Madelaine (also spelled Madeleine) Blanchard was born to Jean Blanchard and Radegonde Lambert about 1643, probably in Port Royal, Acadia.

Madelaine grew up right beside the fort, on the waterfront in Port Royal, at least for the first several years of her life. Her family’s home stood right about here, on the other side of the erosion-prevention boulders, back on higher ground out of the photo at right. Every Acadian had at least some access to the waterfront, and her family’s was here.

Madelaine would have scampered down to the river, perhaps searched for pretty rocks, taken off her shoes, and waded in the water.

How do we know where the Blanchard land was located?

Locating the Blanchard Land

When a new fort was being built in 1705, several lots were expropriated, including one owned by Jean Blanchard, which was located between Simon Pelletret and Guillaume Trahan, founding families of Acadia.

These families were among the earliest arrivals, establishing themselves in Port Royal when Charles d’Aulnay relocated the seat of Acadia from La Hève to Port Royal between 1636 and 1640. Their neighbor, Guillaume Trahan, arrived in Acadia in 1636, so it stands to reason that the men who received these fort-side premier real estate lots were the earliest arrivals and settlers in Port Royal.

Madelaine would have grown up playing along the Port Royal waterfront, as viewed here from across the river.

Born about 1643, Madeleine was an infant, or not yet born, during the Acadian Civil War from 1640-1645, but she would have been an eyewitness to the events of 1654.

The English Invasion

In July of 1654, when Madelaine was about 11, the English sailed up the river and anchored right in front of her home, in the part of the river shown above.

The Acadians had one day’s advance warning, because Emmanuel Le Borgne had been in the process of attacking the rival French fort of Saint John, across the bay, when the English arrived to do the same. French on French warfare was an ugly family feud, but the English attack was another matter altogether.

For better or worse, instead of staying to help defend Fort Saint John against the English, Le Borgne scooted back home to Port Royal.

After taking Fort Saint John, the English arrived in Port Royal to find French soldiers and Acadian men poised to ambush. The 130 men in Port Royal tried their best to fend off the British, but had absolutely no chance against more than 530 English soldiers. They quickly had to retreat into the fort, and the English laid Port Royal under siege.

We have no idea where the women and children were sheltering, although they may well have been inside the fort too, in the garrison. That’s the typical arrangement. There wasn’t much of anyplace else other than the woods and hills behind the town, or someplace upriver.

The English siege lasted approximately four weeks, from July 13^th to August 8^th, when Port Royal surrendered.

Given the circumstances, the capitulation terms were generous. The Acadians were to remain unharmed, could retain their property, including homes and livestock, and were permitted to continue worshiping as Catholics. The French soldiers and administrators would be sent back to France, and all property belonging to the French King would become the property of the English.

The English were now in command, but they had not planned ahead for how they would administer Port Royal. Major Robert Sedgwick had not originally planned to attack the French, but did so when the war with the Dutch was settled and New Netherlands became off limits. His warships were ready, and his men itching to go – so he headed for the French Acadian ports.

Sedgwick left a small contingent of Redcoat soldiers at the garrison in Port Royal, and an Acadian delegation in charge. Aside from the English coming and going from time to time, as far as a child like Madelaine was concerned, not much changed.

After the siege was over, Madelaine would have returned home from wherever she had taken shelter with her mother and siblings, but I’d wager that she was forever wary of English ships and English soldiers.

The English would rule Acadia for the next 16 years, but Madeleine was busy with other things.

Madeleine Marries

Madeleine was about 13 in 1656 when she married Michel Richard dit Sansoucy, who probably arrived as a soldier, either with Charles d’Aulnay before his 1650 death, or with Emmanuel Le Borgne, his successor, prior to the 1654 fall of Acadia.

While 13 sounds young today, it wasn’t uncommon for Acadian brides to marry early. There were probably few marriage candidates in Port Royal at the time, so one needed to strike while the iron was hot and a good candidate was available and interested.

Nicolas Denys, an English captive held at Port Royal, said that there were about 270 residents there, and that they were mostly families brought by de Razilly. That would include d’Aulnay who was Razilly’s right-hand-man in Acadia. D’Aulnay served as Governor after Razilly’s 1635 death, which is when he decided to move the seat of Acadia, along with the settlers, from rocky La Hève to fertile Port Royal.

A decade or so later, in 1653, Denys recorded that the Acadians had “multiplied much at Port Royal.” He also added that many had abandoned their houses in the town of Port Royal and settled along the river on farms, specifically around the BelleIsle Marsh. Maybe that’s where the women and children sheltered in 1654. Soldiers never braved the river’s boar tide and rocks beyond Hogg Island at Port Royal. Ocean-going ships could not navigate the river above Port Royal.

The small number of residents in 1654 likely amounted to approximately 30 families, or 60 parents, leaving about 210 children, or roughly 7 per family. Those children would range in age from newborn to approximately 20, implying that there were 10 people in each year age bracket from 0 to 20, with an average of 5 males and 5 females. Therefore, Madeleine either needed to marry a widower, or one of the older male candidates, who typically didn’t marry until they were 25ish.

Michel Richard would have had his choice of a widow or maybe a total of 10 females who were old enough to marry.

That’s not much selection.

We know very little about the earliest church in Port Royal, but the Acadian families knew each other quite well and would have either gathered together in the church, or in the priest’s home, to witness Madelaine and Michel’s marriage and celebrate the joining of their lives.

