Aucoin’s widow), Antoine Landry, and Francois Broussard, and on the other side, Germain Terriot, Vincent Brun, and Francois Levron.

However, Claude still had one foot in Beaubassin where at “Chiqnitou dit Beaubassin”, he is recorded as owning 30 arpents of land and 8 cattle. Of the 11 men named in the 1682 summons, only one man, Guyon Chaisson is not listed in 1686. Nineteen other residences are recorded, with a total of 119 inhabitants.

Claude seems to have been the only settler to have returned to Port Royal, at least that we know about.

He might have regretted that decision.

The 1690 Attack

1690 was a banner year, and not in a good way. Claude lived right on the water as ships approached Port Royal, so he had a birds-eye view of everything.

Claude would have been 42 that year – a man in his prime.

The Battle of Port Royal occurred on May 19, 1690. The British attacked, and Port Royal was entirely unprepared. The fort was being rebuilt. They only had 70 soldiers in total, and of those, 42 were absent.

Sir William Phips, the English commander, sailed into the harbor with 700 men on seven warships. There was absolutely no question about the outcome.

The soldiers burned 28 homes in and around Port Royal along with the church, although they reportedly spared the “upriver farms” and mills. It’s unclear what exactly was meant by upriver at that time. The 1686 census of Port Royal enumerated 95 families that we know were spread from “beneath” Port Royal to today’s Bridgewater. This means that 30% of the homes were burned.

One thing is for sure, Claude’s land, #15 shown here on the Canadian Park Service website positioned in relation to Port Royal and other homesteads, was not upriver.

While the Acadians had been somewhat used to episodic attacks by the English, this was an exceedingly cruel act of warfare bent on devastation and destruction, not on “taking” Acadia so that life as normal could continue, just under English rule. Instead, the English soldiers tore the dikes down, ruined the fields and farms, killed livestock, and torched everything in sight. As if this devastation wasn’t enough, pirates followed shortly thereafter, burning, pillaging, and looting even more.

Phips didn’t want to simply control and occupy Port Royal. He wanted to conquer and destroy it. He succeeded. He kidnapped and loaded the local priest and some of the soldiers onboard his ship and returned with them to Boston.

Before leaving, Phips required a loyalty oath to be signed by the Acadian inhabitants. The priest took the petition with its signatures with him, and it wound up eventually in the Massachusetts archives where I found it in 2008. I transcribed it, here.

Along with his fellow countrymen, “Claude Dugats” signed with his mark. Most Acadians could neither read nor write. A total of 61 men signed. Of those, 45%, or nearly half, had their homes burned and their farms destroyed by pulling down the dikes that kept the seawater out.

I can only imagine the rage and animosity experienced by the signers as they penned their names or made their marks through gritted teeth. Clearly, they only signed under duress, threat of great harm. I was going to say under threat of death, but I’m fully convinced there are fates worse than death – and that’s what they were facing.

They must have truly hated the English.

Claude surely was thinking about his terrified wife and children. His elderly parents were likely burned out, if Claude and his family weren’t too. Claude’s father, Abraham’s signature is missing from the loyalty oath. I’m not sure what to make of this. Either he was incredibly brave in the face of danger, or he was injured or too ill to sign. Maybe he used his advanced age of 70 or 71 as an excuse why he couldn’t sign.

In the 1693 census, Claude and family are still living at Port Royal. He’s 44, his wife, Francoise Bourgeois is 34, and they have 11 children: Marie, aged 17, Claude, aged 16, Francoise, aged 14, Joseph, aged 13, Marguerite, aged 11, Anne, aged 10, Jeanne, aged 9, Agnes, aged 7, Francois, aged 5, Madeleine, aged 4, and Cecile, aged 1.

Claude is living with his parents who are listed as the head of household. Abraham Dugas is 74 and Marguerite Doucet is 66. The combined family owned 4 guns and was living on 26 arpents of land with 20 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 pigs. I suggest this is evidence that one or both families were burned out in 1690.

Based on the order of the census, they are living very near Port Royal. Beside them we find Michelle Aucoin, the widow of Michel Boudrot and on the other side, Charles Melancon and Marie Dugas, his wife. Jean Bourg is next to them.

You can see Claude’s land at far right, Boudrot to the left of him, and what I believe to be Abraham Dugas’s land at left. Here, he’s referred to as Abraham “armoire”, as best I can make out.

It’s impossible in 1693 to tell if the family is living on Abraham’s original land, or Claude’s, or if that’s really one and the same. Abraham’s land appears to be closer to Port Royal, so he’s more likely to have had his farm burned.

Abraham is now in his 70s, so he’s not likely to be actively farming anymore.

Hard Times

Claude’s wife, Francoise Bourgeois, died sometime between the 1693 census and the baptism of his first child with his second wife, Marguerite Bourg, about 1697. Francoise could have died in childbirth in 1695.

Claude was left with aged parents, no wife, and a dozen children, one of whom might have been a baby. If his fields had been ruined in 1690, they would only be beginning to be productive again as he rebuilt his dikes. After the death of Francoise, he would have wanted to remarry soon. It was a necessity.

He probably remarried about 1696.

Second Marriage

In the 1698 census, Claude is listed as age 49, Marguerite Bourg, noted as his second wife, is age 24, the same age as his eldest daughter who married about 1695. At home is Claude, 21, Joseph, 18, Marguerite, 17, Anne, 15, Jeanne, 13, Agnes, 12, Francois, 11, Madeleine, 10, Cecile, 8, Marie, 7, and Elisabeth, 3 months. Clearly, baby Elisabeth is Marguerite’s daughter. They live on 32 arpents of land with 25 sheep, 25 cattle, and 6 hogs. They have 20 fruit trees and 3 guns.

The ages of his two daughters, Cecile and Marie don’t match the 1693 census, but it’s reasonable to deduce that Marie would have been born later in 1693 or 1694 given that she wasn’t listed in 1693 and Cecile was 1.

They are listed beside Claude’s inlaws, Bernard Bourg and Francoise Brun, and two other Bourg families on one side, and Bonaventure Teriot and Francois Boudrot on the other.

Based on this, Marguerite Bourg clearly joined Claude’s household which was a productive farm. It’s also obvious that the census-taker was traveling by canoe and paddled across the river often. The Bourg family lived on the north side of the river and Claude Dugas lived on the south side beside the Boudrots.

Claude’s parents are not listed in the census which would lead me to surmise that they had both died, but I would be wrong.

In the 1700 census, we find Claude and his family living with his mother who is listed as head of household. Marguerite Doucet, widow of Abraham Dugast (no age given), Claude Dugast, 51, Marguerite Bourg (no age), Claude, 23, Francois, 12, Joseph, 2, Marguerite, 18, Anne, 17, Jeanne, 16, Agnes, 14, Madelaine, 11, Cecille, 8, Marguerite, 3. They have 3 guns, 40 cattle, 25 sheep, and live on 28 arpents of land.

They live between Bonaventure Terriot and Francois Aucoin on one side and Charles Melanson and Marguerite Martin, widow of Jean Bourg, on the other.

In the 1701 census, Claude is listed as 51, wife Marguerite, 30, Claude, 23, Francois, 13, Joseph, 2, Marguerite, 18, Anne, 14, Agnes, 13, Jeanne, 12, Marie, 11, Magdeleine, 10, Cecile, 9, They live on 12 arpents of land, have 3 guns, 20 cattle, 12 sheep, and 10 hogs.

They live beside Pierre Commeau and Germain Savoye on one side and Bernard Bourg flanked by Bonaventure Terriott and Francois Boudrot on the other. Louis Allain, who Allain (Alan) Creek is named for, lives beside Boudrot.

Karen Reader reports Stephen White citing that Claude is an armourer or gunsmith, like his father, as noted in his daughter Marguerite’s marriage record in 1701.

Dictionnaire Généalogique des Familles Acadiennes, Première Partie 1636-1714 – Stephen A. White – 2 vols., Moncton, New Brunswick: Centre d’Études Acadiennes, 1999 – p. 1156 Listed on daughter Marguerite DUGAS marriage contract (LOPPINOT) dated 11 Jan 1701 at Port Royal to be an “armurier.”

The Port Royal parish records don’t begin until 1702, so I’m curious where this record was found. I can’t locate it.

Claude Dugas is reported by researchers to be an armorer in the 1701 census as well, but Tim Hebert did not reflect that in his translation nor did I find it at the Canadian Archives Heritage site. This makes absolute sense, but needs confirmation. If anyone has a source or the documents, please let me know.

The 1703 census only provides the name of the head of household, if he has a wife and the number of boys and girls. Claude had 2 boys and 7 girls. One person in the houshehold is an arms-bearer. The family is listed beside Guillaume Blanchard and Germain Savoie on one side and Jacques Bonnevie and Jacques Michel on the other.

1705 Letter

This 1705 letter from Claude Dugas, found in the Acadian collection in the French archives, provides interesting information, including that Claude lived on his land for 60 years.

I asked ChatGPT to translate and transcribe this letter. If anyone can clarify either the translation or the meaning, please let me know. I’m all ears!

The named Claude Dugas
Heard in the council ordered by
an ordinance of the King’s prosecutor,
rendered on the fifth of March
that he and three other inhabitants
will have to transport a number of four men, the
King’s prosecutors of the country
on the 25th of October last,
in the arrest of the 24th of October in his
own name and by reading
and tending. What he has
he and his obliged the said
complainant to the said country. His
counterpart, he expects the amount
of the high mass and ill-treatment
of the parties and threats of the King.
To stop the bag and dispensation
Rousseau which passes in the middle.

of his lands which he has enjoyed
for sixty years fearing
that he might not make any ob.
threats he offered him payment
which is the currency of sales in
this country but the
prosecutor of the King never wanted
to receive it and he had to.
obliged to seek this money
in cash to satisfy him
which cost him a lot which
makes him a bad subject of
the country. The King does not pay
what he owes to the inhabitants except
in bills and above mentioned.

M. Lomag. T. Henry
begs to give order to the Capt. from
outside who must go to Acadia
to report what I have seen.

I don’t know if the last portion beginning with “M. Lomaq” is part of the Dugas entry or the beginning of the next one. I suspect it’s the following entry.

I sure would like to know what happened, and to better understand the meaning of this letter, including why it was written.

If indeed, Claude Dugas had lived on his land for 60 years, that meant he was also living on his father’s land. In 1705, Claude would have been about 55 or 56. He’s not even 60 years old. However, his father, Abraham was born about 1616, so this tells us that Abraham probably was living on this land in 1645, or even earlier. Maybe the letter-writer, assuming it actually was written on behalf of Claude, was trying to convey that Claude had lived his entire life on this land.

1707 – The Map Year

In the 1707 census in Port Royal, Claude Dugast is shown with his wife, 1 boy 14 or older, 2 younger boys, 2 girls 12 or older, and 4 younger girls. They live on 10 arpents of land with 30 cattle, 35 sheep, and 18 hogs. Claude has 3 guns.

They live beside Abraham Dugast, Vincent Terriot, and Francois Boudrot on one side and Alexandre Robicheau, La Libertie (aka Roy), and Charles Melanson on the other.

This Abraham Dugast is not his father, but his nephew, the son of his brother, Martin. He is reportedly the man labeled Grivois. Marais de grivois means swampland of grivois. You can see that it’s located just beneath his grandfather, Abraham’s land and not far from his uncle, Claude Dugas.

This amazing map was drawn in 1708 from the 1707 census.

It shows Claude Dugas’s land in detail, including which way his crops were growing and the path of the streams. He had significant holdings. You can also see his neighbor, Boudrot.

Zooming out, you can see Claude’s father-in-law, Bernard Bourg across the river, and then at left, what I believe is his father, Abraham, followed by what I believe is “armoire”.

Zooming out a little more, you can see the Melanson settlement at bottom right. Charles Melanson married Claude’s sister.

The provenance of the map is disheartening, though.

Port Royal was a lightning rod. It simply wasn’t safe. No one ever forgot what happened in 1690.

This could explain why Claude’s son, Claude Dugas, with wife Jeanne Bourg, is shown with 2 boys less than 14, 1 girl less than 12 on 6 arpents of land with 10 cattle, 7 sheep and 6 hogs in Cobequid.

He had left Port Royal for the next, hopefully safer, frontier.

Cobequid

Cobequid, now Masstown, was founded by the Bourg family and a few others. In 1707, there were two Dugas men married to Bourg females and one Bourg Male married to a Dugas female. Additionally, there were three other Bourg males and three other males married to Bourg females. Other surnames were familiar Acadian families: Blanchard, Theroit, Hebert, Guerin, Aucoin, Gautrot, and more.

Claude’s sons were responsible for founding the Dugas Village in Cobequid, very near the Bourg and Hebert Villages.

The Archaeology in Acadia Facebook group published the following:

What happened in 1707?

What fresh Hell was Claude living through?

Twice in 1707, the English tried to conquer Acadia. The French troops and Acadian men, assisted by the Wabanaki Confederacy, stymied their attempts, but it wasn’t without damage.

The first siege attempt began on June 6th and lasted 11 days. Inexperienced English commanders and their 1000 men could not land their cannons to fire upon the Acadian fort at Port Royal. Once again, Claude had front-row tickets.

As luck would have it, about 100 French soldiers were stationed at the fort, plus another 60 who were due to take command of a recently built frigate. Fortuitously, about 100 Abenaki Indians had arrived at the fort just hours earlier, a Native force that often defended Acadia. The local militia consisted of about 60 men and was quickly summoned.

The English attempted to form a siege line around the fort but were too distant. They marched towards the fort but wound up establishing camps about 1.5 miles (2.4 km) from the fort. Canadian Governor Subercase, whose horse had been shot out from under him the previous day, sent parties out of the fort to harass English foraging parties, giving rise to rumors that additional militia forces were en route from northern Acadia.

This map shows the approximate location of Claude Dugas’s homestead in relation to the fort.

The English departed, regrouped, and returned on August 22nd. This had given the Acadians time to prepare, and they were spitting mad. Luck was also with the Acadians. Pierre Morpain, a legendary French commander and pirate, or so-called privateer, arrived, adding his crew to the defenses, along with the “prize ships” and their cargo that he had captured. Those supplies were needed for the fort.

The English, now about 250 men less than in June, sailed into the bay on warships and dispatched 300 men to try to mount their cannons on land near the fort, but were unsuccessful. Subercase, now prepared, sent forces to harass them. Using guerrilla-style tactics and fire from the fort’s cannons, the English were forced to retreat to their camp

Nine English men were killed while cutting brush, whereupon their commander wrote that they were “surrounded with enemies and judging it unsafe to proceed on any service without a company of at least one hundred men.”

The English retreated to an unfortified camp protected by their ships, but even that didn’t work since the Acadians and Indians swarmed them with sniping attacks, probably appearing out of and disappearing into the marshes.

On the 31st, the English tried to make a second landing in a different location. Subercase himself led 120 soldiers out of the fort, where about 70 soldiers engaged the New Englanders in hand-to-hand combat. The Acadian men were outnumbered but relentless, wielding axes and musket butts.

The Abenaki leader and 20 of his men were wounded and five killed, but the English were cowed. They retreated onto their ships and high-tailed it back to Boston.

The French and Acadians, with their Indian friends, drove the English out of town and Acadia.

The Acadians and French, in their reports, claimed to have killed 200 English men, which would explain their rapid retreat, but the English claimed 16 killed and another 16 wounded.

The English were completely humiliated and embarrassed. They were met with jeers upon their arrival in Boston. Dudley’s commissioners were sarcastically called “the three Port Royal worthies” and “the three champions. Dudley pointed out that many plantations around Port Royal had been destroyed during the two sieges, so all was not a failure.

This assuredly could have meant Claude’s home and lands.

Claude would have been about 57 or 58. Being the feisty Acadian man that he assuredly was, I’m sure he was right there in the fort defending Port Royal along with the rest of the Acadian families. Still, I’m sure he dreaded starting over yet again.

According to the 1707 census, there were 102 married men in Port Royal. The English warships that had their butts whipped by French farmers returned to Boston among ridicule. Unfortunately for Acadia, all this did was strengthen the reserve of the English.

The Acadians had defended Port Royal and won the battle, but…

1710 brought the end of French rule in Acadia with the heartbreaking Siege of Port Royal, in which the French were overpowered and surrendered to the English.

This time, it was the English who were prepared. Despite requests for reinforcements, France did not send additional ships nor troops. They should have.

This 1710 map shows the details of the Riviere du Dauphin just west of the fort.

I suspect that today’s Ryerson Brook is the former Dugas Creek or River on the 1710 map, across from the Melanson Village.

This map showing the 1710 siege plan includes the Dugas habitation. The area looking like fields on the map is noted as “large areas of morrases that by draining and daming out the high tides have made a great part arable.”

The 1710 census shows Claude with his wife, 4 male children, and 3 female children living beside Francois Bodrot (Boudrot) on one side and the Allain family on the other.

Here’s a contemporary map showing the Melanson settlement, a red star by the Ryerson Brook, and Allain’s Creek.

I bet someone in Nova Scotia knows exactly where the old Dugas village was actually located. I wonder if wildflowers grow among the remnants of the foundation stones of their homes.

In 1714, Claude Dugas is listed with his wife, 4 sons, and 5 daughters. They live beside Bernard Bourg and Abraham Bourg on one side and Francois Dugas and De Laurier on the other.

The last census was taken in 1714. The English were now in charge, and no further censuses were taken. However, beginning in 1702, we have parish records that record births, marriages, and deaths.

In 1714, Claude would have been about 65 years old, and his wife, 40. They may have lost a child in 1714, as the previous child was born in 1712. Marguerite would bring their last child into the world in November of 1715 when Claude was about 66.

We know little about what happened in Claude’s world for the next several years except that he and Marguerite were raising his second family of children.

Claude’s Children

Claude’s children scattered throughout Acadia and his descendants, across the globe.

Child Birth Death Spouse Grandchildren
Marie Dugas C 1674 1733 Mines, Grand Pre Philippe Melanson c 1695 Grand Pre 11
Claude Dugas C 1577 Bef Nov. 1723 Cobequid Jeanne Bourg 1702 Grand Pre 5
Francoise Dugas C 1679 Aft 1751 prob after 1755 Rene Forest 1695 Port Royal 14
Joseph Dugas 1680 Port Royal, lived in Cobequid C 1765, St. Martinville, LA Claire Bourg 1699 Port Royal 12
Marguerite Dugas 1681 Beaubassin Bef 1729 Grand Pre Jean Melanson 1701 Port Royal 12
Anne Dugas C 1683 Port Royal Abt 1710 Cobequid Abraham Bourg 1704 Cobequid 3
Jeanne Dugas C 1684 Abt 1726 prob Niganiche (Ingonish) Pierre Part, 1707 Port Royal, lived in Louisbourg 6
Agnes Dugas C 1686 Aft Nov 1734 Port Royal Michel Thibodeau 1704 Port Royal 15
Francois Dugas C 1688 Aft 1734 Claire Bourg 1713 Port Royal 11
Madeleine Dugas C 1689 1766 Becancour, Quebec Jean Hebert 1704 Port Royal 14
Marie Dugas C 1691 Bet 1763 Maryland census and 1772 Richelieu, Quebec Abraham Bourg 1709, Claude Broussard 1754 Port Royal 12
Cecile Dugas C 1692 1760 Riviere-Ouelle, QuebecCanada Claude Brun 1709 Port Royal 13
Second Wife
Elisabeth Dugas 1697 Feb 1733 Port Royal, same day as her son Pierre Aubois 1717 Port Royal 7
Joseph Dugas 1700 Cobequid? Abt 1759 ? Marguerite Coste 1725 Port Toulouse, Isle Royal 3
Marguerite Dugas C 1702 C 1765, St. James Parish, LA Barthelemy Bergeron 1721 Port Royal 12
Louis Dugas 1703 1740 Port Royal Marie Josephe Girouard 1734 Port Royal 3
Claire Dugas 1706 Aft 1767, in Salem Mass in 1756 Charles Amireau or Amirault 1726 Port Royal 4
Marie Anne Dugas 1707 Mass 1755-1763, died 1772 Quebec City Charles Belleveau Oct 1732 Port Royal 9
Charles Dugas 1709 After Aug 1763 at either Fort Beausejour or in LA Anne Robichaud Jan 1732 Port Royal 9
Marie Dugas C 1711 Held hostage in Halifax 1763, Haiti 1765, died 1777 Cavabicey, LA Augustin Bergeron c 1729 4
Claude Dugas 1712 1786 Quebec City Marguerite Boudrot 1734 Port Royal 7
Michel Dugas 1715 1758 Mass, died 1801 Rimouski, Quebec Elisabeth Robichaud 1742 Port Royal 6

Claude is unusual in that he was literally begatting children for more than 40 years and had 22 children that we know of.

Amazingly, all 22 lived to marry and produce offspring.

His oldest child married about 1694 and blessed him with his first grandchild in 1696, about the same time he remarried to his second wife. He had grandchildren older than his younger set of children.

His daughter, Marie Anne, married on October 14, 1732, just two days before the priest penned Claude’s burial record.

All but three of his children married before his death, which is pretty remarkable given that his last child was born when he was 66.

We’re nearly certain that a few of his children died as infants or were stillborn, given the gaps in birth years.

Five of Claude’s adult children died before he did. None of them lived in Port Royal which would be renamed to Annapolis Royal in 1710, so while he probably heard about their deaths, he would not have been able to attend their funerals and celebrate their lives. Or mourn their deaths.

Two children died someplace in Acadia before the deportation. We don’t know what happened to four more, or where. An amazing 11 and probably 12 survived to the 1755 deportation. I don’t know if that was a blessing or not. I surely hope so, but I fear otherwise.

Of course, that gut-wrenching legendary expulsion was horrific. Rounded up like livestock, losing everything, watching your homes and farms burn as you were forcibly separated from your family and loaded onto ships, setting sail for destinations unknown.

Some of Claude’s children were themselves elderly by that time. Francoise would have been about 76, and Joseph was about 77. No spring chickens. Yet, Joseph lived another decade and died about 10 years later in St. Martinville, Louisiana. Sadly, we lose Francoise entirely.

Claude’s children were indeed scattered to the winds of fate.

We know that six eventually made it to Quebec, but that doesn’t mean they even knew their siblings were there. The locations were distant.

We know that Claire was in Massachusetts, but we don’t know anything else, so we should probably presume that she died there.

Three made it to Louisiana. I can’t help but think of Louisiana, then held by the Spanish, ironically, as the Acadian promised land, where the Acadian survivors, at least some of them, gathered and reunited once again.

Charles either died at Fort Beausejour on the Isthmus of Chigneco, where his family was held, or in Louisiana, where some of his children later found refuge. Fort Beausejour, near Fort Lawrence, was where the families from Beaubassin were imprisoned.

Marie and her family were held hostage in Halifax where they were listed as such in 1763, then shipped to Haiti where we find them in 1765, then found their way to Louisiana where she died in 1777. I wonder if she was able to connect with any of her siblings or their children.

What an incredibly joyful reunion that would have been – but oh, the heartache of not knowing the fate of your family members.

For Claude’s children, their days in Acadia, even though they were difficult and fraught with challenges, would turn out to be the good old days. At least they were together. At least they knew if each other was alive.

Claude had an amazing 192 known grandchildren. Assuredly, there were more, especially by his younger children who were still actively having children in 1755 when Le Grand Derangement began, and their lives went up in smoke. It’s a sure bet that Claude had more than 200 grandchildren and quite possibly quite a few more than 200.

The Genealogy Sin

Claude committed one of the great sins of genealogy – he named children with both wives the exact same name. The children probably had nicknames, and they may have had middle names when they were baptized, but since many were born before the existing church records kick in, we have no way of knowing.

I guess both wives wanted a daughter named Marie – but it’s even worse than that. EACH WIFE had two daughters named Marie. Seriously. At least one of them was named Marie Anne.

I guess if you called Marie, either four people answered or no one answered.

There were two sons named Claude, two named Joseph and two daughters named Marguerite too. There was Anne and Marie Anne, but do you call that poor girl Marie or Anne because she already has siblings by both names?

Only 11, or half of the children, didn’t have a duplicate name with a sibling.

Good Heavens!

Claude’s Death

It’s difficult to mourn the death of a man who was in his late 80s or maybe even 90 and had survived so very much to die as an old man surrounded by his family. I think of it more as the final chapter of a well-worn and much-loved book closing.

Claude was able to watch all of his children grow to adulthood, at least the ones who survived beyond infants. His parents lived to be elderly as well. He visited the cemetery less often than his contemporaries, despite having more children. In that respect, he was a very fortunate man.

He probably narrowly escaped death more than once himself, but escape he did.

He did bury his first wife and perhaps a baby with her, which had to have stabbed him in the heart.

Still, he had to go on because animals needed to be fed, crops needed to be sewed and harvested, and there was no time for lingering grief after the funeral.

Claude died and was buried in the cemetery by the church in Port Royal, as shown on this 1686 map, on October 16, 1732. He was approximately 86 (one translation says 90) years old, which means that he was born about 1646 – or perhaps as early as 1642.

Just two days before his death, his daughter, Marie Anne, had married Charles Belleveau, spelled Belivau in the record. I checked to see if Claude had been a witness, but he was not. I do wonder if the priest performed the marriage at Claude’s home so that he could be in attendance, presuming he was frail.

Of course, Claude might not have been frail or ill at all. He could have been healthy right up until the end.

Claude’s burial entry from the registers of St. Jean-Baptiste, the parish church in Annapolis Royal, reads:

L’an mil sept cents trente deux et le sesieme
de octobre je — soussigné ay inhumé
dans le cemitiere du le paroisse de St. Jean
Baptiste Claude Dugast agé ? quatre
vingt-six ans. Le que a donné les marque ?
bon chrestien.

Jacque La Lache missionnaire

Google translation:

The year one thousand seven hundred and thirty two and the sixteenth
of October, by the undersigned priest has been buried
in the cemetery of the parish of St-jean
Baptiste Claude Dugast aged around four
twenty and ten years the quey gave marks of a
good christian

jacque lessclache missionary

Dugas Village

When you have 22 children and upwards of 200 grandchildren, and you live on land adjacent to your father and brothers – it’s no wonder that you wind up having a village named after your family.

The location of the Dugas Village is still shown on this 1741 map, as are the Fort and Allen’s Mill, seen at far bottom right.

I can’t help but wonder if the crosses are chapels, but there seem like an awful lot of crosses for that if you view the larger map.

A 1757 map shows the Dugas Village as Ryersonville, which today either is or is near Upper Clements, or Clementsport, an English settlement founded after Clements Township was set out in 1784. The early name for the community was Ryersonville after early settlers.

I love MapAnnapolis, and I mean LOVE in all caps. They have a wonderful Facebook page, here, where I found this detailed description of the location of both Abraham and Claude’s land. Hallelujah!!!

The rail trail cuts through this land, which means visitors today can drive down the Evangeline Highway or ride or hike the trail, which is located closer to the coastline.

Claude may be gone, buried in an unmarked grave in the churchyard, and his village dissipated after the Acadian removal in 1755 – but he still lives on in the memory and DNA of his descendants.

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Françoise Dugas (1679-after 1751): Goodbye Port Royal – 52 Ancestors #426

Françoise was born about 1679 in Port Royal, the daughter of Claude Dugas and Françoise Bourgeois.

The first record we find of Françoise Dugas is the 1686 census, where she is living with her parents and seven siblings on eight arpents of land in Port Royal, on the peninsula of what is now Nova Scotia. They have 25 head of cattle, 9 sheep, and 11 hogs. She is 8 years old. The family is doing well.

It looks like they may be living near or even in the Melancon/Melanson Settlement, today a historic site, given that in the census, they are living beside Charles Melancon who has married Marie Dugas, a sibling to Claude.

The 1690 Upheaval

In 1690, Françoise was about 10 years old, give or take a year.

Warfare between England and France on the soil of Acadia was just the way life was. An odd form of normal. Always on edge. Always watchful but at the same time carrying out the routines of everyday life. Everyday life is what fed your family. Protecting your farm enabled you to feed your family. The English were always trying to take Acadia, and then the French were always trying to take it back. Rinse and repeat.

Having reverted to French control in 1670, English warships attacked Acadia once again in May of 1690, surprising the unprepared Acadians.

Before approaching the town, William Phips, the fleet’s commander, made contact with Pierre Melanson dit Laverdure, a bilingual French Huguenot. Phips determined the town’s condition, then weighed anchor and sailed further into the bay and up to the town, today’s Annapolis Royal, where the fort was located.

Given where they lived, Françoise would have seen the huge ships passing by. Was she fascinated or terrified?

Fort Anne, which normally stood sentry over the town and harbor, was being torn down and rebuilt. Less than 70 French soldiers were in the garrison, 42 of whom were absent at that time. The French couldn’t defend themselves and surrendered.

After the surrender, the English breached the surrender terms, plundered and burned the town and fort, and desecrated the church after promising they wouldn’t.

In Phips own words, “We cut down the cross, rifled the Church, pulled down the High-Altar, breaking their images,” and on May 23rd, “kept gathering Plunder both by land and water, and also under ground in their Gardens.”

Clearly, the English meant business and behaved in an incredibly cruel manner – unlike the style of warfare the Acadians had been used to in the past. 28 homes and the church succumbed to flames, but the mills and upriver farms were spared, whatever “upriver” meant. Was the Dugas home burned? I would guess that it was, given that we know they lived near the fort and town.

Many Acadians hid in the forest. Françoise may well have been among them. Phips threatened them, and fearing slaughter, they came out of the woods and returned to their homes.

Following the devastation, the English required a loyalty oath to the English King. Phips ordered that his soldiers “burn, kill and destroy” anyone who refused to take and sign the oath.

Men signed out of self-preservation. Françoise’s father, Claude Dugas, and her future husband, René Forest, both signed. They had little choice if they wanted to keep their farms, livestock, and their lives – or whatever of that was left.

Françoise witnessed all of this as a young child.

Later Censuses

Changes from the 1686 to the 1693 census may well have resulted from the English burning so many homes in 1690 and the subsequent pirate attacks that resulted in more devastation.

In 1693, Françoise was 14 and is listed in the census with her parents and her elderly grandparents, Abraham Dugast and Marguerite Doucet, on 26 arpents of land – quite a bit more than in 1686. She now has 10 siblings. The family owns 4 guns but only owned one 7 years earlier and has 20 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 pigs. This is clearly a combined household. In the 1686 census, her grandparents had been living alone.

In 1697, the French once again took control of Acadia.

The next census in which Françoise appears is 1698, after she married René Forest. His age is listed as 28, and hers as 20, which, based on their children’s ages, means she married at about 17 in about 1695. Daughter Marie is 2, and Marguerite is 1. They are doing well, especially for a young couple, with 18 cattle, 22 sheep, and 2 hogs. Unlike before, the census lists 40 fruit trees, and her husband owns 2 guns.

Five years later, in 1701, Françoise, now 22, has two more children: Marie is 5, Marguerite is 4, Joseph is 3, and Francois is 1. They farm 6 arpents of land, have 1 gun, 23 cattle, 18 sheep, and 3 hogs.

Two years later, in 1703, they reportedly have 4 sons and 4 daughters with one arms-bearer, who is clearly René.

In 1707, they had 4 males under 14, 2 girls less than 12, 8 arpents of land, 14 cattle, 24 sheep, and 15 hogs. They also had one gun.

In 1714, the last census, which, unlike the others, was ordered by the English, they had 10 children, 5 boys and 5 girls. Very little information is contained in the census, probably due to what happened in 1711,

Acadia Falls

In our mind’s eye, we see a peaceful census taker visiting each farm, climbing out of his canoe, waving as he approaches the house, and chatting with his neighbors. That belies what was actually going on in Acadia during this entire time. Acadia was never peaceful.

For example, let’s look at what happened in 1711 that clearly affected all of the Acadians.

Françoise Dugas’s aunt, Madeleine Dugas (1664-1738) married Germain Bourgeois (1650-1711) about 1682 in Port Royal. By 1686, they were living in Beaubassin with the other Bourgeois family members, who had created a village there.

The men from this village, eventually called Bourgeois Village, visited Port Royal from time to time. Among other reasons, their family members lived there.

On September 24, 1710, the English once again attacked Port Royal with 5 warships and 3400 troops. The Acadians, with 300 soldiers, which consisted of all able-bodied men, stood absolutely no chance. A siege began. The English blockaded Port Royal. Battles ensued for the next month, but on October 12th, the beleaguered Acadians surrendered. The British allowed the soldiers, which would have assuredly included René Forest and the rest of the Acadian men, to surrender the fort and leave, with their flag flying,

One of the terms of surrender stated that inhabitants within cannon-shot, 3 English miles, could stay for 2 years. This meant they had two years to move their “moveable items” to a French territory, which at that time was any of the rest of Acadia, including the Minas Basin. 481 Acadians pledged allegiance to the Queen of England, and the French troops left Port Royal, now renamed by the English to Annapolis Royal.

It would always be Port Royal to the Acadians.

450 English soldiers remained, but they clearly didn’t want to be there. By June of 1711, only 100 were left – the rest having either deserted or died.

By Verne Equinox – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10531352

On June 21st, a contingent of British soldiers was ambushed and killed at “Bloody Creek,” upriver about 15 miles, and ironically, where René Forest’s Village would later be drawn on a map.

Sixteen British were killed, 9 injured, and the rest captured, supposedly by the Mi’kmaq – although the Indians and Acadians were very closely allied.

About this same time, Acadians Guillaume Bourgeois, Jean Comeau, and Pierre LeBlanc of Annapolis, Germain Bourgeois of Beaubassin, and Francois Brassard of Chipody (who were passing through Annapolis) were arrested, reportedly for capturing a British soldier.

A descendant reports that Germain was held in the subterranean Black Hole at Fort Anne, originally a powder magazine, for several weeks. While his son, Guillaume, and the others were released, Germain died as a result. I can’t even begin to fathom that torture.

Writ large, we don’t know the outcome of this incident, but I decided to see if I could locate any corroborating evidence. As it turns out, the parish death records provide a clue.

Germain Bourgeois 1711 death

The priest, Father Durand, had been kidnapped and taken to Boston in January 1711, so deaths during his absence were not recorded on the day that they occurred. Nonetheless, we find that the priest later entered a burial record for Germain Bourgeois and the others who had perished during this time. “Died 1711, died during Durand’s captivity at Boston.”

A Bourgeois book by Paul-Pierre Bourgeois, page 72, states that Germain “d 1711, Port Royal, en prison comme hôtage du serment d’àllégence (61a)”. This translates into something like “he died in prison as a hostage for the oath of allegiance.”

To add insult to injury, without a priest, there was no one to perform the traditional Catholic Mass for Germain. The family would have made do, somehow, and buried him in the cemetery near his parents, who had died just a few years earlier – if they were able to have a funeral at all.

Françoise would have attended whatever service they had, standing by her mother and aunt who had children ranging in age from 28 to the baby, who was just three.

He died for being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and Acadian. There was no evidence he had been involved in the capture of the soldier.

Organizing the Census Data

The only avenue we have to discern birth dates of individuals born before parish records began is to correlate their ages across multiple census years. That’s also how we determine how many children were born to a family.

Françoise is with her parents in 1686 and 1693, but married before the 1698 census.

Family Member Birth Year 1686 1693 1698 1701 1703 1707 1714
Françoise Dugas 1679 6 – born 1680 14 – born 1679 20 – born 1678 22 – born 1679 4F & 4M 4M<14, 2F<12 5F & 5M

 

Rene Forest 1670 28 31
Marie Forest 1696 2 born 1696 5 F1 F1 F1
Marguerite Forest 1697 1 born 1697 4 F2 F2 F2
Joseph Forest 1698 3 born 1698 M1 M1 M1
Francois Forest 1700 1 born 1700 M2 M2 M2
Unknown male Forest 1701 M3 gone
Unknown male Forest 1701/2 M4 gone
Unknown female Forest 1702/3 F3 gone
Unknown female Forest 1702/3 F4 gone gone
Mathieu Rene Forest Jan 1704 M3 M3
Jacques Forest June 1707 M4 M4
Marie Madeleine Forest June 1709 F3
Elisabeth Forest 1710 F4
Unknown male Forest 1711/2 M5
Catherine Josephe Forest May 1713 F5
Anne Forest May 1715
Pierre Forest July 1717
Jean Pierre Forest July 1719
Space for child Forest 1721
Charles Forest Oct 1723

The number of children listed in the census, especially in 1703 is confusing. If they had four named children with ages listed in 1701, two males and two females –  how did they have 8 children, four of each, two years later?

Four years later, in 1707, they had six children, but we know that children died often.

I suspect 1703 is simply wrong, or someone else’s children were counted as theirs that day. Unfortunately, 1703 doesn’t include the children’s names and ages.

As best we can tell, Françoise had at least 15 children, probably 18 and possibly 20. We only know the names of 13. We know for sure that four died as children, and another four may have died as adults before Françoise.

After their marriage, René and Françoise have the following resources listed in the census.

Item 1698 1701 1707
Arpents of land 16 6 8
Fruit Trees 40
Cattle 18 12 14
Sheep 22 18 24
Hogs 2 3 15
Guns 2 1 1

It’s interesting that in 1698, they have 16 arpents of land under cultivation and 40 fruit trees. Almost every family has fruit trees listed. Champlain’s men brought apple seeds with them in 1605, and by 1633, trees were planted in the Annapolis Valley.

In 1701, less land is listed, and no fruit trees – but neither are fruit trees listed for any other family. Maybe that accounts for the difference in the amount of land under cultivation, too. No fruit trees are listed in 1707 either, so 1698 provides us with a special glimpse of life in Acadia.

Françoise’s Children?

Like most women of that era, Françoise spent most of her adult life caring for her husband and children. Life, especially life with children, required a partnership between two people. One worked the fields and took care of things, literally, outside the house, and the other bore and nursed the children, made clothes, cooked, and kept the household in order. Families were large, in part due to the lack of modern birth control and the tenets of the Catholic church, combined with the need for children to become “hands” to help their parents.

Children raised in a farm culture looked forward to being old enough to help in some capacity. Being permitted to do different chores were rites of passage.

Marie de Forest was born about 1696, died Feb 1, 1770, in Montreal, Quebec, married Joseph Robichaud (Robichaux) (c 1794-1768) on Feb 7, 1718, in Port Royal, and had 9 children.

Marie Forest Robichaux marriage

Marguerite Forest was born about 1697 (per the 1698 census) and died May 27, 1747 in Port Royal, about 47 years old (per her death record). Witnesses were Claude Bourgeois and Francois Forest, her brother, and she was buried the following day.

She married on January 19, 1724 to Pierre Bastarache (1702-1751) and had 6 children. The last child was born in 1738 when she would have been 41 years old.

One of her sons, Michel Bastarche, was deported to SC with his brother, but they returned to Acadia quickly by 1756. He died there at age 89. Apparently, his two sisters remained in Acadia.

Joseph Forest was born about 1698, died January 10, 1732 in Port Royal, aged about 32, married Marie Jeanne Guillebaud (1701-1763) on November 25, 1720 and had 4 children. His wife remarried in 1737 to Francois Girouard and had two additional children. She was buried on November 27, 1763 in Cherbourg, Manche, Normandy.

Joseph Forest Guilbaud 1720 marriage

On July 6, 1723, Marie Joseph Forest was born to Joseph Forest and Marie Guilbaud with godparents Charles Guilbaud, father of Marie Guilbaud, and her grandmother, Françoise Dugas, mother of Joseph Forest.

Francois de Forest was born about 1701, died October 22, 1777 and was buried two days later at L’Assomption, Quebec, Canada, aged about 77. He married Jeanne Girouard (1709-1767) on October 20, 1727, age 26, with witnesses Alexandre Girouard, Antoine Blanchard, René Forest and Pierre Le Blanc, son of the late Pierre Le Blanc. They had 9 children.

1701/1702 child or children unknown

Parish records in Port Royal begin in 1702. Four years between children tells us that a child was born about 1702 and died.

The first child whose birth is recorded in the church records is Mathieu.

Mathieu René Forest was born January 11, 1704, and was baptized on April 20th with godparents Mathieu de Goutin, lieutenant general of this province, and Renee Bertrant dit de Forest (who is this person?). Is the name Bertrant a clue to a different surname and is Forest entirely a dit name?

Forest Mathieu 1704 birth

Mathieu married on January 19, 1728, to Marie Madeleine Guilbeau (born 1712) with witnesses René Forest, Joseph Forest, brother of the groom, Jacques Forst, son of the said René Forest and brother of the groom, Charles Guilbaut, and Charles Guilbaut, the son, brother of the bride. They had two known children, born in 1728 and 1740. He appeared on the 1763 census of Connecticut.

Jacques Forest was born June 21, 1707 and baptized on July 19th in Port Royal with godparents Sieur de Teinville, lieutenant of a company and Jeanne Dugast, wife of La Forest.

He married on January 25, 1734, to Marie Josephe LePrince (born in 1715) with wintesses Claude Granger, Pierre Lanoue, Ambroise Beliveau, René Forest, Pierre Granger.

Jacques Forest and his family were deported to Connecticut in 1755 where he appears on the 1763 census.

Marie Madeleine (Magdelaine) Forest was born June 30, 1709, and was baptized on July 3rd with godparents Francois Dugast and Magdelaine Dugast, wife of Jean Hebert.  She married Pierre Guilbeau (1704-1758) on January 21, 1731, with witnesses Charles Guilbaut, son of Charles Guilbaut, brother of the groom, Alexandre Guilbaut, son of Charles Guilbaut, brother of the groom, René Forest and Jacques Forest, his son.

Forest Marie Madeleine Guilbaut 1731 marriage

She died on March 27, 1758, the day after Easter, in Quebec, age 48, and was buried the next day in Bellechassse. Her husband and three children died in the same week. Her son, Jean-Baptiste, age 16, died the same day as his mother. Her husband died 9 days later, on April 5, 1758. Joseph died three days before his father, on April 2nd, about age 7, and Ursule, 14 years old, died the day after her father, on April 6th. What an incredibly grief-filled week. I wonder what took the family and if neighbors were dying, too. I can’t imagine being the two barely adult children left and having to deal with the magnitude of this loss. 

Elisabeth (sometimes Isabel) Forest was born about 1710 and died on September 12, 1767 in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec. She married under the name of Isabelle to Honore LePrince (1717 – c 1756), son of Jean Le Prince and Jeanne Blanchard on November 24, 1738, in Port Royal with witnesses René Forest, father of the bridge, Jean Le Prince, father of the groom, Pierre Forest, Paul Blanchard, Joseph Le Prince.

Forest Isabelle LePrince 1738 marriage

They had two known children. Their daughter, Marie Jeanne Victoire, married Francois Cornier in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec, on January 7, 1760, so they were there by then. Another daughter married another Cormier male in the same place in 1771.

Catherine Josephe Forest was born on May 17, 1713 in Port Royal and was baptized the same day with godparents Claude Girouard and Isabelle Broussard.

She married Claude Gaudet (1713-1786) on August 18, 1737 with witnesses René Forest, father of the bride, Bernard Godet, father of the groom, Pierre Forest, Paul Blanchard, Isabelle Forest and Madelene Tibaudot.

Forest Catherine Josephe Godet 1737 marriage

They had 8 known children. Some may have been born after the deportation. This family is on the list of Refugees at Camp L’Esperance in 1756 and 1757. They are at Fort Edward in 1761/1762 with three in their household and settled at St-Jacques-de-Cabahannocer, Louisiana.

Karen Theriot Reader reports that Catharine Josephe died in Louisiana, and her name is recorded on the Acadian memorial Wall of Names where she is listed along with Claude and one child as early Acadian immigrants to Louisiana. Two of their children are known to have died in Louisiana, but the balance are unknown. She does not appear on the January 1, 1777 census at St. James, LA, but Claude died there before May 2, 1786.

Anne Forest was born May 3, 1715, and was baptized the following day with godparents Claude Brossard and Marie Forest.

She married on January 25, 1740, to Joseph LePrince (1719-1781) in Port Royal, son of Jean LePrince and Jeanne Blanchard, with witnesses René Forest, Jean Le Prince, and Simon Le Blanc. He died on May 24, 1781, in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec, aged 62.

Forest Anne LePrince 1740 marriage

This family escaped the deportation by fleeing to Miramichi in New Brunswick. Her husband and children are noted on the passenger list in Quebec in July 1757, but Anne is not. Anne had died by the time her daughter, Marie-Joseph, born in October 1753 in Port Royal, died in Quebec on January 5, 1758, and probably died during their time in Miramichi.

Pierre Forest was born July 10, 1717 and was baptized provisionally by Claude Teriot. On August 1st he was baptized by the priest in Port Royal with godparents Guillaume Blanchard and Jeanne Richard.