Weddings were probably social events as well.

1671 Census

In 1667, Acadia was returned to French control via treaty, although functionally that didn’t occur until 1670.

The first Acadian census was taken in 1671, where we obtain our first glimpse of Madelaine herself.

In her parents’ census entry, it’s noted that three of their children are married. Fortunately, French and Acadian women retained their birth surnames, so locating Madeleine in the census was easy.

Madeleine Blanchard, 28, is married to Michel Richard, a farmer, 41, and they have seven children. Rene is 14, so born about 1657, Pierre is 10, Catherine is 8, Martin is 6, Alexandre is 3, and Madeleine has just given birth to twin daughters, Anne and Magdeleine, who are five weeks old.

Madeleine and Michel have 15 cattle, 14 sheep, and farm 14 arpents of land.

It’s challenging to determine precisely where they are living because they are listed beside Abraham Dugas on one side, who we know is the armorer and lives beside the fort, and beside Charles Melanson on the other side, who lives across the river and is married to Abraham Dugas’s daughter. It’s likely that the census taker was canoeing back and forth across the river and not listing residents in house-to-house order.

What the Census Doesn’t Say

There’s a tale of heartbreak hidden in this census, told by blank spaces.

Madelaine would have given birth to another child who should have been 12 and one who should have been 4 – and that’s assuming that each of those children lived long enough to be weaned. Madelaine could have given birth to more children if the baby died shortly after birth, so she would have become pregnant quickly, leaving just a year between births.

There’s also room for a possible child who died in 1670.

By 1671, Madeleine had already buried at least two, if not three, children, the first one when she was only 16, the second at 24, the third one just the year before, when she was 27. I wonder if any of those births were twins, too. Twins are often born underweight.

Childbirth was dangerous for women and children alike, and only about half of the children born survived to marry.

The 1678 Census

The 1678 census is somewhat unusual for Michel Richard and Madeleine Blanchard. Based on the neighbors, they are almost assuredly living in the town of Port Royal.

1. Their oldest daughter, Catherine Richard, has married Francois Broussard. The newlywed couple has five cattle, but no land, and are listed beside her parents, Michel Richard and Madeleine Blanchard. How do you graze five cows with no land?
2. Michel Richard and Madeleine Blanchard are listed with no additional information – no children, no livestock, nothing. That’s very odd.
3. Next, we find Germain Doucet and Marie Landry with a normal listing, including their children, livestock, and land.
4. Then, the census shows Michel Richard without Madeleine’s name, but WITH four boys and five girls, plus 21 cattle on 10 arpents of land.
5. Next is Michel Boudrot “at the brook”, who we know lives beside the fort and beside Abraham Dugas.

So, what exactly does this mean? No one else is listed twice, let alone once with and once without a spouse.

Madeleine Blanchard Dies

Based on the next census, taken in 1686, Michel Richard, now 56, has remarried to Jeanne Babin, who is 18. They have been married for at least three years because they have a child who is 2.

This tells us that Madelaine had died by 1683 when Michel remarried.

The strange 1678 census entry might indicate that Madelaine died sometime during the census. Or maybe not.

Michel Richard’s children in the 1686 census who would have been born to Madeleine Blanchard include: Martin, 19, Alexandre, 17, Marie, 12 (born 1674), Cecile, 10 (born 1676), and Marguerite, 7 (born 1679).

Madeleine’s youngest child, Marguerite, is shown as age 7 in 1686, so born in 1679, but in two later censuses, she is shown as born in 1677. This date, which is the most critical for determining Madelaine’s death year, is uncertain because it brackets 1678.

Can we determine anything more?

Unfortunately, the 1678 census only provides a count of children by sex. Let’s retrofit this information for Madelaine’s family.

We know that daughter, Catherine Richard, was married because she was living next door. This leaves a total of 5 girls in the household. Using the 1671 and 1678 censuses, we can account for all daughters, including the youngest, Marguerite. Therefore, we know Marguerite was NOT born in 1679, unless an unknown child was born in 1677 or 1678 and had died by 1686.

Madelaine’s children are as follows:

*Catherine Richard’s first child born in 1678 or 1679 may have been born before Catherine’s mother, Madeleine, died. Sadly that child died soon after birth, as did Catherine’s second child born about 1680. Catherine’s first child that lived was born about 1681, although it’s very unlikely that her mother lived that long, given that Madelaine’s last known child that lived, Marguerite, had been born by the 1678 census.

In 1678, Madeleine Blanchard was 35 years old and had given birth recently, within the year, to Marguerite. She had nine children at home, and her oldest daughter had married and was living next door.

Madeleine may have died in 1678, or she may have died anytime between 1678 and 1683 when her husband remarried. Had she been alive during the intervening years, she would have been expected to have borne a child in both 1680 and 1682. For all we know, she did, and they died as well.

If Madeleine did not die in 1678, she would have buried her first grandchild, standing beside her distraught daughter, Catherine, who was only about 15. She may well have buried a second grandbaby too, a year or two later, if she lived long enough. Maybe Madeleine and Catherine bonded in an incredibly sad way – they may both have buried multiple children in a very short timeframe. First children for Catherine, the daughter, and last children for Madeleine, the mother.

One way or another, Catherine’s mother, Madelaine, was gone by 1683, joining several of her children and her first grandchildren, too.

Magdelaine’s Funeral

Michel and their children would have made their way to the church beside the fort, within sight of their home. The parish priest, probably Father Louis Petit, would have given Madeleine’s Requiem Mass, in Latin, of course, focusing on Christ’s resurrection and Madelaine’s soul. The service would have included scripture, hymns, communion, and prayers for the departed.

He would have offered the Holy Sacrifice of the Eucharist for the faithful, making Christ present with them on that day.

Then Madeleine’s sons would have lifted their mother’s coffin, lovingly carrying it into the churchyard, and lowering her mortal remains into the earth, where she rests today in an unmarked grave.

Tears watered the soil.

Catherine named her first surviving child, born about 1681, after her mother. If they were both exceedingly lucky, Magdelaine lived long enough to welcome that baby and enjoy her for at least a few months.

Catherine probably helped raise her remaining siblings left behind by their mother’s passing, especially given that her new stepmother was three years younger than Catherine, and Michel may not have remarried right away.

I feel like Madelaine’s life was somehow unfairly short-circuited. She endured a great deal of sorrow but was never able to enjoy grandchildren, which, in Acadia, were assuredly among the finer things in life.

Madelaine was simply gone much, much too soon, leaving a sorrowing family to carry on without her.

_____________________________________________________________

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Catherine Richard was born about 1663 in Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia, to Michel Richard dit Sansoucy and Madeleine Blanchard. When Catherine was born, Acadia had been settled by the French but had fallen to the English in 1654. France could no longer send settlers, and neither did England. Until 1670, Acadia lived in limbo in terms of growth, with no new settlement.

We know that Catherine was born in Acadia because she was listed in the first Acadian census, in 1671, with her parents, who had to have been there before 1654.

Michel Richard, a farmer, age 41, is listed with his wife, Madeleine Blanchard, age 28, and their seven children: Rene, 14, Pierre, 10, Martin, 6, Alexandre, 3, Catherine, 8, twins Anne and Magdeleine, 5 weeks. In addition, the family had 15 cattle, 14 sheep, and was farming 14 arpents of land.

This tells us that Catherine was born about 1663.

The next census was taken in 1678. Catherine had recently married François Broussard. No church records exist from this timeframe, but two things indicate that they married in either 1677 or 1678.

First, Catherine would have been about 15, old enough to marry, but not old enough to have been married very long. The newlyweds lived beside her parents in or near Port Royal, with five cattle, probably helping farm her parents’ land.

Secondly, their first child had not yet arrived, strongly suggesting that the couple had been married for less than a year, and probably less than nine months. The census generally took place in the late fall or winter, so it’s likely that they married early in 1678, before the census, but not long enough to have welcomed their first baby.

The other sad possibility is that their first child had arrived, but died.

Their first child known to have lived was Madeleine Broussard, born about 1681 or 1682.

This tells an even sadder tale.

If Catherine gave birth to her first child in 1679, and the baby died immediately after birth, she could have had a second child in 1680 who perished before Madeleine arrived in 1681 or 1682.

It’s crushing to lose any child, but your first baby, perhaps even more so, especially for a young mother.

Thankfully, Catherine’s mother was close by when she had to bury her child in the cemetery by the Catholic church in Port Royal, now this green area sheltering unmarked graves. At least, I hope her mother was with her.

We don’t know when that first baby, or babies, died. Only that it was before the 1686 census.

We do know that Catherine’s mother died after the 1678 census, and before 1682 or 1683 when Michel Richard remarried.

In the 1686 census. Michel Richard, age 56, lived with his new wife, Jeanne Babin, 18, along with his five children from his first marriage. The youngest of those was Marguerite, age 7. His youngest child was Michel, age 2, which suggests that Michel Sr. married Jeanne Babin about 1683.

That tells us that Catherine’s mother, Magdeleine Blanchard, had died sometime between 1679 when her youngest child, Marguerite, was born, and 1682/1683 when Catherine’s father married Jeanne Babin, who would have been 15 or 16 at the time. Jeanne, her new step-mother, was around five years younger than Catherine. Catherine’s new half-sibling arrived in 1684.

This sequence of events makes me wonder if Catherine’s mother died in childbirth in about 1681, which meant that Catherine could well have buried her mother and one or two of her own children in short succession.

Catherine hadn’t even seen her 20^th birthday when her mother joined her babies.

Graves too close together, and now disappeared into the mist of time.

Catherine was fortunate that both of her maternal grandparents, Jean Blanchard and Radegonde Lambert, lived beyond the 1686 census. Catherine would have known them well and perhaps took refuge there after her mother passed away. They died sometime between the 1686 and the 1693 censuses. They would have been aged, born about 1611 and 1621, respectively, but perhaps that meant they had available time to comfort a grieving granddaughter who needed her mother, who was gone too soon.

In 1686, Catherine Richard was listed as age 22, with husband François Broussard, 33, and two children, Magdelaine, age five, and Pierre, age three, along with an 11-day-old daughter who had not yet been baptized and was therefore not yet named.

Catherine’s half-brother, Michel Richard, named after their father, was about the same age as her son, Pierre Broussard.

Catherine and François Broussard were doing well with one gun, seven cattle, six sheep, and five hogs, but there’s no land attributed to them, which is rather odd. How do you keep livestock with no land? It was either unrecorded, or they lived on someone else’s land.