Forest Pierre 1717 baptism

He married on June 30, 1744 to Marie Madeleine Richard (1718-1761) in Port Royal with witnesses René Forest, Prudent Robichaux, Etienne Robicheaux, Simon Richard, and Joseph Richard.

According to the Belle-Ile-en-Mer depositions, he died in 1750 inthe Memramcouk village of Beaubassin.

Jean Pierre de Forest was born July 22, 1719, and was baptized the next day in Port Royal with godparents Francois de Forest and Agnes Godet.

Forest Jean Pierre 1719 baptism

On November 11, 1743, he married Anne Richard (born in 1720) with witnesses René Forest, Bruno Robicheaux, Simon Richard and Joseph Richard.. He was listed in 1763 in the Connecticut census.

Space for 1721 child – unknown

Charles Forest was born On October 23, 1723 and baptized the next day in Port Royal.

Forest Charles 1723 birth

He married on May 10, 1745 to Marie Chaisson in Beaubassin, Acadia, but was then married about 1746 to Marie Josephe Poirier, with whom he had 5 known children. In 1763, he was listed on the Fort Beauséjour census. In 1792, he married again to Marie Josephe Girouard. Karen Reader shows his death in 1805 in Menoudie, Cape Breton, at age 82.

There is significant confusion surrounding two men by the same name – see here.

What Happened to Françoise’s Children?

We have some information about what happened to Françoise’s children by the time the deportation occurred.

The more we are able to learn about the destination of her children and where they eventually wound up, the more hints about where Françoise may have eventually been laid to rest.

Keep in mind that known children does not necessarily equate to all children, especially not for grandchildren born in remote locations in Acadia, or after deportation. Many were simply “lost.”

Child Spouse Death Known Children Deportation
Marie b 1696 Joseph Robichaud m 1718 1770 Pointe-aux-Trembles, Montreal, Quebec 9 Some of her children went to MA, some were prisoners at Halifax, NS, until 1763, and some settled in LA.
Marguerite b 1697 Pierre Bastarache m 1724 May 1747 Port Royal 9 Some children to New Brunswick, others to Clare and Pubnico, NS
Joseph b 1698 Marie Guilbeau m 1720 Jan 1732 Port Royal 4 Some children to Quebec
Francois b 1700 Jeanne Girouard m 1727 Oct 1777 L’Assomption, Province de Québec 9 Some children to MA, CT, Quebec, lower Canada near Montreal
Mathieu Rene b Jan 1704 Madeleine Guilbeau m 1728 Before 1777 Louisiana Unknown CT but left during the Rev War following loyalists back to Canada – this person uncertain
Jacques b June 1707 Marie Josephe Le Prince m 1734 Unknown 9 Deported to CT, one child to l’Acadie, Quebec, the rest still lost
Marie Madeleine b June 1709 Pierre Guilbeau m 1731 Mar 1758 in St-Charles, Bellechasse, Canada 8 Husband + 3 children died the same week she did. One child in New Brunswick and others in Quebec.
Elisabeth b 1710 Honoré Le Prince m 1738 Sept 1767 Bécancour, Québec 5 Some to Quebec and others to Lower Canada near Montreal
Catherine Josephe b 1713 Claude Gaudet m 1737 Louisiana after 1763 8 Escaped to Camp d’Esperance on the Miramichi, only one child survived, after 1763 went to Louisiana.
Anne b May 1715 Joseph (Le) Prince m 1740 Between Oct 1753 and Jan 1758, probably in Miramichi with 3 of her children 7 Escaped to Miramichi in New Brunswick, then to Quebec.
Pierre b Jul 1717 Marie Madeleine Richard m 1744 July 1750 Memramcouk, Beaubassin Unknown
Jean Pierre b Jul 1719 Anne Richard m 1743 After 1763, probably CT Unknown Deported to CT and listed on 1763 census.
Charles b Oct 1723 Marie Chaisson 1745, Marie Josephe Poirier 1746, Marie Josephe Girouard 1790 About 1805 Menoudie, Nova Scotia 6 or 7 Memramcock, then Restigouche, then Chedaik, Point Beausejour. In 1761 Gaspe Refugees. 1763 Fort Beausejouir. Menoudie later.

Françoise had at least 75 grandchildren and probably several more. Unless they were exiled in the same location that she was, she would never have known about any born after the summer of 1755. Furthermore, she would have grieved the absence of every one of these sweet souls. They were ripped away from her. Grandchildren are the light in the life of grandmothers, and hers were gone. She probably prayed every single day for them and that their separation would not be forever.

Many of the deported Acadians never accepted that they weren’t one day going back home

Two of Françoise Dugas’s grandchildren were documented in depositions on Belle-Ile-sur-Mer in France in 1766 and 1767 after deportation. Marie, the daughter of Pierre Richard and Marie Girouard, married Pierre Forest. Her sister, Anne. married Jean Forest.

Françoise’s family was literally tossed to the winds, with leaves falling across the globe. 

Godmother

After the 1714 census, information about Françoise is sparse but some information is found in the Catholic parish registers.

On what must have been an incredibly joyful day, Françoise Dugas stood as the godmother for her first grandchild, a boy, Prudent Robichaux (also spelled Robicheau and Robichaud), born to her eldest daughter, Marie, on Monday, December 19, 1718.

She was probably present for the child’s birth too.

The original parish records were recopied once, above, and they are much more legible than the original below. I always check both. Sometimes whoever made the copy can make out words in the original that I can’t.

Robichaux Prudent 1718 original

Françoise Dugas was mistakenly noted as the wife of René Robichaux instead of René Forest, but it’s clear who was meant. There is no René Robichaux or similar spelling in the St. Jean-Baptiste parish records between 1702 and 1755.

Forest, Marie Josephe 1723 baptism

On Tuesday, July 6, 1723, Françoise stood as the godmother for Marie Josephe Forest, her son Joseph’s first daughter, where she is noted as Joseph’s mother.

Fortunately, the Nova Scotia Archives records are indexed by the name of the primary individuals, meaning those who are being buried, baptized or married. Unfortunately, there’s no every-name index published, even though the individual record transcriptions do show that information.

If we were to check the baptismal records for Françoise’s grandchildren born in Port Royal, beginning with the ones born closest to the 1755 deportation date and working backward, we might discover more instances of her serving as Godmother.

1755 – The Final Battle

You might think that Françoise’s final battle was death, but in this case, it wasn’t.

The final battle was the horrific genocidal eviction of the Acadian people from their homelands in 1755. At least all of the Acadians that the English could find.

By 1755, Acadia reached throughout most of Nova Scotia, stretching entirely across the peninsula from Pubnico through Port Royal, past Halifax, northeast past Louisbourg, and back to the Les Mines basin, including Truro, Grand Pre, and Beaubassin.

The English were determined to take Acadia once again. Not just to oversee or rule the land but literally to “take” all of the land and property, evicting, removing, and essentially robbing the Acadian people of all of their belongings. Their intent was to settle English families who would, of course, be much easier to control.

If Acadian lives were lost in the process – so what.

Ships were sent to round up and forcibly deport the Acadians. No effort was made to keep families together, either on ships or relative to their final destinations.

Many were sent to the colonies, but the colonies weren’t prepared, and some rejected shiploads of destitute people.

For many families, the only connecting glue is if someone was baptized in Acadia and some two decades later, is once again found in the parish records elsewhere, say, Louisiana or Quebec, for example.

My ancestors either died or made it to Quebec, south of Montreal. Many families were simply never heard from again.

Several overloaded ships headed back to ports in Europe, and some sank en route.

Where was Françoise? Was she alive? Where did she go? Was she entirely separated from her family? Did she ever see any of them again?

Françoise’s Death

Françoise died sometime after October 12, 1723, when she stood as godmother. That much we know for sure. She was about 43 then and could certainly have lived many more years.

Françoise may still have been alive when René died and was buried in Port Royal on April 20, 1751. She would have been about 70.

His burial record in Port Royal indicates that two sons and a son-in-law were witnesses on his burial entry: Claude Godet, Mathieu Forest, and François Forest. That tells us that at least these three children were still living in Port Royal, although they would be separated during the deportation 4 years later.

Rene Forest 1751 burial

It doesn’t say he’s the widower of Françoise Dugas, although it does mention her, so she may have outlived him. If so, that means she also outlived at least four of her adult children, plus the ones who died young.

There’s no death record for Françoise before the deportation, Le Grand Dérangement, which probably means she was rounded up and deported at 75 or 76 years of age.

Let’s hope that she managed to get on a ship with at least one of her children.

How her heart must have ached for the children and grandchildren who would disappear into the mists of time, ghosts on other ships, screaming across the water until their voices could no longer be heard. Frantic outstretched arms.

Mémère!

Mémère!

Grandchildren she would only reunite with in the hereafter. She probably heard them in her nightmares, still screaming for her – unable to reach them.

The church where her entire spiritual life had been spent – joys and sorrows – elation as a bride, and tears as she buried those dear to her heart, including that groom more than half a century later. Now, simply disappearing as she could see it behind the fort and garrison, an ever-smaller dot and spire on the horizon, slipping away.

René’s grave – those of her parents, brothers, sisters, their children, her children, and, yes, grandchildren too. The grave where she was supposed to rest beside her beloved family members for eternity. She would never rest in peace now.

There would be no comfort. No peace ever again.

If Françoise lived to see this horrific day, she slowly sailed out of sight of everything she had ever known – into the yawning jaws of the inky abyss. I hope she didn’t realize…but in my heart, I know that that she did.

Goodbye, Port Royal.

_____________________________________________________________

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Martin Aucoin (1595-after 1633), Carpenter, Survived the Siege of La Rochelle – 52 Ancestors #425

Martin Aucoin lived in a time of great upheaval in France. Somehow, he survived a religious war, or more precisely stated, wars. He may or may not have made the trip from France to Acadia, today’s Nova Scotia. Whether he died in France, arrived in Acadia, or died trying, he was one of the founding fathers through his two daughters, Michelle and Jeanne Aucoin.

Laleu

Par Patrick Despoix — Travail personnel, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32678016

Martin Aucoin was baptized on August 26, 1595, at Saint-Pierre de Laleu, a church that now lies in ruins.

Par Remi Jouan — Photo taken by Remi Jouan, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8657028

The priest scribed the record of his baptism for posterity. We would find it more than 400 years later.

Martin Aucoin’s 1595 baptism is recorded in Latin, found in La Charente Maritime archives, here.

I don’t read Latin, and certainly not Latin written in 16th-century French script. ChatGPT 4.0 came to my rescue, though.

Transcription:

Die 26 aprilis Anno Domini 1595 Martinus Aucoin filius Martini Aucoin et Barbelleae parochiam Dieslis in Xra fuit sacro sancto baptizatus receptus ab aquae et spiritu sancto abbas mae Joannes Godardus capellaniae S. Johannis in hunc anima

Translation:

On the 26th day of April in the Year of Our Lord 1595 Martin Aucoin, son of Martin Aucoin and Barbelle of the parish of Dieslis in Christ was received into holy baptism by water and the Holy Spirit by Father Joannes Godardus, chaplain of St. John’s in this parish.

Others have interpreted his first name to have been Martinus, the Latin form of Martin, and the surname to have been written as Aucoing. His mother’s name has been interpreted as Suzanne Barboteau.

Unfortunately, the first remaining parish records from this church begin in 1593, although the church itself was much older. It was built in the 12th century, partially rebuilt in the 15th century, half ruined at the end of the 16th century, and restored in 1592 – hence the reason why there weren’t earlier records. The bell tower was restored in the 17th century.

Given the church’s ruined state before 1593, the Aucoin family would have attended services and had their religious needs attended to in another nearby community before this church’s restoration. This strongly suggests that Martin’s family lived in or very near Laleu.

Cousin Mark, who provided this information, also discovered that Lalau is shown on the siege map of La Rochelle from 1627-1628 in Guy Perron’s wonderful blog.

Laleu is shown on the map of the siege to the left. Today, Laleu is part of La Rochelle, although sadly, we were not able to visit the ruins during our recent trip.

The tower and some walls remain, along with the cemetery.

Today’s streets are probably just paved versions of the old cobblestone pathways for donkeys and carts that drew fruits and vegetables to market and supplies back home again when Martin’s family lived there.

Walking along the Rue Notre Dame, the “street” adjacent to the church appears to be an alley, but it’s not.

You can see the centuries of history carved into the mortar and stones of the old buildings, still in use today. Calling this a one lane street is being generous. Note the very small car in the distance.

Some of the little “streets’, like the Rue de Rambouillet, are only large enough for a person.

In even earlier history, before the 1100s, soldiers from the Gallo-Roman empire established ports on the peninsula where Laleu and La Rochelle are found and harvested salt from the salt marshes.

That history was probably forgotten by the time Martin’s parents took their infant child to be baptized, likely the day of or the day after his birth, as was the custom.

I can see Martin’s parents standing inside the church, facing the chancery, as baby Martin was anointed with Holy Water and baptized by the priest – the words of the ritual spoken in Latin, of course.

I wonder if his parents understood Latin. They had surely witnessed hundreds of baptisms.

The ghost of the pillars that would have supported the gabled archways soaring overhead.

The baptismal font was probably towards the front of the church, perhaps near the altar or maybe in one of the side chapels.

Beautiful stained glass windows would have graced the openings, radiating their colorful rays across the church and perhaps baby Martin as well, a blessing message from the sun.

Today, only one side of the church partially remains, along with the rear wall that appears to be stabilized by the bell tower.

Martin and his parents would probably have entered through the door, on the side near the bell tower today.

The small door at the rear of the church would have been where the caskets were carried out of the church for burial in the cemetery outside.

Looking at the left side and rear of the cemetery, we see small buildings that I thought were ossuaries, where the bones in old graves are removed and stored so the graves can be reused. While the practice is foreign to those of us in the US, it’s the tradition in most of Europe, where land is very scarce. Upon further research, it appears that these are not ossuaries but apparently a type of mausoleum or grave house.

That doesn’t mean there wasn’t an ossuary, just that I don’t see one today. Of course, the burials remaining today are contemporary, some reaching back into the 1800s but more from a later date – certainly long after the church was restored the last time. Martin’s parents may repose here, but if so, we don’t know where. Clearly, the early graves are gone, given that this cemetery has been in use for at least 800 years, since the 1200s.

Generations of Martin’s family members may have watered this soil with their DNA and would have lived within a block or so of the church.

The Neighborhood

Directly across the street from the church at 4 Rue de L’Eglise, this ancient building and its walls remain. It appears to be from the time when the church stood, and I can’t help but wonder what it was? Did Martin walk past here? He surely did.

Everyone did because it was across from the church. In a small village, everyone walked past everyone’s house and knew their business, too. Most of the people were probably related.

What was this building? Could Martin’s family have possibly lived here?

It’s labeled as Foucaud Dominique on the map, and further investigation suggests it is or was an osteopath’s office.

The ancient walls surround and are incorporated into the homes and lives of the Laleu residents today, some of which might be descendants of Martin Aucoin and Suzanne Barboteau.

Possible Siblings

French Acadian researcher Jacques Nerrou recorded the following:

The Aucoin family was in La Rochelle in 1570 at the time that Martin (1) AUCOIN was born. He was a locksmith by profession in Cougne parish. He then went to St. Eloy.

During this time period, there seems to have been only one AUCOIN family living in La Rochelle. He married Suzanne BARBOTEAU in 1592. Records found give us the various spellings of this family name: Aucoing, Ancoing, Auconnois, Oguin, Angevin, this last derivation could come from a more ancient form of the name that would have originated in the Angers region.

Birth records were found for four children belonging to this couple:

    • Sebastien, baptized 27/09/1593 at St Pierre Laleu (La Rochelle) as his father, he became a locksmith.
    • Martin (2), baptized 26/04/1595 at St Pierre Laleu (La Rochelle)
    • Francois, Baptized 9/11/1599 at Cougnes
    • Daniel, baptized 17/06/1604 at Cougnes.

Another marriage is reported for Martin Aucoin, the father, to Catherine Hilarin on July 10, 1606 in La Rochelle. If this is accurate, and it’s the same Martin Aucoin, that tells us that Suzanne Barboteau has died

Please note that I have NOT confirmed or verified any of the above information. I have not been able to use the French archives search feature for parish records successfully.

It’s also worth mentioning that there have been heated discussions about the surname and whether Angevin or Langevin is the same as Aucoin or if they are two unrelated families.

If baptism records are available for Aucoin family members, by any spelling, as indicated above, perhaps death records are too. It’s also possible that the witnesses for the various baptisms above can be associated with the records known to belong to our Martin Aucoin found in La Rochelle. That would serve as indirect evidence connecting the dots between these people.

If you have these records, additional information, or can figure out how to use the archives search features, please contact me.

Martin’s Life

Assuming that Martin Aucoin and Suzanne Barboteau are our Martin Aucoin’s parents, we know little more and nothing concrete. The first positive ID of our Martin is in La Rochelle in 1630, just a couple of years after the siege ended.

We can’t say positively that the Martin Aucoin baptized in Laleu in 1595, just 103 years after Columbus “discovered” America, is the same Martin Aucoin that was later found in La Rochelle, but Aucoin is an extremely rare surname, and Martin is not a common first name either. It’s certainly possible that if, indeed, Sebastian, Francois, and Daniel are the brothers of our Martin Aucoin, they named one of their sons Martin after their brother. It’s somewhat unusual that of the 19 children, 10 of whom were males, born to the younger Martin Aucoin found later in Acadia, born about 1650, none were given any of those three names.

About the time our Martin was reaching adulthood, a religious war would shape this part of France, and in particular, La Rochelle, dramatically.

The Edict of Nantes, signed in 1598 by King Kenry IV, granted the minority Protestants called Huguenots rights within the Catholic nation of France. Meant to quell the Wars of Religion in France; two decades later, the results were disappointing for France as a whole and catastrophic for some, especially in La Rochelle.

Catholics and Protestants

This map of La Rochelle was drawn in 1597 when our Martin Aucoin was just a toddler, in a more innocent time before the religious wars would take their toll during the following three decades.

It’s easy to see the city’s walls, the hospital, St. Bartellemy church, and possibly a small adjacent churchyard that equates to a cemetery, but I can’t tell for sure. There are at least four more churches scattered in different parishes, two of which can easily be identified here. At that time, the churches were shared between Catholics and Protestants, which was probably the only thing that saved them.

Several towers are in evidence, including the ones guarding the city gates. The main gate, by the harbor, still stands today.

The three massive towers guarding the harbor and quay, including the one with a terrifying gibbet cage, protected La Rochelle from attack from the sea and provided shelter for merchant ships offloading their wares in the portion of the harbor inside the city walls.

Coming or going, every ship sailed between those sentry towers.

La Rochelle, strategically located, became the Huguenot center of sea power and a hotbed of Protestant resistance to the Catholic government.

Henry IV of France, baptized Catholic but raised Protestant, balanced the interests of both but was assassinated in 1610 by a Catholic zealot. His son, Louis XIII, was only nine years old when his father died, and his mother, Marie de’ Medici, was named as the regent of France during her son’s minority, with the assistance of the powerful Catholic Cardinal Richelieu who would eventually betray her, as would her son. Marie was removed and exiled in 1617 by her son, who was only 16, causing revolts by regional nobles of both faiths, followed by the outbreak of the Thirty Years War in 1618.

In 1621, Louis XIII reestablished Catholicism in a formerly Huguenot region of Béarn, about 270 miles further south, resulting in an uprising and the escalation of tensions in La Rochelle.

The Huguenots were powerful and in control of La Rochelle, which, of course, was a part of France ruled by the French monarchy. While King Henry IV had been flexible and accommodating, his son, Louis XIII, was much less tolerant. The King had flexed his muscle, and La Rochelle certainly knew they might be next in his sights.

They were right. The blockade of La Rochelle took place in 1621 and 1622 during the King’s repression of the Huguenot rebellion.

Fort Louis was built just outside the La Rochelle city walls, guarding the entrance to the city. The King attempted to blockade La Rochelle by preventing Protestant access to the port by land and sea. As a Catholic carpenter, did Martin Aucoin help build this fort?

Isaac de Razilly with Charles de Menou d’Aulnay, men later associated with the founding and settling of Acadia beginning in 1632, commanded the French blockade fleet. Razilly lost an eye in that endeavor. They worked closely with Cardinal Richelieu.

This initial conflict lengthened into a stalemate, which resulted in the Treaty of Montpelier in October of 1622, ending hostilities, at least for the time being.

The Huguenots retained military installations in only two places, La Rochelle being one.

Neither side was happy with the terms of the agreement; both sides ignored it, and the tension reached a boiling point again by 1625 when the Huguenots occupied, and the French then recaptured Ré Island, off the Atlantic coast opposite the entrance to La Rochelle, illustrated above.

Martin would have witnessed all of this upheaval, knowing worse was coming, probably praying daily for the protection of his young family. He had been married about a decade.

In this painting, you can see the harbor and towers of La Rochelle, with Ré Island across the channel.

Perceiving an opportunity, in June of 1627, the English King Charles I sent a fleet of ships with more than 7,000 men to encourage a Huguenot rebellion at La Rochelle. In August, the English soldiers with 600 horses and 24 cannons surrounded the city. On September 10th, La Rochelle fired shots against the French King’s royal troops at Fort Louis, beginning the next Huguenot rebellion.

La Rochelle was the center of Huguenot resistance, aided by the English. Both sides were determined to be victorious.

For the French, Cardinal Richelieu acted as commander when the King was absent.

Cardinal Richelieu is depicted here at the siege of La Rochelle in both armor and his red cardinal cape and hat, standing on a dike.

La Rochelle can be seen here in 1630, completely surrounded by fortifications and troops. The French built a seawall nearly a mile long to prevent all supplies from arriving in La Rochelle

La Rochelle is shown here ringed by forts, with its harbor blocked by a nearly mile-wide blockade. On the peninsula at right, you can see the small village of LaLeu, outside the blockade perimeter. Based on the area left outside the perimeter, one can assume there wasn’t concern about French or Catholic loyalty in those regions.

Laleu looks small on this map.

Laleu looks much more realistic on this map and you can make out the church’s spires. Still, there are only about 43 houses, plus the church, of course. The church was the center of every village and the life of the villagers.

This bird’s-eye view drawn by Jacques Callot shows the area of La Pallice, near the bottom, and Laleu, a small village above LaPallice, during the siege.

I think this would have been Laleu on the Callot map, but I’m not positive.

The English sent two more fleets to resupply the Huguenots and relieve the residents of La Rochelle but were unsuccessful.

After 14 excruciating months, on October 28, 1628, the Huguenots surrendered the city to the French.

Along with other Huguenots, Jean Guitton, the Protestant mayor of La Rochelle, had vowed to defend La Rochelle to the death. Indeed, they did, but the resulting deaths weren’t their own. Instead, the residents died. Shockingly, the population was reduced from 27,000 to 5,000, but in the surrender painting above, the politicians in charge don’t appear emaciated.

After an unconditional surrender, confessing their sins, and asking the King for forgiveness, they were allowed to return to the fold. At 11 PM, the treaty was signed, and the following day, the emissaries from La Rochelle were brought before the King, who said to them, “I forgive you for your rebellions. If you are good and faithful subjects to me, I will be a good prince to you.” The Huguenots of La Rochelle retained their religious freedom, property, and possessions but not their military defenses.

Two days later, the royal troops entered the city and witnessed an utterly horrific spectacle. Only 5000 residents were left alive, and another 1000 would die within the next three months.

The soldiers handed out 10,000 loaves of bread immediately. The next day, they herded cattle and sheep into the city. More than 3000 carts of supplies were escorted by the soldiers, too, but those carts had a secondary purpose. The priest recorded that “so many corpses piled up without burial in the city.” Those corpses were removed from the streets before the King’s arrival on November 1st. They wanted to spare him the painful spectacle of the devastation the blockade had caused. The King was so moved by seeing “the poor inhabitants,” and that was AFTER the cleanup, that he took pity on them and shed tears. Yes, starvation is horrific. The King was staying at Laleu, which was clearly in much better shape than La Rochelle. Still, it must have been terrible in Laleu, too, knowing that people just a few miles away were literally slowly, agonizingly, starving to death.

Unfortunately, the Catholic church records in La Rochelle end in mid-July 1627 with a final entry in the registers of Sainte-Marguerite church. More than 20,000 deaths later, the next known service was held by Cardinal Richelieu on November 1st, in the same church where “all divine services” took place for “all the churches of La Rochelle.” Records indicate that there had been five churches and cemeteries, one for each of the parishes. Sainte-Marguerite was reconsecrated by Cardinal Richelieu, and six days later, burial records were resumed.

It’s unknown how the bodies were disposed of during the siege or before the King’s visit.

Where Was Martin Aucoin During This Time?

We don’t know where Martin was during this time, but we do know a few things.

The fact that the King stayed in Laleu indicates that the town was considered Catholic, loyal, and safe. It would have been in pretty good shape, all things considered.

Martin could have been there.

The church in Laleu was about two and a half miles or an hour away, on foot, from the center of La Rochelle. Of course, the King wouldn’t have been walking. He would either have been riding a horse or in a horse-drawn chariot, accompanied by both an entourage and many soldiers. Martin was probably watching from someplace and may even have been involved in some fashion.

Martin survived the siege, as did his wife, Barbe Minguett, and eldest daughter, Michelle, who, according to the later Acadian census documents, was born about 1618. Michelle’s age suggests that Martin married sometime between 1615, when he would have been 20, and 1617. In addition to daughter, Michelle, Barbe and Martin had son, Francois, who was born about 1622. They probably had more children as well, given the distance between known children.

We know with almost certainty that Barbe Minguet was the mother to both Michelle Aucoin and Jeanne Aucoin who were founders of Acadia, along with their respective husbands. The mitochondrial DNA of their descendants, inherited directly from their mothers all the way back to Barbe, matches.

If Martin Aucoin and his wife and at least two children were living in La Rochelle at the time of the siege, the chances of all four surviving would be nearly impossible. Only about 1 in 6 or 7 people survived. It’s most likely that Martin and his family were living in Laleu or nearby, someplace outside the walls of La Rochelle, during this time.

Furthermore, as a loyal catholic and carpenter, there would have been opportunity in La Rochelle after the siege was over.

The first child born in La Rochelle to Martin and Barbe was daughter Jeanne Aucoin who was baptized in Sainte-Marguerite’s church on November 26, 1630.

The Grim Reaper and a Second Chance

Unfortunately, while Martin and his wife, Barbe Minguet, escaped the grim reaper during the siege months, Barbe succumbed sometime between November 26, 1630, and January 20, 1632, when Martin married Marie Sallé at Saint-Barthélemy church, just a couple of blocks away from Sainte-Marguerite, but in a different parish.

The church of Saint-Barthélemy no longer exists, but the bell tower does and is getting a makeover. The church proper was located where the building with the white shutters sits today.

We know that several people were present at their wedding. The bride’s parents would have come from the neighboring parish of Cougnes, bringing the bride, of course. I can’t help but wonder why they weren’t married in her home church. In addition, there were several witnesses, many of whom were carpenters and other tradesmen. Some may have been relatives.

Again, ChatGPT translate assisted with the transcription, but couldn’t read everything.

The 20th of January of Saints Fabien and Sebastien were married Martin Aucouin, Carpenter, in this parish with Marie Sallé daughter of Jean Denys Sallé and Francoyse Arnaud of the parish of Cougnes and of the consent and ?é in pr Jean and Nicolas Jaque neau ? Locksmith, Arnaud Gyon carpenter, Pierre Dusaut carpenterr, Jony Bichaud butcher Martin Barraud carpenter and Jony Brossard butcher and Antoine Couisau Masson & more’r others

Fousseaume.

Parish Priest of St. Barthelemy Nicolas Jagueneau Louis D’Loyer Pierre elder Arnaud Gion Johing Broussard Bastien Jagueneau

The signature of Arnaud Gyon, a carpenter, on the marriage certificate of Martin Aucoin with Marie Sallé is the same as that on the baptismal certificate of Jeanne Aucoin, daughter of Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguet in 1630. This confirms that it is the same Martin Aucoin in both documents, even if there is no mention of widowhood in his marriage certificate with Marie Sallé. Furthermore, we later find Marie Sallé in Acadia, living with Michelle Aucoin’s daughter and son-in-law.

Marie Sallé was born about 1610, so she would have been about 22 when she married Martin. Martin’s daughter, Michelle, was already 14, so Marie was just 8 years older than her stepdaughter, 12 years older than Francois, and about 21 years older than baby Jeanne. With the addition of her new son, Jean, a few months later, Marie bore the responsibility of raising four children.

We know they attended Saint-Barthélemy, so let’s take a look at the tower, the only part of the church left today.

Martin probably attended this church while he lived in this parish in La Rochelle after his daughter, Jeanne was born, but before he married Marie. Otherwise, they would probably have been married in Sainte-Marguerite had he lived in that parish.

The bells of Saint-Barthélemy would have summoned the worshipers.

Just ten days after Martin married Marie Sallé, a child, Nicholas Aucoin, was recorded in the burial records of Saint-Barthélemy. The child’s age is not given, and neither are his parents’ names, but given that we know Martin attended this church and no other Aucoin families are present, it makes sense that Nicholas belongs to Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguet. I can’t help but wonder if this child was born to Martin and Barbe just before her death. Given Jeanne’s birth in November of 1630, Nicholas could have been born literally days to a few weeks before Martin married Marie Sallé in January of 1632, although that really doesn’t seem quite long enough.

This must have been an incredible blow to Martin. Now, the church bells were tolling for his child.

I wonder where Nicholas was buried. Was he an infant, perhaps the last child born to Barbe before her death, or was he older?

Maps of that time don’t show a cemetery adjacent to this church. Besides, after almost 25,000 deaths in the previous few years, there would have been no space left in the cemeteries anyway.

The priest would have had to consecrate ground someplace else for burials.

Martin would probably have looked out these windows, wondering to God why. Why take his wife and children? Why?

Then, his attention drifted back to what the priest was saying, assuming he understood Latin. Regardless, Martin would have understood the rituals. Blessing the child and praising God for taking the child to His glory and happiness of everlasting life.

The priest probably said the Mass of Angels, begging for consolation for the family. He would have worn white robes, not black, because the child had never sinned, and blessed the coffin before it was taken outside for burial where he would bless it once again.

Martin and Marie’s first child, a son, Jean Aucoin, was baptized inside these walls ten months later, on November 10, 1632. It was a much happier day, and they must have been thrilled!

Sadly, he died seven months later, on June 25th, 1633. The priest would have repeated the same ritual that by this time would have been all-too-familiar. Grief seemed to be the staple diet of La Rochelle.

Martin attended the funeral of his son in this church, again staring out what would then have been stained glass windows as the Priest’s voice droned on. Martin had heard funeral services far too many times. He probably knew them by heart.

Did Martin and Marie have more children? Did they move someplace else, to a parish whose registers no longer exist? Maybe more baptisms are waiting to be found.

Marie was only in her early 20s, so she had another 20 childbearing years ahead of her.

Did Martin have siblings? What happened to them? Where are they?

Where were Martin’s parents buried? Were they trapped in La Rochelle and perished during the siege? What happened?

Are there more records for Aucoin family members in this part of France?

Daybreak

Very early, at daybreak, just as the sun rose one April morning in La Rochelle, I traced Martin’s footsteps. I walked to where his daughter, Jeanne Aucoin, was baptized, and then to Saint-Barthélemy, where Martin remarried after Jeanne’s mother died, where Nicholas was buried, then son Jean was baptized and then buried. All those events in this church occurred between January of 1632 and June of 1633.

The shadowy fragments of Martin’s joy and sorrow both linger here.

When I visited that solitary morning, the church was under repair. I walked as far around the church tower as possible, hoping to find a way inside.

No luck.

Around back, I looked inside the dumpster, which held trash and scrap construction materials.

I saw something in the dumpster.

I took a closer look.

There it was.

Stone.

Stone from the church tower where the trajectory of Martin’s life changed.

Tossed away in the refuse pile, just waiting for me.

Be still my heart.

A gift from his heart to my heart.

Yes, Martin, I am here. I came to find you and share your life, your pain, and joy, your path and footsteps with your other descendants.

You know, don’t you?

From my soul to yours.

Thank you.

It hurt my heart to turn and walk away. Tore at my soul.

I kept looking back, tears streaming down my cheeks, until I reached the corner. I paused one final time, took one last look, drinking in what Martin would have seen, etching it in my mind forever, then turned and walked downhill towards the city gate and the quay.

But Martin knew that I was here, and just as I did, he turned and walked away one last time, too.

Acadia

We don’t know for sure if Martin Aucoin set sail for Acadia or if he died before his family immigrated.

Given that we know Marie and three of Martin’s children sailed for Acadia, now Nova Scotia, the church would have been their last stop, offering prayers for safe passage before they sailed between the towers standing sentry, guarding the opening into the harbor.

They would have gathered a few meager belongings, boarded a ship along the quay, and set sail between those towers.

Martin’s family, and Martin, if he sailed with them, would have turned around until the towers and La Rochelle were only a dot on the horizon, then looked forward to nothing but waves and sea. An uncertain future.

The siege and its aftermath clearly played a critical role in the settlement of Acadia. I can picture the destruction and destitution in the city that prompted many to welcome a chance for a better life in New France.

In 1632, de Razilly and d’Aulnay began encouraging settlement at La Hève, Acadia, now LaHave, Nova Scotia. In 1635, the settlement was moved to Port Royal, on the northern side of the peninsula.

Did Martin sail with the rest of his family through those towers, out the harbor, into the westward sun, headed for Acadia?

Or does he rest someplace in La Rochelle, or maybe at sea?

The Other Martin Aucoin

There’s another Acadian named Martin Aucoin. What happened to our Martin Aucoin, born in 1595, may, in part, be told by the story of the younger Martin Aucoin.

The younger Martin Aucoin is recorded in the 1686 census of Les Mines, Acadia, living in Beaubassin, age 35, which means he was born about 1651. In the 1693 census, he’s shown as age 46, so born about 1650. Importantly, he is NOT shown in the earlier Acadian censuses.

This Martin married Marie Gaudet about 1673, given that their first of 19 children, including a set of twins, was born in 1674.

The younger Martin’s burial was recorded in the Grand-Pré register on May 15, 1711, noted as around the age of 60, born about 1650 or 1651, and living on La Riviere des Canards. Unfortunately, this entry does not reveal his parents.

According to the deposition made in 1767 by this Martin’s grandson, Alexandre Aucoin, Martin came from France. (Doc. inéd., Vol. III, p. 106). Five others, all made by widows or widowers of other grandchildren of Martin Aucoin, include statements to the same effect (ibid., Vol. II, pp. 181, 193; Vol. III, pp. 22, 29, 127-128). All six of these depositions indicate that Martin Aucoin married Marie Gaudet. Only one, that of Claude Pitre (ibid., Vol. III, p. 29), adds the detail that their marriage took place at Port-Royal.

What NONE of these depositions says is that Martin Aucoin (the elder) is the father of the younger Martin Aucoin or that Marie Sallé was his mother. However, neither do the depositions for either Jeanne or Michelle. In fact, the elder Martin Aucoin is not mentioned in any of those depositions at all. In 1767, the French were interested in the most recent ancestor arriving in Acadia who was born in France, not necessarily ALL ancestors born in France.

The descendants of both Michelle and Jeanne Aucoin stated that they were born in France and came to Acadia with their spouses. For Martin the younger, it simply says he came from France. If Martin the elder was his father and Marie Sallé, his mother, they and their other children would not have arrived until after the younger Martin’s birth in 1650/1651 and before 1654, assuming the information about him being born in France is accurate. That’s the only possible window because there was no immigration from France to Acadia during the English occupation from 1654 to 1670.

So, if this Martin was born in France and arrived before 1654, he would have arrived as a child with his parents. There is no suggestion of a second Aucoin family. If he arrived after 1670, he may or may not have arrived with family members. There is no record of any Martin Aucoin in the 1671 census. Beaubassin was not founded until 1671-1672, so he wasn’t there yet.

Martin’s wife, Marie Gaudet, lived in Port Royal with her parents, who were shown there in 1671, 1678, 1693, and 1698. Marie is shown with her parents in 1671, age 14.

Martin would have HAD to have been living in Port Royal in 1673 when he married Marie. The couple likely packed up and went with Jacques Bourgeois to Beaubassin shortly thereafter.

So, here are the four possibilities for the Martin Aucoin born about 1650, in no particular order:

  1. Martin came from France, probably as the son of Martin Aucoin and Marie Sallé, between 1650 and 1654, when immigration stopped. If this is the case, Marie would have been about 41 or 42 years old, so having a child when Martin was born is certainly within the realm of possibility.
  2. Martin came from France between 1650-1654, the child of other parents. This is possible, but there is no trace of those other parents, nor is he found in the 1671 census.
  3. Martin came from France after the 1671 census, and before 1673 when he married Marie Gaudet and is therefore not the son of the older Martin Aucoin. This makes the most sense, especially when combined with a note by Stephen A. White, “Given the lack of dispensation, we do not believe that the husband of Marie Gaudet could be the second son of [Martin Aucoin] the carpenter of La Rochelle, but there still exists the possibility that he is related to the sisters Michelle and Jeanne, to a degree more distant.” Unfortunately, White does not identify which marriages he would have expected to find dispensations for. Knowing which marriages and in which generations would help immensely in eliminating potential upstream common ancestors. For example, could the younger Martin Aucoin have been the nephew or great-nephew of the older Martin Aucoin? For how many generations would a dispensation be required in each scenario?
  4. The last possibility is that the depositions regarding the younger Martin coming from France are incorrect and he was born in Acadia, but his parents came from France. This is possible but adds no evidence either way in terms of whether he is the son of the older Martin Aucoin.

Surely, with the same highly unusual name as the older Martin Aucoin, there had to be some connection. Even today, there are only three locations in France with clusters of the Aucoin surname, and one is a result of Alexandre Aucoin’s descendants who were deported back to France, arriving on Belle-Ile-sur-Mer in 1765.

More Upheaval in La Rochelle

It’s easy to imagine La Rochelle as peaceful after the siege, but that wasn’t the case.

By World Imaging – Own work, photographed at Orbigny-Bernon Museum, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11205885

In November 1661, 300 Protestant families were expelled from La Rochelle, probably some 3000 people. We have no reason to associate the Aucoin family with Protestant leanings, but witnessing the heartache and devastation might well encourage young Martin Aucoin to daydream about leaving for more peaceful lands – or at least land he believed to be more peaceful.

Perhaps this event motivated the younger Martin Aucoin, born about 1650, to leave as soon as he was old enough.

The Elder Martin Aucoin

We have two bracketing events defining the possible death of our Martin Aucoin.

We know Martin was alive when he was married in January 1632 and in February when his son was conceived. I’d also presume (I know, unsafe word) that he was alive later in 1632 when baby Jean Aucoin was born to Marie Sallé because otherwise, the father would have been noted as deceased in the baptismal record and in the subsequent death record for the baby in July of 1633.

It has been presumed (that word again) that Martin accompanied his wife, two daughters, and (possibly) one son to Acadia, although nothing more is ever heard about the son, and some researchers believe Francois was misidentified.

The elder Martin Aucoin’s daughter, Michelle, was born about 1618 in France and had her first child with Michael Boudrot about 1642. Michel Boudrot was already in Acadia by 1639, but he was associated with Charles d’Aulnay so it’s possible, given his position of responsibility as a Lieutenant, that he made trips back and forth to La Rochelle for or with d’Aulnay. Given Boudrot’s residence in Acadia, it’s probably most likely that the Martin Aucoin family immigrated about 1641 and Michelle married Boudrot shortly thereafter.

However, and this is a big however, it’s possible that Boudrot traveled back to La Rochelle where he met Michelle and her family. If Martin Aucoin was living, Boudrot could have encouraged the entire family to immigrate. Given what Martin had been through, it probably didn’t take much. If Martin had been thinking about Acadia anyway, the encouragement of a responsible Lieutenant who just happened to be courting his daughter might have been all that was needed.

If Martin had already passed away, Boudrot could have married Michelle and brought her, along with her stepmother and sister, Jeanne, back to Acadia with him. We do not know that the older Martin Aucoin set foot on Acadian soil, although I think it’s likely.

The elder Martin Aucoin’s daughter, Jeanne, was born in 1630 in La Rochelle and had her first child with Francois Girouard in 1648. We don’t know if she was married in Acadia or France, and we don’t really know for sure where her early children were born either. It’s most likely that she immigrated about 1641 with her parents and married Girouard in Acadia.

We know for sure that Martin Aucoin the elder was deceased by 1671 when Marie Sallé is listed in the census as the widow of Jean Claude and is living with the family of François Bourg, whose wife is the daughter of Michelle Aucoin and Michel Boudrot. In 1678, Marie is still living with the same family but is listed alone in 1686, age 86. If she actually was 86, she would have been born about 1600, meaning it’s very unlikely that she had a child in 1650 or 1651, effectively eliminating her as the mother of the younger Martin Aucoin. However, ages of the elderly tend to grow, and who would know exactly?

We have no further information about Jean Claude or when Marie married him, which would provide us with a hint as to when Martin died.

There is no record or suggestion of additional children born to Marie.

I was baffled for some time about why Marie Sallé’s marriage date to Jean Claude was quoted as “after 1651,” with no source given anyplace. I now realize that it’s because there was a presumption that the younger Martin Aucoin, born 1650/1651 was her son, and she remarried after the elder Martin Aucoin died.

Out on a Limb

I’m going out on a limb here.

We have no more information about Martin Aucoin, born in 1595, or his father, Martin Aucoin, assuming that the Martin baptized in 1595 is “our” Acadian Martin Aucoin, the father of both Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin, and husband of both Barbe Minguett and Marie Sallé. There appears to be unverified information about the mother of the Martin baptized in 1595 in Laleu. Following up on her name might, just might, produce additional information – although we are far back in time.

So would finding the records reported by researcher Jacques Nerrou.

Having said all of this, I have a really difficult time believing that the Martin Aucoin in La Rochelle just two years after the siege of La Rochelle ended was NOT the same man as the Martin Aucoin baptized in Laleu – in part simply because he and his wife and at least one child survived that horrific siege – so it’s unlikely they were actually living IN La Rochelle during that time.

Both Martin and Aucoin are unusual names, and when combined, especially when associated with each other, a family connection is very probable.

Given all of the information we do have, I really doubt that the younger Martin Aucoin, born about 1650 or 1651, is the son of Martin Aucoin and Marie Sallé, although he could be.

I think it’s more likely that the younger Martin Aucoin is the nephew or other paternal line relative of the older Martin Aucoin. Perhaps he had no family left in La Rochelle and followed his uncle to Acadia, some 20 or 30 years later.

If they are paternally related Aucoin men, that means that they would share the same Y-line DNA.

Fortunately, one of the descendants of Alexandre Aucoin, grandson of the younger Martin Aucoin, has taken a Y-DNA test. If Martin Aucoin the younger and Martin Aucoin the older share a direct paternal Aucoin male ancestor, the Y-DNA of Martin the younger represents the Y-DNA of Martin the elder. Of course, we will never be able to test direct paternal male descendants of Martin Aucoin the elder, because no sons survived.

Aucoin Y DNA

What does the Y-DNA of Alexandre Aucoin’s descendant tell us?

To begin with, I’m functioning with a handicap because the tester has only tested to the 37-marker level. Although he didn’t know a great deal about his genealogy, I was able to confirm his descent from the younger Martin Aucoin.

The good news is that he matches two other Aucoin men who have taken the Big Y-700 test and are haplogroup I-FTC21121. They also descend from Martin Aucoin born in about 1650. Ironically, they have both connected the dots in their trees from the younger to the elder Martin Aucoin, but there’s no source information. I understand why it seems logical, but given the evidence we have, it’s probably not accurate.

The great news is that they also match several other Aucoin men, but unfortunately, none appear to have descended from France other than through the younger Martin Aucoin.

However, there’s something else of interest.

One match is a man who descends from a French family that immigrated in the 1800s. His progenitor, with a different surname, say “XYZ,” was born in 1766 in Saint-Pierre, du Chemin, Vendée, Pays de la Loire, France.

This location is only about 49 miles from Laleu and LaRochelle where we first find the Aucoin family. Unfortunately, Mr. XYZ has not taken a Big Y test, so we don’t know how long ago they share a paternal ancestor.

The Discover Time Tree shows us that haplogroup I-FTC21121 was formed about 1588, which maps nicely to what we know about the younger Martin Aucoin.

The Aucoin and XYZ families are related, we just don’t know when or how far back in time, although it could be quite distant. Mr. XYZ only has six 12-marker matches and no others. His Y-DNA is clearly quite rare, not to mention that French men can’t test today. His lack of matches could be a function of rarity, lack of testers, or both.