The “spaces” in this census, after Catherine’s 1678 marriage and before Madeleine’s 1681 birth, tell us that a child or perhaps two children were born during this time, but died before the 1686 census. It’s also possible that since her son, Pierre was three, that another child had been born in 1684 or 1685 and died, especially if the 1686 census was taken late in the year.

Catherine’s father, Michel Richard, was present in the 1686 census, but had died by 1689 when his second wife, Jean Babin, remarried. That’s both of Catherine’s parents gone within a decade, along with multiple children, both grandparents, and a sibling.

Catherine had a really rough decade.

Port Royal in 1686

We are fortunate that military engineer, Jean Labat drew a map of Port Royal in 1686 with the goal of encouraging investment and settlement in the town itself.

While we don’t know where Catherine lived growing up, then lived initially with her husband, based on the census, we know it was probably in one of these locations in the town of Port Royal.

The church where she worshiped, baptized her babies, and buried family members is shown near the ruined fort.

While things were going well for Catherine in 1686, her life was turned upside down in the late spring of 1690.

The 1690 Depredations

Spring would have sprung by May in Port Royal.

Birds were chirping, fresh green leaves unfurling on the trees, and apple blossoms bursting forth with their sweet fragrance and promise of fruit later in the year.

May 19^th was a Friday in 1690. Catherine probably heard something as she went about her morning chores and looked up from what she was doing to see what the commotion was about.

Looking out over the river, from where the bastions stand today, she would have been met with a frightening sight.

The river was filled with English warships, with cannons mounted. Four, five, half a dozen – and more in the distance – it doesn’t matter. Too many.

Living beside the river, in the shadow of the ruined fort, Catherine would have known that she and her family were in jeopardy. If François were at home, she would have alerted him immediately, if he didn’t already know, and would have gathered her children and headed for safety – wherever that might have been.

In 1690, Catherine, only 26 years old, had at least three children, 9, 7 and 4. She would have borne another child in 1688, but we don’t know if that child lived to 1690. Perhaps more problematic is that Catherine gave birth to another child in 1690, but we don’t know when. Given the May arrival of the English, Catherine either had a newborn baby, or was pregnant, trying to shepherd her family away from the town and the remnants of the fort.

There were only 90 French soldiers lodged in the garrison, but the fort itself had been torn down to be rebuilt, and there were only 19 muskets among all the soldiers. Most of the Acadian men were gone, maybe fishing or hunting. Only 3 came when the cannon was sounded to summon help.

They would surely all die.

Governor Meneval knew this, so he and the priest negotiated the best surrender terms possible, on board the English warship, anchored in the river.

Two days later, terms were reached and agreed upon, surrendering and relinquishing the fort and town, but preserving the property of the Acadian residents and granting them the right to worship as Catholics.

However, as soon as the fort and Port Royal were surrendered, the English soldiers were turned loose on a plundering rampage, for 12 long days, desecrating the church and stealing most everything of value.

Just a few weeks later, in June, English pirates followed, at least once if not twice, and proceeded to pick the place clean of anything that was left, killed the livestock, burned homes and the church, and murdered people, including two families who were locked in their homes before they were set on fire.

The upriver homes were spared, but Catherine and her family didn’t live upriver, at least not yet. Their home was assuredly burned to the ground. I hope and pray that the child who would have been born in 1688 didn’t perish as a result of the 1690 depredations. I shudder to even think…

I don’t know if Catherine was a rock, or a wreck, or a rock, doing what needed to be done, then a wreck.

What she had endured by the age of 27 is unfathomable.

The Family Grows

The next census, in 1693, shows François Brosard (sic), 39, Catherine 29, Marie, 11, Pierre, 9, Marie, 7, Catherine-Josephe, 3, 15 cattle, 20 sheep, 16 hogs, and one gun, farming seven arpents of land. Was Catherine pregnant and ready to deliver, or had she had a baby in 1692 that died?

Shades of 1690

Another spring day in May. What is it about May?

The winter ice on the river was gone, and the Atlantic had calmed from its winter storms.

Catherine looked out at the river again. Ever since Acadia fell to the English three years ago, English ships appeared regularly in the river as they came to check on the Acadians.

This time was different. Catherine saw a group of frigates. English ships always made her nervous, but a group was a harbinger of nothing good.

Sure enough, the English had arrived to punish the Acadians for the transgression of living with a pirate in their midst. Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, a French privateer who lived in Port Royal and was a royal pain in the side of the English. Not only had he been arming and employing the Acadians as his crew, he was preying on the English shipping lanes, brazenly, often within sight of Boston, capturing their ships and goods.

Privateer, or pirate, is a matter of perspective. The French governor of the rest of France’s North American colonies had commissioned Baptiste to protect the balance of Acadia and harass the English, so he was no pirate as far as the French were concerned.

Baptiste was an irreverent rascal, committing bigamy, among other vices, but the Acadians loved him anyway. At least most Acadians. A few were concerned that he would bring the wrath of the English down upon all of them.

And then there was the father of Madeleine Bourg, his 16-year-old bride that he wed while married to at least one other woman. Her father probably wasn’t the least bit happy with Baptiste either. After their marriage was annulled, after Madeleine had his baby, Baptiste brazenly brought his French wife to Acadia, too.

The Acadians overlooked a lot, a surprising amount actually, because Baptiste was a very beneficial friend. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Although, in all fairness, in addition to fighting alongside them in 1690, he was probably in no small part responsible for their survival. So no one complained too much and he wasn’t ostracized for bigamy as one would have expected.

Of course, the English despised Baptiste, and they had a score to settle with the Acadians who had the AUDACITY to provide cover for Baptiste and his escapades.

The English ransacked Port Royal again, killed livestock, burned a dozen homes and three barns full of grain.

The Acadians might have been unarmed in 1690 when the English took Acadia, but they were not in 1693. Baptiste, alone, had 15 guns, and he probably saw to it that every Acadian household had at least one.

Baptiste, brazenly, probably lived right in the heart of the business district, within sight of his ship in the river, engaging in trade and likely played an outsized role in keeping the Port Royal economy alive.

The English came to run him off.

They failed.

Baptiste wasn’t going anyplace, and he encouraged resistance among the Acadians, who didn’t need much encouragement.

Was Catherine’s home burned again in 1693? If a dozen homes were burned in Port Royal, it’s likely. Even if not, after three or four attacks in three years – it had become abundantly clear that anyone who didn’t absolutely NEED to live in the town of Port Royal was incurring a great deal of risk for no return.

The exodus upriver to safer lands continued.

In 1697, Acadia was returned to French control in the Treaty of Ryswick, and the next census occurred the following year, in 1698.

Beausoleil

We don’t know how or when Beausoleil got its name. It’s clearly a place, where Catherine Richard and her husband, François Broussard, moved to raise their family, upriver about 10 miles, just beyond BelleIsle, near Hebb’s Landing today.

Beausoleil also became part of the name of two of their sons, who then gave it to a location in New Brunswick, then another in Louisiana decades later. So, which came first, the name or the location, and why? We will never know.

François Broussard and Catherine Richard made the move to Beausoleil between the 1693 and the 1698 census.

In 1698, Françoise, age 45, and Catherine, age 35, have Madeleine, 18, Pierre, 15, Marie, 13, Catherine 7, Elisabeth 5, François, 3, and Claude, one-half. They have 15 cattle, 20 sheep, 14 hogs, on 16 arpents of land, with two fruit trees. Additionally, they have two guns and a servant, so all things considered, they are doing very well.

Catherine’s two fruit trees, now ancient, probably still stand someplace on this peninsula of land extending into the Annapolis River.

Hebb’s Landing Road is dirt and all but abandoned today – and would be were it not for a lonely farmhouse and Oxbow Dr., a private dirt road that stretches to the river.

This beautiful little freshwater brook, descending from the hills to the north, dissecting the marshlands as it flows lazily to the river, assuredly nourished Catherine and our family.

Port Royal was a rather compact space beside the fort, with limited room for farming and marshland. Based on both the number of arpents of land being farmed, and the neighbors, by 1698, Catherine and François were clearly living upriver, just beyond BelleIsle, at Beausoleil.

This placename would become part of the Broussard family.

Not only was there more land available, it was more productive, and a much safer location. Looking towards the river, their land is still being farmed today.

Looking back the other way, away from the river and towards the hills to the north, one can see an old farm facing this historic road, which the new road bypassed.

I can’t help but wonder if this is where or near where Catherine and François established their homestead, too. Homes tended to be built on the closest high ground above the marshes.

Port Royal, due to its location right beside the fort, was a bullseye for the English, or anyone else for that matter, who wished to attack the fort.

Catherine’s family had moved to the safety of the glorious blue river and the peaceful saltmarshes where you can hear birds sing, probably near her Blanchard grandparents.

How many attacks does it take to convince one to move? How many times being burned out?

By 1698, Catherine was living here, at Beausoleil, beneath the “beautiful sun.”

In the 1700 census, François (listed as Jean), is 46, Catherine is 36, Marie, 18, Pierre, 16, Marie-Anne, 14, Catherine, 10, François, 6, Claude, 5, Isabelle, 4, Françoise 3, and Alexandre, 1, with 24 cattle, 26 sheep, and one gun on 15 arpents of land.

Two different census transcriptions show a slightly different family structure. There is no further evidence of Isabelle, either earlier in 1698 when she would have been 2, or after 1701. She is listed in both 1700 and 1701, so unlikely to simply be an error. Perhaps Catherine was raising someone else’s child. After all, that’s the entire point of Godparents.

Sadly, Catherine’s daughter, Françoise, is gone, so she died between the 1700 and 1701 census. She could be buried at either the graveyard in Port Royal, or at St. Laurent in BelleIsle where many of the BelleIsle Acadians worshipped and were buried. My bet would be that little Françoise, just 6, was buried here, at St. Laurent.

About 1702, Catherine gave birth to her son, Joseph Broussard, here, near Hebb’s Landing.

The 1703 census only recorded the head of household, if he had a wife, and the number of male and female children, plus the number of arms-bearers.

François Brossard lived with his wife, five boys, three girls, with one arms-bearer in the home, which would have been him.

The family is not found on the 1707 census. Based on other information, we believe that Catherine and François went to Chipoudy to establish that village on the next frontier. Some of their children married and remained there, but Catherine and Françoise had returned by 1714.

It appears that they were absent for the 1707 English raid and burning of Port Royal, again.

The next trial for Acadia that would involve Catherine, one way or another, would be in 1710 in Port Royal.

Port Royal Falls

English ships had attacked Port Royal again in 1707, but failed to take the town. They inflicted a lot of damage, but ultimately retreated, burning many if not most homes in the town, and between the town and the mouth of the Riviere du Port Royal that opened into the sea a few miles downriver.