I wonder if Mr. XYZ would agree to upgrade to the Big Y-700 test, because it would be as informative for him as for the younger Martin Aucoin family. We at least know we’re in the right part of France with his match to Martin Aucoin the younger. That test would tell us when their common ancestor lived.

Still, though, it doesn’t answer the question of whether our Martin Aucoin, born in 1595, and the younger Martin Aucoin, born about 1650, are descended from the same paternal line.

However, autosomal DNA might potentially be useful, assuming their common ancestor lived not too long before Martin’s birth. If Mr. XYZ also happens to autosomally match Acadians descended through Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin but NOT descended from Martin Aucoin the younger, that’s a HUGE hint that the two Martin Aucoins were related.

Could we be that lucky? How far out on this branch am I standing anyway???____________________________________________________________

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Jeanne Aucoin (1630-1718), Following Her Path in LaRochelle – 52 Ancestors #424

Her name is Jeanne, Jeanne Aucoin, pronounced Ah-QUON. I whisper her name because she is oh so near and dear to my heart.

You see, she is my seventh great-grandmother, and I’ve walked in her footsteps. Trod where she trod. Stood where she stood – and probably cried where she cried – in the old medieval city of La Rochelle.

Something about that changes you.

Her name and spirit flutter across my heart and then across the centuries. Connecting her to me through a timeless linkage.

Stephen White first reported that Jeanne was born in France based on the depositions of her great-grandson, Pierre Richard, and another by Louis Courtin, husband of her great-great-granddaughter, Marie-Josephe Martin, on the French island of Belle-Île-en-Mer, decades after her death.

Today, we know so much more.

Let’s reach back in time and attend Jeanne’s baptism.

Tuesday, November 26, 1630 in La Rochelle

Priests baptize babies every day of the week because babies arrive whenever they and God decide. No one waited until Sunday. Not all babies lived and the babies who perished during the terrible famine caused by the 1627-1628 Siege of La Rochelle were fresh in the minds of everyone.

So much death.

Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguet have been married just over a dozen years now. Somehow, they had survived the famine. They had brought other children into the world. Michelle, their firstborn, was 12 now, and Francois was 8. Of course, the child born between them and those born since had all perished. They had buried at least three babies since Francois’s birth, although this morning, as Martin prepared to rush to the church, all of that was a blur now.

He tried not to look at the cemetery in the churchyard where his children and countless others rest. There was no room or time to dig individual graves, so many were buried together. Four of every five people in LaRochelle died during the siege.

So much grief.

La Rochelle, once the second largest city in France had shrunk from about 27,000, active, busting residents to 5,000 during the terrible siege when the Huguenots held the city and King Louis XIII and Philippe de Champaigne, known as Cardinal Richelieu, were trying to recover the city for France, and God, of course. Finally, after 14 months of death and horrific famine, Cardinal Richelieu’s soldiers captured and liberated La Rochelle.

Martin remembered it well – all too well. He shuddered every time he thought of it. Finally, there would once again be food and water. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had survived.

Victoriously entering the city, Cardinal Richelieu, in his red vestments, held mass on the morning of November 1st in the Chapelle Saint-Marguerite, the church where Jeanne was about to be baptized just two years later.

This baby would be baptized as a Catholic and live. Yes, she had to live. There had already been far too much death. May God have Mercy on their souls.

Martin crossed himself before snugly swaddling his new daughter on this cold November morning.

Martin quietly slipped down the ancient steps with the carefully bundled baby, watchful not to fall where others had trod for centuries, wearing deep bowl-shaped grooves in the stones, and left the house at first light while Barbe rested. She was still so thin, frail, and exhausted from all those months with no food.

Martin headed out into the empty streets with his warmly wrapped bundle of joy. November is cold on the Atlantic coast and the wind bites, cutting through you like the icy blade of a knife. He’d stop briefly on the way to gather the two required witnesses if they were up, or maybe someone would be at the church.

Martin passed the city gate. Normally busy and bustling with commerce, only one person was up this early and Martin didn’t have time to talk today.

Walking up the street, Martin thought he heard someone call his name, but when he turned around, no one was there. The street was empty in both directions. Must have been his imagination, or, perhaps an ancestor or one of those who had died in the famine walking with him. His protectors. He could use all the protection he could get.

He crossed himself again, just in case.

Martin turned right and headed up the cobblestone street into town. He could hear distant sounds of people rising, a clank here and there, but no one was discernably moving yet.

He could see the sun beginning to rise in the distance.

Martin had to be watchful because, first thing in the morning, people dumped chamber pots out of the windows.

The cobblestones from the ships’ ballast paved the narrow passageways, creating a gutter of sorts in the center designed to drain the contents of chamber pots, rain, and everything else into the bay, just outside the city walls.

Perhaps he’d better walk beneath the palisades in the little piazza where it was safer. After all, he didn’t want to enter the church smelling like “that,” and then there was his newborn daughter to think of.

Martin noticed the spires of another church along the way, but he was headed to his home church.

He hoped that the priest would be awake and perhaps in the church already. This baby was a little small, but otherwise, she seemed to be fine. However, you just never know, and the quicker the baby is baptized, the better.

If the Priest wasn’t in the church saying his morning prayers, Martin would have to tap on the door of the rectory and hope that the priest wasn’t in someone’s home having breakfast or maybe giving last rites. Priests were called by frantic family members at all hours of the day and night.

A few blocks up the street, Martin looked up and to the left, where he saw the bell tower of Saint-Barthelemy of the Great Temple Church.

He had been in that church many times, but not today. The bell would ring soon though, on the hour, announcing morning.

The steps of the church and some of the houses protruded into the streets, so he had to take care not to trip on either the steps or uneven cobblestones. Of course, the horses and animals from the day before would have left their calling cards in the streets too. Lots of landmines to avoid.

Finally, Martin arrived at the church. The church in 1630 isn’t a church today. This simple church started out as a convent for Catholic Nuns in the 12th century, then became a Catholic church that was at one time shared with the Protestants, then a hospital and movie theater.

When Martin arrived that early Tuesday morning, the large, heavy front door wouldn’t have been unlocked yet.

Martin turned the corner and walked up the side street, alongside the church. Le College was across the street, although that’s just a memory today. The tall building in the rear didn’t exist then and in its place was the churchyard, meaning probably the cemetery, in 1630.

Martin hoped that one of the side doors would be open.

Ever since the conflict and resulting siege of the last decade, many of the church doors were barred from the inside for protection.

Surely, one of the doors would be open if the priest were already there. During services, especially when it was beastly hot, the doors would have been latched open.

Were these hooks here that morning, or were they added later? A carpenter, had Martin perhaps repaired these doors at one time? Maybe he replaced this door after the siege?

As the sun’s early rays played on the church’s walls, Martin approached the original doors at left. With one hand, he tugged at the heavy wood anchored with massive hinges to see if they were unlocked. Perhaps Martin was in luck.

Being shifted from arm to arm, the baby, only a few hours old and as yet unnamed, began to cry.

Martin heard someone moving inside the church, heard muted footsteps approach the door. “Qui est là?” Who is there, the Priest queried?

“C’est moi, Martin Aucoin, avec le nouveau-né bébé,“ Martin replied, relieved to find the Priest in the church. “It’s me, Martin Aucoin, with the newborn baby!”

The parishioners entered through the larger door and the clergy through the smaller one. The priest opened the door, saw Martin’s bundle, and was relieved to hear the muffled cry, much like the soft mewing of a kitten. Crying babies were always wonderful signs, blessings, in fact. The Father saw far too many babies that weren’t crying anymore. A few minutes, some Holy Water, and a few tears later, Jeanne was named and baptized.

Jeanne’s baptism was recorded by the Priest later that day, Tuesday, November 26, 1630, in the registers of the Chapelle Ste-Marguerite inside the walls of the old city of La Rochelle, France. Cousin Mark found the baptism document in the Archives Départmentales de la Charente-Maritime; MS 253-La Rochelle; Église Sainte-Marguerite baptisms, 1620-1639, p 68 of 267.

Jeanne’s parents are listed as Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett, and the witnesses were Arnoud Giou and Jeanne Riou. Jeanne was clearly named after her Godmother who would bear the responsibility of raising Jeanne and assuring her Catholic education, such as education was, should something happen to Jeanne’s parents. Was Jeanne a relative? Was Arnoud?

Today, the church where Jeanne was baptized is no longer a church but an event venue named the Salle de l’Oratoire, owned by the municipality.

You can still see the location of the alter near where Jeanne would have been baptized, here. Looking at this incredibly beautiful candle-filled church, I can feel Jeanne and her parent’s joy-filled presence here.

More Tragedy

Tragedy wasn’t over.

Something happened to Barbe Minguett.

She died sometime before January 20, 1632 when Martin Aucoin, Jeanne’s father, a carpenter or joiner, remarried to Marie Sallee in the Saint-Barthelemy of the Great Temple Church.

Yes, that church bell tower, #26 on the map below, that Martin passed by before dawn on the way to get Jeanne baptized just 14 months earlier.

Ten days after Martin married Marie Sallee, a child, Nicholas Aucoin, presumably another child of Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett who had already died, also passed away.

Barbe and Nicholas were probably buried in the churchyard surrounding what was then Ste. Marguerite, #16 on the map above, along with their earlier children who perished. We don’t know their names, but we do know that several children are “missing” between the children we do know about.

The church is in the lower left-hand corner of the red box, above. The tall building behind the church is shown, as are the buildings to the right. It looks like there’s an enclosed garden with a tree or two behind the house immediately beside the church. Today, you can still trace the lines where the cemetery would have been, which makes me wonder if those buildings on top of hallowed ground are haunted.

There is no adjacent cemetery to Saint Barthelemy, #26.

Marie Sallee, upon her marriage, found herself an immediate mother to at least three children, including the infant, Jeanne. Martin desperately needed a mother for his children.

Martin and Marie’s first child, son Jean Aucoin, was baptized in the Saint-Barthelemy Church on November 10, 1632, just 10 months after their marriage and two weeks and two days shy of Jeanne’s second birthday. Jean’s godparents were Jean Rondeau and Marie Roucon. Sadly, this baby’s death was recorded the following June 25th, 1633, only 7 months old.

This means that Jeanne’s mother, Barbe Minguett died when Jeanne was just a baby, probably before her first birthday and was buried in the cemetery beside the church – now built over.

Growing Up

Jeanne Aucoin was raised by her father and stepmother, Marie Sallee. She probably had additional siblings, but they apparently did not survive in any known records.

We know that Jeanne married Francois Girouard around 1647, but it’s not clear whether or not they married after arriving in Acadia, or in La Rochelle before they left. The same holds true for her sister, Michelle Aucoin, who married Michel Boudrot about 1640 or 1641, given that their first child was born about 1642. We do know that Michel was in Port Royal by 1639 when he was listed as a trustee there and witnessed the baptism of Governor D’Aulnay’s daughter, although nothing precluded him from traveling back to France on business or recruiting additional colonists and marrying Michelle in La Rochelle.

Regardless, one way or another, for reasons unknown, Martin Aucoin’s family decided that they would have a better life across the great Atlantic in Acadia. In preparation, they packed up or sold everything they owned, taking only what they could stow in their portion of the hold of a ship. They probably took only what was essential, including Martin’s carpenter’s tools. Maybe only Martin’s tools. A carpenter would have been very valuable in the fledgling colony.

The Aucoin family would have sailed between the medieval towers standing sentry at the entrance to the port of La Rochelle sometime around 1640, leaving La Rochelle for the New World.

They not only left France, they left their families, if anyone was left, forever.

What an incredibly bittersweet day that must have been. Both exciting and terrifying. Anticipation mixed with fear of the unknown – plus the known dangers of transatlantic travel

I wonder if Martin made one last trip to the cemetery to say a final farewell to Barbe and their children resting with her. Sadly, Jeanne would have had no memory of her mother, but her sister, Michelle, a decade older than Jeanne, would have. Perhaps Jeanne and Michelle went with their father to pay their respects and say one final goodbye to their mother.

Maree Sallee would have said goodbye to her son as well, making one last trip to the church for prayers for safe passage too.

The New World

Weeks later, when Jeanne Aucoin and her family arrived in Nova Scotia, it may have been on the same ship with her future husband, Francois Girouard. Or, maybe they were already married.

For all we know, Martin could have convinced his two daughters and their new husbands to embark together for the New World. Or maybe it was Michel Boudrot who convinced everyone that land and opportunity awaited in Acadia. Six weeks in the cramped shipboard quarters would be uncomfortable, but they expected that their new life would be well worth it.

Michel, supported by d’Aulnay would be telling incredible stories about the wide-open space and limitless opportunities in Acadia – to an audience still stinging from being cramped in a putrid city during that horrid siege. Yes indeed, land and grass and trees and safety seemed like a wonderful, perhaps even God-sent, opportunity. They could never have or achieve any of those things in France. They couldn’t even own a cow.

But maybe things weren’t quite as rosy as they first seemed.

Upon arrival, they found themselves in the midst of conflict between Frenchmen who wanted to control Acadia, and the English who wanted the same thing. Much like a family fight and, at the same time, a fight with the neighbor.

French families had begun arriving in 1632 and initially settled at La Hève on the southern coast of Acadia, now LaHave, Nova Scotia.

In 1635, d’Aulnay, the Governor, moved the settlement from La Hève to Port Royal, later called Annapolis Royal, as seen on this 1768 map, along with Pisiquid (Pigiguid here), at upper right, which plays a role in the life of Jeanne’s descendants.

In 1641, while d’Aulnay was in France, Charles La Tour, another Frenchman, challenged d’Aulnay’s authority, attempting to oust him. In 1645, d’Aulnay captured La Tour’s fort and hung his soldiers. La Tour’s wife died soon thereafter under somewhat mysterious circumstances, and La Tour took refuge in Quebec.

D’Aulnay was now firmly in control until 1650 when he died in a “boating accident.” His widow, Jeanne Motin, married his nemesis, LaTour, in 1653.

Martin Aucoin and his wife, Marie Salee, probably arrived with their children sometime around 1640 or 1641 in the midst of all of this hullabaloo. Having said that, they could have arrived anytime after 1633, when the last record of Martin Aucoin appears in France.

If you’re thinking that this was a lot of high-stakes drama, fitting of any soap opera, you’d be exactly right.

Unfortunately, none of the parish registers survived until 1702, so we don’t know what happened to whom or when, except through indirect records.

Jeanne’s father, Martin Aucoin, died sometime during this period, because Marie Sallee married Jean Claude after 1651. She was listed as age 61 in 1671, then as Claude’s widow in 1678, living with the daughter of Michelle Aucoin, and age 86 in 1686. Even though Marie remarried, she very clearly stayed close to the Aucoin girls. It appears that Marie and Martin had no surviving children.

Based on these records, we know that Marie was born sometime between 1600 and 1610, so would have been having children until around 1645-1655ish. She and Martin probably had several children who perished.

Based on later records, we know when at least some children were born to Jeanne Aucoin and her husband, François Girouard.

  • Son Jacques Girouard was born about 1648, married Marguerite Gautrot, and died in 1703 in Port Royal, Acadia.
  • Daughter Marie Girouard was born about 1650, married Jacques Blou, and died in 1713. They eventually lived near her brother, Germain Girouard, in Beaubassin.
  • Daughter Marie Madeleine Girouard was born about 1654, married Thomas Cornier, and died after 1714. They lived in Beaubassin.
  • Germain Girouard was born about 1656, married Marie Bourgeois in Beaubassin, and died before 1694 in Acadia.
  • Anne Charlotte Girouard was born about 1660 in Port Royal, married Julien Lord, and died in 1742 in Port Royal, Acadia.

By 1686, three of Jeanne’s children, Germain, Marie, and Madelaine, had settled in Beaubassin.

Sadly, Jeanne outlived all but one of her children, Anne Charlotte.

Jeanne had at least 43 known grandchildren and probably more.

The English

A decade or so after the Aucoin family arrived in Acadia, war erupted between the French and English.

By 1653, there were 45-50 households at Port Royal and La Have, combined, where there were estimated to be 300-350 people, including 60 single men. If the Aucoin sisters had arrived single, they had their choice of several beaus.

In 1654, war broke out between France and England, and the English from New England attacked Acadia, seizing La Tour’s fort on the south shore and then Port Royal on the north. Farms were burned, and property was seized. Eventually, the Acadians were allowed to return home, but many didn’t have homes to return to. We have no idea if Jeanne Aucoin and François Girouard’s home was spared, although based on later census records of blended families, it looks doubtful.

There is no record of Martin Aucoin in Acadia. It’s possible that he died as a result of this attack or perhaps near this time.

The English occupied Acadia from 1654 to 1670, during which time no additional French families arrived, and the French already there were forbidden from returning to France.

In 1654, Nicholas Denys, a prisoner at Port Royal, described life in Port Royal and estimated that there were about 270 residents.

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

The French Governors before the English occupation were:

  • Isaac de Razilly 1632-1635
  • Charles de Menou d’Aulnay 1635-1650
  • Charles de Saint-Etienne de la Tour 1653-1654

France regained control of Acadia in 1670, taking a census in 1671 where 392 people were recorded, although it’s believed to have been undercounted.

In the 1671 census, François Girouard, a farmer, age 50, is shown with wife Jeanne Aucoin, 40. They had three married children, Jacob, 23, Marie, 20 and Marie Magdeleine 17. Unmarried children include Germain, 14, and Anne, 12. They lived on 8 arpents of land with 16 cattle and 6 sheep.

Jeanne’s age of 40 puts her birth at approximately 1631, which meshes with her 1630 baptism in La Rochelle. Jacob’s age of 23 suggests his birth when Jeanne was about 17, or in about 1648.

The 1678 census shows François Girouer and Jeanne Aucoin, no ages given, with 15 “acres” and 18 cattle, according to Lucie LeBlanc Consentino. Additionally, Germain, age 22, is shown in the household. By 1680, Germain was in Beaubassin where he married Marie Bourgeois. Jeanne may never have seen her son again, nor the resulting grandchildren.

The 1686 census at Port Royal (and nearby) shows Françoise Girouard, now age 70, along with Jeanne, 55. None of their children remain in the home, but they have 1 gun, 13 cattle, 16 sheep, and 8 hogs on 5 arpents of land. Daughter Charlotte was living next door with her husband Julien Lord and their children, but had no livestock or land, which suggests that the families are living on the same land.

Hell Arrived in 1690

I wonder if Jeanne ever thought back to La Rochelle and questioned her family’s wisdom in leaving. If so, 1690 might well have been that time.

In May of 1690, Acadia was again savagely attacked, plundered, and burned by the English out of Boston. This would have been the second time Jeanne witnessed this – the first time 36 years earlier, in 1654.

After the initial attack, organized pillaging began. For the next 12 days, the English militiamen ransacked houses and gardens, seized the wheat and clothes of the Acadians, killed their cattle, sacked the church, and demolished, then burned the stockade.

Undefended Acadian farms and homes were burned for no reason and in contravention to the surrender agreement negotiated by the Acadian priest with the English. Acadian soldiers were imprisoned in the church and the governor in his home. Belongings were stolen, and farmland was destroyed, severing any remaining shred of trust.

In Port Royal, the church and 28 homes were then burned, but not the mills and upriver farms.

Because François Girouard and Jeanne Aucoin lived at least somewhat upriver at what is now Tupperville, his farm may possibly have been spared, but based on later census where households have combined, it’s doubtful.

The English were now unquestionably in control and required a loyalty oath.

The Acadians in Port Royal relented when they had no other choice and swore an oath of allegiance, transcribed here, hoping to de-escalate the situation. Francois Girouard is not among the signers. Did he perish during this ordeal? Was he one of the 45 Acadians taken hostage and imprisoned in Boston? He would have been in his 70s and Jeanne would have been 59.

A few weeks later, two English pirates took advantage of the opportunity and burned homes again, killing people and livestock. I think some people just take pleasure in being cruel.

The 1693 census confirms François Girouard’s’ death and the combination of households by showing Jeanne Aucoin, now a widow, age 60, living in the same household with Julien Lord, her son-in-law, age 41, Charlotte, age 33, their 5 children, 20 cattle, 40 sheep and 10 hogs on 20 arpents of land

Son Jacob Giroud, age 46, lives two houses away with his 11 children, 25 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 hogs on 20 arpents of land, with two guns.

They are living in what is known as the Girouard Village, which is today Tupperville.

A marker there states that Jeanne Aucoin and François Girourard were from what is now Granville Ferry, directly across from Annapolis Royal.

Granville Ferry isn’t far from the Lor/Lord land.

Beautiful Granville Ferry today looking from across the River in Port Royal.

Passing Over

Jeanne was lucky that she enjoyed the company of her sister, Michelle, for most of her life, on both sides of the Atlantic. Michelle died on December 17, 1706, and was buried the next day – just a few days before Christmas. She is noted as being more than 95 years old and the wife of Michel Boudrot.

Despite the many hardships and heartaches that Jeanne faced, she lived a long life. Her burial took place on April 18, 1718, in Port Royal, so she likely died the previous day. She is noted as more than 90 years old, the widow of “Girouer le Pere.”

The original parish records were clearly recopied, above, as the original is found in the Nova Scotia Archives and is shown below.

If Jeanne were 90, she would have been born in 1728, so 90 is close. Often the ages of the super-old are remembered as older than they are. Who would be left that remembered?

Jeanne would then have been buried along with her family members, close to her husband, sister, and children, in the Catholic churchyard’s cemetery at Port Royal. She rests among the unmarked graves in what is known as the Garrison Cemetery at today’s Annapolis Royal.

This may mark the end of Jeanne’s earthly life, but it certainly isn’t the end of her story.

Belle-Île-en-Mer

Jeanne would be happy to know that at least some of her descendants survived the forced deportations – the horrific, genocidal events that began in 1755.

Fortunately, those with some of the most arduous journeys left other types of records because any official records or registries were destroyed.

The Acadians were intentionally strewn to the winds by the English so those tenacious Acadians would not wind up together and continue causing trouble for their conquerors.

Jeanne’s grandson, Honoré Lore, my ancestor, was wandering around someplace in New England during this time, for more than three decades prior to settling in Quebec in the 1780s.

Not all Acadians were deported to the colonies, and some who arrived in some colonial locations were not accepted and ended up being shipped elsewhere.

After the Acadians were expelled, beginning in 1755, many began a long journey that culminated with their arrival back in France on the starkly beautiful, rocky island of Belle-Île-en-Mer in 1765.

It was an incredibly long, deadly, decade.

After their arrival on Belle-Île-en-Mer, the French were trying to figure out what to do with these Acadian refugees who had already been bounced from place to place and imprisoned because of their French heritage, so they asked each family about their ancestry. Fortunately for us, the refugees provided depositions about their family back to the original French settlers who had arrived in Nova Scotia more than a century and several generations earlier.

Today, their descendants, proud Acadians still, live on the island and keep their ancestors’ documents safe and their memory alive.

The 78 Acadian families settled in 120 villages in four regions on Belle-Île-en-Mer where many of the original homes can still be identified to the founding families, including the small stone home of Pierre Richard. Pierre eventually gave the home to his son a few years later when he subsequently left for the next frontier – Louisiana.

Two of Jeanne Aucoin’s descendants gave detailed depositions a dozen years after the 1755 removal when some of the Acadian people were first exiled to Virginia, then to England, then after 1763 to Belle-Île-en-Mer in France. The French government wanted to know as much as possible about the origins of the earliest family members of the Acadian refugees in order to determine who, by virtue of their French ancestry, was eligible for assistance.

Those depositions have been carefully preserved today and are available for their descendants to view..

Lucie LeBlanc Consantino’s website provides the translation of the original depositions which can still be found on Belle-Île-en-Mer, above. Cousin Brian is reviewing his ancestors’ documents with the assistance of Anne-Christine, our tour guide.

We find two depositions from descendants of François Girouard and his wife, Jeanne Aucoin:

On February 9, 1767, appeared Louis Courtin, farmer, living in the village of Aprens de Triboutons, Parish of Sauzon, who, in the presence of Simon P. Daigre, Joseph Babin, Jean Baptiste Le Blanc, and Armand Granger, all Acadians living on this island, stated that he was born in St. Nicolas de Prete Vales, County of Dunois, Diocese of Blois of Jean Baptiste (Courtin) and Marie Anne Pellereau, born at Blois, St. Honore Parish, married at Cork, Ireland on Sept 15, 1761, to Marie Josephe Martin, born at Port Royal in 1740, of Michel Martin and Magdeleine Girouard. Michel Martin issued from Etienne and Marie Comeau, and Etienne issues from Rene Martin, who came from France and married at Port Royal to Marguerite Landry. Both died there. Madeleine Girouard was born at Port Royal of Guillaume and Anne Renauchet. Guillaume issued from Jacques Girouard and Anne Gautrot of Port Royal and Jacques Girouard descended from another Jacques who came from France with Jeanne Aucoin, his wife; both died at Port Royal.

On February 9, 1767, appeared Pierre Richard, from Kbellec, in this Parish, who, in the presence of Honore LeBlanc, Joseph LeBlanc, Oliver Daigre, and Laurent Babin, all Acadians living on this island, witnesses and states that he was born at Port Royal principal town of Acadia on November 15, 1710, of Pierre (Richard) and Madeleine Girouard. Pierre Richard, Sr., died at Port Royal in 1726, son of Rene Richard and Magdeleine Landry, both died there. Rene Richard was the son of another Rene de San Souci who came from France, married at Port Royal to Magdeleine Blanchard, and both died there. Magdeleine Girouard died at Port Royal in 1752 and was the daughter of Jacques (Girouard) and Anne Gautrot, Jacques Girouard is issue of another Jacques dit La Varanne who came from France with his wife Jeanne Aucoin, who settled at Port Royal and both died there.

You might notice that these depositions state François Girouard’s name as Jacques. We can verify the accuracy of his wife and children’s names in the census, thereby confirming that his name was François. In the intervening generations, many devastating events had occurred. Their family had literally been torn apart and uprooted – children ripped from their mother’s arms during the deportation. We can forgive their descendants this error in memory three and four generations later.

What’s interesting here is the phrasing of the information regarding their arrival.

  • “…descended from another Jacques who came from France with Jeanne Aucoin, his wife.”
  • “Jacques dit La Varanne who came from France with his wife Jeanne Aucoin.”

Given that both of these descendants had been exiled together, it’s certainly possible that they had jointly misremembered François’s name or that somehow it hadn’t been passed down correctly. Perhaps his middle name was Jacques, or maybe genealogy just wasn’t that important when the English, then other French commanders, and then the English again, were continually attacking.

How are these people on Belle-Île-en-Mer descended from Jeanne Aucoin? I had to draw this out.

Both of Jeanne’s descendants that wound up back in France descended through son Jacques Girouard and Anne Gautrot who lived near his parents in Acadia. They were deported from Port Royal to Virginia, where the refugees were rejected. The Acadians were shipped to England a few months later, where they were held as prisoners of war for several years.

Regardless of how difficult farming was on hilly, rocky Belle-Île-en-Mer, the Acadians who first had to live in warehouses while things were sorted out, were grateful for anything.

Eventually, the Acadians were granted small portions of land equal to those of other settlers. They were able to build a 27-square-meter one-room house, about 270 square feet, with thatch or slate roofs.

In addition to the descendants of Jeanne Aucoin, several of the families also descended from her sister, Michelle.

Alexandre Aucoin from Mines declared that he descended from Alex Aucoin who died in 1759, the son of Martin Aucoin and Marie Gaudet, and that Martin Aucoin came from France and died with his wife at the Riviere aux Canaards. The relationship between that Martin and Jeanne’s father, Martin, if any, is unclear.

Today, this Acadian cross marks the location of a crossroads meeting location on Belle-Île-en-Mer where Acadians would gather to catch up on the neighborhood news.

The Cajuns, Acadians who traveled on to Louisiana, descend from these families, as do many families who still reside on Belle-Île-en-Mer and those who removed to Saint-Malo, Nantes, and elsewhere.

Pierre Richard

Jeanne, if you’re listening, I want to tell you about the life of your great-grandson, Pierre Richard. Surely you must wonder what happened to him.

Many of your great-grandchildren were scattered to the winds, but we know at least something about Pierre. You knew him as a baby. You held him, rocked him, and sang him beautiful French Acadian lullabies that Acadian women still sing to their children. He was born in 1710, so when you passed from the earth, he was 8 years old.

Pierre never forgot you. He told the story of how you and Francois “dit La Varanne” Girouard traveled from France to Acadia. Of course, when you were telling him the stories of that journey, he had no idea that he, himself, would one day travel back to France. In fact, he lived there and gave a deposition about your origins. I don’t think he knew you were born in La Rochelle 135 years earlier. If so, he didn’t include that in the deposition he provided after he was deported. I’m sure you would never, in your wildest dreams, have imagined that some of your descendants would one day live in France again.

Yes, sadly, Pierre Richard and his family were rounded up and expelled in 1755 from Pisiguit, first to the colonies and then to Liverpool, England in the summer of 1756, and then, back to France. Pierre’s first wife had died before they left England, and he remarried in Morlaix, France, on October 3, 1763, to Francoise Daigre. She had been held in Falmouth. Their child, Anselme Richard was born in Morlaix on February 2, 1765. Two decades later, in 1785, Anselme, his parents, and 3 of his siblings would sail on the ship, “Le Beaumont,” for Louisiana and settle there as Pierre’s final destination – but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Pierre was fortunate that he had not been separated from his wife and children when they were deported from Pisiguit in September of 1755. The family may have originally been sent to Philadelphia or Virginia, arriving two months later. Soon thereafter, 366 Acadians were sent to Liverpool, in England where they were held against their will as prisoners until the end of the Seven Years’ War. Put up after arrival in Liverpool in old potters’ workshops, they were greeted by deadly smallpox. Their numbers were reduced to 224 by the end of 1762.

While they couldn’t leave, they did receive 6 cents a day per adult, 3 cents for children each day, and $1.20 a year for lodging in prison quarters. Catholic parish records of a few Acadians have been found.

The Acadians petitioned to whomever might come to their assistance, and eventually, one of their messages reached the King of France who was impressed by their continued loyalty, despite their circumstances and what they had undergone.

On the last day of December 1762, the French envoy went to the Acadian prison quarters in Liverpool and informed the Acadians that the King had agreed to repatriate them to France. Raucous cheering broke out. “Long live the King.” The envoy recorded that, “They were beside themselves, clapping, raising their hands, hitting the walls, and crying like children.” So loudly that they alarmed the local residents.

That was one incredibly Happy New Year!

The King of France began to arrange for the repatriation of the Acadians, who were destitute and in great need, to both Morlaix and Saint-Malo on the Atlantic coast of France.

On June 7, 1763, the surviving Acadians boarded the king’s ship, L’Esturgeon, and sailed for Morlaix, France.

In July 1763, Brittany, who spoke a different language, proposed to bring the Acadians to Belle-Île-en-Mer, hoping the industrious Acadians would rebuild there.

By 1765, Pierre’s family had arrived on the beautiful island of Belle-Île-en-Mer, which, at that time, was war-torn as a result of English occupation. The King was seeking industrious farmers to repair and rebuild.

By this time, Pierre was 54 years old and surely tired of the constant strife. Initially, 78 families totaling 355 people lived in the King’s warehouses on Belle-Île-en-Mer as they awaited promised land, animals, and tools.

In 1766, Pierre was assigned his plot of land in Kerbellec in the Le Palais district. Although quite small – only 30 meters – an amount that could all be plowed in one day, the Acadians were grateful for their allotment and set about building small homes.

Recently, our group of Acadian descendants visited Belle-Île-en-Mer where we walked in the steps of the Acadians.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

We visited the home where Pierre lived in a cluster of other Acadian families. Regardless of how many children Acadian families had, they all lived in a small house of this size. Some lucky people stored hay in the attic and teenage boys were allowed to sleep there.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

Pierre chiseled the year, 1766, in the block above the doorway. He must have been oh-so-grateful to have any place to call home again.

Most of these homes are still in use, sometimes expanded by joining two small homes that were built sharing a wall.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

The door was only as wide and tall as an adult, meaning a relatively small adult today.

Several Acadian families settled together, sometimes with their homes sharing walls, and usually surrounding a common area in front of their homes.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

This well, just a few feet across the common area, provided life-giving water to Pierre Richard and the families of his three adult children and others who settled there, along with their children and animals.

You can take a look for yourself in this video, with Claude Boudreau, the proprietor of Les Voyages DiasporAcadie, translating for Maryvonne Le Gac, a local Acadian.

Video courtesy of cousin Brian Stevens.

Jeanne, Pierre must have thought about what you went through in your life too. At first, Pierre, along with the rest of the incredibly homesick Acadians, dreamed of returning to their homelands but finally accepted the reality that their homes had been burned, their land was redistributed, and return was not a possibility.

Instead, a new Acadian settlement in Spanish Louisiana became the next dream, and many Acadians, Pierre being one of them, set out for Louisiana where he settled in Acadiana and died sometime after 1785, possibly in Baton Rouge in 1794.

Pierre Richard passed his land and home on Belle-Île-en-Mer to a son before leaving, so some of Pierre’s descendants live in Louisiana, while some continue the Acadian tradition on Belle-Île-en-Mer, hosting cousins who return to find their roots.

Bless this cousin for her hospitality and generosity – helping me find a warm coat for Jim. Oh, and perhaps a smattering of quilt fabric for me.

She even let Jim warm up in her car while she and I went shopping. That might have been just a tad dangerous:)

Did I mention how much fun we had?!!! I hope to see her again soon.

Jeanne Aucoin’s Mitochondrial DNA

We are fortunate to have Jeanne Aucoin’s mitochondrial DNA through her descendants.

Mitochondrial DNA is passed from women to both sexes of their offspring, but it is only passed on by females. Therefore, everyone who descends from Jeanne or Michelle Aucoin carries the mitochondrial DNA of their mother, Barbe Minguett. Several testers descend from one or the other sisters, and their mitochondrial DNA matches exactly.

Because of the lack of records during this time, we don’t have a marriage record for Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett, nor do we have Michelle’s baptism record. That means we don’t know for sure that Jeanne and Michelle share the same mother.

While mitochondrial DNA can’t prove with exact certainty that they share the same mother, an exact match can go a long way toward eliminating other possibilities.

If Barbe Minguett was not the mother of both Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin, and their mothers were sisters to each other, or closely related through their direct maternal lines, like perhaps first cousins, the mitochondrial DNA of their matrilineal descendants could and probably would still match. However, the fact that several dispensations of consanguinity in the marriage records of Michelle and Jeanne’s descendants who married, along with their mitochondrial DNA, confirms that, indeed, Jeanne and Michelle were sisters.

Jeanne and Michelle’s mitochondrial DNA falls into haplogroup H which is the most common haplogroup in Europe, although most people fall into a subgroup and the Aucoin sisters do not – at least not yet.

Most of their exact matches descend from people in North America, but at least one exact full sequence match descends from Jeanne Chevoleau who was born before 1760 in Venansault, Vendée, France. If accurate, Jeanne Chevoleau’s birth before 1760 eliminates the possibility that her parents were some of the displaced Acadian families who returned to the Atlantic coastal region of France after the 1763 Peace Treaty followed by the Acadian arrival in 1765.

Venansault isn’t far from La Rochelle where we find Barbe Minguett in the church records.

Other exact matches hail from different locations in France, multiple locations in Canada and the US, two in Bulgaria, and one each in Austria, Germany, Haiti, and Poland.

In addition to 29 exact matches, there are another 142 matches with either one or two differences, and some of those people also descend from the descendants of Michelle and Jeanne Aucoin.

Not every match has recorded their earliest known ancestor’s location so that it can be displayed on the Matches Map. If you descend from either Jeanne or Michelle Aucoin through all females to the current generation, which can be male, please order the mtFull test here, and complete your Earliest Known Ancestor information. You’ll find instructions here.

The Million Mito Team is refining haplogroups. After release, the new mitochondrial haplotree may further define and split Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin’s haplogroup. Some of the extra and missing mutations stem from unstable regions, but some do not, so we’ll see. There are 24 people who match this lineage exactly, and several descendants who have one, two, or three mutations difference. The new tree will assist with determining the age of the mutations.

We may also discover that the Aucoin sisters and their mother, Barbe Minguett, match some ancient DNA samples, which may provide more insight into the history of their and our ancestors.

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Philippe Mius (c1660-after August 1726), Disaster: Piracy & the Dead Man’s Jig – 52 Ancestors #423

Philippe Mius, also sometimes referenced by his dit name of “d’Azy,” was born around 1660 in Pobomcoup, now Pubnico, to his father, Philippe Mius Sr., and Madeleine Helie.

His parents were French, possibly from Normandy, and his father was Philippe Mius d’Entremont, first Baron of Pobomcoupm, now Pubnico. He built a stone manor house, something unheard of in Acadia, near Cap de Sable as the adjutant to Governor Charles de Saint-Etienne de la tour in 1651. In 1653, Mius was granted the seigneury which became the Barony of Pobomcoup that extended from Yarmouth to the Clyde River in Shelburne County. Additionally, he was in charge of the colony in La Tour’s absence and served as the King’s Attorney as well.

Philippe Mius Sr. built a feudal castle on the east side of the harbor at Pubnico, on an atoll near what is today Hipson’s Bridge. The building stood for a century but was destroyed, as in burned to the ground, along with the surrounding settlement, during the English eradication of the Acadians in 1758.

Today, the story is told at Le Village Historique Acadien de la Nouvelle-Ecosse, across from the Old Acadian Cemetery, and The Musee des Acadiens des Pubnicos and Centre de recherche Pere Clarence d’Entremont.

This stunningly beautiful and remote location was where Philip Jr. was raised. Given his close association with the Mi’kmaq people, he clearly had a lot of freedom to explore the woodlands, and he did so with his Native American friends, learning their survival skills. He became fluent in their language and met their sisters.

The Drama Unfolds

Philippe’s story is unique among Acadian men in many ways. Better stated, everything about Philippe is “different,” even for a man living on a frontier outpost on a continent far from anything that would have been familiar to his parents. The retelling of his life’s story unfurls like the pages of a novel – full of intrigue and unexpected twists and turns the likes of which you could never imagine.

Finding Philippe’s path required every skill I possess – plus a dash of luck. Even now, I feel I’ve barely scratched the surface.

Philippe’s life begins innocently enough…

Philippe Mius Sr. is shown on the 1671 census of Acadia at the Habitation of Poboncom near the Island of Touquet as follows:

Phillippe MIUS, squire, Sieur de Landremont, 62, wife Madeleine Elie 45; Children: Marguerite Marie An, Pierre 17, Abraham 13, Phillippe 11, daughter “la cadette” Madeleine 2; cattle 26; sheep 25.

Philippe Jr.’s age suggests his birth in 1660.

The Island of Touquet is Tusket Island today, 5 or 6 miles across the Bay from Pobomcoup.

These were the only Europeans living in the Habitation of Poboncom near the Island of Touquet. One additional French family lives at Cap Neigre and one at Rivier aux Rochelois. That’s it! The Mi’kmaq people were not enumerated.

These old 1779 maps show the harbors and shoreline.

La Heve was the first trading post and thriving settlement, which means the first seat of Acadia, beginning in 1632. In 1635, the new Governor, Charles d’Aulnay, moved the Acadians and the capital to Port Royal. By the time Philippe was born in 1660, ports in this part of Acadia were outposts used for trading. Today, a museum marks the location of that first fort.

Port Rochelois’ location is noted as “Shelbourn south shore, south of Halifax.”

In 1708, most of the Acadians were living at Port Royal, more than 115 miles distant, or even further away at Les Mines, Beaubassin or other satellite settlements. Contact at that time would have been via boat.

In Honouring Our Ancestors, Janet Chute states that Philippe began trading furs and lived at Ouikmakagan between 1679 and 1685.

Ouikmakagan, a Mi’kmaq summer village with an extensive eel fishery is located on present-day Roberts Island, near the Tusket River, where Philippe’s daughter, Marie Muis married and lived with François Vignee (Viger).

Ouikmakagan was located near Ste. Anne du Ruisseau.

In Two Conquests: Aboriginal Experiences of the Fall of New France and Acadia by Thomas Peace, he tells us that:

Cape Sable was the general term that Europeans used to refer to all of the Mi’kmaq living in Kespukwitk. Unlike Port Royal and La Heve, where the name of the place identified a particular location or key river system, the term Cape Sable referred broadly to a region that stretched from the modern-day village of Port La Tour to the town of Yarmouth. The principal area of occupation was near the Tusket Islands; the Mi’kmaq had a summer village at Ouikmakagan, where there was an extensive eel fishery. The French lived in a village nearby at Pobomcoup, a seigneury that had been conceded to the d’Entremont family in 1653.

The French and the Mi’kmaq lived much more closely at Cape Sable. In 1701 Simon-Pierre Denys de Bonaventure, France’s second in command in Acadia, observed that the French and Mi’kmaq fished together at Ouikmakagan. French settlers were much more dependent on the Mi’kmaq at Cape Sable than elsewhere. Isolated from the larger settlement at Port Royal, one French official felt that the settlers could only survive because of their proximity to the Mi’kmaq.

Chute states that after the death of his first wife, about 1685, Philippe lived for about a year at Ministiguesche, now Barrington Head, with his brother Abraham, then moved to Le Heve, now renamed as La Have.

That may be true, but the 1686 census finds Philippe once again living with his father – but this time, in Port Royal.

Philippe Mius, royal prosecutor, age 77, with son, Philippe, 24, daughter Magdelaine 16, and 40 arpents of land.

Clearly, Philippe’s mother has died sometime in the past 15 years, sometime after the 1671 census, and is probably buried at Pobomcou.

It’s worth noting that both of Philippe Sr.’s older sons, Jacques and Abraham, are married with children and living in Cap Sable beside or near the LaTour family whose surname is sometimes written as Saint-Etienne de La Tour.

Philippe Jr.’s age of 24 suggests his birth in 1662. His father is elderly and widowed, so it’s probable that Philippe Jr. manages the land, livestock, and perhaps the seigneury’s day-to-day operations.

Philippe Jr. appears to be single, but that doesn’t mean he was never married. One must presume that his first wife has died and her relatives are raising their children.

It’s possible that after his wife’s death, Philippe’s father asked him to step away from the Mi’kmaq village and try returning to the European part of Acadia, specifically Port Royal, to help him. Maybe his father was hoping he’d find a nice French wife, like his brothers had, marry, and settle there.

However, to me, finding Philippe as an adult with his father after his wife died speaks of deep grief and the hope of escaping it by going someplace else. Maybe anyplace else to get away from haunting memories of his Mi’kmaq love.

However, the following year, Philippe Sr. willed his seigneury to his eldest son, Jacques, and went to live with his eldest daughter in Grand Pre until his death in about 1700. One has to wonder if this was the plan all along, or if this event signaled a rift in the family. Was Philippe hurt by his father’s choice, especially after moving to Port Royal to help him, or perhaps Philippe Sr. made that choice with Philippe Jr.’s full approval because he wanted to return to living with the Mi’kmaq and his children?

By 1687, Philippe Jr., based on the ages of his children in 1708, had returned to the Mi’kmaq villages in southwest Acadia, along the coastline near Pobomcoup, and married again to a Mi’kmaq woman named Marie.

His heart was clearly not in Port Royal, but outdoors in Southwest Acadia along the wild and stunningly picturesque coastline. His heart would never be tamed, but it would be broken.

Life in Southwest Acadia

The document, Freedom of Commerce: The History and Archaeology of Trade at St. Castin’s Habitation 1670-1701 recounts the excavation of the Baron Jean Vincente de l’Abbadie de St. Castin, who operated a trading post at the confluence of the Penobscot and Bagaduce Rivers, near Castin, Maine. He traded throughout New England, Acadia, and with the Abenaki. On page 121, a table created from the Gargus Census indicates the number of adult European males, adult Indian males, and firearms by location.

The locations relevant to the Mius family include:

Location Adult European Males Adult Indian Males Firearms
Laheve 7 10 8
Merliguech 1 4 2
Port Rochelois 5 6 6
Cape Sable 5 6 8

I suspect that Philippe Mius is the one adult European male living at Merliguech in 1687. If not, he would be one of the men at Laheve or Cape Sable. There weren’t many of either, and there were almost as many French men as Indian men.

With the arrival of Europeans, the Native population dropped precipitously, some estimates by as much as half between 1500 and 1600. I’d wager that the Mi’kmaq population had not recovered.

Chute indicates that around 1690, Philippe established a fur-trading post at the Mi’kmaq village of Chichimichecady on present-day Second Peninsula in Lunenburg County.