The English returned in October of 1710 and would not be foiled again. They simply overran Port Royal. With more than 35 warships carrying more than 2000 men, there were more than four times as many soldiers as the entire population of the Annapolis River Valley – including men, women, and children.

The 300 ill-prepared French soldiers at the fort stood absolutely no prayer of holding the fort or protecting the town. For eight days, they tried, but ultimately, a heartbreaking surrender was the only answer.

The French soldiers and administrators boarded the English ships that were supposed to return them to France, and the English left about 500 soldiers at the garrison in their place.

Winter was descending upon Acadia. The Acadians were unable to feed the English soldiers, and the English had brought no supplies or provisions.

Half of the English soldiers either died or deserted, and when Samuel Vetch, the British Commander, returned from Boston in early 1711, having gone to beg for food and supplies, he found only about 250 remaining men.

The order of these next events is unclear.

A group of five Acadian men from the “haute Riviere”, or upper river, were jailed by Vetch either before he left for Boston, or after his return, for capturing an English soldier.

Catherine’s husband was one of them. He was listed as “François Broussard of Chipoudy,” and was listed with Germain Bourgeois from Beaubassin and three men from Port Royal. One of those men was Pierre LeBlanc, their neighbor in the 1714 census, who lived at BelleIsle on the upper river.

We don’t know why François was identified as “of Chipoudy.” In other words, we don’t know if he was living there full-time with his wife and family, or if he was going back and forth, like many men did during this timeframe. We also don’t know if Catherine was in Chipoudy or upriver at Beausoleil.Given their absence in the 1707 census, I strongly suspect they were living there. Chipoudy was not included in that census.

What followed must have terrified Catherine and made her blood run cold.

The word “jailed” in this context meant something entirely different.

Germain Bourgeois was “jailed” too. Jail, in this case, was probably the old powder magazine in the fort, known ominously as “The Black Hole.”

Germain’s descendants carried the story that he was held here, where he was deprived of the most basic human necessities, including food. Germain died in this hellhole.

When the fort fell in 1710, the local priest was taken as hostage to Boston and did not return until the late fall of 1711.

On June 21, 1711, the Battle of Bloody Creek occurred when between 50 and 150 “Wabanaki warriors” ambushed a group of 70 English soldiers just a mile or so further upriver from Beausoleil, at the mouth of what would be named Bloody Creek. The farther the English soldiers ventured from the fort, the more jeopardy they were in.

I do not doubt for one minute that the Acadian men allowed the “warriors” to attack the English soldiers without joining in.

Sixteen soldiers were killed, nine were injured, and the rest were captured.

This is probably the incident that was referred to, resulting in those five men being jailed. I’m actually surprised it was only five.

The priest, after he returned in the late fall, penciled in the parish register that Germain Bourgeois died while he, the priest, was held captive in Boston.

If Germain died in the Black Hole, the other men must have been held there with him. Under the same horrific conditions.

Catherine must have been utterly terrified, even if she was still in Chipoudy. Word traveled fast.

This is the “newer” better powder magazine that, in 1708, replaced the older, abandoned “black hole” that was smaller, wet, and even more claustrophobic, if that was even possible.

Catherine must have known, every minute of every day and night, what was happening to those men in the black hole.

When Germain was brought out, dead, was there any news at all of the rest of the captives? Were they ill? Had they gone mad in the utter and complete darkness for weeks or months? Confined, starving, with a dying man.

We don’t know when, why or how those men were released. But we do know that François didn’t perish there.

The last and final Acadian census, taken in 1714 under English rule, shows “Broussard”, no first name, with a wife and five sons, who, based upon the neighbors, was clearly living upriver, beside Pierre LeBlanc, another of the five men who were jailed.

It may have been generally calmer upriver, but that clearly wasn’t universally the case.

In addition to this drama, in 1697, their neighbor, Pierre LeBlanc had married Marguerite Bourg, the wronged wife of Baptiste, the pirate. Her first marriage with Baptiste was annulled after his bigamy was revealed, BUT, in the 1700 census, Baptiste, with his earlier wife, was living right beside Pierre LeBlanc and Marguerite. The local grapevine must have been constantly abuzz.

And now I wonder, did Baptiste have anything to do with their arrest?

If François was already an angry Acadian, I can only imagine his frame of mind after the final fall of Acadia to the English in 1710, followed by his time in the Black Hole in 1711, and the horrific circumstances of Germaine’s death.

The brevity of François Broussard’s census entry, without even a first name, may reflect his justifiably uncooperative and rebellious attitude – the seeds of which he passed on to at least some of their children.

Catherine’s Children

Like most Acadian women, Catherine was probably defined by her roles as wife and mother. Part of a mother’s story is told through her children.

I’ve assembled a table to keep track of Catherine’s children over time. Their information is reflected below, beginning with the 1686 census where Catherine first appears with children.

Based on Catherine’s marriage in about 1678, as noted in that census where she and François had no children, we must infer that her first two children born in 1678 and 1680, plus a third who was born about 1684, perished before 1686.