Philippe, as well as the Mi’kmaq were fairly fluid, living in wigwams and moving easily with the seasons and opportunity.

When Philippe’s brother Jacques and his wife Ann La Tour inherited the seigneury in 1700, Philippe II visited his elder brother to trade furs and socialize.

Philippe may have married and lived among the Mi’kmaq, but he came and went easily between both cultures.

Baptisms

We know that baptisms regularly took place by nonmembers of the clergy, especially among the Native people who had been converted. We also know that no registers were kept of those baptisms, as was noted in a 1726 trial in Boston. Nonetheless, people did the best they could. After all, no one wanted their child to be condemned to either Hell or Purgatory for lack of a convenient priest.

It’s interesting that Philippe Mius II, who styled himself as “Philippe de Pobomkou” but signed as Philippe Muis, baptized children in 1702. We know this because, in 1705, many of these children were rebaptized at Port Royal, including Jacques Amiraut, who was born July 31, 1702, and baptized the next day by Philippe de Pobomkou. The father was François Amiraut, and the mother was Marie Pitre, inhabitants of Cape Sable.

Cape Sable referred to a general location, not a specific village.

These Cape Sable families were extremely interconnected and intermarried. Joseph Mius’s son, and Philippe’s grandson, Charles, whose mother was Marie Amiraut was born in December of 1702 and baptized by François Amiraut. He, too, was rebaptized in Port Royal by a priest in 1705.

“Sieur de Pobomkou” baptized Angelique Muise on November 16, 1704, two weeks after her birth to Joseph Muise and Marie Amiraut, inhabitants of Cape Sable. Sieur de Pobomkou would have been Philippe’s elder brother, Jacques Mius, then the 2nd Baron de Pobomcoup. Pobomkou was used synonymously with Mius at that point in time.

The 1708 Census

Philippe Mius Jr. lived among and twice married into the Mi’kmaq tribe. Although he clearly retained many of his French ways, including the Catholic faith, all of his children from his second marriage lived permanently among the tribe.

We find Philippe Mius by a different spelling again in the 1708 census, but not in the previous 22 years. He’s not found in the seven censuses between 1686 and 1708, so he’s not living among the French/Acadian families.

In the 1708 census, which includes both French and Native families, in the section titled “Indians from La Heve and surrounding area,” we find:

  • Philippe Mieusse, age 48, so born about 1660
  • Marie, his wife, 38, so born about 1670
  • Jacques, his son, 20, so born about 1788
  • Pierre, his son, 17, so born about 1791
  • Françoise, his daughter, 11, so born about 1697
  • François, his son, 8, so born about 1700
  • Philipe, his son, 5, so born about 1703
  • Anne, his daughter, 3, so born about 1705

By 1742, Philippe’s son, François, aka Francis, was the chief of the Mi’kmaq and served in that capacity for at least 21 years.

We also find additional people, Philippe’s children, with the surname Mieusse, or similar:

  • Cape Sable under “enumeration of the French”: François Vige age 46, his wife Marie Mieusse 28, with 5 children. Marie’s age of 28 puts her birth in about 1680.
  • Indians from Mouscoudabouet: Maurice Mieusse 26 with wife Marguerite 27 and two children. Age 26 puts his birth at about 1682.
  • Cape Sable Indians: Mathieu Emieusse 26, Madelaine 20 and one child. This puts his birth at about 1682.
  • De La Heve under “enumeration of the French”: Jean Baptiste Guedry 24 and Madelaine Mieusse 14. Age 14 puts her birth at age 1694.

Another child of Philippe Jr. is found three houses away from François Vige and Marie Mieusse at Cape Sable:

  • Joseph dazy 35, Marie tourangeau 24, with 5 children.

Joseph’s age places his birth in about 1673. His death record on December 13, 1729 says he’s about 55 years of age, and the the name Joseph Mieux dit D’Azy confirms his identity. His descendant’s surname line was often known as D’Azy.

Joseph was considered the patriarch of the “Acadian branch” of the Mius family. He married Marie Amirault, a daughter of François Amirault dit Tourangeau and Marie Pitre of Ouikmakagan. He farmed and fished for a living, and some of his descendants took the surname “Muise.”

Joseph d’Azy Mius was born about 1673 and received land in 1715. He is described as “part Indian who dwelt at Port Le Tore” and is the son-in-law of “Tourangeaut”.

Joseph is later noted as the “part Indian who dwelt at Port Le Tore” which was originally known as Port Lomeron and was where Charles La Tour lived.

This map shows Port LaTare along with the other capes and early forts.

La Tour traded here between 1624 and 1635 when he established another fort at the mouth of the River Saint John.

Several of Joseph’s children intermarried with the Mi’kmaq people, as did two of his full siblings. Joseph’s full siblings were Philippe Mius’s children by his first wife:

  • Marie Mius, born about 1680 and married François Viger – their children would have been one-quarter Indian.
  • Maurice Mius, born about 1682 and married Marguerite, a Mi’kmaq – children would be three-fourths Indian.
  • Mathieu Mius, born about 1682 and married Madeleine, a Mi’kmaq – children would be three-fourths Indian.
  • Françoise Mius, born about 1684 and married Jacques Bonnevie – their children would have been one-quarter Indian.

Philippe’s other two sons by his first wife, Mathieu and Maurice, married Mi’kmaq women and engaged in the fur trade, Mathieu at Cape Sable and Maurice at Musquodoboit.

We know that Philippe Mius Jr. was born around 1660, which is probably why researchers have shifted his son Joseph d’Azy Mius’s birth closer to 1679. Various records across the years clearly show Joseph as being half-Native.

Maurice and Mathieu are shown as twins, born in 1682, and Françoise is slotted as the next child, born in 1684.

A 1684 birth is certainly possible, as Françoise would have been 16 in 1700, and young women were clearly marrying at that age in that time and place. Her younger sister was married at 14.

What Was Mi’kmaq Life Like?

Mi’kmaq Portraits Collection, Nova Scotia Museum: “The women are not identified but the one at left wears a skirt known to have been made for Marie Antoinette Thomas; it is now in the collections of the Nova Scotia Museum.”

One of the earliest photographs, taken in 1856, shows a group of adult Mi’kmaq. Several of these men were probably born around the turn of the century. The men with beards would have also had European ancestors, as fully Native people have very little extraneous body hair.

An unexpected find reveals a very early photograph of Molly Muise, a Mi’kmaq elder.

The Nova Scotia Museum provides the following information.

The picture is of Molly Muise who lived to a great age and was so much respected by her white neighbors that they erected a tombstone to her memory.” [Accession Note BA19.6.1, Fort Anne] Her dates of birth and death are not known. This may be the earliest portrait of a Mi’kmaq by a photographic process. Molly Muise (the name was originally the French ‘Mius’ and is now spelled Meuse and Muse as well) is wearing a peaked cap with double-curve beadwork, a dark shirt, a short jacket with darker cuffs, over which she apparently has draped a second short jacket, its sleeves pulled inside, as a capelet. Her traditional dress with the large fold at the top is held up by suspenders with ornamental tabs. In her hands she seems to be clutching a white handkerchief.

Molly is the wife of “Governor” or Chief of the Bear River clan, so Muise is her married name. Based on her apparent age, Molly would have been born sometime in the late 1700s. Her likeness has been painted in a mural on the University of Moncton’s tallest building.

Philippe would be proud!

Originally, Mi’kmaq men wore leather and fur but later adopted a combination of French and English elements in combination with the earlier traditional garb.

Per the Nova Scotia Archives, “men’s traditional dress included a coat copied from contemporary European military uniforms, featuring a collar, cuffs and beaded epaulets; the coat was tied with a woven belt. Men’s dress also included leggings tied to short trousers, plus moccasins and a hat, cap or feather headdress.”

In his Letters from Nova Scotia (1830), Captain William Moorsom observed that Mi’kmaq clothing included a “blue cloth surtout, edged at the seams with stripes of red, open at the neck, closely fitted to the body, and belted round the waist, their leggins [sic] of the same material, and seal-skin or stuffed cap, or a common hat….”

John Thomas “Paddy” Lane, at left, an Englishman adopted as medicine man into the Shubenacadie band of the Mi’kmaq, is dressed in traditional Mi’kmaq attire as he displays his smallpox “cure” which was based on the root of the Indian-Cup or Pitcher plant. Photo from the Nova Scotia archives taken in the 1860s.

Timeline

Philippe’s life was difficult to unravel, in part, because the clues are like bits of dust, blowing from place to place with unapologetic abandon. We have few primary records and need to piece much of the rest together based on scraps and mentions in secondary sources. Nonetheless, genealogists do what we need to do. If you find information I haven’t included, please share it with me.

In this timeline, the ages and birth years of Philippe’s children reveal where he was at that time.

Who Event Event Date Relevant Year Location
Philippe Mius Jr. Birth 1660-1662 1660-1662 Pobomcoup
Philippe Jr. Census age 11 1671 1671 Habitation of Poboncom
Philippe Jr. Fur trader c1679 1679-1685 Ouikmakagan, summer village on Roberts Island, near the Tusket River
Philippe Jr. Census age 24 1686 1686 Port Royal with his father
Philippe Jr. Married second wife, Marie c1686/1687 1687 Ministiguesche, now Barrington Head
Philippe Jr. 1687 trader list of European men in villages 1687 1687 Either the only European male in Merliguech or one of a handful at Le Have, Port Rochelois or Cape Sable
Philippe Jr. Returned to live with Mi’kmaq people c1687/1688 1687 child born Le Heve, now La Have
Philippe Jr. Established fur trading post c1690 1690 Chichimichecady on present-day Second Peninsula
Philippe Jr. Visited brother Jacques and Ann La Tour when they inherited seigneury 1700 1700 Pobomcoup, now Pubnico
Philippe of Pobomcoup Baptized child 1702 1702 Of Pobomcou, mother of infant was habitant of Cape Sable
Philippe Mieusse. Census age 48 1708 1708 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
Wife Marie Census age 38 born c 1670 1708 1670 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
Jacques Mieusse Census age 20 born 1688 1708 1688 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
Pierre Mieusse Census age 17 born 1691 1708 1691 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
Françoise Mieusse Census age 11 born 1696 1708 1696 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
François Mieusse Census age 8 born 1700 1708 1700 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
Philipe Mieusse Census age 5 born 1703 1708 1726 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
Anne Mieusse Census age 3 born 1705 1708 1705 Indians from La Heve and surrounding area
Marie Mieusse, wife of François Vige (with 2 children) Census age 28 born 1680 1708 1680 Cape Sable enumeration of the French
Maurice Mieusse (with wife and 2 children) Census age 26 born 1682 1708 1682 Indians from Mouscoudabouet (Musquodoboit Harbour)
Mathieu Emieusse with wife and one child Census age 26 born 1682 1708 1682 Cape Sable Indians
Madelaine Mieusse with Jean Baptiste Guedry Census age 14 born 1694 1708 1694 De La Heve under enumeration of the French
Joseph dazy with wife Marie tourangeau, 24, and 5 children Census age 35 born 1673 1708 1673 Cape Sable enumeration of the French
Joseph d’Azy Mius Land 1715 Part Indian who dwelt at Port Le Tore (La Tour)
Philippe Mius Ship visited 1721 1721 Pubnico maybe
Philippe Mius Daughter kidnapped at Merliguesch 1722 1722 Marie Ann married to Paul Guidry, first child born in captivity in Boston
Marie Ann Muis Returned to Merliguesch 1723 1723 With husband Paul Guedry and his three brothers
Philippe Mius Son François Mius and grandson Paul Guedry kidnapped, taken to Boston July 28, 1723 1723 Merliguesch
Philippe Mius English ship out of Boston came ashore August 25, 1726 1726 Merliguesh Harbour
Marie Mius Marriage to François Vignee (Viger) 1697 1697 Ouikmakagan, near Ste. Anne du Ruisseau
Françoise Mius, presumed daughter Census, born about 1684 based on children’s ages 1703 1684 Port Royal
Philippe Mius II Residence in Mirligueche  when piracy event occurred 1726 1726 Mirligueche Village near Lunenburg

 

Jacques Mius Residence in Mirligueche  when piracy event occurred 1726 1726 Hung in Boston
Philippe Mius III Residence in Mirligueche  when piracy event occurred 1726 1726 Hung in Boston
Madelaine Mieusse married to Jean Baptiste Guedry Residence in Mirligueche  when piracy event occurred 1726 1726 Jean Baptiste Guedry hung in Boston, along with his son by the same name
Joseph d’Azy Mius Death – about age 55, born 1674 1729   Annapolis Royal

Aside from Port Royal, located near Annapolis Royal, Philippe lived his entire life along south and southwest Acadia.

He may well have traveled to other parts of Canada too, and perhaps New England or Boston. He seemed to have been an intermediary and statesman with a foot in both worlds.

A very interesting tidbit revealed by this timeline is that his daughter, Françoise, born about 1684, is the final child attributed to his first Native wife. After her birth, and presumably his wife’s death, Philippe leaves the Mi’kmaq village.

We know where Philippe is in 1686 – in Port Royal with his elderly father and sister.

Based on the 1708 census, we know where he was in 1687/1688 when Jacques was born, his eldest child by his Native wife named Marie. Marie is too young to have been the mother of his older children.

While he was in Port Royal with his father, presuming his first wife had already died, he had left his children with either his siblings or her family in the tribe.

Two of Philippe’s children, with his first wife, did not live an entirely Native lifestyle. Both Françoise and Marie married Frenchmen, and Joseph married a French woman. By this time, the French/Acadians and the Mi’kmaq people had been depending upon one another for at least two generations, and probably longer, so the Native communities would have been blended by this point. It was reported that the Mi’kmaq spoke a Pidgeon type of language that incorporated some Acadian words, especially when trading or communicating with fishermen who came ashore for fresh water and supplies.

Comparatively speaking, all of Philippe’s children by his second wife lived among the Mi’kmaq people and participated fully in Native society as fur traders.

François Mius, the third youngest, was close to his father, became a chief, and after Philippe II’s death, was in charge of his Chichimichecady fur trading post.

Where Was Philippe?

Based on our timeline so far, we have identified several locations for Philippe and his children.

Pobomcoup, where he was born, La Heve, where we know he lived with his Native family, and locations in between.

These locations are surprisingly distant. Transportation would have been via birchbark canoe.

By 1900, the Mi’kmaq had, for the most part, adopted European clothing, but the wigwams and canoes had changed little.

Here, the Mi’kmaq are paddling a canoe and pursuing a caribou in a lake around 1895.

In 1708, Philippe’s children were found in both Musquodoboit Harbour and on Cape Sable Island, or nearby.

Zooming in to the Caple Sable region shows familiar names like Port La Tour and Barrington which is where Philippe Mius’s first wife was reported to have been from. That makes sense, given that Barrington isn’t far from Pubnico, and some of his children are shown with the Cape Sable Indians. Barrington and the Cape Sable Indians could be one and the same.

One accidental sighting of Philippe might have been recorded on September 26, 1721 when an English ship landed at the settlement at Pubnico where the English officer reported that “the young men were gone a hunting and only the old pommoncoup (sic) left.” They could also have been referencing his brother, Jacques. By this time, Philippe would have been on the north side of 60, but his brother would have been even older.

We don’t have any good drawings of the Mi’kmaq people and wigwams before the Acadian Deportation in 1755, but we do have some from the early 1800s, less than a century later.

A Mi’kmaq encampment at Tufts Cove in 1837, near present-day Halifax

A Mi’kmaq encampment in 1842 near Annapolis Royal with the Governor’s Bridge in the background.

This oil painting from 1860 was based on an earlier work from between 1790 and 1820. I wonder if the wigwams were actually decorated, as illustrated here.

These very much reflect the life of Philippe, who was accepted by the Mi’kmaq as one of their own. He had lived his entire life since childhood among the Native people, marrying two Native wives.

As peaceful and bucolic as these scenes appear, harkening us back to a simpler time, conflict was stirring just beneath the surface.

Peace was elusive and, ultimately, nonexistent.

History writ large, international politics, unfortunate choices, and pure bad luck collided.

Disaster: Piracy on the High Seas

I discovered a very interesting story about Philippe Mius and piracy, told by Father Clarence d’Entremont, here, and also the Acadian Museum featuring his work, here. His article was titled “Hanging of Two Acadians and Three Indians in Boston.”

I’m always skeptical of old stories, although they are fascinating and often, there’s some kernel of truth.

What about this one? Is it true?

First, let’s see what Father d’Entremont, a descendant, had to say. The bolding and notes are mine.

Captain Joseph Decoy, from Cape Breton, used to trade in Boston with his vessel. This was in the 1720’s. On one of his trips he took with him his son, who was detained in Boston for a reason which is not given. On his way back, he stopped at Merliguesh, now Lunenburg, and told the Acadians and the Indians what had happened. He told them that the only way that his son could be redeemed would be to seize one of the many vessels from Boston and vicinity fishing on the coasts of Nova Scotia and offer it in ransom for his son. This was September 4, 1726.

They did not have to wait long. The very next day, Captain Samuel Daly, of Plymouth, Massachusetts, on a fishing voyage, put with his sloop into Merliguesh Harbour to fetch fresh water. John Roberts, one of the crew, went on shore where he met some Frenchmen and some Indians.

Note – A sloop is a single-masted sailboat with two sails, as pictured above in an 1899 photo, or the colonial sloop model, below.

Among the group was Philippe Mius d’Entremont, Jr., son of the Baron Philippe Mius d’Entremont, Sr., and of Magdeleine Helie. He shook hands with him and they spoke of the peace which had just been signed between the English and the Indians. John Roberts took Philippe Mius d’Entremont Jr., and his son Jacques with him when he went back to the sloop. In the meantime, Daly invited another Acadian, Jean-Baptiste Guidry, to do likewise, which he did with his son of the same name. This was Jean-Baptiste Guidry (now written Jeddry), 42 years old, the son of Claude Guidry and of Marguerite Petitpas. He had married Madeleine Mius, the daughter of Philippe Mius d’Entremont, Jr., and of Marie, his Indian wife.

Note – This puts Philippe at Merliguesch Harbor and on the ship in a friendly fashion. It also establishes which Philippe Mius we’re discussing.

After a friendly conversation, Daly asked his guests down into his cabin to drink. In the meantime, Jean-Baptiste Guidry, Jr., went ashore. He was soon followed by Daly, his mate and the three members of the crew, plus Philippe Mius d’Entremont, Jr., and his son Jacques. Jean-Baptiste Guidry, Sr., refused to go, saying that he would call his son to come and get him, which he did in French, so thought Daly and his men.

Note – Jacques Mius is present as well, and everyone is ashore except for Jean Guidry Sr.

The son came back to the sloop with some Indians. As soon as they got aboard, they took down the English ensign, which Jean-Baptiste Guidry, Sr. girded about his waist, and tucked a pistol into it. That is when the members of the crew on shore were told to ask for quarter. Immediately, Daly went to Mrs. Guidry, “the mother of Baptiste“, says one version, thus, Marguerite Petitpas. He begged her to come on board with him and intercede with his son to restore his sloop. She finally consented to go.

Note – To “Cry for quarter” is an English phrase that means to beg for mercy. In battle, “quarter” has long been used to refer to an exemption from being immediately put to death that the victor grants to a vanquished opponent. A defeated army might have to surrender, but they did not have to ask for or accept mercy (“cry for quarter”).

Others followed, so that on board, at a time, there were the five men of the sloop, Jean-Baptiste Guidry, his son, his mother, Philippe Mius d’Entremont, his son Jacques and six Indians.

Mrs. Guidry did not succeed in her plea, on the contrary. The Indians, at this time, even threatened the crew with their hatchets. John Roberts testified that “Philip Mews” and an Indian, by the name of John Missel, took hold of him and trussed him into the forecastle. “Philip Mews spoke some English: asked him to drink a dram and Eat Cold Victuals.” It is then that Jacques Mius struck him and “told him he would kill him and cut his head off – called him a son of a B.” He stole from him, among other things, his gold ring.

Jean-Baptiste Guidry, Sr., seems to have taken charge of the situation. He soon ordered Daly to come to sail. This was just before 8 o’clock in the evening. It is not clear what happened to Philippe Mius d’Entremont, Jr., his son and Mrs. Guidry, because the next day they were not in the sloop; there were only Jean-Baptiste Guidry, Sr., his son and six Indians, apart from the five members of the crew. Most probably they left in the evening or during the night to take Mrs. Guidry home, maybe with the intention to come back next day to help Jean-Baptiste Guidry, Sr.

Note – From this, it looks like Jacques Mius was not on the ship when it sailed, but elsewhere, he is shown to have been. Maybe another son of Philippe was involved, or maybe Father d’Entremont had some incorrect information.

It is not stated how far they sailed. Daly and his men watched for the first opportunity to rise upon their captors. It so happened that they found one the very next day. Jean-Baptiste Guidry, Sr., went down into the cabin with three Indians, leaving the three others with his son to guard the prisoners. But Daly managed to shut the cabin door upon them and to master the son and the three Indians who were on deck. He then fired into the cabin. The three Indians jumped into the sea, while Jean-Baptiste, Jr. was kept at bay. And so finally Daly was in full charge of his sloop.

Daly left immediately for Boston with his five prisoners, the two Guidrys and the three Indians, whose names we have, viz., Jacques, Philippe and Jean Missel, put probably for Michel; they could have been brothers. In Boston, they were all found guilty of piracy on the high seas, for which the penalty prescribed by the law was to be hung by the neck till death follows. The trial had taken place October 15th. And thus those two Acadians and three Indians from Merliguesh were hung in Boston on Nov. 13 of the same year, 1726.

The narrator, Dr. Benjamin Colman, from whom we hold this story from his Memoirs, along with the Supreme Court of Suffolk County, in Boston, blames the French for this conspiracy, rather than the Indians who “complained that the French misled them into such villainous practices.” Then he adds: “The good providence of God … took vengeance of them for their treachery and villainy; and our government wisely hung them up … as they well deserved to die by the laws of all nations.”

Boston Newspapers

Using OldNews at MyHeritage, I found articles published at the time in a Boston weekly newsletter.

Obviously, the woman and two children weren’t charged, but we also have no idea who they were or what happened to them. If I had to guess, and I do, I’d guess they were the wife of either John-Baptiste Guidry Sr., so Madeleine Mius and her two children, or the wife of Jacques Mius and two of his children. It would surely have been a women who had an interest in one (or more) of the men on board.

We do know that John Guidry’s mother was involved in the situation on land, but she was not Native.

The two Guidry men, one of whom was part Indian, were convicted one day, and the three “Indians,” two of whom were half-French, were convicted the next.

List of Players

I had a hard time keeping track of who did and said what to and about whom. This is even more difficult because of the spelling discrepancies. French names are spelled as they sound in English or using English equivalent names. I’ve constructed a list of players based on a combination of sources, including the court case that follows:

  • Capt. Joseph Decoy, from Cape Breton, traded in Boston, and his son was detained for some reason. He stopped at Merliguesh on September 4, 1726, and told the Acadians and Indians what had happened. According to Father d’Entremont, he suggested seizing the Boston vessel and offering it as ransom for his son. (1) Please note that d’Entremont’s date has to be wrong based on the lawsuit.
  • Samuel Daly – Captain, stopped at Merliguesh, now Lunenburg, NS, Sept 5, 1726. Asked Jean-Baptiste Guidry (also written Jeddry) and his son by the same name back to the sloop. Then they left the sloop with the mate and three crew. Guidry Jr. returned to the ship with some Indians and, with his father, took control of the ship by taking the standard down and ordering Daly,the mate and three crew, then on land, to call for quarter. Went to find Mrs. Guidry and asked her to talk to her son into returning the sloop to Daly, but she failed. (1) Please note that per the lawsuit, this date was August 25th.
  • John Roberts – crew, along with mate (2), went on shore and met the Frenchmen and Indians. Initially took Philippe Mius and son Jacques back to the sloop (1)
  • Nathaniel Sprague – crew (2)
  • Silas Cooke – crew (2)
  • Philip Sachimus – crew member noted in the Boston transcript by name who was left on the ship with Guidry Sr when the others went ashore (2). Was an Indian with the sloop. He was tied to the masthead by James and Philip Mews.
  • Indian with sloop – crew (2) – There’s a second Indian with the sloop, other than Philip Sachimus (2), whose name was John, alias Attaw•n, and who was then in prison.
  • Jean-Baptiste Guidry Sr. (John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure (2)) – identified as a Frenchman, husband of Madeleine Mius, daughter of Philippe Mius Jr. Stayed on the ship to drink with Doty when the others left. After his son and some Indians returned, told three members of crew on shore, the first-mate, and Daly to cry for quarter. Ordered Daly to set sail about 8 PM. On the sloop in morning. (1) Called himself the skipper of the sloop. At trial, said he was trying to keep the Indians from hurting the sailors. Said Philip Mews, one of the Indians, is his brother-in-law. (2)
  • Jean-Baptiste Guidry (Guedry) Jr. – son of Guidry Sr., left the sloop in the evening but came back with other Indians. On the sloop in the morning. (1) Identified as a Frenchman, even though his mother was half-Native, not yet 14-years-old. At trial, said he was taking orders from his father and had been encouraged to participate by the Indians. (2)
  • Mother of Jean Baptiste Guidry Sr. – Marguerite Petitpas (French, not Native) – along with son Augustine (4), tried to convince the men to release the ship.
  • Philippe Mius d’Entremont Jr. – Met Daly at Merliguesh, left sloop in the evening, and did not drink. (1) Was not on board when sailed (1)
  • Philippe Mius’s son who left the ship with him – could have been Jacques who returned.
  • Jacques Mius – left the sloop in the evening and did not drink, returned and threatened to kill Roberts and cut his head off, stole his gold ring (1)
  • Six Indians on board in the morning with both Guidry men (1)
  • Indian 1 – Philippe Mius took hold of John Roberts and trussed him to the forecastle (spoke some English) (1) John-Baptiste Guidry Sr. at trial said that “Indian man Philip” was left on the sloop with him in the evening and that his son returned with two more Indians, that Philippe “struck the sloops colours,” and gave them to Guedry who tied them around his waist (2)
  • Indian 2 – John Missel – trussed John Roberts to forecastle with Philip Mius (1) states that he was originally from Sechenecto (Chignecto) and two years before he lived at Menis (Minas) and this summer he came from Menis to Malegash (Mirligueche)
  • Indian 3 – Jacques (1)
  • Indian 4 – Indian named Germain (2) (3) jumped into the sea but was saved
  • Indian 5 – Indian named Lewis, son of Germain (Salmon), above (2) jumped into the sea but was saved (3)
  • Indian 6 – jumped into sea but was saved, probably Marsel, whose wife and two children accompanied him on the sloop (2)
  • James Mews named along with Philip Mews as the two Indians who returned onto the ship with John-Baptiste Guidry Jr. (2) called himself Captain of the captured sloop (2) took out his knife and struck at Philip Sachimus. Doty testified that James Mews told him there was peace proclaimed between the English and Indians; but the said Mews said he “never would make Peace with the English, for the Governour of Boston kept his Brother, and he would Burn the Sloop and keep the Goods till his Brother was sent home.” Got drunk while they were taking the sloop and told Doty where to steer. Threatened to kill Sprague. In deposition, says he lives at Malegash. Had been drinking rum that they purchased from a French vessel.
  • Indian woman and two children were also on board in the cabin. (2) She was the wife of one of the men who jumped into the sea (2)
  • Paul Guidry – Jean-Baptiste Guidry Sr. testified that the reason that they had been taking English vessels was reprisals because his son Paul, and brother-in-law, Francis Mews, were detained by the English.
  • Francis Mews – Jean-Baptiste Guidry Sr. testified that the reason that they had been taking English vessels was reprisals because his son Paul, and brother-in-law, Francis Mews, were detained by the English.
  • James Mews testimony mentions [John] Baptist [Guidry] and his son, John, his brothers Paul and Gold (Gold is probably Claude), and his son-in-law Augustine (4), gave James Mews and the other 5 Indians a bottle of rum and persuaded them to go on the sloop and get provisions. Said that he with Salmon and Lewn (3) went aboard in one Canno (canoe); and three more Indians, viz. Missel, Philip, and Marsel went aboard in another Canno; and sometime after, Marsel went on Shoar again and brought his Squaw and two Children on board the Sloop; and after them, a French Woman with the English Master of the Sloop and a French Man went aboard the Sloop. That the next Morning after the Sloop was taken, James went to breakfast and drank so much that he knows not how the English overcame the French and Indians on board; but when he came to be sober, he found himself bound in the hold of the sloop, and he was kept tied till he came to Boston in the sloop.
  1. According to Father d’Entremont
  2. Boston admiralty court cases October 4/5, 1726
  3. Note that in the 1708 census, we find Germain Memguesse, 28, wife Agnes, 24, Louis, 11, Pierre, 1, Margueritte, 9, and Marie, 6 among the “Indians from La Hever and surrounding area.
  4. 7th family at La Heve in 1708 is Claude Guedry, 60, Marguerite Petit pas 48, Charles 21, Augustin, 16, Claude, 16, Joseph, 10, Pierre, 8, Paul, 6, Marie, 14 and Françoise, 4.

Some genealogists have attributed two of Philippe’s sons as two of the Indians, and some attribute three of his sons. So far in this saga, we don’t know.

Surely, if this is true, there has to be more to the story. Sure enough, there is – in Boston, in the Vice-Admiralty court records.

Full, heartbreaking, testimony.

This transcript is…well…just take a breath and buckle up.

The spelling is left as it and the bolding is mine. The transcript is quoted and indented. My notes providing additional information are not. Images of the justices were not in the original transcript, but I want you to see these men.

Trial in the Vice-Admiralty Court

The Trials of five persons for piracy, felony and robbery, who were found guilty and condemned, at a Court of Admiralty for the trial of piracies, felonies and robberies, committed on the high seas, held at the court-house in Boston, within His Majesty’s province of the Massachusetts-Bay in New-England, on Tuesday the fourth day of October, anno domini, 1726. Pursuant to His Majesty’s royal commission, founded on an act of Parliament made in the eleventh and twelfth years of the reign of King William the Third, entituled, An act for the more effectual suppression of piracy; and made perpetual by an act of the sixth year of the reign of our sovereign Lord King George.

Tuesday, October 4th. 1726. At three a Clock post Meridiem. The Court met according to the said Adjournment.

William Dummer (1677-1761), wealthy merchant, politician, Lt. Governor and acting Governor. Dummer’s War, from 1722-1725, was a series of battles between the New England colonies and the Wabanaki Confederacy, which included the Mi’kmaq and other tribes allied with France. Some battles were fought in Acadia, present-day Nova Scotia. The War was not over until peace was agreed upon in July 1727. Therefore, he was presiding over the trial of three men who were at least part Mi’kmaq, one who was French, and one who was apparently entirely Native – whose people he was leading a war against.

Anno Regni Regis GEORGIJ, Magnae Britaniae, Franciae & Hiberniae, Decimo Tertio.

At a Court of Admiralty for the Trial of Piracies, Felonies and Robberies upon the High Seas, Held at the Court-House in Boston, within the Province of the Massachusetts-Bay in New-England, on Tuesday the Fourth Day of October, Anno{que} Domini, 1726.

PRESENT,

THE Honourable WILLIAM DUMMER Esq Lieut. Governour and Commander in Chief in and over His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid, President of the said Court, and the other Honourable Commissioners following, viz.

  • William Tailer Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

William Tailer (1676-1732) was a military officer and politican who commanded an English regiment in the 1710 siege of Port Royal Clearly, which garnered him his Boston Commission as Lieutenant Governor. He served two terms as acting governor, one before and one after this trial. Tailer was clearly not impartial.

  • Penn Townsend Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Nathaniel Byfield about 1730

  • Nathaniel Byfield Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Nathaniel Byfield (1653-1733) is described as “a man of positive traits, dictatorial and overbearing, ambitious and revengeful, yet so sound that no decision of his was ever, upon appeal, reversed by a higher court.” Ironically, he was buried in the Old Granary Burying Ground, so may be buried near the men he condemned.

  • Thomas Hutchinson Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.
  • John Clark Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.
  • Thomas Fitch Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Thomas Fitch (1668-1736) was a wealthy merchant and owned part of Boston Common, north of Boylston Street. It’s possible that this included the Great Elm Tree.

  • Adam Winthrop Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Elisha Cook

  • Elisha Cooke Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Elisha Cooke (1678-1737) was a physician and politician, a Harvard graduate. He owned the Goat Tavern on King Street and was a heavy drinker, but very popular because he loosened the liquor licensing laws.

Jonathan Belcher

  • Jonathan Belcher Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Jonathan Belcher (1682-1757) was a wealthy merchant and New England slave trader who served as Governor of Massachusetts Bay and later of both New Hampshire and New Jersey. Belcher had a reputation for exhibiting an abrasive personality, which heightened divisions in New Jersey. Historian Robert Zemsky wrote of Belcher, “[He] was almost a caricature of a New England Yankee: arrogant, vindictive, often impetuous despite a most solemn belief in rational action and calculated maneuver.” He was known to be vindictive, and in personal correspondence with friends, family, and supporters, he used condescending names to refer to his opponents.

Years later, after the English expelled the Acadians in 1755 and confiscated their land, in 1761, Belcher signed a treaty on behalf of the English, and Francis (aka François) Mius, held hostage in 1726, signed as the Chief of the La Heve Tribe at Halifax, Nova Scotia. Given what happened to his brothers, brother-in-law, and nephew at the hands of this man, that must have been a horrifically bittersweet day for François.

  • Jonathan Dowse Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.
  • Samuel Thaxter Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.
  • John Turner Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Daniel Oliver

  • Daniel Oliver Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Daniel Oliver (1663-1732) is buried at the Granary Burying Ground.

  • Thomas Palmer Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.
  • Edward Hutchinson Esq Of the Council of His Majesty’s Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Edward Hutchinson (1678-1752) was a merchant, treasurer of Harvard College and the brother of Thomas Hutchinson.

  • John Frost Esq one of His Majesty’s Council for the Province New-Hampshire.

John Frost (1681-1732) was an officer in the Royal Navy and commanded a British ship of war.

  • John Menzies Esq Judge of the Court of Vice Admiralty.
  • Josiah Willard Esq Secretary of the Province of the Massachusetts-Bay aforesaid.

Note that Vice-Admiralty Courts were different than other courts, operating with only one purpose – to resolve disputes between merchants and seamen. Furthermore, jury trials were expressly prohibited and people being prosecuted were presumed guilty until or unless proven innocent. This court was run by British-appointed judges, most of whom were wealthy merchants and politicians.

Proclamation was made by the Cryer of the Court, Commanding all Persons to keep Silence, upon pain of Imprisonment, whilst His Majesty’s Commission for the Trial of Piracies, Felonies and Robberies, was in Reading.

Then His Majesty’s Royal Commission, Founded upon the Statute or Act of Parliament made in the Eleventh and Twelfth Years of the Reign of King William the Third, Entituled, An Act for the more effectual Suppression of Piracy; and made perpetual by an Act of the Sixth Year of King GEORGE, was openly Read, and the Court solemnly and publickly Called and Proclaimed.

After Reading the said Commission, His Honour the President of the Court, took the Oath appointed by the aforesaid Statute, and then Administred the same Oath to the other Commissioners before-named.

And in Regard the afore-mentioned Statute directs, that a Notary Publick shall be Register of this Court, the Honourable Commissioners were pleased to chuse Mr. Samuel Tyley, a Notary Publick, to be Register of the said Court, who was Sworn to the true and faithful Discharge of the said Office of Register.

Afterwards Proclamation was made by the Cryer, for all Persons that could Inform this Court, or the Advocate General, of any Piracies, Felonies or Robberies committed upon the High Seas, within the Jurisdiction of the Admiralty of Great Britain, to come forth and declare it, and they should be heard.

Then Capt. Samuel Doty, Nathaniel Sprague, John Roberts, Silas Cooke and Phillip Sachimus were Called, they being bound over by Recognizance to appear at this Court, to give Evidence on His Majesty’s behalf, concerning Acts of Piracy, Felony and Robbery committed on board the Sloop Tryal, by John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, John Baptist Junior, James Mews, Philip Mews and John Missel; And the said Witnesses being all present, the Court, at the Motion of Robert Auchmuty Esqr. His Majesty’s Advocate General, directed the Register to issue out a Warrant to Arthur Savage Esqr. Marshal of the Admiralty, Requiring him forthwith to bring into Court the said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist Junior from His Majesty’s Goal in Boston, where they were Committed for the aforesaid Crimes, upon the Accusation of the Kings Witnesses before named.

The Marshal of the Admiralty, pursuant to the Warrant directed and delivered to him by the Register, brought the aforesaid two Prisoners into Court; who were Arraigned at the Bar upon Articles of Piracy, Felony, and Robbery, Exhibited against them by the Advocate General, which were read, and are as followeth, viz.

Province of the Massachusetts-Bay, Suffolk, ss. At a Court of Admiralty for the Trial of Piracies, Felonies and Robberies on the High Seas, within the Jurisdiction of the Admiralty of Great Britain, Held at Boston, within the County of Suffolk, on the fourth Day of October, in the Thirteenth Year of the Reign of our Sovereign Lord GEORGE, of Great Britain, France and Ireland, King, Defendder of the Faith, &c. Anno{que} Domini, 1726.

ARTICLES of Piracy, Felony and Robbery, exhibited by Robert Auchmuty Esq His Majesty’s Advocate General, against John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist Junior.

First, For that the said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist Junior, Not having the Fear of GOD before their Eyes, but being Instigated by the Devil, on the Twenty Fifth Day of August last, about the Hour of Two in the Afternoon of the said Day, together with James Mews, Philip Mews, John Missel, Indians, and others, in or near Mallegash Harbour, about Thirty Leagues Eastward to the Head of Cape Sables, on the High Seas, and within the Jurisdiction of the Admiralty-Court of Great Britain; with Force and Arms, Piratically and Feloniously, did Surprize, Seize, Take and possess themselves of a Sloop named the Tryal, Samuel Doty Master, Burthen about Twenty Five Tons, & of the Value of Five Hundred Pounds, being the Property of His said Majesty’s good Subjects; and then and there, with Force as aforesaid, the said Master, Nathaniel Sprague, John Roberts and Philip Sachimus, Mariners on Board the said Vessel, and all His said Majesty’s good Subjects, and in the Peace of our said Lord the KING being, did Piratically, and Feloniously, make, hold and detain as their Prisoners on board the said Vessel, for the space of Twenty Hours, or thereabouts.

Secondly, For that said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist Junior, with others, as aforesaid, and with the like Force as aforesaid, then and there within the Jurisdicton aforesaid, Feloniously and Piratically did Rob, Plunder, and Consume all or the greatest part of the Stores and Provisions belonging to said Vessel, of the Value of One Hundred Pounds; and did Rob, Seize, Take and possess themselves of Clothes, Gold Rings, and Silver Buckles, all of the Value of Fifty Pounds, and the Property of His Majesty’s said Subjects.

Thirdly, For that the said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist Junior, with others as aforesaid, on board the said Vessel as aforesaid, and within the said Jurisdiction, with Force and Arms as aforesaid, and immediately after the taking the said Vessel as aforesaid, Piratically and Feloniously sail’d in quest of other Vessels, in order them Piratically and Feloniously to Seize, Take and Plunder.

All which said several Acts of Piracies, Felonies and Robberies, were by the said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist Junior, Done and Committed in Manner as aforesaid, contrary to the Statutes and Laws in such Cases Made and Provided, and to the Peace of our said Lord the King, His Crown and Dignity.

R. Auchmuty, Advoc. Gen.

Upon reading the aforesaid Articles, John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, desired that the same might be interpreted to him and his Son John Baptist Junior in the French Language, for that he the said John Baptist (the Father) did not understand English very well; and his Son was wholly Ignorant of the English Language.

Whereupon Messieurs Peter Lucy and Peter Frazier, both of Boston, Merchants, were Sworn Interpreters between the Court and the Prisoners; and then Interpreted the said Articles to the Prisoners, Article by Article; to which they severally pleaded not Guilty.

Then the Court were pleased to Appoint George Hughes, Gentleman, Attorney at Law, to be Advocate for the Prisoners, who accepted that Trust, and prayed for a Copy of the Articles Exhibited against them, & for a further time to prepare for their Trials; And the Court thereupon was Adjourned to three a Clock in the Afternoon.

Tuesday, October 4th. 1726. At three a Clock post Meridiem. The Court met according to the said Adjournment.

PRESENT, The Honourable WILLIAM DUMMER Esq Lieut. Governour and Commander in Chief of the said Province, President; and all the other Commissioners before-named.

Then the Prisoners were brought to the Bar, and their Advocate having been served with a Copy of the Articles exhibited against them, and prepared for their Trial, the said Articles were read again.

After reading thereof, His Majesty’s Advocate made a Speech to the Court as followed, viz.

MAY it please Your Honour Mr. President, and the Honourable the Commissioners, John Baptist Senior, and John Baptist Junior, the Prisoners at the Bar, stand Articled against for Acts of Piracy, Robbery and Felony, Committed upon the High Seas, within the Jurisdiction of the Admiralty of Great Britain, contrary to the Peace of our Sovereign Lord the King, His Crown and Dignity, and the Statutes in such Cases Made and Provided: To which upon Arraignment, they have severally pleaded Not Guilty.

The Word Pirate, with inconsiderable Variation, is taken from the Greek Substantive Peirates, Praedo Marinus, and therefore a Pirate in a Legal Sense is called a Robber on the High Seas: And under this Consideration I’m humbly of Opinion, the Prisoners at the Bar will evidently appear to your Honours, in the Series of this their Trial: Persons whom the Law with the greatest Propriety justly Terms Pirates. And however others may pride themselves in accurately handling abstruse and knotty Cases; I esteem it my Felicity, that the Articles now exhibited to your Honours, are grounded upon plain and clear Matters of Fact; Facts which proceed from the Rancour and Virulency of their evil Hearts, from a craving Appetite, and an insatiable Thirst after inordinate Gain. And finally, Facts if not now timely Corrected by Your Honours experienced Justice, will most certainly terminate in the breaking up of our Fishery, the most valuable Branch of our New-England Trade. But for as much as I’m sensible Glosses with your Honours pass not for Arguments, or Varnish for Evidence; So I’m well assured, when positive and direct Proofs appear before You in their full Proportion, they will have their Usual and Legal Weight in Your Honours Determination: And therefore upon the Evidences I shall produce on the part of the King, I may reasonably expect in Justice to His Majesty, in Compliance with the Laws of our Land, and in a due and tender Regard to this His Majesty’s Province, and the Safety and Preservation of the Lives and Properties of His Majesty’s most Loyal and Dutiful Subjects in this Government, Your Honour and the Honourable the Commissioners will adjudge the Prisoners at the Bar respectively Guilty of all and every the Articles exhibited against them, &c.

Then the Cryer of said Court was directed by Mr. Advocate to call the King’s Evidences.

Afterwards the Witnesses for our Sovereign Lord the King, Namely, Captain Samuel Doty, Nathaniel Sprague, John Roberts, Silas Cooke, and Philip Sachimus, were Called and Sworn, and severally Deposed as followeth, viz.

Samuel Doty of Plymouth in New-England Mariner, and Master of the Sloop Tryal, Deposeth and Saith, That on Wednesday the 25th Day of August last past, (with the consent of his Men) he put into Malegash Harbour, to Water, & from thence designed to Prosecute their Fishing-Voyage near the Isle of Sables; And seeing John Baptist, the Father, on Shoar, the Deponent haled him, and asked him to come on board. And soon after the Prisoners at the Bar, came on board the Sloop in a Canno, when the Deponent ask’d what News? The said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, answered there was Peace between the English and Indians, and particularly at Boston, Annapolis, and Causo; And thereupon the said Baptist and the Deponent went into the Cabbin, and left the said John Baptist Junior upon Deck; After the Deponent, and John Baptist had drank together, the Deponent went upon Deck with intent to go ashoar in the Canno, but Baptist’s Son was gone ashoar in it, then the Deponent with the Mate and three more Men, took the Sloops Canno, and went ashoar, leaving the said Baptist on board, with Philip Sachimus, the said Baptist declining to go a Shore with them when ask’d, saying he would Call his Son, and he should carry him on Shore. That some short time after the Deponent and his Men had left the Sloop, the said Baptist called to his Son on Shoar, and spake to him in a Language unknown to the Deponent, and presently John Baptist Junior, with two Indians, namely, James Mews and Philip Mews, went into the said Baptist’s Canno, and after they had got about a Gun shot from the Shore, one of the Indians held up his Gun and Fired it, & called to the Deponent and Company as they stood on the Shoar, saying, You English Men, ask for Quarter; and after the Indians had got on board the Sloop, they took down the English Ensign then flying, which the Deponent perceiving, he then went to the House of Mrs. Giddery, Mother to the said John Baptist, and desired her, with her Son Augustine to go on board the Sloop with him, and intercede with the said Baptist that the Deponent might have his Sloop again. And after some Considerable Time, Mrs. Giddery and her Son went on board with the Deponent, when he the Deponent saw the Ensign girded round Baptist’s middle, and a Pistol tuckt in it, which belonged to one of the Deponents Men, namely John Roberts. At which time there were several more Indians on board the Sloop, who pusht the Deponent about the Vessel, and Evilly treated him; and one of them Attempted to strike him with his Hatchet, but was prevented by another Indian. The Deponent further saith, That towards the Evening, the said John Baptist Jedre ordered him to come to Sail, and to Steer the Sloop Eastward; And the next day early in the Morning, they discovered a Vessel, which they tho’t was an English Vessel, when the said John Baptist and the Indians gave out, that they would go and Kill all the English Men on board, and then the Deponent should have his Sloop again; but she proved to be a French Scooner belonging to Cape Breton, which had been at Malegash the day before the Deponents Sloop arrived there. That when the Scooner appeared in sight, the Prisoners with the Indians, divided the Powder and Shot which belonged to the Sloop, put new Flints into their Guns, cut up the Fishing Leads to make Sluggs for their small Arms, and loaded them with design (as they said) to take the said Scooner, if she had been an English Vessel.

And further the Deponent saith, That afterwards he Steered the Sloop for Mahoon Bay, to the Eastward of Ashpetauget, by Order of the said Baptist, who sometimes Steered himself; And when she was about seven Leagues Eastward of Malegash, the Deponent and his Company having agreed to rise upon the French and Indians, took their Opportunity to do it, soon after they had been at Breakfast, on the 26th. of August, when Baptist and three Indian Men with an Indian Woman and two Children were in the Cabbin; And the Deponent shut the Cabbin-Door upon them; but Baptist hearing the English scuffling with the Indians upon Deck, soon came out of the Cabbin, having burst open the Cabbin-Door, and the Mate struck him down with a Club, and Phillip Sachimus threw him overboard; Soon after the English fired into the Cabbin, and the three Indian Men got out of the Cabbin-Windows into the Sea, in order to Swim on Shoar; and Young Baptist and the other Indians were thrown into the Hold; And after the Prisoners and Indians were subdued, Baptist was taken on board the Sloop again from out of a Canno, which lay astern.

Nathaniel Sprague, Mate of the Sloop Tryal saith, That on the 25th. of August last, he went on Shoar at Malegash with Mr. Doty and others, and left John Baptist and Phillip Sachimus on board the Sloop. That soon after the Deponent got on Shoar, Baptist called to his Son to come on board, as the Deponent believes, (tho’ he spake in Language to him unknown) and thereupon the said Baptist’s Son, with two Indians Armed, put off from the Land in a Canno, and when the Canno was some distance from the Shoar, one of them fired a Gun, and said to the English on Shoar, you English Men call for Quarter, and then the said John Baptist Junior, and the two Indians, viz. James & Philip Mews, went on board the said Sloop. And the Deponent, as he stood on Shoar, saw some of them with Baptist take the Sloop’s Ensign down, and then they fired several small Arms into the Air

The Deponent further saith. That he tarried on Shoar till Mr. Doty called to him from the Sloop▪ and told him he believed the French and Indians would give him good Quarter if he came on board; So the Deponent and Silas Cooke ventured to go on board, and as they came along side the Sloop, several of the People on board presented their Guns at them; Some of them had their Hatchets, and others their Knives, and they haul’d him along the Vessel, and Barbarously treated him; And two Indians afterwards held the Mazzles of their Guns at him with intent, as he thought) to Shoot him, so to escape the danger, he jumpt into the Hold. Soon after the said Baptist called to him, and bid him come out of the Hold, or else he would be killed; So the Deponent came upon Deck, and the said Baptist and others bound him with Lines. That Baptist called himself Skipper of the Sloop, and James Mews an Indian, called himself the Captain of her. The Deponent farther saith, that the next day, viz. the 26th. of August, looking out of the Hold, he saw the said Baptist with his Pistol tuckt through the Sloops Ensign, which was round his Waste, and heard him order Mr. Doty to take the Helm. That young Baptist walked the Deck with his Gun. That the French and Indians eat the Sloops Bread, Butter, Pork, and Sugar, and Drank the Rum and other Liquors which belonged to the English. That after Breakfast, one of the English Men called to the Deponent in the Hold, and told him that there was a good Opportunity to rise upon the French and Indians, there being but three or four of them upon Deck; Whereupon the Deponent came upon the Deck and saw Mr. Doty put to the Cabbin-Door, and then he took hold of one of the Indians, who was too strong for the said Doty, and threw him down. By this time John Baptist Junior, who before was lying down on his Gun, got up with it, but the Deponent struck him down, and Baptist (the Father) hearing the Noise, burst open the half Door of the Cabbin, and came out with the Sloops Ensign round his middle, and a Pistol tuckt in it, and got hold of the Deponent, but he flung the said Baptist a-cross the Gunnel, and Philip Sachimus, (who stood to keep the Cabbin-Door fast) took the said Baptist and threw him over-board: About this time John Baptist Junior cryed for Quarter, yet afterwards got a Fisherman’s Pew, and struck at the Deponent with all his might, but mist his Blow, and only tore the Deponents Shirt; Who then knockt the said Baptist down, and he was thrown into the Sloops Hold, together with Philip and James Mews, and the Hatches were shut down upon them; And three Indians who were in the Cabbin, got out of the Cabbin-Windows in order to Swim on Shoar.

That after the Prisoners were subdued, the Deponent saw Baptist the Father, with two Rings and a pair of Stockings taken from John Roberts; And John Baptist Junior had on Mr. Doty’s Cap.

John Roberts deposeth and saith, That he heard John Baptist when he first came on board the Sloop say, there was Peace. That the Deponent went ashoar with Mr. Doty and his Mate, and soon after saw Philip Mews strike the Colours, that the Deponent tarried on Shoar till the Evening when the Sloop came to Sail.

That when he came on board, the Sloops Colours were round Baptist’s middle, with the Deponents Pistol tuckt thro’ the same, and he saw a Gold Ring belonging to him the Deponent upon the said Baptists Finger. That young Baptist stood over the Scattle with a Musket in his Hand. That he loaded a Pistol, and his Father then took it from him. That Baptist called the Deponent Son of a Bitch, hauled him out of his Hammock upon the Floor, and bid him come up and Steer. The next Morning early they discovered a Scooner, when Baptist consulted with the Indians, and supposing she was an English Vessel, they put new Flints in their Guns, and loaded them, and told the Deponent, that if they took the Scooner, they would Kill the English and keep the Scooner, and then the said Doty and Company should have their Sloop again But the Vessel proved to be a French Scooner, which as the said Baptist said, had been lately at Malegash; Baptist then Ordered the Deponent to Steer for Mahoon Bay: But soon after the Deponent assisted the said Doty and Company in subduing the French and Indians as before is Deposed by him the said Doty and his Mate.

SIlas Cooke Deposeth and saith, That he saw John Baptist Junior with a Gun, which was taken from him, and afterwards one of the English Men fired it into the Cabbin, whereupon three Indian Men got out of the Cabbin Window into the Sea. The Deponent further saith, That he saw the Sloop’s Colours round Baptist’s Waste, with a Pistol tuckt into it, and several times he had another Gun in his Hands. That he Ordered the Deponent to Steer for Mahoon-Bay. That the said Baptist took the Vessel’s Biscake, Butter and Cheese, and made use of the Sugar, Tobacco and Pipes, and divided the Powder, and Young Baptist made Sluggs for the Small Arms, with the Leads of the Fishing Lines belonging to the Sloop.

Philip Sachimus being Called Deposeth and saith, That he heard John Baptist when he first came on board the Sloop, say there was a very good Peace. And afterwards Capt. Doty & his Men went ashoar, and left him the Deponent and Baptist on board. That Mr. Doty ask’d him to go a Shoar, but the said Baptist answered he would Cast his Son. After the English Men got a Shoar Baptist Called to his Son John Baptist, who together with James and Phillip Mews, two Indians, came aboard in a Canno. That Phillip Mews and Baptist (the Father) talk’d together, and James Mews took out his Knife and run after the Deponent and struck at him. That young Baptist pointed a Gun at him, but he can’t tell whether he snapt it or no. That the two Indian afterwards tied the Deponent under the Windless, so he could not see who struck the Colours, but afterwards he saw them round Baptist’s middle. That he saw them take the English Mens Guns. This Deponent saw John Baptist Junior had a Pistol and make Sluggs with the Fishing Leads; he also saw John Roberts his Rings upon Baptist’s Finger, and the French and Indians had the Command of the Sloop the Capt. Do•• and his Company overcame them the next day.

After the Evidences for the King were heard, Mr. George Hughes, Advocate to the Prisoners at the Bar pleaded in their Behalf, in Manuer following, viz.

May it please Your Honour, Mr. President, and the rest of the Honourable Commissioners of this Court:

It is not without Regret that I appear before this Honourable Court in behalf of the Prisoners at the Bar: But the Sense of my Duty, and my real Desire that the World, and more especially their Country men, should be convinced of the fair and impartial Trial they will receive, weigh down all Objections to my appearing for them. And although they may labour under some Inconveniences on Account of their not understanding the English Tongue, yet I take that to be sufficiently made up to them, by the great Candour and Impartiality your Honours have shown in granting them Interpreters and otherwise.

As it is my Province to speak only to Matters of Law, I shall endeavour to perform it as well as the very little time I have had will allow; and waving any Observations upon the Evidences that have been Sworn, humbly beg your Honours Consideration of two Matters, which I conceive worthy thereof. The first of which relates equally to both the Prisoners, the last to John Baptist Junior only.

I am well perswaded there hath been a great peice of Villany lately acted in the Harbour of Malagash, by the seizing and taking of Capt. Doty and his Men and Vessel, in which the Prisoners may have borne their part, but your Honour, and the rest of the Honourable Court, will well distinguish Crimes of different Natures, and not Condemn Persons for Piracy because they may be Guilty of Notorious Robberies or other Crimes, and I submit it to your Honours whether the Prisoners can be adjudged Guilty of Piracy. My Lord Chief Justice Hale in his Plac. Coron. treating of Piracy says,

It extends not to Offences in Creeks or Ports within the Body of a County, because punishable by the Common Law.

Pag. 77. Jacob’s Edition. And says another Book,

If a Pirate enter a Port or Haven, and Assaults and Robs a Merchant-Ship at Anchor there, this is no Piracy, because it is not done Super Altum Mare, but it is a downright Robbery at the Common Law, the Act being infra Corpus Comitatus, Jacob’s Lex Mercat. Pag. 183.

Medio, both which agree with the Definition of Piracy given by my Lord Coke in his Comments upon Littleton, Pag. 291. a. If then it appears to your Honours, (as I think it must by the Evidence) that the Facts charged upon the Prisoners were Committed in an Harbour within the Body of a County: And supposing they were the real Actors thereof, they are not guilty of Piracy, but ought to be tried at the Common Law, as Robbers, by a Jury, and your Honours will acquit them of the Articles now exhibited against them by the Advocate General on His Majesty’s behalf.

But, May it please your Honours, The Case of the young Lad at the Bar, John Baptist Junior, is distinguished from that of his Father, on account of his tender Years; being (as his Father informs me) not fourteen Years of Age; an Age which renders a Person incapable in the Law, of committing any Crime so as to be punished with Death, he being set upon the same Foot with a Mad-man by my Lord Coke upon Litt Pag. 247. b. who says,

That in Criminal Causes, as Felony, &c. the Act and Wrong of a Mad-man shall not be imputed to him, for that in those Causes, Actus non facit reum, nisi Mens fit rea: And he is Amens (id est) sine mente, without his Mind and Discretion, and Furiosus solo furore punitur, A Mad man is only punished by his Madness. And so it is of an Infant, until he be of the Age of Fourteen, which in Law is accounted the Age of Discretion.

It cannot be expected I should produce any Evidence of the Age of this Lad, who was born and educated in the Woods among the Wild and Salvage Indians, where no Register of Births or Burials is kept; he knows not his own Age, but by the Information of his Father, who here declares in publick Court, his Son is but Fourteen this Fall; there is no Evidence to disprove him in this Assertion, and where the Scale is but even, Your Honours will give the Ballance in favour of Life.

Your Honours will likewise be pleased to consider the great Influences a Father hath upon his Son, not only in his Example but Precepts, as corrupt Nature is prone enough to evil; the Perswasions of a Father, or the fear of his Frowns and severe Corrections, back’d with his Example, are strong and powerful Instigators to do Evil.

Upon the whole, I submit the Case of the Prisoners to Your Honours wise Consideration, not in the least doubting of your just and impartial Judgment.

Then the said John Baptist in his own Defence alledged, That the People belonging to the aforesaid French Scooner (who he said had been at Malegash lately to buy Cattle to carry to Cape Breton) prevailed with him to do what he had done; telling him, that it would be the best way in order to get his Son Paul from the English, to take and keep one of their Vessels till they got him out of their Hands.— And further he added, That he had no design to kill any of the English, but hindred the Indians from hurting them with their Knives.

John Baptist Junior pleaded for his Excuse, That what he did was by his Father’s Order, and that the Indians advised him to assist in taking the said Vessel.

Afterwards John Baptist (the Father’s) Examination, taken before Samuel Checkley and Habijah Savage Esqrs. two of His Majesty’s Justices of the Peace, was Read, and is as follows, viz.

The Examination of John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure.

THIS Examinant saith, That he lived at Malegash, and that on Wednesday the 25th Day of August last past, a Sloop with English Colours flying, came into the Harbour of Malegash, one Doty Master, and the Examinant and his Son went on board in a Canno; and his Son presently went on Shoar in the Canno. Soon after Mr. Doty and all his Men (except one) went on Shoar in the Sloop’s Canno, to drink some Punch (as they said) at the Examinant’s Mother’s House, and he was asked by Captain Doty to go on Shoar with him, but he saw so many in the Canno, he told the said Doty he would call his Son to fetch him ashoar in his the said Baptist’s Canno, which he went ashoar in: So the Examinant, with an Indian Man called Philip, were left on board the Sloop.— After some time the Examinant called to his Son, who with two Indians came on board the Sloop in a Canno; and after them two Indians more, namely one Jerman and his Son Lewis, came on board in another Canno.— The Examinant saith, That his Brother-in-Law Philip Mews, one of the Indians, struck the Sloop’s Colours, and gave ’em to him, and he tyed ’em round his middle.— That he told the English there was Peace with the Indians; Afterwards another Canno came on board with two Indian Men, a Squaw and two Children. And further the Examinant saith, That the Indian Philip, who was left on board, was tyed soon after the Indians came on board, least he should do them some Mischief, but afterwards they sent him ashoar to tell the Master to come on board. He saith that he saw the Cabbin-Door open, but can’t tell whether it was broke open or no.— That his Son had John Roberts’s Pistol but fell a sleep with it, and so the Examinant took it, and fastened it thro’ his Girdle, that he never fired it, his Hands being weak he had not strength to fire; The Examinant saith his Mother came on board the Sloop, but did not ask the Indians on board, the Reason why they took the Sloop from the English in time of Peace, because she understood some time before, they designed to take what English Vessels they could, notwithstanding the Peace, by way of Reprizals, by Reason the Examinant’s Son Paul, and his Brother-in-Law Francis Mews were detained by the English.

The Examinant further saith, That the French at Louisbourg told the Indians the Peace which was made with the English would not continue long.— The Examinant also saith, That the Indians intended to carry the Sloop to his Plantation; and accordingly James Mews the Indian Captain, ordered the Skipper Doty to weigh Anchor towards the Evening, and set sail for Mohune Bay.— That that Night they dressed some Victuals, that the next Morning early they saw a Scooner, which they supposed at first to be an English Vessel, but when they came near they discovered she was a French Scooner which they had traded with some Days before at Malegash.— That when they first espied her, they Cut up the English Fishing Leads, and beat them into Sluggs, divided among them the English Men’s small Arms, and loaded them with the Sluggs, and the Indians took the English Mens Cloaths & other things, and particularly the Examinant took from the Indians two Gold Rings and a pair of Silver Buckles, which they said they found in the Cabbin in a Handkerchief.— And after Breakfast on the 26th. day of August in the Morning, the English took their Opportunity to rise upon the Indians, when there was but a few of them upon Deck, and the Examinant with three Indian Men, an Indian Woman and her two Children were then in the Cabbin, when the Skipper Doty came from the Helm, and shut the Cabbin Door, but the Examinant opened it, and was no sooner come upon Deck but the Mate knockt him down and threw him over-board, but he took hold of the Sloops Canno which lay astern, and the English took him on board again. The Examinant says, That one of the Indians, who jumpt out of the Cabbin Window into the Sea, had on the Master’s Jacket; And when the Examinant came on board again, the Indian Woman informed him that her Husband and two more Indian Men being in the Cabbin, the English fired two Guns into the Cabbin, and they three got out of the Cabbin Windows, but the Examinant believes they were Drowned, the Sloop then being about four Miles from the Shoar, and the French Scooner bearing away from them, as the Indian Woman told him.

Signum John X Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure.

Suffolk, ss. Boston, Septemb. 3. 1726.

Taken and Signed before us, Samuel Checkley, Habijah Savage, Just. Pacis.

Stephen Boutineau, Interpreter.

Attest. Samuel Tyley, Not. Pub.

Which Examination was then Interpreted by Messieurs Lucy and Frazier, to the said Baptist, who owned the same to be true.

Then the King’s Advocate. Recapitulated the Evidences, and Replied upon the Prisoner’s Advocate in the following manner.

May it please your Honours,

THE Prisoners at the Bar having nothing further to offer, nor their Advocate for them, I shall therefore with all possible Brevity, discharge the remaining part of my Duty, in closing this Trial, that has thus long exercised your Honours great Patience; and in order to this, I shall in the first Place recount the several principal Facts proved upon the Prisoners, and as I humbly conceive, unquestionably maintain my Charge against them, and lastly consider the Defence made by their Advocate for them. The Matters of Fact appear so Full and Irresistable, that neither the Prisoners themselves attempt to falsify them, or even to suggest any colourable Argument for their Extenuation: And are such, that were they committed upon the High Sea, their Advocate concedes would clearly amount to Piracy.

And therefore I shall only summarily Mention to your Honours, that besides the general Evidence against the Prisoners, of their Aiding, Assisting, Concurring and Assenting with others in the Taking, Robbing and Plundering the Sloop Tryal, mentioned in the Articles, it’s proved particularly upon the Prisoners, they were the first that entered the said Vessel: That Baptist the Father, under a pretence of going ashoar in his Son’s Canno, prevailed on the Master to leave him aboard; and to give the greater Terror to His Majesty’s Subjects, and Aggrandize himself, he made a Sash of the Ensign, and therein tuckt Roberts’s Pistol, assuming the Name of Skipper, ordered Mr. Doty to come to sail, and to steer the Sloop Eastward; and when a Scooner appeared in sight, he and his Son, with others, divided the Powder and Shot belonging to the Vessel, new flinted their Guns, converted the Fishing-Leads into Sluggs, and therewith loaded their Small-Arms: That he helped with others to bind the Mate of said Vessel, and also piratically robbed Roberts of two Rings and a pair of Stockings, and was active in consuming and destroying the Vessel’s Provisions and Stores.

The Facts proved upon John Baptist Junior, the other Prisoner, are for the most the same in Substance; more especially that he was originally let into the Secret, for when the Canno was but not half way in her return to the Sloop, then it was that a Gun was fired into the Air, and the English were required to cry for Quarters. That he was not only the Person confided in for bringing about their wicked Designs, but that he had so well executed that part that was judged the most Trusty, that he was left to stand Gentry over the Arms: That he charged his Father’s Pistol; was Armed with a Gun; had on him a Cap, the Property of one of the Men belonging to the Sloop; And finally, with a Fisherman’s Pew made several attempts to destroy Sprague, even after he had Quarters given. All which in the Law amount to several Acts of Piracy.

From whence it evidently appears, that the Articles in respect to Matters of Fact, are fully proved upon the Prisoners; but whether such Facts amount to Piracy at Sea, or Robbery at Land, in Point of Law, remains a Question; which naturally leads me to the Consideration of those Points in Law offered by the Prisoner’s Advocate in their Defence.

And First, he argues, that the Vessel when seized and taken by the Prisoners and others, was at an Anchor in the Port of Malegash, near the Land, and Infra Corpus Comitatus, and therefore is only Robbery at the Common Law.

If a Pirate enters a Port or Haven, and Assaults and Robs a Merchant-Ship at Anchor there, this is no Piracy,* because it’s not done Super Altum Mare, but a down right Robbery at the Common Law, and the Anonimous Author for this quotes Moor, 756.

In Answer, the Case is not truly given us by that Author, as reported by Sir Francis Moor; neither is the Author in putting said Case consistent with himself; for his following Words are,

And if the Crime be committed either Super Altum Mare, or in great Rivers within the Realm, which are looked upon as Common High-Ways, then it is Piracy.

Which plainly militates with what the Author immediately before asserted for Law. But to return to the Case in Moor’s Reports; the first Question there put by the Lord Chancellour to all the Judges was, If the Clergy extended to Piracy, upon an Arraignment on the Stat. 28. H. 8. And Resolved, It did not, unless the Piracy was done in a Creek or other River, in which the Common Law before the Stat. had Jurisdiction; and not if it was done in Alto Mari, and out of the Body of the County. And these Words, In which the Common Law before the Stat. had Jurisdiction, fully imply, since the Stat. the Common Law has not Jurisdiction. And the Words of the Stat. are,

All Treasons, Felonies, Robberies, &c. Committed in or upon the Sea, or in any other Haven, River, Creek or Place where the Admiral hath, or pretends to have Power, Authority, or Jurisdiction, &c.

My Lord Coke thereupon Comments thus;

These Words,* says he, (Or pretends to have, &c.) are thus to be understood: Between the High-Water Mark and Low-Water Mark: For tho’ the Land be Infra Corpus Commitatus at the Re-flow; yet when the Sea is full, the Admiral hath Jurisdiction super aquam, as long as the Sea flows.

Now the Place where the Seizing and piratically Taking the Vessel in the Articles, was in the Port of Malegash, where the Sea is always full, and consequently within the Admiral’s Jurisdiction. But the Books make a further distinction between Creeks, Ports and Havens, actually challenged as part of the Bodies of Counties,* and from whence a Jury may come. And Ports, Creeks and Havens, that are out of every County, from whence no Jury can come, the former appertains (as is said) to the Jurisdiction of the Common Law Courts, the latter confessedly to the Admiralty. But if all Ports, Creeks and Harbours are generally and without this Distinction, out of the Admiralty’s Jurisdiction, then these Words of the Stat. 28. H. 8.

Upon the Sea, or in any other Haven, Creek, or other Place where the Admiral hath, or pretends to have Power, &c. would be Vain and Idle, as also the Words of the Stat. of the 12, 13. W. 3. Ch. 7 which say,

All Piracies. &c. Committed upon the Sea, or in any Haven, Creek or Place where the Admiral hath Jurisdiction, &c.

All which clearly shews, that there are such Havens, Rivers and Creeks where the Legislature supposes the Admiral to have Jurisdiction; and which most indisputably are such Havens, Rivers and Creeks, that (in my Lord Coke’s Words) are out of every County, and from whence no Jury can come; which is the Circumstance of the Port where this Vessel was piratically taken by the Prisoners. But what silences all Arguments of this Nature, in respect to the Admiralty’s Jurisdiction in Ports, Creeks and Havens, touching Acts of Piracy, and removes all Pleas of this sort, are the Words of the Stat. 8. K. G. Ch. 24. Sect. 1.

And if any Person belonging to any Ship or Vessel whatsoever, upon meeting any Merchant-Ship upon the High Seas, or in any Port, Haven or Creek whatsoever, shall forcibly Board and Enter into such Ship, and tho’ they do not seize and carry her off, shall throw over-board or destroy any part of the Goods or Merchandizes belonging to such Ship, the Persons guilty thereof, shall be deemed and punished as Pirates:

And therefore I shall rest this part of the Prisoner’s Defence, and proceed to the Consideration of the other Point of Law offered by their Advocate, and Calculated for John Baptist Junior, namely, That he was at the time of the taking the said Vessel, an Infant under the Age of Fourteen, not sui juris, and by Law no Act of Piracy or Felony can be imputed to him.

To which I answer, The Gentleman is wrong in his Hypothesis, as by Evidentiâ Personae; neither did the Father or any other pretend to say the Prisoner was under the Age of Fourteen. And for as much as such a Special Defence is to exempt the Party from the Punishment of a General Statute, it’s incumbent upon the Gentleman to make Legal Evidence of the Fact relied upon. But my Lord Hale, under Murther, says,

An Infant within the Age of Discretion,* kills a Man, no Felony; as if he be Nine or Ten Years old: But if by Circumstances it appeareth he could distinguish between Good and Evil, it is Felony; as if he hide the Dead, make Excuses, &c.

That the Pirates looked upon this John Baptist Junior as a Person capable of distinguishing, is evident by committing the greatest Trust and Charge unto him, namely, the Guard over the Arms; and that he could distinguish between Good and Evil, is plain, when he cry’d for Quarters, and afterwards when he thought himself sufficiently armed with a Fisherman’s Pew, attempted the Destruction of Sprague, thereby as far as in him lay, preventing the regaining of the Vessel: By all which, and by many more incident Matters of Fact that turned out in the Evidence, it clearly appears he was a free Agent, and capable of making Legal Distinctions. And for as much as there is no Discrimination in respect to the Crimes charged upon the Prisoners, as Your Honour values the preservation of the Laws of the Land, the Lives and Properties of His Majesty’s Subjects, and would studiously avoid any fatal Consequence that may attend an illegal Acquittal; I hope there will be as little distinction in respect to their Sentence, but that Your Honour will justly pronounce them equally Guilty.

The Advocate General having Concluded, the Court was cleared; and after mature and deliberate Consideration of what the King’s Witnesses Deposed, the Prisoners Defence made by themselves and their Advocate, together with the Replication of the Advocate General, the Court voted Unanimously, that the said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist Junior, are severally Guilty of Piracy, Felony and Robbery, according to the Articles Exhibited against them.

Then they were brought to the Bar again, and the President pronounced the said John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, and John Baptist junior severally Guilty. — Whereupon the Advocate on Behalf of His Majesty moved, that Sentence might be given against them according to Law. Then they were severally askt if they had any thing further to say why Sentence of Death should not be pronounced against them, and they Alledging nothing but what was offered before in their behalf on their Tryal, the President pronounced Sentence against them severally in the words following, viz.

You— are to go from hence to the place from whence you came, and thence to the place of Execution, there to be hanged up by the Neck until you are Dead, and the Lord have Mercy upon your Soul.

After Sentence was given against the Prisoners, the Marshal of the Admiralty was Ordered to remand and keep them in safe Custody within His Majesty’s Goal in Boston.

Then the Court was Adjourned to Wednesday, the fifth day of October Current, at ten a Clock in the Forenoon.

Next, Prosecution of the Mews Men

The father and son pair, John Baptist Jedre dit Laverdure and his son by the same name were prosecuted, followed by the Mews men and John Missel as found in the admiralty court record.

Wednesday October the fifth 1726. ten a Clock Ante Meridiem.

PRESENT, All the Commissioners before-named.

The Court being opened by Proclamation, the King’s Advocate moved, That James Mews, Philip Mews and John Missel, three Indians, who were imprisoned for Acts of Piracy, Felony and Robbery, might be brought to the Bar, to Answer to Articles exhibited against them for those Crimes. And accordingly, the Marshal of the Admiralty in Obedience to a Warrant to him directed, brought them into Court, and they were Arraigned at the Bar, upon the said Articles, which were read, and are as followed, viz.

Province of the Massachusetts-Bay, Suffolk, ss. At a Court of Admiralty for the Trial of Piracies, Felonies and Robberies on the High Seas, within the Jurisdiction of the Admiralty of Great Britain, Held at Boston, within the County of Suffolk, on the fourth Day of October, in the Thirteenth Year of the Reign of our Sovereign Lord GEORGE, of Great Britain, France and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, &c. Anno{que} Domini, 1726.

ARTICLES of Piracy, Felony and Robbery, exhibited by Robert Auchmuty Esq His said Majesty’s Advocate General, against Philip Mews, James Mews and John Missel, Indians.

First, For that the said Philip Mews, James Mews, and John Missel, not having the Fear of GOD before their Eyes, but being Instigated by the Devil, on the Twenty Fifth Day of August, last, about the Hour of Two in the Afternoon of the said Day, together with John Baptist Jedre, alias Laverdure, John Baptist Junior, and others, in or near Malegash Harbour, about Thirty Leagues Eastward to the Head of Cape Sables, on the High Seas, and within the Jurisdiction of the Admiralty-Court of Great-Britain; with Force and Arms, Piratically and Feloniously, did Surprize, Seize, Take and possess themselves of a Sloop named the Tryal, Samuel Doty Master, Burthen about Twenty Five Tons, and of the Value of Five Hundred Pounds, being the Property of His said Majesty’s good Subjects; and then and there, with Force as aforesaid, the said Master, Nathaniel Sprague, John Roberts and Philip Sachimus, Mariners on Board the said Vessel, and all His said Majesty’s good Subjects, and in the Peace of our said Lord the KING being; did Piratically, and Feloniously, Make, Hold and Detain as their Prisoners on board the said Vessel, for the space of Twenty Hours, or thereabouts.

Secondly, For that the said Philip Mews, James Mews, and John Missel, with others as aforesaid, and with the like Force as aforesaid, then and there, within the Jurisdiction aforesaid, Feloniously and Piratically did Rob, Plunder and Consume all, or the greatest part of the Stores and Provisions belonging to said Vessel, and of the Value of One Hundred Pounds; and did Rob, Seize, Take and possess themselves of Clothes, Gold Rings, and Silver Buckles, all of the Value of Fifty Pounds, and the Property of His Majesty’s said Subjects.

Thirdly, For that the said Philip Mews, James Mews, and John Missel, with others as aforesaid, on board the said Vessel as aforesaid, and within the said Jurisdiction, with Force and Arms as aforesaid, and immediately after the taking the said Vessel as aforesaid, Piratically and Feloniously sail’d in quest of other Vessels, in order them Piratically and Feloniously to Seize, Take and Plunder.

All which said Acts of Piracies, Felonies and Robberies, were by the said Philip Mews, James Mews, and John Missel, Done and Committed in Manner as aforesaid, contrary to the Laws and Statutes in such Cases Made and Provided, and to the Peace of our said Lord the KING, His Crown and Dignity.

R. Auchmuty, Advoc. Gen.

Then Captain John Gyles was Sworn Interpreter, between the Court and the Prisoners at the Bar, and Interpreted the said Articles to them in the Indian Language, Paragraph by Paragraph, to which they pleaded severally, not Guilty.

And Mr. George Hughes, who was appointed by the Court to be Advocate for the Prisoners, prayed that he might have a Copy of the Articles Exhibited against them, and time allowed to prepare for their Defence, and that the said Captain Gyles the Interpreter might be with them. To which the Court consented, and Ordered that their Tryal should come on in the Afternoon at three a Clock, to which time the Court was Adjourned.

October the fifth, three a Clock Post Meridiem.

The Court met according to the said Adjournment.

PRESENT, All the Commissioners afore-named.

The Prisoners, viz. James Mews, Philip Mews, and John Missel, were brought to the Bar, and the Articles exhibited against them (which their Advocate was served with a Copy of) were read again.

Then the Witnesses for our Sovereign Lord the King, Namely, Samuel Doty, Nathaniel Sprague, John Roberts, Silas Cooke and Philip Sachimus were called and Sworn, and severally Deposed as follows, viz.

Samuel Doty saith, That on the 25th. day of August last, two of the Prisoners, viz. Philip Mews and James Mews, together with John Baptist Junior, went on board the Deponent’s Sloop in Baptist’s Canno Armed, and about a Gun shot from the Shoar, one of them held up his Gun and fired, and said to the said Deponent and his Company, then standing on the Bank, Now you English Men call for Quarter: And soon after they got on board the Sloop, they took down her Ensign, and fired a volley with their small Arms. That about a Quarter of an Hour afterwards, John Missel with three more Indians went aboard.

That sometime afterwards, when the Deponent went on board, James Mews, one of the Prisoners took the Deponents Hat from him, and spake to him in English saying, Now I am Captain of the Vessel, do you call your Men a board, or I’le send ashoar presently and kill them all.

That James Mews told the Deponent there was Peace Proclaimed between the English and Indians; but the said Mews said he never would make Peace with the English, for the Governour of Boston kept his Brother, and he would Burn the Sloop and keep the Goods till his Brother was sent home.

That afterwards when the Deponent’s Mate came on board, two of the Prisoners, viz. James Mews and Philip Mews, took hold of him and dragg’d him upon the Deck, threatning to kill him; and also told the Deponent that he would go on Shoar, and kill the rest of his Men that were there, unless he called them an board; and soon after they got on board, the Vessel came to sail by Baptist’s Order, and the said Philip and James Mews hoisted up the Anchor.— That the said Philip Mews searched the Deponent’s Pockets afterwards, and tools seventeen Shillings from him.— That John Baptist for the most part Ordered the Deponent what Course to Steer; Captain James Mews, as he called himself, having got Drunk.

That all the Prisoners in their turns, draw’d the Rum which belonged to the English Men; Drank plentifully, and eat of the Sloop’s Cheese, Butter and other Provisions.— And lighted a great Number of Candles, which were burning all Night— That the next Morning they saw a Scooner which was supposed to be an English Vessel, and all the Prisoners (except James Mews who was then in Drink) divided the English Mens Arms, Powder and Shot, put new Flints into their Guns, and made ready to fight the English on board the said Vessel; John Missel in particular charged his Gun, but when they came up with her, they discovered she was a French Scooner belonging to Cape Breton, that had lately been at Malegash for Cattle, as the Deponent understood. Then John Baptist Ordered the Deponent to Steer for Mahoon-Bay, near his Plantation — But soon after the English perceiving that Baptist, and three Indian Men were in the Cabbin, that James Mews and John Baptist Junior were asleep upon Deck, and that John Missel was a Fishing, and Philip Mews only was walking on the Deck, who with the said Baptist were Ordered to stand as a Guard over the English, they took this Opportunity to rise, and made themselves Masters of the Vessel, three of the Indians having jumpt over board out of the Cabbin Windows, and others being thrown from the Deck into the Hold.

That John Missel helpt to seize the Mate when he first went on board, and was as Active afterwards as the rest of the Indians upon all Occasions.— That the Indians struck the Mate several blows, hauled him by the Head and Shoulders, and threatned to kill him with their Hatchets and Knives which they held in their Hands.

Nathaniel Sprague Deposeth and saith, That on the 25th. of August last, when he got on Shoar it Malegash, he saw the three Prisoners now at the Bar, with other Indians on Shoar, and asked them what News, the said James and Philip Mews answered there was a very good Peace. The Deponent ask’d the Indians how they knew ’twas Peace? Philip Mews answered that the Penobscut and Cape Sable Indians had lately been at Annapolis with the Governour, who informed them he had made Peace with the Indians.— That the Deponent heard John Baptist on board the Sloop call to his Son on Shoar, who soon after with James and Philip Mews went Armed in a Canno towards the Sloop. That one of them fired a Gun, and said to the English on Shoar: You English Men call for Quarter, and then went on board the Sloop, and he saw one of them take up an Ax and break open the Cabbin Door; then two of them went into the Cabbin; afterwards they struck the Colours, and discharged their small Arms.— That afterwards the Deponent saw two Cannos with Indians in them go on board the Sloop.— And some time after they sent on Shoar an Indian belonging to the Sloop, namely Philip Sachimus, to tell the English to come on board and they would give ’em good Quarter; but if they would not come on board, to inform them they should all be killed. Whereupon the said Mr. Doty went on board.— And afterwards the said Doty called to the Deponent and Silas Cooke, and told them there were two Indians on Shoar would kill ’em, if they did not come on board; so they went on board, and some of the Indians stampt on the Deponent, others hauled him about, and held their Hatchets over his Head, threatning to kill him; but others came to his help— And particularly James Mews (one of the Prisoners at the Bar) threatned to kill him, and would have taken away his Life, (as this Deponent believes) had not another Indian Interposed. Afterwards the Deponent got into the Hold, where he had not been long, before some of the Company bid him come upon Deck, and threatned if he did not they would cut him all to peices, so he went upon Deck, when James Mews and other Indians kickt him, and struck him several blows.— That Philip Mews stood by when Baptist bound him. And James Mews held a Knife to his▪ Throat, and told him he would be the Death of him; And once Swore at him, saying, God Dam your Blood, you shall not live a Minute longer, and struck at him with his Knife, but another Indian Interposed, and while they were striving together the Deponent got from them.

The Deponent further saith. That he saw the said James Mews have a Gold Ring, a pair of Silver Shoe-Buckles, and a Neckcloth belonging to John Roberts, and Philip Mews had a pair of Trowzers belonging to another of Mr. Doty’s Men.

That when the English rose upon the French and Indians, James Mews was on the Windless, Philip was near him, and John Baptist Junior was lying upon or near his Gun.— Missel was on the Deck with a Gun in one Hand, and a Fishing line in the other, a Fishing.

That the Deponent saw Mr. Doty leave the Helm, and put to the Cabbin Door, and he took hold of Philip Mews Gun, but he flung Mr. Doty on the Floor, then Roberts and Cooke went to the said Doty’s Assistance; John Missel in the Interim went to the Cabbin Door, and endeavoured to open it, but was hindred by an Indian belonging to Mr. Doty, viz. Philip Sachimus, who stood by the Door; But Baptist got out at the Cabbin Door, and was soon thrown over board— The Deponent further saith, That John Missel, with a Gauft struck the Deponent, and tried to haul him into the Hold with it, but the Deponent having a Fisherman’s Pew in his Hand, struck at the said Missel, who fell backward, and so escaped the blow.

John Roberts Deposeth and saith, That when he went ashoar at Malegash, he saw the three Prisoners, with three other Indians and two French Men, and the Deponent shook Hands with Philip Mews, and ask’d him whether there was Peace? He answered (in the hearing of other Indians) there was a good Peace, and that now the English and Indians were all one Brothers. That afterwards the said James and Philip Mews and Young Baptist put off from the Shoar in a Canno, and some distance from the Shoar one of them fired a Gun, and bid the English call for Quarter. That the Deponent afterwards saw them go aboard the Sloop, and James Mews with an Ax cut open the Cabbin Door, and Philip Mews and John Baptist struck the Colours.— That the Deponent with Philip Sachimus, and another Indian belonging to the Sloop, returned on board the Sloop when she was under Sail going out of the Harbour, about eight a Clock at Night.— That when he got on board, Philip Mews and John Missel, two of the Prisoners, took hold of him, and thrust him into the Fore-castle.

That afterwards James Mews called him Son of a Bitch, struck him several blows, and threatned to kill him.— That Philip Mews stood Century with the Deponent’s Gun.— That James Mews had the Deponent’s Ring, a pair of Buckles and a Handkerchief.— That John Missel, in his turn, stood Century with his Gun.— That Philip Mews took a Plush pair of Breeches, and a pair of Trowzers from him.

That Baptist order’d the Deponent to go to James Mews for Bread, who took up a Bag with the Bisket in it, and beat him round the Cabbin, calling him Son of a Bitch, &c.

That Philip Mews told the Deponent, when they saw the Scooner which they took for an English Vessel, that they would kill the English and give Mr. Doty and his Men their Sloop again.

SIlas Cooke Deposeth and saith, That the Shot and Powder belonging to the English was divided by Missel and others; And afterwards when they went in quest of another Vessel, he shew’d his Satisfaction at it.

Philip Sachimus Deposeth and saith, That Philip and James Mews came by him with a Knife when they first came on board the Sloop, and tyed him, and threw him before the Windless. And broke open the Sloop’s Cabbin Door, and afterwards assisted in carrying the said Sloop away.—— And that John Missel stood Century upon Deck with a Gun.

Then the Examination of the Prisoners taken upon their first Arrival at Boston, before Samuel Checkley and Habijah Savage Esqrs. two of His Majesty’s Justices of the Peace, were read to the Prisoners in the words following, viz.

The Examination of James Mews.

James Mews, Indian, Examined saith, That he lived at Malegash, that about twelve or thirteen days agone, he with five more Indians bought of the French there a Bottle of Rum, and were going over a carrying place when John Baptist and others called to them, and told them there was an English Vessel coming into the Harbour of Malegash, and the said Baptist and his Son John, his Brothers Paul and Gold, and his Son in Law Augustine, all living at Malegash, gave the Examinant and the other five Indians a Bottle of Rum, and over perswaded them to turn back and go on board the Sloop, and told them, now was their time to get Provisions.— The Examinant further saith, That the said John Baptist and his Son went first aboard the Sloop, which had English Colours, and struck the Colour or Ensign, and tied it round his middle: That afterwards the Examinant with Salmon and Lewn went aboard in one Canno; and three more Indians, viz. Missel, Philip and Marsel, went aboard in another Canno; and sometime after Marsel went on Shoar again, and brought his Squaw and two Children on board the Sloop; and after them a French Woman with the English Master of the Sloop, and a French Man went aboard the Sloop: That the Indians told the English that no Harm should come to them after they got on board.— The Examinant saith, that when he first went on board the Sloop, there was an Indian belonging to the Sloop, tied, but he was soon set at liberty; that two of the three Indians that got out at the Cabbin Windows help’d to weigh the Anchor, and gave Orders to carry the Sloop round the Point to the Indian Wigwams.— That the next Morning after the Sloop was taken, he went to Breakfast, and Drank so much that he knows not how the English overcame the French and Indians on board; but when he came to be sober, he found himself bound in the Hold of the Sloop, and he was kept tied till he came to Boston in the Sloop. The Examinant further saith, That about a Month ago he was at Menis (Minas), where there were near two hundred Indians with the French Fryar, who came together to say Prayers, and then they scattered themselves about the Country; the French told the Indians that there was no Peace then, and bid the Indians, if they met any English Men, to take them. Since which time he hath been at Menis twice from Malegash, where he had been, at times, about thirteen days, and most of the French at Menis, when he was there last, told him there was no Peace, and that the Indians might take the English Vessels as they did formerly.— But at the same time some few of the French there, told him that there was Peace.— He heard the Fryar say there was no Peace, and the Indians said be must be gone, if there be a Peace, because he has been very much for War.— He knows of no Feast or Consultation at Malegash, between the French and Indians, to take any English Vessels there by way of Reprizals.

James Mews,his X Mark.

Suffolk, ss. Boston, Septemb. 5th. 1726.

Taken and Signed before us, Samuel Checkley, Habijah Savage, Just. Pacis.

John Gyles, Interpreter.

Attest. Samuel Tyley, Not. Pub.

The Examination of Philip Mews.

Philip Mews being Examined, saith, That he lived at Malegash, and came from thence about fourteen Days agone.— That he was at Malegash when Captain Doty’s Sloop arrived there. That he went on board in a Canno with two Persons, viz. his Brother James Mews, and Baptist’s Son, John Baptist Junior, and found Baptist (the Father) on board, and one Indian Man, belonging to the Sloop.— He says the Indians were perswaded by the French to go on board the first Vessel they saw, and take one half the Company of English and keep them Prisoners, and send ‘tother half with the Vessel to Boston; for otherwise if they did not, the French at Menis, and also Indians that came from Cape Breton, told the Examinant, that the English would not deliver up the Indian Prisoners. That two of the Indians who jumpt over board, Advised the Examinant when they saw the Sloop to go on board, and Baptist called to him and the other Indians, to make haste and come on board.— The Indians before they went aboard, had Rum of Mr. Gold, and drank it near his House, and three of them got Drunk; and as they were going to their Wigwams, they saw Mr. Doty’s Sloop coming into the Harbour of Malegash, and then the French at Malegash, viz. Baptist, and two of the Indians that jumpt over board, perswaded the Indians to go on board the Sloop, which then had Red Colours, such as English Men wear.— That Salmon when he come on board, said he wou’d cut the Colours to peices, but Baptist and the Examinant took ’em down, and Baptist tyed ’em round his middle. That James Mews was present, and bid ’em take care that the Indians did not cut ’em to peices.— Old Salmon’s Son tyed Philip the Indian belonging to the Sloop. That the Drunken Indians fired several Guns up into the Air, tho’ the Examinant desired them not to fire — That he went down the Hold and loosed the Mate in the Hold, and also loosed the Indian that belonged to the Sloop who was bound, which made the Drunken Indians angry with him, and they struck him for doing so.— That he assisted in hauling up the Anchor with another Indian now in Prison, called John, alias Attaw•n, (and one English Man) and Sailed round a great Neck in order to go to their Wigwams, where they intended to keep three of the English Men, and send the rest away to Boston in the Sloop. The next Morning they saw a Scooner, which proved to be the French Vessel they had been on board some days before▪ The Indians prepared to meet ’em, and loaded their Arms; and the Drunken Indians said, if she had been an English Vessel, they would have taken her, but the sober Indians said one Vessel was eno’ to take.— That the Examinant had none of the Ammunition, and was careful that so the English might loose nothing.— That James had a Gold Ring, and afterwards returned it to the English. That Lewis had the Silver Buckles, and they were returned to the English after they took their Vessel again; The Examinant saw Baptist have a pair of the English Mens Stockings; Salmon had a Wastcoat, and Marsel had a pair of Breeches.— That when the English rose up against the Indians, the Examinant was on Deck, and Baptist’s Son and the Examinants Brother were asleep. That there were three Indian Men, a Woman and two Children in the Cabbin, besides Baptist, who was coming out, and an English Man knockt him down and threw him over board: That the Examinant had several blows. That three Indians went out of the Cabbin Window about a Mile from the Shoar, and the French Scooner was near, and two Cannos astern were a drift, so he believes they were not Drowned.— That Baptist said one Vessel was enough to take.