• Catherine’s daughter, Magdelaine Broussard, married Pierre Landry in 1704, and the couple settled in Pisiquit. She died sometime before November 1731, when her son François married in Pisiguit. She would have been about 50.
• Pierre Broussard married Marguerite Bourg in 1709 and lived in Port Royal through 1720. By 1722, he was living in Port Toulouse on Île Royale. He died sometime after June 1746, when he was mentioned in his son Charles’ marriage record in Grand Pre. He would have been about 63 at that time.
• Marie Broussard married Rene Doucet in 1702 and lived her life across the river from Port Royal. In 1714, her brother, Pierre Broussard was her neighbor. She died after January 1752 when her daughter, Cecile, married in Port Royal. Marie may well have been caught up in the Expulsion in 1755 when she would have been 69 years old.
• Catherine Josephe Broussard married Charles Landry in 1708. In the 1714 census, they are living beside the Widow Thibodeau, the widow of Pierre Thibodeau, the miller with whom François Broussard, Catherine Josephe’s father, established Chipoudy before both men returned to Port Royal. Catherine Josephe then remarried in Port Royal in February 1729, at age 39, to Jean Prejean, age 23, but only had one child with him. That baby was born in February 1730 in Port Royal. Jean Prejean remarried in August of 1732 in Grand Pre, so we know that Catherine Joseph died between February 1730 and August 1732, at about age 41, probably in Port Royal, where her children grew up and married.
• Elizabeth Broussard married Pierre Bourg in January 1714 in Port Royal. In the 1714 census, they are living beside Abraham Bourg, in the Bourg village, near her sister Marie and brother Pierre. Their first child, born in March of 1715, had not yet arrived. Elizabeth gave birth to her third child on November 23, 1718, and was then buried on December 8, 1718, just 16 days later. She was only 25. Who raised her children? Her husband, Pierre Bourg, remarried in 1727 on Ile Royal, but Elizabeth’s children later married in Port Royal, so they did not go to live with him.
• François Broussard never married and died in November 1717 in Port Royal. He was probably buried where his father was buried 11 months earlier. At 22 years of age, he was listed as a “young boy” in the parish register, which makes me wonder if he suffered from a developmental challenge.
• Claude Broussard married Anne Babin in 1718 in Grand Pre, but their children were born in Port Royal, so they apparently moved back. He remarried to Marie Dugas in 1754 in Port Royal and is last found in Upper Marlboro, MD in July of 1763 when he was about 66. His children scattered to the winds: Maryland, Cape Breton, NS, Saint Malo, France, Bretagne, and Louisiana. Some simply disappeared. His younger children were living with his older sons and wound up in France.
• In 1764, Alexandre Broussard, after fighting the Expulsion, then being held captive by the English, arrived with his family and his brother Joseph’s family on the island of Hispanola, where many Acadians perished due to tropical diseases. A few months later, in February 1765, they arrived in Louisiana. Alexandre was buried on September 18, 1765 in Louisiana, probably due to a yellow fever epidemic which took most of his family and many in the rest of the Acadian community in Attakapas – including his brother, Joseph. Alexandre was about 66 when he died.
• Joseph Broussard dit Beausoleil, the legendary Acadian freedom fighter, married Agnes Thibodeau in 1725 in Port Royal, but settled in Chipoudy. He died in October 1765 in Attakapas, Louisiana, at age 63, very likely of the yellow-fever epidemic that took his brother and his brother’s wife. Both he and his brother had resisted the English until 1761, were hostages with their families until 1764 when they made their way to Santo Domingo, then to Louisiana.
• Catherine’s youngest child, Jean-Baptiste Broussard, married about 1724 or 1725 to Cecile Babin. They lived in Port Royal. Of Catherine’s children, he also lived the longest. His wife died in 1747 in Port Royal, and he may have gone north to Pisiquid after that. He appeared to be in that area when the English began the Expulsions in 1755, because he evaded capture for some time, heading deeper into New Brunswick, then finally making his way to Camp d’Esperance in Miramichi. In 1763, Jean-Baptiste was able to return to the Annapolis Royal area, but some of his children were deceased. In 1766, he made his way to Quebec with two of his adult children and their families, where he died at Mascouche in July of 1770 at 65.

Of Catherine’s 10 known children, meaning those who did not die as children, and for whom we have names, the oldest three disappeared from the records around the time of the Expulsion, three died in Port Royal, one is last found in Maryland, one died in Quebec, and two founded the Cajun community in Louisiana.

Life before modern medicine was difficult, uncertain and often short. Based on the census, it looks like Catherine lost seven children.

Freedom Fighters

Two of Catherine’s sons became renowned Freedom Fighters and are still revered today.

Both Alexandre and Joseph Broussard, born about two years apart, both integrated the name “Beausoleil” as a dit name, and became resistance fighters.

Alexander may have settled on his father’s land in Chipoudy where he was living by about 1728.

By Darjeering 112 – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31181484

By February 1741, Alexandre was living on the Petitcoudiac River, a tidal river above Shepody, in New Brunswick, where he is found in 1755, along with his brother, Joseph, and two of his sons.

What occurred during the Expulsion is best told by combining the information from both Alexandre and Joseph.