Signum Philip 〈☐〉 Mews.

Suffolk, ss. Boston Septemb. 5th. 1726.

Taken and Signed before us, Samuel Checkley, Habijah Savage, Just. Pacis.

John Gyles, Interpreter.

Attest. Samuel Tyley. Not. Pub.

The Examination of John Missel.

John Missel Examined saith, That he formerly lived at Seckenecto, that two Years agone he lived at Menis, and this Summer, viz. about a Month ago he came from Menis to Malegash, where he was when Mr. Doty’s Sloop arrived in that Harbour. As the Indians sat on the Bank, they saw the Sloop come in. Mr. Baptist and his Son first went on board the Sloop.— Baptist’s Son came on Shoar, and talk’d with the Indians as they were going over a carrying place, but he was at some distance, so don’t know what was said.— Then James Mews and his Brother Philip wert on board with Baptist’s Son; before which time the English were come on Shoar in their Canno.— That he and Salmon, with a Squaw and two Children went on board in a Canno, being first called upon by Baptist to come on board.— That James Mews or Baptist hail’d the Indians on Shoar, and told ’em they had taken the Vessel, and bid ’em come on board; When they called, Baptist and Philip took the Colours down; and when he came on board, Baptist tyed ’em round his middle. He knows not who tied the Indian belonging to the Sloop.— That when it was Evening, the English came on board.— That the French made a Prisoner of the Master Doty, at an Old Woman’s House, and she with her Son and the Master went on board together. That James Mews said, lets come to Sail, and gave orders to hoist the Anchor, and Marsel and Lewis help’d to weight it with Salmon. They were to go to Baptist’s Plantation round the Point. The next day in the Morning early they saw a Vessel, which proved to be a Vessel which the French said they saw some days before.— Some of the Indians fitted their Arms, saying, that if it was an English Vessel they believ’d she would fight ’em, seeing the Indians had taken the Sloop.—— That Baptist perswaded them to carry the Sloop round towards his Plantation, but soon after Breakfast was over, some of them were Drunk, and he and Philip were Fishing, and three Indian Men and the Squaw and two Children, with John Baptist, were in the Cabbin, and the Skipper shut the Cabbin Door upon ’em; that the English were all upon Deck, and struck him down, that James and Baptist’s Son were asleep forward.—

That the said Baptist came out of the Cabbin, and was knockt down and thrown over board, the English fired into the Cabbin, and three Indians thereupon got out of the Cabbin Windows; there was one Canno adrift, which the Indians tryed to get into, but the Canno oversat; ’twas not far from the French Vessel, but he believes the People on board did not see the Indians; ’twas about a Mile from the Shoar, and he believes they were Drowned — He had his share of the English’s Powder and Shot, but he had no Gun.— He heard the Indians had been at Port-Royal, and heard some of them say that there was Peace with the English and Indians. But he heard some of the Indians say they wondred that if there was Peace, they did not bring the Indian Prisoners from Boston.

Signum John 〈☐〉 Missel.

Suffolk ss. Boston Septemb. 5th. 1726.

Taken and Signed before us, Samuel Checkley, Habijah Savage, Just. Pacis.

John Gyles, Interpreter.

Attest. Samuel Tyley, Not. Pub

After Reading the above Examinations, the Prisoners were severally Askt whether the same were true? And altho’ their Advocate advised them, that they were not obliged to own in Court, what they owned before the Justices aforesaid; Yet they severally acknowledged that their Examinations were true.

Then was Read the Ratification made the fourth day of June last, at His Majesty’s Fort of Annapolis-Royal, of the Articles of Peace stipulated by the Delegates at Boston, the fifteenth day of December foregoing, (which Articles were also Read) in behalf of the Penobscot, Narridgwalk, Saint John’s, Cape Sables, and other Indian Tribes belonging to, and Inhabiting within His Majesty’s Territories of Nova-Scotia, &c. And by Major Paul Mascarene, Commissioner for the Province of Nova-Scotia, in behalf of His Majesty.

Afterwards the Prisoners being ask’d whether they had seen any of the Indians that were at the Ratification of the Peace at Annapolis? They answered, they had been in Company with several of the Indians, whose Names were subscribed to the said Ratification; And particularly James Mews owned, that about twenty days before the said Doty’s Sloop was taken, he was in Company with Antoin, one of the Chiefs of the Indians at Menis, and about eight or ten days afterwards, he saw Indian Simon, who used to carry Letters from Menis, &c. to Annapolis-Royal, and was present, as he understood, at the Negotiation of the Peace; and the said James and Philip Mews, both signified to the Court their belief that Antoin was at Annapolis treating of the Peace; and they also owned, that they lately saw Captain Walker, alias Piere, one of the Chiefs of the Indians at or near Malegash and Sabuckatook, who was at Annapolis at the Treaty; and that his Brother Catouse was returned from thence, since the Ratification of the Peace.

Then the Prisoners Advocate made his Pleas in their Defence, in the following manner, viz.

I Now a second Time appear before Your Honour, Mr. President, and the rest of the Honourable Commissioners of this Court, in behalf of some Persons accused of Piracy: Who tho’ they be Indians, have and will experience so much Candour and Indulgence from this Court, as must convince even the barbarous and Salvage Tribes to which they belong, of Your great Justice and Impartiality. Your Honours, I doubt not, are sensible I am not send of this Office: But my Duty to Your Honour, and the Honourable Court, and desire that nothing may be neglected, which in Justice to the Prisoners ought to be declared, engage me in this Affair.

I humbly submit it to Your Honours, Whether at the Time the Facts they are accused of, are laid to be committed, they were not Enemies, or in a State of War with us: ‘Tis true it appears, that the Ratification of the Peace between His Majesty’s Government of Annapolis-Royal, and the Cape Sable Indians, was made at Annapolis on the fourth of June last; but that regards that Government only; and the Covenant on the part of the Indians, that they not commit Hostilities, &c. extends to the Inhabitants of that Province only. The Vessel seized at Malegash, in which the Evidences for the King were, belongs to His Majesty’s Subjects of this Province: And the Prisoners declare, that at the Time of the taking Capt. Doty and his Vessel, they neither knew or heard of the Ratification of the Peace between this Province and the Indians at Cas••; but on the contrary, were informed even by English men, as well as French, among the latter of which, were (as they inform me) Monsieur St. A•••e of Me••, and his Son John Baptist, and by two eminent Cape Sable Indians, S••••age and A•••••age, that there was no Peace made, but only talked of; and that but a Day or two before the Facts are charged in the Articles to be committed.

The Ratification indeed at Cases, was on the fifth of August, but that does not argue that the Prisoners were acquainted with it, they living in a far, remote and distant Place of another Government: And being but an inconsiderable Number of People, the Law will not, with Submission, presume a Person to be knowing of a thing, unless there appear some Circumstances by which it may be reasonably concluded, he cannot but know it. If therefore the Prisoners were in a State of War with us, what they have done, they may well justify, by the Laws of GOD, Nature, Nations and Arms: And their declaring to Doty and his Men, that it was Peace, may be reasonably accounted a Stratagem of War, to draw and ensnare them in their Churches; which fort of Stratagems are very frequently made use of in War.

Your Honours may well remember what I urged yesterday in favour of the two French-men, which therefore I shall not spend Your Time in insisting on, since the Sentence You have passed upon them, manifests it to be over-ruled; I mean, that the Fact charged being committed within the Body of a County, amounts only to a Notorious Robbery, which is triable at the Common-Law by a Jury, and not to Piracy: And herewith agrees the Definition of Piracy, given by Mr. Advocate General. I shall only beg leave to add to what I then said, That as the Fact was certainly begun when the Vessel was at Anchor in the Harbour; so it being but one continued Act, ought to be tried where it was begun, i. e. within the Body of the County.

The Carriage of the Prisoners to the Men, was very Unjustifiable in their beating of them, &c. But this I attribute partly to their barbarous Natures and Customs, and partly to their Drink. John Missel seems to have had the least share in the Affair, he not coming on board till after the Colours were struck: But I shall leave their Cases to Your Honour’s wise Consideration, and doubt not of a Judgment equal to the Merit and Justice thereof.

Afterwards the Prisoners being ask’d, if they had any thing to say for themselves, more than their Advocate had observed on their behalf?— James Mews said, he was in Liquor; and they all excused themselves by alledging, that it was the first Offence of that Nature they had been Guilty of, &c.

Afterwards the King’s Advocate Reply’d upon the Prisoners Advocate, as follows, viz.

May it please Your Honour, Mr. President, and the Honourable Commissioners,

I Shall not now Trespass upon Your Patience, in reiterating the several Matters of Fact proved upon the Prisoners: And more especially when I consider they turn out as strong, if not stronger against them, than against those two that justly received their Sentence Yesterday.— And of this their Advocate is perfectly convinced, and therefore industriously waves any Advantage that otherwise may be taken to the weakness of the Evidence; and rests their Defence on an Allegation, That at the Time of Committing these Facts, they were in a State of Enmity with us, ignorant of the Ratification of the Peace, and therefore not guilty of Piracy, by the Law of Arms, &c.

To which I Answer:— That the Gentleman is the second Time mistaken in Fact. For on the Fifteenth Day of December, 1725. the several Tribes of the Eastern Indians, St. John’s and Cape Sables, &c. by their Delegates, did enter into Articles of Pacification at Boston, with the Governments of the Massachusetts-Bay, New-Hampshire and Nova-Scotia, whereby among other things, they promised in behalf of their respective Tribes,

That they will cease all Acts of Hostility, Injuries and Discords, towards all the Subjects of the Crown of Great Britain, and not offer the least Hurt, Violence or Molestation to them, or any of them, in their Persons or Estates; but will henceforward Hold and Maintain a firm, constant Amity and Friendship with all the English, and will never Confederate or Combine with any other Nation to their Prejudice.

And further, there are also inserted in the said Articles of Pacification these Words, viz.

We (meaning the said Delegates, in behalf of themselves and their respective Tribes) Submitting our selves to be Ruled and Governed by His Majesty’s Laws, and desiring to have the Benefit of the same.

And on the fourth Day of June following, at Annapolis-Royal, the Chiefs and Representatives of the said Indians, in Compliance with the said Articles, stipulated as aforesaid, by their Delegates, and in Obedience thereunto, Solemnly Confirmed and Ratified the same. By all which it most evidently appears, that the Indians were not, as pretended, at the Time of executing the several Acts of Piracy charged upon them, in a State of War with the Crown of Great Britain, but in firm Amity with His Sacred Majesty, and to be Governed by His Majesty’s Laws, and Entituled to the Benefit of them.

And if any Foreigner, Subject to any Prince or State in Amity with the Crown of England, commit Piracies on the Ships or Goods of the English, the same is Piracy, within the Stat. 28. H. 8. Sea-Laws, p. 478. q.

Having thus unanswerably acquitted this Prosecution from the Exception, I beg leave to give a sho[r]t Answer to what further was offered by the Advocate for the Prisoners, under this Head, namely, that they were ignorant of these Negotiations, and therefore the Crime of Piracy ought not to be imputed to them.

I must observe to Your Honours, It’s a settled Maxim in respect to the Breaches of Penal-Laws, Ignorantia non excusat Legem. And was the Fact truly so, who is chargeable with the Omission? The Chiefs and Delegates in Duty ought to apprize (as doubtless they did) their respective Tribes, of the said Articles of Pacification and Confirmation, and not the Government that stipulated with them. But from their own Words, and Words spoke in their hearing, as appeared in the Evidence, and also from the Circumstances in the Case, it must be collected they were fully sensible of all these Solemn Treaties and Proceedings; for ashoar one of them saluted the English as the French did aboard, by saying, It’s Peace; the English are now all one as Brothers: And by their own Acknowledgement, they had seen and conversed with some of their Chiefs, that had at Annapolis Confirmed the said Articles of Pacification since such Confirmation, and once in particular, but a very inconsiderable Time before their perpetrating this their wicked Act; so that there is neither Colour or Shadow to suppose them Ignorant; or according to Law would such Ignorance exempt them from the Punishment justly due to their Demerits.

Therefore I doubt not but Your Honours will in like manner declare them Guilty, as You lately have the other Accomplices in these their wicked Actions.

The Advocate General having Concluded, the Court was cleared; Then the Commissioners fully and deliberately weighed and considered the Evidences against the Prisoners, and also the Defence made by them and their Advocate, together with Mr. Advocate General’s Replication, &c. And Voted Unanimously, That the said James Mews, Philip Mews, and John Missel, were severally Guilty.

Then the Prisoners were brought to the Bar again, when the President Pronounced them severally Guilty of Piracy, Felony and Robbery, according to the Articles Exhibited against them.

Whereupon the Advocate General on His Majesty’s behalf, demanded Sentence against them.

And the Prisoners when ask’d what they had further to say, why Sentence of Death should not be Pronounced against them, alledging, they had nothing to say more than had been offered upon their Trial; The President of the Court accordingly Pronounced Sentence against them severally, in the Words following, viz.

You — are to go from hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the place of Execution, and there to be hanged up by the Neck, until you are Dead; and the Lord have Mercy upon your Soul.

FINIS.

Analysis

Bill Wicken provides an analysis in “A Case Study in Mi’kmaq-New England Relations in the Early 18th Century” here.

Bill quotes from a letter written by the Governor at Ile Royal to officials in France regarding the incident:

“After the young men who were at Port Royal to receive there some presents had left, seven or eight other Indians had found an English vessel in the port of La Heve on the Eastern Coast, they seized it, pillaged it, but became drunk. The English re-assumed control, killed two, three threw themselves into the sea, and the two others were transported by the said English to Boston. Those who had jumped into the ocean were saved by a vessel from this island which they had found in the port…”

The Governor’s account seems to be incorrect, as none of the testimony mentions that two people were killed. Furthermore, this extract was used to illustrate the deep-seated conviction that the Native people were deeply hostile to the English. This perception was probably reinforced by the fact that the Mi’kmaq people and others along the coastal regions spoke French as a second language due to decades of interaction, and seldom spoke English.

In reality, the French had a lot of influence on the Mi’kmaq, even to the point of “endorsing” or “confirming” François Mius as chief in 1742. They accepted him, making negotiations and relations with the Mi’kmaq much easier, from their perspective.

Given what François himself endured at the hands of the English, and what the English had done to his brothers, brother-in-law, and nephews, I wouldn’t be one bit surprised to discover that François despised the English – but that’s only my projection – as there’s no way to know.

Wicken discussed life among the Mi’kmaw people who lived at Mirligueche. He notes that the Native people along the coastal areas away from Port Royal and Annapolis Royal interacted less with Europeans, except, of course, for fishermen and traders.

Coastal Life

Given that the Mi’kmaq did not farm extensively, they depended upon the sea and rivers for food, at least in the summers. They transported their goods in woven baskets, sometimes traveling long distances.

The priests told of 300 people or perhaps more congregating at Mirligueche for social and political reasons.

Merligueche, where Philippe and his family lived, is located in present-day Lunenburg near or at the Old French Cemetery, which contains the earliest known burials. Mahone Bay is just north of Hermans Island, and LaHave is near the 331 marker, at the bottom. The Acadian families who intermarried with the Mi’kmaq lived here.

According to Marty Guidry’s research, in 1745, Cornwallis reported that Merlgueche was a small harbor five leagues east of LaHeve with only eight settlers, including Paul Guidry, alias Grivois, a jovial and jolly man who was a good coast pilot.

Was this the Paul who had been held hostage in 1726?

In 1746, Abbé Le Loutre wrote a “Description of Acadia” in which he said:

From Chegekkouk he went to Misliguesch et Haivre which is 25 leagues further; here there are a dozen French families and 3 to 400 Indians who assembled here.

In 1748, a “Description of L’Acadie” indicates that there were 20 families at Mirliguèche:

Mioligueche at three leagues from La Haïve, the missionary has started building a church, it has twenty French families and 300 to 400 Indians assembled there since the month of June.

By 1753, only one French family remained at Merliguèche – that of “Old Labrador,” who was probably Paul Guidry.

The Guidrys had gone to Ile Royal but returned in 1754 to escape starvation.

This coastline with its sheltering harbors was ancestral Mi’kmaq land where their wigwams dotted the landscape – where they had initially welcomed and trusted the light-skinned blue-eyed men sailing huge wooden ships from across the sea.

The Fort Point Museum, near LaHave, tells their story today.

In the fall, kin-related groups of two to five families each moved inland, where they hunted together and preserved furs, which they traded for European goods. Nicolas Denys, an English prisoner at Port Royal in the 1650s, recorded that fishermen traded tobacco and brandy for furs in the spring.

The Mirligueche Mi’kmaq, a core group of families, inhabited villagesfrom one generation to the next along the coastline between Mirligueche and Mahone Bay.

This same pattern of generational stability was found in other regions in Mi’kmaq villages in the Piziquid River (Avon River) and Chignecto as well.

Who Were Those Indian Prisoners?

Indian John Missel testified that “He heard the Indians had been at Port-Royal, and heard some of them say that there was Peace with the English and Indians. But he heard some of the Indians say they wondered that if there was Peace, they did not bring the Indian Prisoners from Boston.”

What Indian prisoners was he referring to?

We find the answer buried in Wicken’s document, on page 18:

The intensification of the Wabanaki-New England war from 1722 until 1725 increased tensions between fishermen and Mirligueche inhabitants. With the valuable Eastern Coast fishery in jeopardy, the Massachusetts government commissioned a galley ship to protect its fishermen. The commander of the vessel, Joseph Marjory, ranged the Eastern Coast, intercepting Acadian-owned boats and indiscriminately attacking Mi’kmaq people. On 28 July 1723, while anchoring near Mirligueche, Marjory captured seven unnamed individuals, whom in his correspondence he identified as “Indians”. This group consisted of three adult men and four children, one 16 years old, another 10 or 12 years old and “two others about 7 or 8 years old.” Conclusive proof is lacking, but a reading of the subsequent evidence suggests that among the prisoners were Jean Baptiste Guedry’s son, Paul, who would have been about eight years old at this time, and François Meuse, the brother of James and Philippe Meuse. While Paul Guedry was Metis by birth, he, like his older brother Jean Baptiste fils, would have spoken Micmac and so his identity could easily have been mistaken by Marjory.

Or, perhaps Marjory selectively categorized his hostages opportunistically.

With the ratification of the peace treaty with New England by the Mi’kmaq at Annapolis Royal in June 1726, the Meuse and Guedry families no doubt expected that their sons would be returned. When this did not occur, one available course of action ws to seize Doty’s vessel and hold the crew until the New Englanders released their kin. In his deposition, Guedry (the father) is recorded as saying that “they designed to take what English vessels they could, notwithstanding the Peace, by way of Reprizals, by Reason the Examinant’s Son Paul, and his Brother-in-Law Francis Mews were detained by the English”. Philippe Meuse made reference to the “Indian Prisoners”, but he did not specify whether he had any relation to them. His brother, James, however, had told Samuel Doty that “there was Peace Proclaimed between the English and Indians; but the said Mews said he never would make Peace with the English for the Governour of Boston kept his Brother, and he would Burn the Sloop and keep the Goods till his Brother was sent home”.

But that’s not all.

According to Rev. Clarence-Joseph d’Entremont in Historic du Cap-Sable de l’An Mil au Traite de Paris, 1763 (Eunice, LA: Hebert Publications, 1981), pp. 1139-1141, 1150-1151, 1595-1597, 1615-1616, 1622-1623, 1625:

In the early summer of 1722 the Indians of Maine waged a war against the English in New England to retaliate against the English seizing their highest chief Joseph d’Abbadie de Saint-Castin and destroying their village Nanrantsouak – even burning the church and rectory. Governor Shute of Massachusetts issued a declaration of war on 25 July 1722 – a war known by several names, including The Three Years War, Rale’s War, Lovewell’s War and Governor Dummer’s Indian War. The English Governor of Acadia, Richard Phillips, was at Canso when Governor Shute declared war. He immediately sent troops along the east coast of Acadia including Merligueche where he recovered English vessels, and imprisoned Indians and Acadians. Among those captured by the English were four sons of Claude Guedry and Marguerite Petitpas – Claude, Philippe, Augustin and Paul. Perhaps the Acadians were imprisoned because of their strong ties to the Micmacs – both through intermarriage and through friendships.

The Guedry families first were taken to New Hampshire and then to Boston where they remained in captivity until the summer or fall of 1723.

We know this to be a fact because, Judith, born in 1722, the eldest child of Paul Guedry and his wife Anne Marie Mius (aka Anne d’Entremont, daughter of Philippe Mius and his second Native wife, Marie), was noted as a “Native of Boston” by the census-taker in April 1752 when living at Baie-des-Espagnols on Ile Royal.

By inference, this also means that Philippe Mius’s daughter, Anne Marie, was ALSO taken captive in 1722, but was reportedly returned in 1723.

This means that in total, four of Jean-Baptiste Guidry’s brothers had been taken hostage, presumably along with their families, in 1722, followed by Jean-Baptiste Guidry’s 8-year-old son Paul in 1723. Then, Jean-Baptiste Guidry himself and his namesake son in 1726 while drunkenly trying to capture the sloop to exchange for Paul.

We don’t know who else was captured in 1722, but given that the Guidry and Mius families lived in the same village, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if more of Philippe Mius’s children were taken captive. In fact, I’d be surprised if they weren’t.

This means that Philippe Mius’s daughter, Anne Marie, was taken captive, along with her husband, Paul Guidry, in 1722, and their first child was born in captivity in Boston before being returned the following year.

Then, François Mius and the younger Paul Guidry were taken captive in 1723. Was it during the same trip that the English returned the 1722 captives? Surely not, but who knows? Of course, this was in the middle of Dummer’s War, so anything was possible.

We know that two of Philippe’s sons, his daughter’s husband, and his grandson were tried for piracy in 1726 and convicted to death by hanging.

There’s a long and sordid history here of the English taking French, mixed-Acadian, and Mi’kmaq hostages along the Nova Scotia eastern coastline.

Why wasn’t any of this taken into consideration, given the undisputed fact that the hostages had never been returned, even after the English/French treaty was ratified in June of 1726? This scenario casts doubt upon the circumstances involved and, if not justifying the Guidry/Mius/Missel actions, certainly makes them far more understandable – especially given that this seemed to be a part of “normal” warfare right up until the English decided that it wasn’t. Prior to the peace treaty, boats were regularly taken. The English patrolled, looking for “Indians” to capture.

When the admiralty actually did question the two Meuse brothers, they asked about whether they knew there was a peace treaty, and both said they doubted if that was true. In fact, they had been informed by both the English and the French that it was not. The French recommended that they should take English vessels. Even a Fryer said there was no peace. Only one thing might have convinced them differently – and that would have been the return of the hostages.

If a peace agreement had been reached, but their brethren were not returned, then was a peace treaty actually reached? Or had peace simply “been spoken of,” as some reported?

Were these men and their families being used as political pawns by the political elite who wanted to use terror, torture, and murder as weapons of war and, secondarily, to “convert” the “unrepentant,” in the words of Cotton Mather?

Were these men simply “collateral damage” as far as the English were concerned – useful to their war effort?

So, Let Me See if I’ve Got This Right?

Two hours. Yes, two hours. That’s apparently all it took for 19 pillars of the English colonial community in Boston, under the direction of the man leading Dummer’s War against the Acadians and Native people, to hear all the evidence against three men, hear what their defender had to say, allow time for the interpreter to do his job, and then convict them to DEATH!!

How in the bloody hell was justice served? Or was “justice” never really the point?

The “piracy” occurred on August 25th, and the sloop had to sail back to Boston, which, based on an actual voyage in 1776, would have taken at least 3-4 days.

Guidry signed a document nine days later, on September 3rd, 1726, so maybe three days after they arrived in Boston. That document was submitted at trial. The three “Indian” men gave a similar statement on September 5th. Guidry’s son was one-fourth Indian, but wasn’t referenced as such. Philippe Mius’s sons were half-Indian and half-French. Guidry’s wife was their sister.

Based on the court records, the defendants were not permitted to testify at all. The witnesses for the King, meaning Captain Doty, his first mate and crew members, certainly testified. The five men on trial were not afforded the opportunity to say anything other than answering one perfunctory question before their sentence was pronounced: whether there was any reason why they should not be sentenced to death.

That was it!

I have questions that deserve answers.

When they arrived in Boston, how were they questioned? Under what conditions? Had they been tortured? What was in those documents? Did they understand what they had signed? The only man who spoke any English was John-Baptiste Guidry Sr. Based on his “signature,” he couldn’t read or write. The other men didn’t speak any English and needed interpreters.

And how about John-Baptiste Guidry Jr., who, at the age of 13, didn’t sign anything, NOR did he get to testify???

Yes, the men were drunk and boneheaded. There’s no doubt about that.

But where is the culpability for the English – the Bostonians? And I don’t mean the ship’s Captain, I mean the founding fathers sitting in their powdered wigs deciding the fate of those four men and one boy. Those very men dressed in their finery sitting on that bench condemning one Frenchman, his quarter-Native son, and three “Indians,” two of whom were half-French, to death?

If the peace treaty had been ratified in June 1726, and it was, why did the English NOT return their captive family members? And if a piece of evidence used AGAINST the defendants was the December 1725 peace treaty, which was ratified six months later, why did the English NOT return those captives earlier?

If that “evidence” of understanding was applicable to the goose, it was certainly applicable to the gander as well.

Who held the English to account? Don’t they bear some responsibility for creating or at least not resolving this situation before it escalated into a dangerous situation that would cost five men their lives?

And given that the English very clearly knew that they had not returned their captive family members, WHY would they doubt for one minute that the “Indian” men would doubt that there was a peace treaty in effect? Men who did NOT speak English AND who lived on the other side of the Acadian peninsula, AND who claimed that they had been told both by English AND French, including a Priest, multiple times, that there was no peace. Wouldn’t the best indication that peace was at hand have been for the hostages to be returned? Isn’t that what the Guidry and Mius men wanted?

Wouldn’t that have prevented the whole thing?

Why hadn’t the hostages been returned?

No one, not one person, denied that fact.

If a treaty was not in effect, then the French and Native people could continue to do as they had done before: take fishing boats to trade for captives.

What other hope did they have of recovering their family members?

Why was the capture of seven Native people and holding them as hostage for more than three years, in spite of two peace treaties, acceptable in the first place? And that followed a similar capture in 1722 that included a pregnant woman from the same family.

Were these families being targeted, or were they simply easy prey because they were friendly and willing to trade and provide fresh water to ships?

How could the Justices of the Vice-Admiralty Court possibly have ignored that information? How could they be sure that these men WEREN’T telling the truth? There was no contradictory testimony. There wasn’t time for anything in that kangaroo court. Three men sentenced to death in two hours. WOW. The trials of all five took place over two days, and the Guidry men had been condemned the day before.

And, while we’re asking questions, did their family members who were still held hostage, probably in the very same jail, have to endure the trial and conviction and then the deaths of their family members who were trying to save them?

Were they forced to watch?

Did they watch out of respect and solidarity despite their own pain?

The child, Paul Guidry, would only have been 11 and would have witnessed his father, brother, and uncles hang, enduring torturous deaths for attempting to save him.

MY GOD!

How indescribably horrific! Of course, that’s assuming Paul was still alive.

And what happened to the woman and two children who were on the sloop?

The youngest person convicted, and hung, Paul’s slightly older brother, Jean-Baptiste Guidry Jr., was only 13, hadn’t even reached the age of 14, was clearly a minor, and could not be convicted as an adult, according to their defense – yet he was convicted anyway and hung right alongside his father and uncles.

How could this ever be construed as actual justice???

This was vengeance, pure and simple, sold as a combination of religious and entertainment spectacle. The Sunday before most executions, an “execution sermon” was preached. The condemned could choose to attend and, hopefully, create even more entertainment by confessing publicly and “redeeming their souls.”

Cotton Mather, who was utterly fascinated with pirates, tried, unsuccessfully, to convert Pirate William Fly and to coerce a confession and religious sermon out of him. Preacher Benjamin Coleman used that opportunity to preach an execution sermon for Fly, which he refused to attend, just three months before Jean-Baptiste Guedry, his son, Philippe Mius, Jacques Mius, and John Missel were tried and convicted.

In the words of Marcus Rediker, Boston and other cities “staged spectacular executions” of pirates. Ironically, our family members may well have been the last pirates hung in Boston.

Alcohol

Unfortunately, alcohol was clearly the secondary catalyst for what occurred – the first having been the failure of the English to return the captives they had held for more than three years. They had plenty of time to return those men.

If the English had lived up to their part of the agreement, there would have been no motivation for the situation to escalate.

Without alcohol consumption, the acts that turned out to be piracy would probably not have transpired at all. Cooler heads would have prevailed. One could go so far as to say that were it not for the alcohol consumption, those five men wouldn’t have died – so essentially – alcohol killed them, with the English as executioners.

The fishing industry was known for high alcohol consumption, and the French had traded with the Indians for rum the day before. The Native community was decimated by alcohol in a wide variety of ways – and still is.

According to the book “Maritime Labor in Colonial Massachusetts,” fishing vessels carried enough alcohol on average to supply each crew member with six ounces of run and a quart of cider daily. Cider, in this context, means hard cider. Fishermen had little to trade to the Mi’kmaq, so alcohol and tobacco became important trade items for fresh food after weeks of eating moldy hardtack, salted meat, and nasty water.

Alcohol was an important social aspect used to seal friendships and consummate trade deals. Mi’kmaq chiefs and elders often complained to the French and English authorities about the harmful effects of the trade in liquor upon their people. In 1713, a French missionary reported that the New England fishermen “goe to find” the Mi’kmaq “in their habitations with brandy and make them drunk as well on shore as on board their vessels.”

In his testimony, the elder Guedry stated that he had been advised by the vessel from Ile Royale harboring at Mirigueche that seizing an English boat “would be the best way in order to get his son Paul from the English, to take and keep one of their vessels till they got him out of their hands.”

These proceedings and convictions in Boston concerned the English governor of Nova Scotia. After learning of the hangings, Lieutenant-Governor Lawrence Armstrong sent gifts to the Mi’kmaq villages along with communications telling them he had no part in what the Boston Council had done to their brothers.

Wicken draws the following conclusion:

Unable to determine how and when prisoners were to be released, the Meuse and Guedry families relied upon their own understanding of the 1726 treaty. That understanding, however, was tempered by a distrust of the Massachusetts government. French officials and Acadians played upon this distrust and advised members of the Meuse family that if they wished to see their relatives again, they should hold some fishermen hostage. The Meuse brothers were willing to do so not only because fishermen constituted an economic threat to their fishery, but also because of cultural differences with the fishermen which had created social tensions between them.

The events of 25 and 26 August 1726 occurred principally because of the political upheaval which marked Mi’kmaq relations with New England during the late 17th and early 18th centuries.

The Execution

The Boston News-Letter was published weekly.

In this edition, they reported on November 3rd that yesterday, November 2nd, the men were executed, which, according to their sentence, was by hanging.

Wikipedia reports that Geudry’s wife, children, mother, and other family members were present at his execution, but I’m not sure that’s accurate.

The prosecutor and others used the trial as a counter to local customs, which allowed the holding of a group (all Englishmen) responsible for an individual’s crimes. They also used it as a test case for separating English law, as applied to Acadia, from the law applied to First Nations groups like the Wabanaki Confederacy. Guedry and his son were tried as Acadians, but the Mius brothers and another man were classed as “Indians” and were tried separately.

However, the English were more than happy to make an example out of all of their deaths.

March to Death – the Dead Man’s Jig

Now that we know, the least we can do is walk along and trace the final days of their lives.

This 1775 map of Boston provides the location of the goal (jail), the courthouse, and the Boston Common where hangings took place.

Legend “G” was the King’s jail, and “E” was the courthouse.

According to the trial transcript, the men were held at the jail. In all probability, François Mius and Paul Guidry were held there, too, and had been for more than three years. Some prisoners were “put out” to families, but I doubt that was the case because they would assuredly attempt to escape and had the skills to accomplish just that. Keep in mind that Indians were considered “savages,” literally.

Their reunion would have been terribly conflicted – a moment of joy followed by the horrific realization that this was not going to end well.

I can only imagine the anguish experienced by the long-suffering captives. It was bad enough that their freedom had been taken from them, but now, their would-be rescuers were going to die.

Maybe not.

They would have held out hope for the month after they arrived until their trial on October 4th and 5th.

Hope that maybe there would be justice. Hope that both they and their relatives would be released. Hope that their prayers would be answered.

After their trial, hope that maybe, just maybe, something would change. Peace maybe? Some unknown force would save them?

Something.

Anything.

Prayer?

God?

Divine intervention?

Hope against hope.

The old jail and courthouse were within sight of each other, as shown in this 1743 map..

The stone jail had walls three feet thick, unglazed windows barred with iron and doors covered with iron spikes. The passageways were described as “like the dark valley of the shadow of death.” Daniel Fowle, a Boston printer, stated that “…if there is any such thing as hell upon earth, I think this place is the nearest resemblance of any I can conceive of.”

In 1797, the Charitable Society voted that each prisoner was to have a blanket and “as much fuel as necessary to keep them comfortable during the inclemency of the season.”

Of course, these prisoners, including François Mius and Paul Guedry, had been deprived of their freedom under horrific circumstances 75 years earlier – apparently long before the basic needs of hostages or prisoners were taken into consideration. Were they not considered human?

Why was there no humanity or compassion? How was that acceptable?

Surely, the families of the men being held knew that, too, which motivated them to find a release regardless of the consequences.

This original Court House in Queen Street burned in 1747.

Jean-Baptiste Guedry, his son by the same name, Philippe Mius (the third), Jacques (James) Mius, and John Missel would have been escorted down the block to this courthouse where the justices would already have been gathered.

Were the captives allowed to attend the trials of their family members? Were they forced to?

Or did they anxiously wait for their return to the eternal darkness of the jail to hear their fate?

Where was the woman and the two children?

At that time, executions were performed by hanging, which took place on the branches of the old hanging tree known as The Great Elm in the Boston Common.

In this 1768 view, John Hancock’s house is across the common in the distance. That’s probably the Great Elm, at left.

The Common, a large park-like area that was originally used for grazing animals, was only about three blocks from the courthouse, but the men weren’t to be hung immediately.

In fact, they were allowed to languish for almost another month. I wonder why.

Were they allowed contact with their captive family members during this time?

Hangings were public spectacles. Part entertainment and part gruesome deterrent.

The Great Elm, known as “Boston’s oldest inhabitant,” was over 100 years old by 1722.

According to Mary Farwell Ayer, “Tradition asserts that many of the early executions in Boston took place on a limb of this tree. Many persons were tried and condemned to death during the seventeenth century.” Native Americans, including the medicine man, Tantamous, were executed there in 1675-1676 during King Philip’s War.

Ann Hibbins, a Puritan, was hung from that tree in 1656.

Clearly, Ann was executed by moving the ladder away as she dangled and strangled. I can’t even…

Stereoscopic view of the Great Elm in winter. I’d wager that the hanging branch is the stubby, broken one closest to the bottom. With little effort, I can turn back time and see five bodies hanging limply from those branches.

This tree was clearly revered, as it was fenced for protection from damage from climbing.

This stereoscopic image was taken before the tree fell under its own weight in 1876 during a storm. Some of the wood was salvaged and made into a chair, on display at the Boston Public Library today.

On the morning of November 2nd, I assume the men knew that this was the fateful day.

The day they had been dreading.

According to George Francis Dow:

Public executions were usually more or less a public holiday. The condemned was taken in a cart through the streets to the gallows. Not infrequently a sermon was preached by some minister on the Sunday previous to the execution and speeches from the gallows always thrilled the crowd. The execution of pirates drew many people from some distance. The gibbeting of the bodies of executed persons does not seem to have been general.

In 1724 the head of Capt. John Phillips, the pirate, was brought into Boston in pickle. He had been killed by “forced men” who had risen and taken the pirate ship. Only two of his company lived to reach Boston for trial and execution, and one of them, John Rose Archer, the quartermaster, was sentenced to be “hung up in Irons, to be a spectacle, and so a Warning to others.” The gibbet was erected on Bird Island which was located about half-way between Governor’s Island and East Boston. In the Marshal’s bill for expenses in connection with the execution appears the following item:

“To Expenses for Victuals and Drink for the Sherifs, Officers and Constables after the Executions att Mrs. Mary Gilberts her Bill £3.15.8.”

This makes me ill.

The prisoners would have been paraded through the streets on their way to their execution – either walking or in a cart. They passed by the Burying Place beside the WorkHouse, where the poor were harshly punished for their poverty. Perhaps it was the WorkHouse residents who dug their graves. Maybe they saw five piles of dirt beside five graves in a row – one just slightly smaller than the rest.

Or worse yet, had they been forced to dig their own graves? Were there five graves, or were all five simply dumped together into one?

Was the day warm and beautiful, with multi-colored leaves gracing the Elm that would soon be their gallows, or had the fall’s cold rains begun to fall and soak into the souls of Bostonians?

Was the mob cheering their execution, or perhaps booing them?

Stories survive of the loved ones of the condemned who had been hung and whose corpses remained, swinging, riding into town under cover of darkness, cutting their body from the tree, and burying them someplace on park grounds. The Commons then was more of a neglected field, not the park setting that had developed a century later.

Today, it’s thought that more than 5000 burials of the poor and executed, aka murdered, reside in or near the Old Burying Ground, with many discovered along present-day Boylston Street.

Was their father, Philippe, somehow notified? Please tell me he was not present. I can’t bear to think of him having to watch two of his sons die like that, gasping for air, along with his grandson and son-in-law.

The Reverend Cotton Mather held a morbid fascination with pirates and was known to walk along with them on their final trip from the prison to the gallows. He alternated between trying to provide for their salvation and questioning them about their activities.

Let us hope that death occurred quickly, by what is known as “the long drop,” where the weight of the body breaks the neck of the person being hung, resulting in nearly immediate death. If the neck is not broken, death usually results from asphyxiation within 10-20 minutes, as the brain is deprived of oxygen via compression of both the airway and the carotid arteries. But sometimes, for the truly unfortunate and unlucky, death can take longer – up to a day.

Regretfully, for our family members, the long-drop method wasn’t introduced until 1872. If they received the much more humane long drop, as opposed to the short drop, where the ladder, stool, or cart was simply moved away, allowing the condemned to dangle by the neck until death claimed them, it was quite by accident.

When they were cut down, the braid pattern of the hangman’s noose was probably firmly imprinted into their necks, and they would have suffered the final indignity of soiling themselves publicly as they died.

Yes, it was quite the public spectacle that people flocked to witness as a morbid form of recreation. Five pirates hanging in the same day probably had a massive draw.

Using Google Maps and other tools, I was able to find the location of the “Great Elm” today.

I was able to approximate the location on the 1775 map.

The Burying Ground shown on this map had not been established in 1726. At that time, what was known as the “Burying Ground” was part of Boston Common and is today the Old Granary Burying Ground. Ironically, some of their convictors are buried there. Perhaps our men haunt them.

The convicted men would have walked this path to the commons. The nooses would already have been waiting for them, along with the crowds, anticipating the “show.” And perhaps, their family members waited too.

I pray that their family members didn’t have to witness yet one more thing. Gibbeting.

Gibbeting

William Fly, the notorious pirate, and I mean pirate in the more traditional sense, had a short-lived career. He began pirating in April 1726 when he led a mutiny and subsequently made and hoisted the much-feared skull-and-crossbones Jolly Roger pirate flag. Fly, and his crew then captured five ships before being captured themselves and subsequently tried in Boston for piracy.

Fly was convicted and hanged on July 4th, 1726, along with three of his crewmates. The newspaper carried slightly different verbiage for Fly, though, as he was to “be hung in chains.”

What does that mean?

This article from 1935 provides additional information.

Further research indicates that only the most notorious of pirates who had committed the most heinous of crimes, including murder, were gibbeted, meaning that after death, their bodies were hung in cages on display on an island in the bay as a warning and deterrent to would-be pirates and other law-breakers.

While our men were condemned to death by hanging, there is no notification that they would be “hung in chains,” nor any indication that they were.

What a relief!

Burial

Where would the men have been buried?

There were only three cemeteries in Boston at that time, and given the proximity, the Granary Burying Ground is the most likely interment location in what was probably a mass grave.

The other two potential burial sites are King’s Chapel and Copps Hill. We will never know, of course.

By Hertz1888 – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19104634

Since we don’t know where the unfortunate Acadian, mixed-Acadian and Indian men wound up, the best I can do is to note the marker of the tree from whose limbs they swung. Probably all 5 of them hung together, dancing the dead man’s jig, until someone cut them down and did something with their bodies.

God, what a horrific spectacle that must have been.

They clearly did not die a peaceful death but one of torturous anguish, exactly as intended, nor are they resting in peace now.

Justice, by any possible definition, failed them.

It’s ironic that they may have been the last pirates hung in Boston.

The 20th Century

In 1986, I stayed in Boston at a hotel near Copley Square, across from the train station. Of course, I had absolutely no idea that my ancestors’ sons, grandson, and son-in-law had met with such a gruesome and tragic end just a few blocks away.

I was only a mile and a half from the old courthouse, which became the State House.

Less than a mile from the Great Elm.

Had I known this history and how close I was, I would have taken a walk and paid my respects.

Aftermath

As if this wasn’t already bad enough.

After the Guedry, Mius, and Missel executions, New England colonial officials had the trial transcripts translated into French. A group was organized to travel to Acadia to read the transcripts to French Acadians and in native Mi’kmaq villages. The campaign was intended to demonstrate to Acadian and Native Nova Scotia settlers how English law would be applied, and the potential, no, the assured, outcome. They made it very clear that as unjust Justices, they were ruthless, and there would never be a positive outcome.

The English clearly perceived this entire affair as a welcome opportunity to exploit the five men as examples. I don’t even need to ask if that played a role in their convictions.

Every Acadian and Native person in Nova Scotia would have known it was unjust – and would VERY clearly have understood the intended message. The English would apply any sort of pressure they wished. The King and his appointed Justices were all-powerful. And brutal. Full stop.

The trial and subsequent execution of Guedry, his son, the Mius brothers and Missel were among many such incidents that marked a continued rise in tensions between New England and the Native people who were allied and related to Acadian settlers in the region.

The tensions eventually culminated in the Great Expulsion, known as Le Grand Dérangement, of the Acadians from Acadia from 1755 to 1764, during and after the North American French and Indian War.

Philippe Muis’s Children

Given that Philippe lived among the Mi’kmaq for his entire life, we’re lucky to know as much as we do about his children. Still, much is missing.

We know he had two Native wives, based on his known children’s birth years, but there could have been more.

Child Birth Death Locations Spouse Children
Joseph Mius aka d’Azy, d’Entremont Abt 1679 Dec. 13, 1729 Born Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, died at Annapolis Royal Jeanne Amirault dit Tourangeau 13
Marie Mius Abt 1680 After 1712 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable François Viger 7
Mathieu Mius Abt 1682 After 1708 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable Madelaine unknown Mi’kmaq 1
Maurice Mius Abt 1682 After 1708 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, lived Mouscoudabouet Marguerite unknown Mi’kmaq 2
Françoise Mius Abt 1684 1715-1717 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, lived at Port Royal Jacques Bonnevie dit Beaumont 5
Jacques Mius Abt 1688 Nov. 2, 1726 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve, died in Boston Unknown, White says he married about 1715 Possibly 5 or so
Marie Mius Abt 1689 After 1732 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve Jean Baptiste Thomas, says Mi’kmaq in child’s baptism 3
Pierre Mius Abt 1691 After 1708 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve
Madeleine Mius Abt 1694 After 1716 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve Jean-Baptiste Guidry 4 or 5
Jean-Baptiste Mius Abt 1695 After 1730 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve Mi’kmaq wife buried in Port Royal in 1730 Unknown
Françoise Mius Abt 1697 After 1735 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve Pierre Cellier Unknown
François Mius Abt 1700 After Aug. 22, 1763 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve, lived Unknown At least one named Jacques
Philippe Mius Abt 1703 Nov. 2, 1726 Born in Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve, died in Boston Probably none
Anne Marie Mius Abt 1705 Abt Oct. 15, 1778 Born Pobomcoup, Cape Sable, or La Heve, died in Lyon, France Paul Guedry, brother to Jean-Baptiste Guedry Sr. 8-10, first child born when Anne and Paul were held hostage in 1722 in Boston

Philippe’s children, beginning with Jacques, born about 1688, were born to Philippe’s second wife.

What Happened to Philippe Mius?

I’ve asked myself this question over and over again. In August 1726, his son, François, aka Francis, as well as his grandson, Paul Guidry, had been held hostage in Boston since July of 1723. More than three years.

Philippe, then age 66, would be getting increasingly desperate. Would his son survive? Was he still alive? Was he being tortured? Would he ever come home? Would he come home brainwashed after having lived among the English for three years? No, surely not, given that he was an unwilling prisoner.

Not only that, but John-Baptiste Guidry’s son, Paul, about eight years old, also held hostage, was Philippe’s grandson. Would Paul even remember his family? Would he remember the Mi’kmaq language, or would he only speak English? What had he been told? Was he even alive?

How did Philippe sleep at night? How had he slept for the past 1100+ nights since they had been taken hostage? His daughter and her husband had been taken hostage the years before, too. Did Philippe have nightmares?

Why hadn’t his son and grandson been returned?

Was something wrong?

We’ll never know whether Philippe was waiting for an opportunity that synchronistically sailed into the harbor that fateful day in late August 1726, or if he just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.

What we do know is that Philippe was friendly, greeted the English fishermen, shook hands, boarded the ship by invitation, and then left the ship without incident. There’s no record that he was drinking, although he could have been.

His sons, son-in-law, and grandson didn’t fare nearly as well. They got themselves drunk, took advantage of the situation, tried to capture or kill the sailors, and commandeer the ship – fully intending to hold it for ransom for the return of their family members.

Yes, everything backfired in the most horrific nightmare scenario possible.

Two of Philippe’s sons, his daughter’s husband, and her son were all hung for piracy just 10 weeks later, on the second day of November.

We know that François Mius, Philippe’s son who was held hostage, was, at some point, returned because he eventually became a Mi’kmaq chief, but we don’t know when or how he made his way home.

I found a record that confused me, so I’m correcting the error, but leaving it here in case it confused others too. On June 2, 1751, François Mius (corrected, François Mius d’Azy, son of Philippe’s son, Joseph) and Jacques d’Entremont II, signed a document regarding weir usage among the Mi’kmaq with Eustache Jecoudamate at Poubomcoup. Thank you to my cousin who has the original documents for this correction.

Paul Geudry, the child who was kidnapped in 1723, was named after his father’s brother, who, ironically, was kidnapped in 1722 and released.

There’s no record of a younger Paul Guedry, other than his name in these records. None of Jean-Baptiste Guedry and Madeleine Mius’s children were baptized except Joseph, born in 1716, about whom nothing more is known. Young Paul may or may not have come home.

On that terrible November day in 1726, not only did Philippe’s two sons, son-in-law and grandson, perish at the end of a hangman’s noose, but they had to witness, watch, and listen to each other during the process.

Jacques Mius, about age 38, was probably married. If so, his widow lost her husband and their children, if any, were orphaned. By age 38, he probably had several children.

Philippe Mius, his father’s namesake, was about 23 and probably never married. Of course, he lost his life and his future.

François Mius, the son held captive, would have been about 23 when captured and 26 when his brothers were hung. He went on to become the Chief of the Mi’kmaq band where he lived but probably dealt with the phenomenon we understand today as survivor’s guilt for the rest of his life. We know he eventually had one son, Jacques, clearly named for his brother who was hung, who inherited his father’s medal from King Louis XV, and was elderly in 1812.

Madeleine Mius had recently married Jean-Baptiste Guedry, according to the 1708 census. She lost both her husband and her 13-year-old son to the hangman in Boston 18 years later – not to mention that her son Paul Guedry was still held captive. I shudder to think. That poor women.

So. Much. Grief.

While these deaths had to be utterly crushing for their families, especially given the extenuating circumstances, it’s also important to understand the concept of family more broadly. In the 1708 census, the only census that enumerated any of the Mi’kmaq people, the Indians of Pintagouet (near Georges Island in Halifax Harbor), were enumerated by wigwam, not by family, by their missionary, Father de la Chasse.

Ages were not given, but we find the following number of people living in the same wigwam:

  • First wigwam – 16
  • 2 – 11
  • 3 – 16
  • 4 – 25
  • 5 – 18
  • 6 – 17
  • 7 – 27
  • 8 – 17
  • 9 – 16
  • 10 – 18
  • 11 – 19
  • 12 – 21
  • 13 – 6
  • 14 – 17
  • 15 – 25
  • 16 – 13
  • 17 – 3
  • 18 – 6
  • 19 – 7
  • 20 – 35
  • 21 – 6
  • 22 – 8
  • 23 – 15
  • 24 – 13
  • 25 – 7
  • 26 – 5

388 people resided in 26 wigwams, which averaged about 15 people per wigwam. These people clearly lived in extended families. In some cases, four or more females in the same wigwam are named “Marie,” which, of course, is a very common Catholic baptismal name. Some people have European names, some have Native names, some have last names, and some don’t. Many names appear to be in the Mi’kmaq language, and none have ages or relationships listed.

This drawing of the interior of a wigwam in 1837 looks fairly spacious. Note the wooden hook for cooking in the one iron pot. Philippe’s home probably looked something like this a century earlier.

So, the entire village of Merliguesh, along with any others living in wigwams at LaHeve (127 people in 22 families), Cape Sable (97 people in 20+ families), and Mouscoudabouet, northeast of present-day Halifax, where two of Philippe’s sons lived as two of 30+ families in 1708 would have grieved these men as “family” however you care to define family.

Everyone would have been related in one way or another. The newcomers had been the French, like Philippe Mius and Jean-Baptiste Guidry who had arrived in the past century and intermarried.

Some researchers show Philippe’s death around 1730, but I can find no further record of Philippe after 1726.

Did these senseless deaths kill him too?

Was he yet another victim?

I can’t make Philippe’s life better, or ease his heartbreak, but I can tell his story – their story. The story of his family and mine.

I can sit and hold space with him.

I can reveal the injustices done to his sons by those powerful, wealthy English merchants who were supposed to mete out justice, but, in reality, used them to wage a form of terroristic warfare. These five men were simply figureheads, representing both the French and the Indians – representative bodies to punish and kill because the English couldn’t kill them all. Of course, those injustices were simply the appetizer, a horrible foreshadowing of the genocide coming in 1755.

The only people interested in justice were the victims and their families, if they knew.

Thankfully, Philippe would have been 95 by 1755 when the horrors of the Acadian Removal began, and had likely been in the Spirit World for a quarter century. Only two of his known children survived the deportation.

  • Ironically, Anne Marie, who was held hostage in 1722 and was married to the elder Paul Geudry, was shipped back to France.
  • We know that Philippe’s son, Chief François Mius, survived until at least August of 1763, when he signed another agreement with the English.

It’s certainly possible that a few of Philippe’s other children survived the Deportation, too. Mathieu and Maurice, fur traders, could have survived quietly and disappeared into the woods when the English came to deport the Acadians. The fate of some of Philippe’s daughters is also unknown.

Philippe lived in two worlds whose cultures were tightly interwoven yet sometimes clashed badly, causing irreparable harm to the people caught in the ever-tightening vice. Two powerful nations, the French and English, wished to rule, control, and sometimes destroy the Mi’kmaq trapped between them.

Philippe was a Frenchman who had never seen France and lived in a Native world. He was a moderator and mediator, attempting to bridge and unite those worlds to create a better life for his family and his people. In doing so, he endured an unfathomable level of heartbreak, the depths of which we will never know.

Rising from the ashes, soaring on Eagles’ wings, his blood, strength, and power flow in the veins of hundreds of descendants today.

I hear your voice, Philippe, calling me, and I am coming to walk the path with you.

Viva Philippe!

_____________________________________________________________

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Françoise Mius (c1684-c1715): Mi’kmaq, Acadian, French & English Culture Clash – 52 Ancestors #422

There’s more that we don’t know about Françoise than we do.

We can infer some information from the facts we have.

Françoise Mius was born between 1684 and 1687, probably closer to 1684, in a Native village. Probably in or near Pobomcoup, Acadia, now Pubnico, Nova Scotia where her (presumed) father, Philippe Mius II, was raised. Philippe was the son of the most prominent Frenchman in Acadia by the same name, and her mother was a Native woman reported to have been from a Mi’kmaq village, Ministiguesche, near present-day Barrington.

By the way, according to the Nova Scotia Archives, the correct pronunciation of Mi’kmaq is ‘Meeg-em-ach.’

Did you notice all those words of uncertainly describing Françoise Mius, like multiple instances of probably and presumed? We’ll work through each one.

The first record of Françoise is the 1703 census at Port Royal, where she is listed with her husband, Jacques Bonnevie, and their two eldest children, both girls.

A total of about 85 families are living near Port Royal.

This family is NOT shown in the 1700 or 1701 census anywhere. Given that they had two children in 1703, they would have been married about 1700. The remaining parish records in Port Royal begin in 1702, and their children are not shown as baptized there.

However, the Port Royal parish registers, on October 22 and 23, 1705, show that several mixed Native/Acadian children were baptized who were previously baptized at Cape Sable, or nearby. Residences of their parents include Outkrukagan, Pombomkou, Puikmakagan, OneKmakagan, Mirliguish, Petite Riviere, Merligueshe, Port Multois, and Kayigomias.

Along the Eastern Coast, Mi’kmaq were seasonally migratory and also located near Canso, River Sainte Marie, Chebucto, La Heve, Port Medway, Port Rossignol (Shelburne), Ministiguesch (Port La Tour) and Ouimakagan (near Pubnico). For a more detailed discussion of these village sites, see Bill Wicken, “Encounters with Tall Sails and Tall Tales: Mi’kmaq Society, 1600-1760”.

Merligueche is noted in this list of villages, and it turns out to be an especially important place for the Mius family.

Photo courtesy of the Nova Scotia Archives.

Merligueche was also the location of a large Mi’kmaq summer village and trading port.

This cluster of 1705 baptisms within a day or so of each other makes me wonder if there was some kind of community baptismal event where everyone who wanted their child officially baptized climbed into a canoe or fishing boat and set out for Port Royal, where they had access to a priest. Conversely, the gathering could have been a harvest festival, Mawio’mi (powwow), or celebration of some type. One thing is clear, lots of non-resident people were visiting Port Royal that weekend and they probably didn’t visit regularly since the children being baptized were born across several years.

Many people were recorded with place names for surnames like Anne de Pobomkou.

There was only one Catholic church on the western shores of Acadia – at Port Royal. We know that children were born elsewhere and baptized at birth as they could be, even without a priest, which may have been the case for Françoise Mius’s two eldest daughters. Unlike others, they were never rebaptized at Port Royal, or, those records no longer exist.

It’s interesting that “Philippe de Pobomkou,” who signed as Philippe Muis, baptized children in 1702.

“Sieur de Pobomkou” baptized a child in 1704, which would have been the elder Philippe Mius. “de Pobomkou” was used synonymously with Mius. Philippe Mius and his son were the highest-ranking Frenchmen in Acadia during their lifetimes and were quite well respected. Philippe Sr. had arrived in 1651 as a Lt-Major to his friend, Charles La Tour.

Philippe Mius Jr. lived among and married into the Mi’kmaq tribe, although he clearly kept many of his French ways, including the Catholic faith.

Both the Mius and LaTour families married into the Native families. This was not frowned upon or discouraged. An attitude shift developed sometime later.

We don’t know why, but something was motivating some of the mixed Acadian/Mi’qmak people to move to Port Royal. Jean Roy dit Laliberte, who was the shoremaster for Charles St-Etienne de La Tour and Jacques Mius, and his Native wife moved to Port Royal by 1698, and we know that Françoise Mius and Jacques Bonnevie were there by 1704. Of course, their motivation could have been because Jacques was a soldier. I noticed that some of the same military men were witnesses for other rehabilitation baptisms of the children of mixed couples that moved up from the Pobomcoup area.

On May 31, 1704, son Jacques Bonnevie was born and baptized the next day, listing “Françoise Muis dit Beaumon” as the wife of Jacques Bonnevie

  • Register RG 1 volume 26 page 20
  • Priest Felix Pain
  • Registration Date 1 June 1704
  • Event Baptism
  • Name Jacques Bonnevie
  • Born 31 May 1704
  • Father Jacques Bonnevie
  • Mother Françoise Muis dit Beaumon
  • Godparents Jacques de Teinville
  • lieutenant of a company
  • Magdelaine Mellansson ditte de la Boulardrie

It’s worth noting here that the Godfather is indeed the lieutenant of a company.

Françoise’s husband, Jacques Bonnevie, was reported in 1732 to be a retired, disabled soldier.

Seige!

One month and one day after that baby was baptized, two English warships and seven smaller vessels entered the Port Royal basin, capturing the guard station opposite Goat Island, along with four Acadians.

A woman from a family who had been captured was sent to the fort to demand surrender. It’s unclear if this was a separate family or the four that we know were captured.

For 17 long days, the men in the fort awaited an attack. However, the fleet commander had moved on to Grand Pre where the English laid waste to the town before returning to exchange perfunctory gunfire with the fort at Port Royal before returning to Boston.

Much of the English harassment and attacks upon Acadia were coordinated out of Boston.

The siege of Port Royal lasted only 17 days. This time. With a newborn infant plus two young children, and her husband stationed inside the fort, anticipating an attack at any minute, Françoise must have been terrified. She was also alone because, as a soldier, Jacques had no family there, and as a half-Native woman from far-away Pobomcoup, neither did she.

Perhaps families sheltered inside the habitation. Perhaps Françoise took her children and retreated into the safety of the woods, relying upon the skills she learned among her family.

Life in Port Royal

Their next child, Marie Bonnevie, was born and baptized on May 12, 1706 in the Catholic Church near Port Royal.

  • Bonnevie Marie 1706
  • Register RG 1 volume 26 page 47
  • Priest Justinien Durand
  • Registration Date 12 May 1706
  • Event Baptism
  • Name Marie Bonnevie
  • Born 12 May 1706
  • Father Jacques Bonnevie
  • Mother Françoise Mius
  • Godparents Louis de Clauneuf [Closneuf]
  • lieutenant of a company
  • Françoise de Belle Isle

Again, the Godfather was the lieutenant of a company.

In 1707, the family was listed in Port Royal under the name of Jacques Bonneur, his wife, 1 boy less than 14, and three girls less than 12. The family is living on 1 arpent of land, with 2 cattle and 6 hogs. One arpent of land is clearly not enough for farming, but given that Jacques is a professional soldier, he is probably stationed at the fort and is paid for his service. Their land would be used for a garden plot and raising their livestock.

They live two houses away from Madame de Belle Isle, a widow who may well be related to the Françoise de Belle Isle, who stood as Godmother the year before. Madame de Belle Isle is Marie Saint-Etienne de LaTour who was the widow of Alexandre Le Borgne de Belle-Isle. They lived in Port Royal, and she was widowed by 1693, becoming important in her own right as a seigneuresse, managing the finances of her former husband, a seigneur, allotting and selling land among other responsibilities.

Soldiers do not appear on the census. Most returned to France at the end of their service, but some stayed, married, and settled into Acadian life.

A total of 106 families are enumerated.

On February 21, 1708, Françoise Mius, wife of Beaumont, stood as the Godmother of Anne Clemenceau, daughter of Jean Clemenceau and Anne Roye. Anne Roy was also from Cape Sable and half-Native. Her father worked for the LaTour and Mius men.

Françoise would have known Anne before they both moved to Port Royal. They spoke the same language, shared cultures, and may even have been related.

Between 1708 and 1715, Françoise would have had at least four additional children, but we have no record of their births or deaths.

The Conquest of Acadia

In 1710, the English attacked Port Royal once again, but this time armed with warships and 3400 troops.

Again, a siege ensued.

Those brave men managed to hold the fort for 11 days, but in the end, had to relinquish control. 300 men, some of whom were poorly trained new recruits, stood no chance against the mighty English warships. Plus, they were outnumbered by more than 11 to 1.

The English warships fired upon the fort all night, and their cannon had advanced to within 300 feet of the fort. It became evident that either they negotiated the best possible surrender conditions, or die. Either way, the English were going to take control of the fort, and with it, Acadia.

The English allowed the Acadian and French men to exit with at least their lives and what was left of their dignity, flags flying and drummers drumming.

This event became known as The Conquest of Acadia and ended French rule.

Françoise must have been incredibly relieved – not that the Acadians lost their homeland, but that Jacques wasn’t killed and the French soldiers were released. I do have to wonder how and when he became disabled, and if it was related to this event.

A year later, the Acadian men and the Mi’kmaq warriors attempted a siege of the now-English fort, which failed.

Living Under English Rule

Day-to-day life didn’t change much under English rule, at least not initially. The Acadians were permitted to continue Catholic worship, and the routines of the seasons dictated daily activities.

The English only took one census.

In the 1714 census, “Beaumont” was listed with his wife, one son, and three daughters at Port Royal. His career as a French soldier at the fort had clearly ended, although life must have been extremely uneasy for those previous soldiers.

How would they have earned a living? The English certainly weren’t going to give them land.

On October 13, 1715, their son, Charles Bonnevie, was born and baptized.

  • Register RG 1 volume 26 page 137
  • Priest Justinien Durand
  • Registration Date 13 October 1715
  • Event Baptism
  • Name Charles Bonnevie
  • Born 13 October 1715
  • Father Jacques Bonnevie
  • Mother Françoise Mius
  • Godparents Charles Landry
  • Marguerite Pitre
  • wife of Abraham Comeau

When Was Françoise Born?

Unfortunately, not one single record gives Françoise’s age. Not one.

If Françoise had two daughters by 1703, with the next child, Jacques, born in May of 1704, we can surmise that the youngest daughter was born in 1702 or maybe early 1703, 18-24 months before Jacques. Françoise’s oldest daughter would have been born about 2 years before that, so about mid-1700 or perhaps in 1701.

This suggests that Françoise Mius was married in either 1699 or 1700, which puts her birth at about 1680-ish. Some researchers show her birth between 1684 and 1687. 1684 is after the birth of known children of Philippe Mius with his first wife, and 1687 is the approximate birth of the first of the next group of Philippe Mius’s children with a Native woman named Marie.

All things considered, I’m using 1684 as her birth year.

If you’re thinking, “This sure is complicated,” you’d be exactly right.

Who Are the Parents of Françoise Mius?

This is where it gets a little dicey.

There are only four known Mius men in Acadia at this time, all of whom are well-known and documented. Some can be reasonably eliminated from consideration.

Philippe Mius, the elder, and father of the other three, was born in France around 1609, married Madeleine Helie around 1649, presumably in France, and had five known children between 1650 and 1669. Sometime around 1651, Philippe came to Acadia with his young family as Lieutenant to Charles de Saint-Etienne de La Tour and served as commander of the colony in La Tour’s absence. We will hear his story later.

  • Philippe Sr.’s eldest son, Jacques Mius d’Entremont, was born about 1654, married Anne Saint-Etienne de La Tour (1661-1741) about 1678, and died about 1735.
  • Philippe Sr.’s second son, Abraham Mius de Pleinmarais, was born about 1658 and married Marguerite Saint-Etienne de La Tour (1658-1748) about 1676 and died about 1700.

Both of these sons had married European women long before the 1680s when Françoise was born.

  • Philippe Sr.’s third son, Philippe dit d’Azy Mius II, was born about 1660, lived among the Native people, and was married to two Mi’kmaq women.

We know, based on the mitochondrial DNA haplogroup of our Françoise Mius, X2a2, that her mother was indeed Native, which limits the choice of father for Françoise, barring an unusual circumstance, to son Philippe Mius.

This early photo of a Mi’kmaw woman, Mary Christianne Paul Morris, was taken in 1864. She is holding a quillwork model canoe, and a quillwork box rests on the floor by her leg. She is dressed in traditional attire. Photo courtesy of the Nova Scotia Archives.

Early Census Records

Philippe Mius Sr. is shown on the 1671 census of Acadia at the Habitation of Poboncom near the Island of Touquet as follows:

Phillippe Mius, squire, Sieur de Landremont, 62, wife Madeleine Elie 45; Children: Marguerite Marie An, Pierre 17, Abraham 13, Phillippe 11, daughter “la cadette” Madeleine 2; cattle 26; sheep 25.

In the 1686 census, we find:

Philippe Mius, royal prosecutor, age 77, is shown in Port Royal with son, Philippe, 24, daughter Magdelaine 16, and 40 arpents of land. It’s worth noting that both of his sons Jacques and Abraham are married with children and living in Cap Sable beside or near the LaTour family whose surname is sometimes written Saint-Etienne de La Tour.

These two censuses show his birth year as 1660 and 1662.

The 1708 Census

In the 1708 census, which includes both French and Native families, in the section titled “Indians from La Heve and surrounding area,” we find:

  • Philippe Mieusse age 48 (birth year 1660)
  • Marie his wife 38 (so born about 1670)
  • Jacques his son 20
  • Pierre his son 17
  • Françoise his daughter 11
  • François his son 8
  • Philipe his son 5
  • Anne his daughter 3

This daughter, named Françoise, is only 11 and, therefore, cannot be our Françoise, who was married by about 1700 and had children shortly thereafter.

We do find a few more people with the surname Mieusse:

  • Cape Sable under enumeration of the French: François Vige, age 46, his wife Marie Mieusse 28, with 5 children. Marie’s age of 28 puts her birth in about 1680.
  • Indians from Mouscoudabouet (Now Musquodoit Harbour): Maurice Mieusse 26 with wife Marguerite 27 and two children. Age 26 puts his birth at about 1682.
  • Cape Sable Indians: Mathieu Emieusse 26, Madelaine 20 and one child. This puts his birth at about 1682.
  • De La Heve under “enumeration of the French”: Jean Baptiste Guedry 24 and Madelaine Mieusse 14. Age 14 puts her birth at age 1694.

Another child of Philippe Mius Sr. is found three houses away from François Vige and Marie Mieusse:

  • Joseph dazy 35, Marie tourangeau 24, with 5 children. His age places his birth about 1673. His death record on December 13, 1729, at about 55 years of age, by the name Joseph Mieux dit D’Azy, confirms his identity. His surname line among descendants was known as D’Azy.

Neither Françoise Muis nor Jacques Bonnevie is shown in 1708 under the only Port Royal category of “Indians of Port Royal.” They are considered French and live among the French families.

Philippe Mius’s Older Children

Given the age of Philippe’s wife, Marie, in 1708, she was born about 1670.

This means that it was impossible for Marie to be the mother of Philippe Mius’s oldest children, including Françoise. His older children were:

  • Joseph d’Azy Mius, born about 1673/1679, received land in 1715 and is described as “part Indian who dwelt at Port Le Tore,” and is the son-in-law of “Tourangeaut”.

We know that Philippe Mius Jr. was born around 1660, which is probably why researchers have shifted his son Joseph d’Azy’s birth closer to 1679. Various records across the years clearly show Joseph as being half-Native.

He is later noted as the “part Indian who dwelt at Port Le Tore,” which was originally known as Port Lomeron and was where Charles La Tour lived.

This map shows Port LaTare, aka LaTour, along with the other capes and early forts.

La Tour traded here between 1624 and 1635 when he established another fort at the mouth of the River Saint John.

Author Father Joseph Clarence d’Entremont states that Philippe Mius’s first unknown Mi’kmaq wife who was the mother of Françoise Mius was from what is today Barrington, Nova Scotia. Based on the 1708 census, Philippe Mius’s second Native wife, Marie was probably a member of the Le Heve tribe. Barrington may have been the village of Ministiguesche according to the authors of the Ethnographic Report.

Several of Joseph Mius’s children intermarried with the Mi’kmaq people, as did two of his full siblings, shown below:

  • Marie Mius, born about 1680, married Francois Viger. They lived at Ouimakagan, present-day Robert’s Island, near Pobomcoup in 1705.
  • Maurice Mius, born about 1682, married Marguerite, a Mi’kmaq.
  • Mathieu Mius, born about 1682, married Madeleine, a Mi’kmaq
  • Françoise Muis, born about 1684, married Jacques Bonnevie, a French soldier.

Maurice and Mathieu are shown as twins, born in 1682, and Françoise is slotted as the next child, born in 1684.

That’s certainly possible, as she would have been 16 in 1700, and young women were clearly marrying at that age in that time and place.

There is no evidence or suggestion that the other Mius men, meaning Philippe Sr. or his sons Jacques Mius d’Entremont or Abraham Mius de Pleinmarais, had children with a Native woman in the 1680s.

Of course, that also doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

Given the age of Philippe Mius’s Native wife, Marie, born about 1670, she cannot have been the mother of those older Mius children.

Adding to the confusion, Philippe had daughters named both Françoise and Marie with both Native wives, although the children may well have been called by their Native names, not their French baptismal names.

Facts About Françoise

So, we know a few things, for sure:

  • Françoise was shown in the parish records as Mius and Mius de Beaumon(t)
  • Françoise’s mother was unquestionably Mi’kmaq, confirmed by mitochondrial DNA
  • Françoise was having children by 1700/1701, so probably born no later than 1685
  • Assuming that her father was a Mius male, the only candidates were Philippe Sr., Philippe Jr, Abraham, or Jacques
  • Philippe Sr., Abraham, and Jacques were married to European wives at that time.
  • Philippe Jr. is documented to have been living with the Native people and, according to various records, had two Native wives
  • Françoise’s mother was very unlikely Philippe Jr.’s second Native wife, Marie, as she was born about 1670, so would have been a prepubescent child when Philippe’s oldest children were born, and about 14 when Françoise was born
  • Françoise’s mother was very unlikely Philippe Jr.’s second Native wife, as she named another daughter Françoise who was born in 1697.

Constant Conflict

Acadia was in a state of constant conflict, with the English either attacking or threatening to attack at all times.

These conflicts began before Françoise was born, but one of the more memorable took place in 1690, when Françoise was a mere child. The Battle of Port Royal was fought, resulting in the fort’s surrender. That should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t, as the English burned the town and many farms before forcing the residents to sign a loyalty oath, taking a few hostages, and sailing back to Boston. A few weeks later, more English arrived to pillage anything that was left.

While Françoise would have been tucked safely in a Mi’kmaq village someplace in Southwest Acadia, this back-and-forth scenario and broken trust played out over and over again.

Beginning in 1713, the English, who had been in control of the Acadian homeland since 1710, tried to force the Acadians to sign “better” loyalty oaths to the crown. When they refused, the English tried to evict the Acadians, only to change their minds because they needed their labor to feed the English soldiers.

The unrelenting conflict with the English was ramping up again.

The Acadians wanted to and tried to depart for Ile Royal, but were stopped by the English Governor.

In 1715, the Fort’s gates were shut and locked, preventing trade with anyone, including Native people.

In 1717, Captain Doucette became the Lieutenant Governor of Acadia. By this time some Acadians had decided to stay put on peaceful terms. When the Indians learned about this, they threatened the Acadians. Though they had always been friends, and in Françoise’s case, relatives, the Indians didn’t want the Acadians defecting to the English side.

By now, everyone was upset and everyone was mad at everyone else.

Doucette demanded that the Acadians take the oath, but they thought doing so would tie them down … and they still wanted to move. The Acadians said that if they were to stay, they wanted protection from the Indians, and the oath would need to be stated so that they would not have to fight their own countrymen. But that negotiation tactic wasn’t working, because Doucette wanted an unconditional oath.

The only constant in Acadia other than Catholicism was warfare.

Given that Françoise was half-Native and given the nature of the conflict between 1710 and 1720, I wondered if perhaps Françoise and her husband, Jacques Bonnevie, struck out for parts unknown, or at least undocumented.

I quickly discounted that possibility, because their children are found in Port Royal. They wouldn’t have left them behind with no means of supporting themselves.

By 1718, Françoise’s children began to marry, and in 1719 her first grandchild arrived. Her husband, Jacques Bonnevie, stood as Godfather at the baptism, but Françoise did not stand with him. She is not found in any record again.

Clash of Cultures

Constant warfare isn’t the only undercurrent running through Acadian lives – or, more accurately, through Acadian/Mi’kmaq mixed lives.

This painting, “Homme Acadien,” Acadian Man by André Grasset de Saint-Sauveur, is reported to represent a Mi’kmaq man somewhere in the Acadian region. Looking at this man, I’m not at all sure he’s native, or at least not fully Native.

Every genealogist knows about assumptions, and we all try to avoid them. Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re assuming. Once in a while, assume gets us.

I’ve been researching Acadians and Native peoples for decades now, and I know that the Acadians were closely allied with the Mi’kmaq and probably other Native peoples too. The Maliseet lived in the Saint John River drainage, and both the Penobscot and Abenaki are found in and near the early Acadian settlements, particularly those on the mainland in New Brunswick and present-day Maine. The Acadians and Native people intermarried. The Native people helped the Acadians and lived near and sometimes integrated with their villages. They were hunting and trading partners.

Everything seemed hunky dory.

Like every place Europeans colonized, they attempted to convert the aboriginal people to their religion. We know from parish records in Acadia and elsewhere that many Native people were baptized and given European religious names.

And yes, we know that Native people and Acadians intermarried. The Catholic Church would not sanction a marriage unless both parties were Catholic, so the Mi’kmaq converted. Although it’s very doubtful that the Native people understood conversion to be what the French assumed. Still, the marriage happened, which was the point.

A list of Mi’kmaq marriages extracted were by Fran Wilcox from the Port Royal parish registers beginning in 1702 and published by Lucie LeBlanc Consentino. Another list with genealogical information can be found at WikiTree here. Stephen White’s list is available here. Some “marriages,” meaning in the legal or religious sense, are inferred.

There were rumblings of unrest between the two groups of people from time to time, especially when the Native people became concerned that the Acadians might be planning to side with the English, and against them, but nothing at all that seemed serious. Nothing suggested or even hinted that ethnic discrimination played into the equation. In fact, I thought just the opposite. People intermarried, and the blending seemed smooth. No boats seemed to be rocking.

I was wrong.

In the document, “An Ethnographic Report on the Acadian-Metis (Sang-Meles) People of the Southwest Nova Scotia,” I learned a lot – a whole lot. The authors provide a download copy, here, for noncommercial use, and I encourage Acadian researchers to download and read the document in its entirety.

This treatise was written by academics who are also Acadian descendants, specifically Acadians who carry both French and Native heritage. Little that I learned was pleasant.

To begin, let’s define a few terms.

  • French people – people from France and not yet Acadians
  • Acadian people – people who came from France and settled in Acadian, now Nova Scotia, and established a separate, unique culture over time
  • Mi’kmaq First Nations people – Aboriginal inhabitants of Nova Scotia, Atlantic Maritime Canada, and the northeast US
  • Metis – In Canada, mixed race between French/Canadian and First Nations. Initially, metis simply meant a person of mixed parentage, but today, there is an official “Metis” tribe, and the identity and definition have become complex.
  • Sang-Mêlés – defined in the Ethnographic document as people who were mixed Acadian/First Nations, perceived as an “inferior caste of people” both before and after the Deportation in 1755
  • Bois-Brûlé – this term is applied to the descendants of Joseph Mius d’Azy whose father was Philippe Mius Jr. and mother was Mi’kmaq, and the descendants of Germain Doucet, born in 1641, whose father was Native. People referenced by this term live in Tuskey Forks/Quinan, Nova Scotia.

The authors found distinct, documented marriage patterns where parents who were members of the “Pur” caste, meaning those who were not admixed with Native people, would go to extreme lengths to ensure that their children did not intermarry with those who were mixed, specifically the “caste dêtestée des gens mêlés,” which translates to “detested caste of mixed people.” This was particularly pronounced in the Cape Sable region where the Mius descendants are prevalent, both pre-deportation and after members of the Mius and Doucet families returned after the Exile.

It hurts my heart to even type these words. I was truly shocked. This was not at all what I expected.

But it also explains A LOT in my own family. I had a HUGE AHA moment.

The authors point out that the degree of blood quantum, or the generational distance between the individual being discussed and their original Native ancestor makes no difference at all.

This reminds me of the dreaded “one drop rule” in portions of the US, specifically stating that anyone with even “one drop” of nonwhite blood was considered to be non-white or “colored.” Of course, discriminatory practices were visited upon anyone non-white in the 20th century and earlier.

The authors stated that even recently, one of the greatest insults to an Acadian would be to tell them that they had Native blood.

These families often intermarried within their community or with newcomers and established a distinct culture separate from the Acadians, Mi’kmaq, or, more broadly, the French/Canadian Metis.

My ancestry reaches from my mother to Françoise Mius as follows:

  1. My mother
  2. Edith Barbara Lore 1888-1960, who knew absolutely nothing about Acadian heritage and nothing about her father’s past before meeting her mother
  3. Curtis Benjamin Lore 1856-1909 – A man with a mysterious past that he attempted to escape.
  4. Antoine “Anthony” Lore 1805-1862/1868 – His family never knew he was Acadian  As a young man, he left a high-drama family situation in L’Acadie, Quebec, and died, perhaps as a river-pirate in Pennsylvania. Another mysterious man.
  5. Honoré Lore 1768-1834 – Born in New York during the Acadian exile.
  6. Honoré Lore/Lord 1742-1818 – Born in Acadia, exiled in New York, settled in Quebec.
  7. Jacques “dit LaMontagne” Lore/Lord, probably the son of a soldier, was born about 1679 in Port Royal. He married Marie Charlotte Bonnevie who was born about 1703 to Françoise Mius and Jacques Bonnevie, probably in Pobomcoup, and was one-fourth Native.
  8. Françoise Mius born about 1684 – Half Native through her unknown mother, who was married to Philippe Mius II sometime around 1679

Even 4 or 5 generations later, my mother’s grandfather and great-grandfather were very evasive and behaved in a manner that suggested they were trying to escape or avoid something. That fear and perhaps cultural avoidance had been passed from generation to generation.

Mother didn’t know they were Acadian, didn’t know she had Native blood, and didn’t know about her grandfather’s past. Neither did her mother and I doubt his wife, mother’s grandmother, did either.

Of course, that’s my perspective – it’s not from the perspective of the Acadian people, not from the perspective of the Sang-Mêlés, and not from the perspective of any of those people mentioned. I wonder about the adage, “Once burned, twice shy.” Once something is revealed, it can’t be “unseen.”

Betrayal was a constant concern.

So, my Acadian ancestors moved away and chose not to reveal a past that had burned them previously. Catholic, Native, poor, and Acadian were all things that could burn you again. Anything that wasn’t part of the mainstream, in line with the people in power, put you at risk.

Prior to the arrival of the French, before the arrival of the priests, the Native people enjoyed and functioned perfectly well within their own culture. They had their own standards, rituals, and customs about marriage and morality, how it worked, what was acceptable and what wasn’t – in their community and environment. The colonizers had other ideas and judged the Native people, their culture, and their descendants, who still bore at least traces of both Mi’kmaq culture and blood, from their pulpits and their seats of government.

A priest, Father Jean-Mande Sigogne, who served in the Cape Sable area for more than a quarter century, beginning in 1800 when he arrived in a fishing boat, was incredibly frustrated for more than a quarter century by both the behavior of the Sang-Mêlés families AND by the blatant discrimination exhibited by members of his parish who weren’t related to those families – and certainly didn’t want to be. In 1802, he wrote the following letter to church elders and mentioned that the denigration of the Sang-Mêlés was a widely accepted practice.

There reigns here a prejudice that seems to be contradictory to the charity and the spirit of the religion and also of the church because it has been carried too far, and it is supported by authority and the custom of the area, and even by the clergy. It is the marriage that is contracted or to be contracted between those who are called Whites and others who they call sang mêlé, which is not accepted by people here, despite the equality of conditions to others, superiority in wealth, and of virtue and talent. Some people prefer to see their children unmarried than to see them married into the families that are even slightly tainted, and most prefer that they marry to the degrees that are prohibited by the church: so that they have more respect for their vain prejudice than for order and rule in the church. We can see here that there is a refusal to marry any young man with any drop of Savage blood. This is new and ridiculous to me, I have never heard of such irregularities. I have found no canon from the ancient church of Africa that mentions similar; there seems to have been Roman families that were allied with the African families. This prejudice seems difficult to destroy; I said something in public, but with precaution so I would not offend the spirits; but I have been ridiculed for this on occasion; It makes me angry that to Marry couples is in violation of the laws of the church because one of the ancestors of their great-grandfathers married a Savage, perhaps more Christian than them. I wait with submission and respect for your opinion on this prejudice, your Greatness.

Father Sigogne railed against the inherent racism and denigration of the mixed Native/Acadian people in the same treatise where he called their blood “tainted.” He said in one case that the “Sauvage” might have been more Christian than a member of his own parish, yet their cultural norms frustrated him to tears.

In 1809 he wrote:

There exists here a prejudice that I believe to be unchristian, not very charitable and little just in itself. [Those in] my world have a horrible repugnance to unite with those who have what they call mixed-blood. I mean with those whose families come originally from the marriage of a Frenchman with a savage woman and vice versa; they even have a sovereign contempt for those with merit and even superior. I openly attacked this foolish prejudice to the exemptions and I have much displeased the people who have, they say, pure blood. I still fight it, though with more reserve. But people with mixed-blood, for the most part, behave so badly that they cover me with confusion for having defended them, and are truly worthy of the contempt of them. They indulge without discretion all sorts of vices. Disorders of every kind reign among them in an eminent degree. They have, it seems, passions stronger than the others, or the contempt of them reduces them to the point of having no sense of virtue or honor.

He goes on to ask for marriage exemptions for four couples who are mixed and are related to either the second, third, or fourth degree of sanguinity. In one case, the couple was related twice, through both the second and third degree. These marriages are all between the descendants of the mixed Mius and Doucet families.

The Mius family, Doucet family, and the Native people were very closely allied and, by this time, had been interrelated for generations.

If you cannot marry into the “general population,” there is no one left to marry other than people within your “caste.” The priest at one time said he had hoped that the English men would convert to Catholicism and marry within this group, but that didn’t happen.

In 1813, while attempting to assist the Mi’kmaq acquire land, which is incredibly ironic since they were the aboriginal population, he noted that Andrew James Meuse was the chief of the local tribe. He went on to describe the desperate state of the Mi’kmaq people and that people often took advantage of them. He tells of Mi’kmaw walking from as far as 300 miles carrying packs and children. You can read more here.

By 1826, the priest had not given up and clearly remained extremely frustrated after more than a quarter century of living among and working with these families. He wrote the following in a sermon:

I am forced to tell you here, O people whose blood is mixed, if you are fleeing, if you disdain, if we refuse to ally with you, is it not because of your bad conduct, scandals & disorders that reign openly among those of this caste, more than among the others? Indeed, have we not seen & not seen yet from time to time actions that make us blush & move our neighbors away from our church, seeing in it the reign of adulterers and public concubinages? & that among you, degenerate race, corrupt and incestuous race. It is necessary to tell you the truth; upon my arrival, sincerely believing before God that the contempt which I perceived they were making of you was not very charitable, I took your side because charity covered in my eyes the multitude of your sins & that I wished that the past be forgotten, and that by forming new establishments for the civil and the religion, I did not expect my care and my ministry to see reign among your union, faith, marital harmony, purity of morals, probity, temperance, and sobriety; this is the fruit that I expected from my labours by doing catechisms carefully & the first communions with solemnity. I was waiting, yes, I was waiting for all this, and not less than that of you; and that is the principle of indulgence and favour that I showed you to the scandal and reproaches of others who have given me enough testimony [sic] of their dissatisfaction. But alas, to my great sorrow, I soon saw by the wrinkle of the promises made, by the terrible scandals which have appeared, that it is necessary, by blushing at your conduct, that I change my manner of thinking about you. So I promised myself that I would no longer encourage or support disputed unions because of the stain of mixed blood, leaving the rest to God. This is before God, oh Christians, the simple exposition of my heart. You can now see who you are going to; it is my misfortune but it is not my fault. It is true, however, that there are families in the mixed caste whom I cannot reproach; so I make it a point to do them justice and to respect them, but the justice and respect which I owe them, and which I am, disposes of their render must not go to the point of leaving vice unpunished; it is an accident for them to be among those families, but I cannot help it; so I pray those to take in good part what I did & what I say. I measured and weighed my words before God. It is with vices, it is with the disorders, it is with scandals that I make war, it is to drunkards, rebels, old [sic], adulterers, public concubinaries and none who approve and support them, whether they are white or tainted families, pure or mixed, that my reproaches are directed & not to those who live as Christians, whatever they are. May the misguided and the vicious, the incestuous, and the adulterers return to the true path, to virtue and good order, in a word to penance, my reproaches will no longer look at them…”

That. Just. Brutal.

I can’t even imagine hearing this from the pulpit, and if it were directed toward me or my family, I can assure you that I would never darken the church door again.

We will never know the specifics, of course, although I certainly want details with names. Still, this reminds me of the outrage of the European colonizers when they discovered that many of the tribes in what became known as the Americas practiced a form of polygamy and had, successfully, for generations. It was their normal, and they saw no reason to change.

Extremely heated feelings and prejudice had existed prior to the Expulsion in 1755, at least as early as 1745, wherein the Acadian Lieutenant-Governor Paul Mascarene wrote, in part, that people in vessels from New England were pressing inhabitants of Annapolis Royal to “destroy all the inhabitants that had any Indian blood in them and scalp them…”

In other words, this sentiment was not restricted only to the Cape Sable region. Those seeds were planted before the Deportation and may have had roots more than a century earlier, especially if the Mi’kmaq did not completely reject their Native cultural ways and entirely assimilate into the French Catholic religious family. The only problem was, of course, that even if they did, they still looked Native, and they still had Native customs and relatives.

By Maestrobistro – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=98949742

Four Acadian women in 1895 from the Argyle Township Courthouse Archives.

Even generations later, vestiges of an earlier culture were still present in their descendants. In terms of how they looked and dressed, their handwork, how they reacted to certain situations based on previous encounters, and resulting from generationally transmitted trauma in the sense of what their ancestors had survived – or didn’t.

While the priest was frustrated with the Mi’kmaq or mixed Acadian/Mi’kmaq culture, there was plenty of blame to go around.

In 1723, Philippe Mius’s son, François Mius, half-brother of our Françoise, along with some other Native people who were also related to our family, had been captured by the English from one of the coastal Native villages and were being held in Boston.

This scene with a Mi’kmaq father and son in 1871 at Tufts Cove probably looked much the same as the same scene a century or two earlier, except for the house and their clothes.

In 1726, several Native men, including Philippe Mius, were frustrated with the fact that despite a supposed peace treaty between the English, French, and Mi’kmaq, their family members hadn’t been returned. This led to an incident we’ll review in detail in a later article, where a group of men attempted to hold an English fishing vessel in exchange for the return of their family members. This led to charges of privacy wherein four of Philippe Mius’s family members, including two sons, his son-in-law, and his grandson were hung by the English as pirates.

Of course, François was half French, as were at least some of the other hostages taken in 1723, but were considered lesser citizens when classified as “Indians.” Even worse, the French informed the Mi’kmaq that there was no treaty with the English, encouraging and emboldening their actions against the English that were subsequently interpreted as piracy instead of warfare – which resulted in several hangings. The French and English both benefitted from the intimidation, but neither paid any price. The mixed Mi’kmaq/Acadian families suffered horribly.

It’s no wonder that trust was difficult to come by. Discrimination, however blatant or disguised, seems to have been baked into life in Acadia – at least if you were mixed Native. You fit in neither culture – so you created your own.

François Mius, Chief of the Mi’kmaq

At some point after his brothers were hung in 1726, François Mius was released as a hostage and returned to Acadia.

François, sometimes known as Francis, is further discussed by Christian Boudreau, Director, L’Association des AcadiensMetis-Souriquois, in his paper, News and Reflections: “A Further Exploration of the Life of Chief François Mius of La Hève and Mirliguesche, Acadia” dated August 3, 2019.

In 1742, François was mentioned in correspondence recorded at Louisbourg.

It is necessary for the good of the Service of his Majesty & for the tranquility of the Savage Mikmak village of Mirligueche in Acadia depending on this government, to provide for the establishment of a Chief whose experience for War & good conduct Be known, & Under the good & laudable relationship that has been made to us of the person named Francois Miouce of his capacity for War & of His Zeal & attachment to France. We did not believe we would make a better choice than His person to command the said village of Mirligueche; & in consequence it was committed & established by these presents to put him at the head of all of the Savages comprising the said village in order to make them carry out the orders that we will give him. Order to all of the said Savages to recognize him & obey him in everything he will command them for the Service of the King.

For the reason why We gave him the Presents, & to this one has the stamp of our Weapons affixed. Written at Louisbourg this twenty fifth of July one thousand seven hundred and forty two.

This document confirmed that it was the French who decided that François Miouce (Mius) was the best selection for chief due to his strong connections to France, and that he was living at Mirligueche, near Lunenburg. In other words, the French clearly exerted significant control and influence over the Mi’kmaq people.

NB: The Son of Said Francis Miouce, possessor of the original hath besides a medal of Louis XV, which he wears when he appears at Church or in publick. he is now in a decrepit old age.”

In 1812, Father Sigogne wrote that he:

“Went in a neighboring wood where I knew that Jacques Muice Son to Francis was laying infirm by old age. I demanded of him His Father’s Credential Letters, which he willingly delivered…”

The authors explain that this excerpt is important because it identifies:

“Jacques as the son of said Francis Miouce, possessor of the original hath besides a medal of Louis XV, which he wears when he appears at Church or in publick. he is now in a decrepit old age” that was mentioned by Père Jean-Mandé Sigogne in the “NB.” (Notez Bien) section of his copy of the recently-discussed “Brevet de Commission of the Indian chief.” Therefore, we can conclude that the son of Chief Franois Mius who had inherited this document, as well as the “medal of Louis XV” was named “Jacques Muice” (Jacques Mius).”

François and his family clearly cherished his medal, but he was also a practical man, cognizant of which way the wind was blowing.

In 1761, Francis Mius signed a friendship treaty with the English, signing for himself and as the chief of the tribe of the La Heve Indians. This occurred after the 1755-1758 deportation of the Acadians, so the mixed people living in the Native villages were not deported – but all other French or Acadians had been.

I’m sure the Mi’kmaq understood the danger clearly.

Francis is the anglicized version of François.

The only way to survive was to make peace with the English and agree to English law. The Mi’kmaq had no option. They had seen all too clearly what happened to those who refused to capitulate. This agreement included giving two Mi’kmaq hostages at Halifax to ensure good behavior as defined in the agreement. However, no English hostages were given in exchange.

Of course, this treaty was written in English. Initially, I wondered if François had any idea what he was signing – but then I remembered that he had been held hostage in Boston for at least three years. Of course, he understood at least rudimentary English, although he could neither read nor write, based on the fact that he made a mark for his signature.

This copy of the treaty at the Nova Scotia Archives was made in 1812 from an original that no longer exists. However, the original treaty apparently detailed a Peace-Dance and Ceremony of Burying War-Weapons. This event was recorded in a letter dated May 9, 1812, written by Sir John Coape Sherbrooke detailing what was related to him by “an Acadian eye-witness,” who was the friend of the interpreter. At this time, he was living at La Hève, Acadia.

“… At the conclusion of the Treaty, according to their Custom the Indians had their Peace-Dance and Ceremony of burying war-weapons. The Priest was present with some Acadians and many English people. A hole being dug, the chief at the head of his warriors began the dance with the Casse-Tête in their hands. They made more sounds that customary and the Chief shewed some reluctance. He had much talk that was not understood by the bye Standers but by the Priest who came nearer & whispered to the Chief to fling his Hatchet in the hole; The Chief observed that perhaps they would be oppressed and could not afterwards make war again. The Priest then told him that if any wrong were done them, they might take their arms again. Then the Indians flung down instantly their weapons, which were soon covered with the earth.”

Based on various treaties, letters and documents, Boudreau concludes that, “the descendants of Chief François Mius were considered to have been Mi’kmaq, whereas the descendants of his half-brother, the “Part Indian” Joseph Mius d’Azy I were considered to have been “Sang-Mêlés” (“Mixed-Bloods”)/Métis/“Bois-Brûlés (Burnt Woods)”/Etc. As we’ve seen at various points throughout this collection, other siblings of these two men (half- and full-siblings) and their descendants were labelled as “Mulattos,” “Demi-Sauvagesses,” etc.”

One final letter from Father Sigogne to John Cope Sherbrooke, also discussing the 1761 treaty and subsequent war-weapon burying ceremony reveals the identity of the Mi’kmaq Chief as Francis Mius and statrs that he had gone into the woods and spoken with his son, Jacques.

Furthermore, Father Sigogne wrote:

The kind and obliging reception by which your Excellency has been pleased to honour my Memorial & Petition in behalf of the Indians excites my most earnest thanks, and sincere zeal in behalf of these unfortunate beings. I shall be sparing, and I will not abuse of your Excellency’s generosity. Under your auspices I have a firm hope that something shall be done from government in regard to the purposes exposed in the Memorial. It is to be wished that the Legislature would take the Indians into some consideration and forbid the selling them strong liquours as it is done in Canada, I am told. That would prove the first step to render them useful members of Society. Indeed their degenerate condition renders any of them unfit to be chief, however some trial should be made to bring them to a better order. I have heard the best character of that old chief Franc. Miuce both for Morals and Religion, from every body that knew him, but his descendants do not follow his steps. His family, however poor, is respected amongst the Indians.

Françoise Mius’s Family

Françoise Mius’s family was inextricably interwoven with the Mi’kmaq people. Her half-brother, François was eventually chief of the tribe, so he was clearly considered Indian, as were his descendants. Her full brother Jacques was considered to be half-Native. Two of her half-brothers were hung in Boston in 1726 as “Indian” pirates. I wonder if their obvious mixed-race, aka non-white, status played any part in that and if they were hung to serve as an example.

One of Françoise’s half-sisters survived the Deportation and died in France, so she and her family were clearly considered “Acadian.”

Others simply disappeared, either as a function of death or an undocumented life among the Native people. Some may have survived the deportation by “disappearing into the woods.” No family would have been better prepared to do so.

Additional information about this family can be found here.

Given this history in the years before the 1755 Expulsion, and illustrated by those Acadians who returned to Cape Sable, it’s no wonder that others who were “mixed,” especially if they could pass as “white,” settled in a new home elsewhere.

That break with the homeland had already occurred in 1755, so after a decade in exile, it might have been best to put down roots somewhere else.

Honoré Lore/Lore, born in 1742, was only two generations from Françoise Mius, who was half Mi’kmaq, and whose family was widely known and associated with the Mi’kmaq. That made him one-eighth. In that place and time, percentages didn’t matter. It seems that Indian or not was a binary question – yes or no – and our family’s answer was unquestionably yes. Everyone in Acadia knew that.

While Françoise married Jacques Bonnevie, a newly-imported military Frenchman, her family was clearly still viewed as “Indian,” and her descendants would have been as well.

So, Honoré spent a forced decade in exile someplace in New York, fought in the Revolutionary War, and then made his way to Quebec, where he probably never mentioned his mixed-race heritage. Yes, other Acadians would have or could have known, but many of them were probably related to him as well. Maybe no one else said anything, either. Those horrific deportation memories were still burned into their collective memory, and they weren’t about to say one thing to anyone about something that even might cause them to be discriminated against again.

Nope, lips were sealed.

Yet, Honoré had an “old Indian quilt” in his estate when he died in 1818. Perhaps this was his connection to old Acadia, and to Françoise, the grandmother he had never known. To his people, the Mi’kmaq, whose heritage he had lost when expelled. Did he hold it close in times of great peril, and did it protect and warm him as she could not do?

Based on the blending of cultures and traditions, this group of intermarried and endogamous families formed a unique subculture, distinct from the other Acadian families, and from the unmixed Mi’kmaq. They had feet firmly planted in both worlds – Native and French – a condition that did not endear them to the English, who were always nipping around the edges and eventually succeeded in displacing the French.

While we sometimes find Native American haplogroups among the Acadians, including the confusing Germain Doucet born in 1641, we can also expect to find European haplogroups among the descendants of the Native people.

Genevieve Massignon, who researched in the mid-1900s, came to the conclusion that the “Mius d’Entremont left many illegitimate children in different parts of Acadia.” Again, “illegitimate” is a European construct. He noted that “the strain of Indian blood is still visible,” which I interpret to mean that Native features were still evident among the families in Yarmouth, Tusket, and Belleville, near Pubnico.

This 1935 photo shows “Birch-bark summer ‘camp’ or wigwam of Micmac Indian, Henry Sack (son of Isaac Sack) and his wife Susan (in typical old Micmac woman’s costume) on Indian Point, Fox Point Road, near Hubbards, Lun. Co., N.S. Left to right: Susan Sack, Harry Piers of Halifax, and Henry Sack of Indian reservation, Truro, N.S. View looking northeast…Carrying basket made by Henry Sack.” Photo courtesy of the Nova Scotia Archives.

In 1644, Charles d’Aulnay wrote that in 1624:

“The men ran the wood with 18 or 20 men, mixed with the savages and lived a libertine life, and infamous as crude beasts without exercise of religion and similarly not having the care to baptize the children procreated by them and these poor miserable women. On the contrary, they abandoned them to their mothers as at present they do during which time the English usurp the whole extend of New France and on the said Coasts of Acadia.”

According to the authorities, such as they were, those men were having just too much fun and liberty. They adopted the Native lifestyle, not vice versa. That lifestyle persisted, at least in part, before, through, and after the deportation.

It was also recorded that La Tour had fathered mixed children, some of whom were daughters who took his surname.

Given the circumstances surrounding our Françoise’s birth with Philippe Mius II marrying into and residing among the Mi’kmaq, we really don’t know who her mother was. It’s possible that she did not share the same mother as the other Mius children. Hopefully, additional mitochondrial DNA testing of people descended from Philippe Mius’s female children (through all females) will determine how many women were mothers to his children. I expect Francoise’s descendants will match the descendants of the older set of children. Philippe was never known to have married or fathered children outside of the Mi’kmaq tribe.

Lastly, it’s interesting that the R vs. Powley Canadian Supreme Court case in 2003 surfaced many earlier historical writings that had been buried deep in archives, along with writings of earlier authors.

One author, John MacLean, wrote in 1996 that Acadian itself was a Native language, different from French, having evolved over 350 years. Of course, the Mi’kmaq cultural influence, especially among mixed families, would have influenced the Acadian language as well.

Another author, in Daniels vs Canada in 2016, noted that as early as 1650, a separate and distinct Metis community had developed in Le Heve, separate from Acadians and Mi’kmaq Indians. Of course, that’s where our Mius family is found.

I want to close this section by saying that it’s important to understand our heritage, our genesis, and the social and cultural environments that our ancestors thrived in, along with situations that they simply endured and survived.

I’m heartbroken to learn that discrimination, especially of this magnitude, existed. I had no idea. But my heart swells with pride at the endurance and tenacity of my ancestors. They did survive. Sometimes against unimaginable odds with factors far outside their control.

Viva the Great Spirit of the Mi’kmaq, the Metis, Sang-Mêlés and Bois-Brûlé by whatever name! Their blood runs in me, and I am proud of them!

About that Mi’kmaq DNA

My mother and I carry a segment of Native American DNA that is traceable back through the ancestral lines to Françoise and, therefore, her mother.

My mother and I both share this same pink Native American segment of DNA on chromosome 1, identified at both 23andMe and FamilyTreeDNA.

I copied the segment information to DNAPainter, along with other matches to people on that same segment whose ancestors I can identify.

DNAPainter “stacks” match on your chromosomes. These maternal matches align with those Native American segments.

The green match shares ancestor Antoine, aka, Anthony Lore with me.

Other individuals share ancestors further back in the tree.

Using those shared Native ethnicity segments, matches with shared ancestors, DNAPainter to combine them, and mitochondrial DNA testing to prove that Françoise mother was indeed Native – I was able to prove that I do, in fact, carry (at least) one DNA segment from Françoise Mius’s mother.

Even though the Acadian and Native heritage had been forgotten (or hidden) in my family, DNA didn’t forget, and Françoise lived on, just waiting to be found.

How cool is this??!!!

But there’s still one unanswered question.

What Happened to Françoise Mius?

Don’t I wish we knew?

Françoise Mius’s children’s baptisms were recorded in Port Royal beginning in 1704. Her children were married there as well, beginning in 1718 when her namesake daughter, Françoise, married.

The last record we have indicating that Françoise was alive was the baptism of Charlies in 1715. For that matter, we don’t have any further records for Charles either.

In 1715, Françoise would have only been about 31 years of age. The fact that we find no additional baptisms also strongly suggests she died about that time – sometime between 1715 and 1717, when the next child would be expected.

One would think that if Françoise were still alive, she would appear at least once in her grandchildren’s baptism records, but she doesn’t.

Both Françoise and her father, Philippe Mius, were clearly Catholic.

It’s important to note that while we have birth and baptism records for 1715, there are no extant death records for that year. The first death record after the 1715 baptism didn’t appear until November of 1720, so it’s very likely that Françoise and Charles both died during that time.

In fact, it’s possible that they both died shortly after his birth and are buried together in an unmarked and unremembered grave near where the Catholic church once stood in Annapolis Royal.

_____________________________________________________________

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Marie Charlotte Bonnevie (c1703-after 1742): One Fourth Native & Not Her Sister Marie – 52 Ancestors #421

Marie Charlotte Bonnevie was born about 1703 to Jacques Bonnevie and Françoise dit d’Azy Mius, probably in Port Royal, Acadia. However, the Port Royal parish records begin in 1702 and she’s not there, so it’s possible that Marie Charlotte was born elsewhere, probably Pobomcoup, an outpost, where her mother’s parents lived.

Marie Charlotte Bonnevie should not be confused with her slightly younger sister, Marie Bonnevie, who was born on May 12, 1706, in Port Royal, Acadia, to the same parents.

Yes, I know, it’s quite confusing. In this article, I’ll either call Marie Charlotte by that name or Charlotte, and her sister will always be Marie.

Given that these two females both survived, we can rest assured that Marie Charlotte was called Charlotte. In fact, in most records, including her marriage, she’s listed by the name of Charlotte Bonnevie.

Her sister, Marie, born in 1706, didn’t have a middle name, at least not that we know of. Marie married François Duguay around 1737, probably in Beaubassin, and was having children there by 1740.

In the 1703 Port Royal census, Marie Charlotte’s father, Jacques Bonnevie is listed with a wife, 2 daughters, and one arms bearer, which would be him.

One daughter would be Marie Charlotte’s older sister, Françoise, and the younger of the two daughters would be Marie Charlotte.

On May 31, 1704, Marie Charlotte’s younger brother, Jacques Bonnevie, was born. As an adult, he was a blacksmith and married the niece of Marie Charlotte’s husband.

In 1707, the Port Royal census showed Jacques Bonneur, his wife, 1 boy less than 14, 3 girls less than 12, 1 arpent of land, 2 cattle, and 6 hogs. This is probably the same family and the known children fit.

This man is very clearly not a farmer because you can’t support a family on 1 arpent of land, which is similar to an acre.

In the 1714 census, we find “Beaumont,” which is probably his dit name, with no first name, a wife, 1 son, and 3 daughters. Based on the location and number of children, this is probably him.

Now we have three “surnames,” Bonnevie, Bonneur, and Beaumont.

Marie Charlotte’s brother, Charles, was born and baptized on October 13, 1715, but we never find a record of him again, so he apparently died, and his death was not recorded.

Marie Charlotte’s oldest sibling, Françoise, married Pierre Olivier in Port Royal in 1718, so we know the family was still there at that time. By at least 1741, Françoise was in Beaubassin, where she remarried Jean Pierre Helie.

On August 25, 1719, Charlotte stood as godmother for her sister’s firstborn child, Marie Joseph Olivier, who had been born the day before. I can see the two sisters hugging joyfully after that solemn moment, promising to watch over each other’s children forever. Either her father, Jacques, or her brother, Jacques, stood with her. Her brother Jacques would only have been 15 at that time, so I suspect this was her father.

Where was Charlotte’s mother?

The church, which was located on a hill at far right, overlooked the bay and the fort. The cemetery was adjacent to the church, in the small rolling hills behind those trees. Perhaps Charlotte’s brother, Charles, and her mother were already there, although there is no death or burial record for either of them. Maybe after the baptism, Charlotte, Françoise, and Jacques took a walk in the cemetery and introduced the baby to family members who had already passed over. After all, this would have been Françoise Mius’s first grandchild.

There are only two baptisms for Charlotte’s sister Françoise’s children, in 1719 and 1722. We really don’t know where she and her husband, Pierre Olivier, a tailor, were through 1732 when their last child was born. We do know that by 1741, Françoise was in Beaubassin, where she married Jean Pierre Helie.

Marie Charlotte married on August 18, 1721 in that same church in Port Royal to Jacques Lord, and her brother, Jacques Bonnevie married Jacques Lord’s niece, Marguerite Lord about 1729. These families probably lived near one another.

Marie Charlotte’s Parents

There’s something of a mystery surrounding Marie Charlotte’s parents.

According to Stephen White, we know that in 1732, Charlotte’s father, Jacques Bonnevie, was living on Île Royale and was listed as a retired disabled veteran of the French army, having served 17 years. He suffered a wound to his thigh, which caused his disability. Île Royale is now Cape Breton Island.

Cape Breton Island is located at the furthest eastern point of Nova Scotia, then Acadia.

Based on that same record, Jacques’s birth year is estimated to be 1660. We know he is not found in records prior to his presumed marriage to Françoise Mius, whose father, Philippe, lived in Pobomcoup, now Pubnico, on the opposite end of Nova Scotia, some 450 miles distant.

Somehow, Jacques had to have met Françoise.

Was he somehow connected to Philippe Mius? Perhaps through his profession as a soldier? He would have been about 40 when he married.

Why did Jacques Bonnevie and his bride, whose family lived in Pobomcoup, settle in Port Royal, which was no place close to her parents? Was Jacques Bonnevie serving at or stationed at the fort there?

On the 1758 map above, the fort is shown along with the approximate location of Julien Lord/Lore’s home with the red star, just slightly upriver, 3 or 4 miles away.

If Jacques Bonnevie served 17 years, does that mean he was disabled sometime around, say, 1716 or 1717, which would be about the time no more children were baptized?

Based on Marie Charlotte’s mother’s estimated birth year between 1684 and 1687, this probably means that her mother died between 1715 and 1717 when she would have been expected to have born the next child.

Was Jacques Bonnevie’s wound somehow related to his wife’s death?

We have so many unanswered questions.

One thing we can say, fairly confidently, is that the Bonnevie family must have lived in relatively close proximity to the Lord/Lore family on what is now the Annapolis River for two of Jacque Bonnevie’s children to have married Julien Lord’s son and granddaughter.

Of course, they would all have attended the Catholic Church together.

Marie’s Maternal Grandmother

One thing we know for sure is that Marie Charlotte’s mother was half-Native, making Charlotte and her siblings one-fourth, and Charlotte’s maternal grandmother was Mi’kmaq.

Acadian history relates this story, but the mitochondrial DNA of Marie Charlotte’s descendants through all females confirms it.

Mitochondrial haplogroup X2a2 is unquestionably Native American, found primarily in Atlantic Maritime Canada, but with one sample found in New Mexico, based on my analysis in the book, DNA for Native American Genealogy.

Warfare

Marie Charlotte’s first memories may have been of warfare. After all, her father was a soldier, and conflict ebbed and flowed in Acadia, sometimes erupting in full-throated battle, but never ending.

The English attacked Acadia in 1704, and raids continued intermittently until 1707, when an attack by soldiers from New England failed.

The Acadians began beefing up the fort and built a store within the fort in 1708, expecting more of the same. Charlotte’s father was assuredly one of those soldiers.

Prisoners taken from English corsairs reported that the English were planning attacks in either 1708 or 1709.

In 1710, when Marie Charlotte would have been about 7 or 8 years old, the English routed the Acadians with 3400 English soldiers pitted against the 300 Acadian soldiers.

Marie Charlotte’s father was among those brave soldiers who managed to hold the fort for 19 days in spite of being outnumbered more than 100-fold. Surely they, and their families, expected them to die, but miraculously, they didn’t. Charlotte must have been terrified.

Beginning in 1710, the English ruled the land and initially “encouraged” the Acadians to leave. Then, the English changed their mind and didn’t want the Acadians to leave because they realized they needed the Acadians to feed them.

About the same time, the Acadians changed their minds too, and decided they WANTED to leave. They tried various methods of moving themselves and their households to Les Mines and Beaubassin, none of which succeeded.

In 1711, the local priest was kidnapped during a skirmish and taken to Boston, along with some other Acadian captives, where they were held for two years.

This means that anyone who was born during this time would have to be baptized later and burials would certainly have occurred, but not recorded in the parish register. Acadia had no priest during this time, so the records are incomplete.

In 1713, Acadia was officially passed to the English, along with her people.

In 1715, the Fort gates were shut, and no trade was allowed with anyone, including Native people.

By 1720, Port Royal had been renamed Annapolis Royal and the Acadians were again being pressured to take a loyalty oath to the British crown. Refusal meant they had to leave within 3 months and take nothing with them.

They still refused, and they also refused to leave.

Acadians were nothing if not stubborn, a trait that is clearly heritable!

Marriage and Children

The Bonnevie family lived near the Lord family. Marie Charlotte was godmother to Pierre Laure’s baby born in February 1720 when she was about 17 or 18.

By this time, Marie Charlotte’s mother had probably died, her father was disabled, and she married Jacques Lord/Lore/Lor/L’Or, Laur or Laure the following year on August 18, 1721.

Register – RG 1 volume 26 page 327
Priest – Charlemagne Cuvier
Registration Date – 18 August 1721
Event – Marriage
Groom – Jacques L’Or, widower of Angelique Comeau
Bride – Charlotte Bonnevie
Father – Jacques de Bonnevie
Mother – Françoise Mius

Marie Charlotte is referred to as Charlotte in her marriage record.

Jacques was a widower, and Marie inherited two stepchildren: Jacques Lore, born in 1709, and Angelique, born in 1711. They were just a few years younger than Charlotte.

Marie Charlotte’s children began arriving 15 months later and were all born and baptized in the Catholic church in Annapolis Royal:

  • Charles Lord/Lore, born November 23, 1722, married Marguerite Garceau on January 20, 1755, in Port Royal, and died on November 9, 1797, in Three Rivers, Quebec.
  • Joseph Lord/Lore, born February 19, 1725, married Marie-Josephe Garceaux on February 3, 1750, in Port Royal, and died sometime after 1752. His last known child was born in January 1753, but additional children could have been born during or after the Acadian Removal in 1755.
  • Pierre Benjamin Lord/Lore was born on January 25, 1728, married Marie-Josephe Blanchard on May 31, 1763, in L’Acadie, Quebec, and died on July 20, 1813, in St.-Gregoire-de-Nicolet, Canada.
  • Jean or Jean-Baptiste Lord/Lore was born August 9, 1730, married Marie-Josephe Garceau in 1765 in New York, and died on May 12, 1809, in St-Ours, Quebec, Canada.
  • Paul Lord/Lore was born on December 21, 1733. Marie Charlotte’s brother, Jacques Bonnevie, stood up as the Godfather. Nothing more is known of this child.
  • Claude-Poncy Lord/Lore was born on September 21, 1736, but nothing more is known of this child.
  • François Lord/Lore was born on August 10, 1739. Nothing more is known.
  • Honoré Lord/Lore, the youngest child, was born June 17, 1742, married Appoline dit Hippolite Garceau in 1765 in New York, and died on May 20, 1818, in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, Canada.

We do have parish records for Annapolis Royal fairly reliably up until the Expulsion, so it’s likely that we don’t know anything about Marie Charlotte’s children born in 1733, 1736, and 1739 because they had not yet married in 1755 when the expulsion occurred.

They could have died either during that horrific event or afterward in New England, assuming they were in exile with their siblings.

However, if they got separated, it’s hard to tell where they might have wound up or if they even survived.

They could also have survived, married in the colonies, and not followed their siblings to Quebec, meaning we have no record of them. Perhaps one day DNA testing of their descendants will reveal that someone survived.

1731, 1732 and 1733

Marie Charlotte’s siblings, who lived to adulthood, eventually wound up in the Northern Acadian settlements, specifically Beaubassin and Île Saint-Jean.

Charlotte’s brother, Jacques Bonnevie, stayed in Port Royal, where his children were baptized from 1730-1741. On September 21, 1731, Marie Charlotte, called Charlotte, was the Godmother for Jacques’ daughter, Marguerite Bonnevie who had been born on September 18th and was named after her mother, Marguerite Laure.

Marie Charlotte’s father, Jacques Bonnevie, is shown on Île Royal in 1732, aged 72, listed as a retired and disabled veteran of the French Army. He reportedly died there at Louisbourg on April 23, 1733.

Jacques’s adult children had not made their way to Île Royal, so why did he? Who would have been there to help him?

Or had they?

We know that Marie Bonnevie was born in 1706, and the first sighting of her after this was her marriage to François Duguay who was from Île Saint-Jean. They settled in Saint-Pierre-du-Nord and are listed in 1752 in Riviere du Nord-Est.

Still, Île Saint-Jean, Prince Edward Island today, isn’t Île Royal, today’s Cape Breton Island.

This map shows Acadia just before the expulsion and the locations where Acadians were deported to and from, beginning in 1755.

Life Deteriorates at Port Royal, ummm, I mean Annapolis Royal

By 1745, life in Acadia had deteriorated significantly and was getting worse. It’s no wonder so many had left for points North and East.

A 1745 report from Port Royal said the Acadian homes were “wretched wooden boxes, without conveniences, and without ornaments, and scarcely containing the most necessary furniture …” A visitor in the 1750s stated that “the houses of the village (Annapolis Royal) … are mean, and in general built of wood.”

The situation deteriorated significantly under Governor Charles Lawrence, who wanted to get rid of the Acadians. He used acts of individuals to make charges against the whole population. He revoked the former governor’s orders not to use military force if the Acadians refused to comply. One example was that if an Acadian was ordered to get firewood, and he didn’t do it promptly … his house would be used for fuel.

That’s horrifically brutal.

This explains why most of Marie Charlotte’s siblings had left before 1750.

The Last Record of Marie Charlotte Bonnevie

The last actual record we have for Marie Charlotte is the birth of her last child in 1742.

We have absolutely nothing for either her or her husband, Jacques Lord/Lore, from that time forward other than this oral history for Jacques:

“He suffered the great disturbance that occurred in Acadia in 1755, when the oppressor forced the family to go into exile in New York, United States. He returned to Canada with his son Pierre-Benjamin and they settled in Kamouraska The three children of Angelique Comeau (Corriveau) did not have an heir.”

Note that we only know of two children from Jacques’ first marriage, but it’s certainly possible that there were three.

If this is accurate, and if this is the same Jacques Lord/Lore who was married to Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, then he would have been 108 in 1786.

The problem is that the burial record shows this man’s age to be 79, not 108. This would be Jacques son, Jacques, but that doesn’t mean that Jacques Sr. didn’t also die there, perhaps somewhat earlier. There is a record with both Jacques and Pierre Lore witnessing a marriage in L’Ile-Dupas in 1764.

If indeed this is the same man, he would have been deported from the Port Royal region along with the other Lore males, including son Honoré.

If Jacques and his youngest son, Honoré, were deported from Port Royal, there’s no reason to think that Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, Honoré’s mother, was living far away from her children on Île Royal during or after the deportation. In fact, that’s contra-indicated.

If this Jacques is Charlotte’s step-son, born in 1709, not her husband, which is the most likely scenario, this group of people together actually provides evidence that Charlotte was NOT on Île Royal and that she and her family were all deported from Port Royal.

There is absolutely no evidence that any of her children or step-children left the Port Royal area before the expulsion began.

The Deportation

Charlotte’s brother Jacques Bonnevie, who was found near Beaubassin but did not move to Île Royal, was deported to South Carolina in 1755. He was one of only five or six families who returned to Canada in 1756. That trickle was immediately stopped before it turned into a river. Jacques was at Ristigouche in 1760 and reportedly a prisoner at Fort Edward (Pisiguit) with his wife and five children in 1761, although I have been unable to verify that.

The deportation meant death for Charlotte’s sisters and their families.

Marie Charlotte’s Death

Everywhere I look, Marie Charlotte is reported to have died at sea on or about December 13, 1758. I know where this comes from, but I think it’s inaccurate.

There are two issues.

First, I think most people have conflated the two Maries, literally combining or at least confusing them. Our Marie Charlotte born about 1703, and her younger sister, Marie, born in 1706.

Let’s summarize what we know about where the children of Jacques Bonnevie and Françoise Mius were in the 1755 deportation era.

  • Françoise Bonnevie, born about 1701, lived in Beaubassin in 1741, where she remarried Jean Pierre Hélie dit Nouvelle. Her last child was born in Beaubassin in 1742. In 1752, she and her husband were in the La Roque census, age 50, in Rivière-du-Nord-Est, Île Saint-Jean, Prince Edward Island.
  • Marie Charlotte Bonnevie and her husband Jacques Lord/Lore have no records found after 1742. We do know that four of their children married Garceau children, one in Acadia and three in exile. I believe these families were on the Brigge Experiment together, which departed from Annapolis Royal and sailed for New York. We know positively that Honoré, born in 1742, fought at Albany, New York, in the Revolutionary War.
  • Jacques Bonnevie, born in 1704, was in Beaubassin by 1746 and at Petitcodiah in 1752. He married Anne Melanson about 1755 and was subsequently deported to South Carolina. Ships with Acadians that arrived in South Carolina departed from either Chignecto, which is near Beaubassin, or Annapolis Royal. The surname Bonnevie does appear on the roster of the ship Cornwallis, which left Chignecto on October 13, 1755.
  • Marie Bonnevie, born in 1706 and married François Duguay, was living in Riviere du Nord-Est, Isle Saint-Jean, in 1748 and 1752, probably near her sister. Today, that’s Hillsborough River or North East River, near Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island.

So, given this information, where did this 1758 death date originate?

The information came from Stephen A. White, Dictionnaire généalogique des familles acadiennes (Moncton, N.-B.: Centre d’études acadiennes, Université de Moncton, 1999) p. 178-179.

Françoise Bonnevie (Jacques Bonnevie dit Beaumont and Françoise Mius) born around 1702, (On 1752 La Roque census age 50). Married (1) Pierre Olivier (Pierre & Geneviève Roussel) on 18 Oct 1718 in Port-Royal. Married (2) at 39 years of age, Jean Hélie dit Nouvelle (Étienne & Marguerite Laporte), widower of Anne-Marie Lalande, on 16 Jan 1741 in Beaubassin. She died (according to S.A. White), around 13 Dec 1758 when the ship Violet sank during the crossing to France.

Note from S.A. White: Françoise Bonnevie and Marie Bonnevie, their husbands and many of their children are among the Acadian families from Île Saint-Jean [Prince Edward Island] who disappeared without a trace after 1758. We believe that they were among the unfortunate passengers aboard one of the two British ships that sank. (see SHA vol II, p. 286-299) Jan, Feb, Mar 1968

Click to access 18cahier_total.pdf

AHA!

Well, that explains that, but no place is Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, her husband, or her children mentioned.

Marie Charlotte Bonnevie is NOT Marie Bonnevie.

What About Marie Charlotte?

I do not believe that Marie Charlotte drowned when those two ships went down.

Why?

I don’t believe she was a passenger on those ships or ever on Île Saint-Jean (Prince Edward Island) or Île Royal (Cape Breton Island).

We have no evidence whatsoever that Marie Charlotte, her husband, nor any of her children were ever lived on Île Royal or in Louisbourg, where both the ship Violet, with 280-400 people, and Duke William, with more than 360 people, sailed from en route to France.

Her father was in Louisbourg in 1732 before his death, but that does not equate to any of his children being there then or two decades later.

By 1758, three years into the deportations, the English no longer deported Acadians to the colonies but shipped them directly back to France. The Île Saint-Jean Acadians may have thought they had escaped deportation.

Given that Marie Charlotte’s sisters were indeed on Île Saint-Jean just before the expulsion began, unless they died before those ships sailed following the Siege of Louisbourg, it stands to reason that they were on those ships. There’s no record that they ever made it to France, and we know the ships sank with hundreds of Acadians on board.

Louisbourg fell on July 26th, and over the next few weeks and months, the residents were rounded up and loaded onto overcrowded, poorly maintained transport ships. Floating death traps.

Families on Prince Edward Island were rounded up and deported as well. Only 30 families managed to remain hidden. The rest sank aboard those two cursed death ships.

Marie Charlotte’s sisters, husbands, children, and grandchildren were almost certainly among them, wiping entire families off the face of the earth.

Thankfully, Marie Charlotte was probably spared that horrific fate and may have been waiting to greet them on the other side. Perhaps this time, an early death was a blessing.

It’s also possible that Marie Charlotte had already been deported with her children back in 1755 and was living somewhere in New England. At least, I hope if she got deported, she was loaded onto a ship with her children, not separated.

Her six youngest children were unmarried, the 4 youngest were minors, and all but one of those is lost to us. Honoré, her youngest, was only 13. He would have been terrified regardless, but even more so if both of his parents were already deceased and he faced that alone.

If Charlotte was deported with them, she probably died sometime between 1755 and 1764, when her children began making their way north into Quebec, settling near Montreal.

Of course, Honoré married about that time in New York and had children baptized in 1768 in Yamachiche, Quebec, but there was no sign of Marie Charlotte.

One way or another, the record and circumstances of her death are lost to us. It seems she either died in the 13 years between Honoré’s birth and the 1755 deportation or was lost during the resulting exile.

Either way, she didn’t enjoy a long life and died someplace between the age of 40 and about 63. I hope her family was at least able to provide her with the Catholic sacraments, even if they couldn’t bury her in consecrated ground and erect a stone or wooden cross in her memory.

Maybe the “Indian quilt” found in her son Honoré’s 1818 estate was a tiny piece of her mother’s family line that she was able to salvage and pass down to her son. Perhaps it warmed and comforted them on that horrific voyage into the unknown and warmed their hearts as they remembered long-lost but much-loved family members.

RIP Marie Charlotte, wherever you lay.

_____________________________________________________________

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Honoré Lore’s Land and His Neighbor’s Farm – 52 Ancestors #420

My friend, Suzanne Lesage, successfully located the land of Honoré Lore mentioned in his estate in 1818.

In essence, she has achieved what I believed to be impossible and, in doing so, has brought Honoré back to life through his land. Thank you, thank you, Suzanne!!

I had emailed Suzanne about something else when I received this reply.

Your personal e-mail gives me the opportunity to give you information regarding where the Lord [family] lived. One link is the list of concessions of la Baronnie de Longueuil – Honoré Laure at the bottom of the page – no lot number of course, but we know it is the second concession. The second link is an image of the village of Ste-Marguerite de Blairfindie in 1917 – from the picture I vote for number 114. Why? Second one on the list – no frontage (lot is pie shaped) and half the area of his neighbour.

What path led Suzanne to Honoré?

The Path to Honoré

Suzanne discovered two critical documents at the Quebec Archives, here and the corresponding map, here.

The first document is the land register of the Barony of Longueuil in 1857.

Honoré’s entry is noted as being in the second concession on the south side of La Rivière Montréal.

This map, created much later, shows all of the lots.

Click to enlarge images

On this 1917 map, you can see the River in the center, running left to right. The second concession is located in the bottom center, with the road running left to right, transecting the lots. That’s often how farms were laid out initially for convenience. Roads didn’t try to avoid farms but ran through them. This map is NOT oriented with the north at the top.

Grande Ligne, a landmark, is at left.

Based on the land descriptions, Suzanne pinpointed lot 114, which fortuitously just happens to be just to the right of a distinctive divot in the road.

Can we find it today?

Indeed we can, and here’s the divot.

Indeed, we find the divot and align the map with Grande Ligne, which becomes important to Honoré’s wife’s story for another reason.

Let’s take a virtual drive.

Driving Around

With this divot as our landmark, we can see the triangle-shaped lots that correlate to the hand-drawn map.

I’ve drawn arrows pointing to the borders of the land we believe to be Honoré’s.to the right (east side) of the road. It looks like he owned a few feet on the left side of the road as well.

Honoré bought his land in July of 1789 and must have been overjoyed! After 47 years, he finally had a place called home. He may have eventually owned more than this one parcel.

Corn graces Honoré’s field, now as it did then.

This house stands on his land, but it’s very unlikely that it dates from the late 1700s or early 1800s unless some portion of an older structure is buried underneath. What is likely is that his house stood here.

We know that Honoré had at least one barn on the property along with livestock. His 1818 estate inventory showed that he had 200 sheaves of oats, 1000 sheaves of corn, and 600 bales of hay. That’s a lot!

Today, the address is 461 Chem des Ormes, Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, but when Honoré lived here, everyone knew where everyone else lived and who the neighbors were. No one needed addresses.

Many Acadians who settled in L’Acadie in Quebec had been brutally expelled from Acadia, Nova Scotia, in 1755 during Le Grand Derangement, so they were bonded, if not by blood, then by a shared experience. Even half a century later, no one had forgotten any part of that history, nor would they, their children or grandchildren. Many didn’t survive. Honoring their shared heritage was to honor their memories. They wanted to stay together, so they settled with other Acadians.

Honore and his wife, Appoline Garceau, had settled here by 1787, but she died shortly thereafter, and in May of 1788, he remarried to Suzanne Lafaille, the younger sister of his eldest son’s wife.

Those families lived on the same road.

On the Way to Church

Various records show Honoré and his family across the generations attending both Sainte-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie in the L’Acadie/Blairfindie community and St. Luc Catholic Church in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu beginning in 1801. A document detailing the area’s history can be found here.

Honoré and his family would have either walked or climbed into a wagon or maybe a buggy if they were lucky, and traversed the 5 miles or so to church every Sunday and on special occasions such as funerals.

On their way to Ste. Marguerite, they would have passed the Joseph Roy farm, with its stone home and matching barn across the road. Barns were generally larger than their owners’ homes.

Thirsty travelers and their steeds would have been welcome to drink from the well that still exists beside the road. Today, there’s a hand pump.

Ste. Marguerite was closer than St. Luc, so the family attended Ste. Marguerite from 1787 when they arrived until St. Luc was built in 1801. Family members are buried in both cemeteries.

I still wonder what prompted that shift, especially given that Honore Sr.’s adult children and grandchildren were still attending Ste. Marguerite.

You can drive down that same road today, tracing Honoré’s path through the countryside to Ste. Marguerite which was located near the river in L’Acadie. Of course, the roads were dirt paths then, just wide enough for a wagon.

The Bourassa Farm

Down the road a bit, very near if not adjacent Honoré’s land, this quaint old home and barn has a sign outside saying #56 and 1812, which dates this house to that time.

Acadian families were quite large, but their homes were small by today’s standards.

You can read about the Bourassa home, here, along with other landmarks on the Circuit of Heritage Homes, beginning at the Saint-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie church, where the family attended before 1801.

Life in L’Acadie

Honoré’s home probably looked a lot like this one, which is known to have been built prior to 1812. His estate revealed that despite having at least 23 children over a span of 48 years with three wives, there were only two feather beds, a hutch, a chest, and a wardrobe, along with 11 dishes. His wives would have cooked on the “small cast iron stove,” which may have provided additional heat during the cold Quebec winters. He had both a table and an old table, but only four chairs.

Based on the furnishings, Honoré’s house was small, too, but it would have been a mansion for a man born before the Acadians were evicted from Nova Scotia in 1755. He and his family wandered the colonies for two decades he fought in New York in the Revolutionary War. A decade later, the family arrived in Quebec. Any home,no matter how small, would be a Godsend when you’ve had nothing for so long.

In Honoré’s 1818 estate settlement, we find the following information, using Google Translate:

Only an undivided sixth part [marginal addition: in the equally undivided half] of a land of 3 acres of frontage out of 30 acres [arpents] of depth, located in the lordship de la Prairie La Madeleine, holding from the front to the path which leads to St Jean, in depth by representing Pierre Noël Terrien, on one side to the widow François Brosseau and on the other hand to Victor Girouard, and a similar part of the buildings built on it.

Is Francois Brosseau in this document actually Francois Bourassa? It’s possible, but based on these families at WikiTree, I don’t think so. A misspelling is always possible, though, especially since we know the Bourassa family lived in very close proximity.

Honoré Lore began traveling to Saint Luc in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu after that church was built in 1801, but his son, also named Honoré Lore/Lord, continued attending Ste. Marguerite.

My mother’s great-grandfather, Antoine Lore, was born to Honoré Jr. and Marie Lafay/Lafaille and was baptized at Ste. Marguerite, above, in 1805. Antoine would have spent his childhood visiting his grandparents, working and playing in these beautiful fields. He assuredly visited the Bourassa home and knew their children and grandchildren well.

I can’t help but wonder if Honoré Lore Sr.’s son, Honoré Lore Jr., lived on the same land that his father owned. Honore Jr. would have been 50 years old when his father died in 1818. I don’t know if Honore Jr. actually lived here, but I do know he purchased his siblings’ shares of his father’s land.

This location is also confirmed by a secondary indirect source. Honore Jr’s wife, Marie Lafaille, regularly walked to the Protestant Mission at Grande Ligne, reportedly a distance of 2 leagues, or about 6 miles.

If they did not live on the exact same farm as Honore Sr., their home would have been somewhere between Honore’s land and Menard, in the red box above, which would be about 6 miles as described in the Grand Ligne Mission’s documents.  

The Bourassa land is just up and across the road. Are Bourassa and Francois Brosseau in Honoré Lore’s estate settlement one and the same individual?

The Bourassa family is shown in the first entries on the following page in the land register, immediately following Honoré’s name.

Notice that Jean-Baptiste Laure is listed, too, so at least some of this land, apparently down the road a bit, is indeed still in the family. Victor Dussault was married to Honoré Sr.’s daughter, Charlotte Marguerite Lore. J. B. Laure is probably Jean-Baptiste Laure, Charlotte’s brother.

Several members of the Lafaille family are recorded, beginning 11 properties further down the list. Both Honoré Lore Jr. and Honoré Sr. married Lafaille daughters, Honoré Sr. as his second wife. This tells us that their father, Francois Lafaille/Lafay, who died in 1824, probably lived on this same road somewhere between the Bourassa home and the church. Based on that property list, the Lafaille home was probably between the Bourassa home and present-day Menard, which grew up at the crossroads.

All of these families would have been in and out of each other’s homes. No one would have knocked, and there were no locks. In many places, especially rural locations, these customs remain to this day.

Within a generation or two, these neighbors up and down the road were all related if they weren’t already when they settled there after more than a century in Acadia and more than two decades in exile.

Finding Honoré’s land and the neighboring Bourassa home allows my mind to drift back more than two hundred years when surrounding trees were being felled for teams of French-speaking men to build cabins and barns as the fields were cleared for planting. Well-manicured orchards replaced old-growth forest.

Honoré’s neighborly arrival would have been heralded by the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and a friendly “Bonjour, Mon Ami” greeting shouted from horseback as he stopped out front to see if his neighbor needed a hand with something.

Honoré’s barn probably looked something like this initially, or maybe he eventually built a stone structure like the Roy barn. It needed to be rather large, sheltering his 18 hens, 9 pairs of turkeys, and 6 young pigs that were the offspring of three old pigs. He was fattening one pig. He also had 8 old sheep and 5 young ones, along with three horses and an old carriage. We don’t know their names, which would have been French, of course, but he had one white horse, one black horse, and one grey horse.

A cow with a broken horn lived in Honoré’s barn, too, along with a red cow with a black nose, a red cow, a brown cow, and one that was red and white. He also had 4 heifers which are cows that have yet to give birth. They probably were the offspring of the other cows.

His two oxen would have been trained to work together as a team and pull the plow in the field.

When Honoré was done helping or visiting with his neighbor, he would have mounted his horse and headed for home, just over the horizon, his house perhaps sheltered behind a few protective trees as a windbreak.

Old trees still stand sentry and line the path along the road in front of the old Acadian homesteads or where they stood.

If you close your eyes, you can still hear Honoré’s galloping horse as he disappears in the distance around the curve in a cloud of dust.

_____________________________________________________________

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