Alexandre was initially caught up in the 1755 deportations and was sent to South Carolina with his son, Victor. However, they both escaped, as told by Stephen A. White:

Regarding the escape of Alexandre and Victor Broussard from South Carolina, all that is quite true. Dr. Milling’s book quotes the announcement from the South Carolina Gazette of Feb. 19, 1756, that said Alexandre and Victor were missing and were being sought as fugitives. But Alexandre and Victor weren’t among the Acadians who came up the coast from Georgia. Instead, they went inland, through the river system, eventually reaching Québec and returning to Acadia from there. Alexandre’s route is confirmed by Gamaliel Smethurst’s journal, written in 1761, which was first published in 1774, and republished in the Collections of the New Brunswick Historical Society in 1906. Alexandre and his son Victor and their families were later among the Acadians who were held at Halifax, where they were all listed in 1763. From Halifax they went to the West Indies, and then on to Louisiana, where they arrived early in 1765.

It’s unclear whether Joseph was deported to South Carolina too, but he organized an armed resistance, fighting a guerrilla war.

Both families escaped deportation by hiding in the woods near the Petitcodiac River, although Joseph engaged in hand-to-hand combat at Fort Beausejour in June of 1755. It was at this time that Joseph earned recognition as one of the bravest and most enterprising of the Acadians.

They managed to escape notice for the next three years, until, in July of 1758, the English discovered their encampment.

The English burned their homes, but only took 24 women and four men prisoners. It’s unclear why they didn’t take the rest, but perhaps they thought that they would starve without food or shelter during the winter.

Joseph escaped, narrowly, but his son, Jean Gregoire, age 32, died on July 1st during the ambush. Around them, over the next year, pockets of Acadian resistance fell, one by one.

A year later, by September of 1759, with no food, crops, or essentials to see them through the upcoming winter, the two Broussard brothers, plus two other Acadian men, visited Fort Cumberland, the former Fort Beausejour, on November 16^th  with a surrender petition. They represented about 700 Acadian refugees throughout the area who were facing famine.

Commander Joseph Frye said he could feed one-third of the 190 Petitcodiac Acadians represented by Beausoleil and that the rest would have to wait until spring to come into the fort.

Then, on November 3rd and 4th, a horrific storm, the most violent storm ever known, at least at that time, struck. Vast damage occurred, destroying shelters, fields, and killing people. The dykes were broken, the seawater flooded the fields, ruining them, and the floodwaters washed away what was left of homes.

Seeing the handwriting on the wall, all of the remaining Acadians now wanted to surrender, but couldn’t.

Some Acadians were taken into the fort, but others were promised assistance or passage if they swore an oath of allegiance to England. One way or another, most Acadians were taken into custody and held in Halifax as prisoners, which was a far better fate than what awaited them othewise.

Acadian prisoners in Halifax were utilized on work details and such, but Alexandre’s son, Jean-Baptiste, was still detained as a prisoner. It’s unclear why. Either he had refused to work for the English, or perhaps he was insubordinate.

Not all Acadian rebels had surrendered, and stragglers from the northern woods of New Brunswick continued to be brought to Halifax.

In July 1762, Joseph Broussard appeared as a prisoner being held at Fort Edward, Nova Scotia, and was moved to Halifax, while his wife and children remained at Fort Edward.

In August of 1763, Alexandre and his wife and four children were listed as prisoners of the English at Halifax. His son, Joseph Gregoire, was alive in 1755, but was deceased by August 12, 1763, when his wife was listed as a widow and prisoner. Alexandre’s daughter, Marguerite, died sometime during the same time period.

In 1763, the Acadians held in Halifax were released by the Treaty of Paris.

Joseph, dit Beausoleil, returned to the Pisiquid area in 1763 when he was found with “compromising documents” in his possession, in which the Acadians were invited to move to French territory. He was arrested immediately and taken to Halifax where he spent the following year in captivity.

In November of 1764, the English government encouraged the Acadians who wished to remain in Nova Scotia to swear an oath of allegiance to the British Crown, but many refused, hoping instead to settle in French-controlled territory.

At the end of November 1764, Beausoleil let that group of roughly 600 oath-refusing Acadians to either Saint-Dominique, the French side of the island of Hispanola, or Santo Domingo, the Spanish side of Hispanola, present-day Haiti. Many died from tropical diseases and the climate, so Beausoleil continued on, in February 1765, to New Orleans, which was, at that time, held by the Spanish.

At some point on this journey, Joseph’s wife died.

Now, he had lost his beloved Acadia, countless family members, and his wife.

Louisiana

They arrived in Louisiana by February 28, 1765, when a letter from Commissioner Nicolas Foucault of New Orleans was written to the French government stating that 193 Acadians had arrived from Santo Domingo.

If they started out as 600, only 32% survived at the end of three months. That’s brutal!

Alexandre and two of his sons are found on a list of Acadian men exchanging money in New Orleans.

Obtaining permission from the Spanish to settle in the Opelousas region, they would have arrived in early March and begun to unload the ship at Pointe Coupee, now New Roads, on the Mississippi River above Baton Rouge. We know for sure they were there, because one of Alexandre’s granddaughters was baptized there on April 24^th, where they say they are passing through on their way to live in the new settlement at Attakapas.

On April 4, 1765, Alexandre, his sons, Victor and Jean-Baptiste, and his brother, Joseph “Beausoleil,” along with four other Acadian men, signed a contract agreeing to raise cattle in the Attakapas district. Each man received 8 cows and 1 bull, supplied by a retired French army officer whom they would repay at the end of six years, plus a portion of their profits.

Unfortunately, neither Joseph, Alexander, nor Victor lived to see that day.

Alexandre Broussard died on September 18^th, 1765, following his wife’s death on September 4^th. Most of the rest of his family died within a year from Yellow Fever.

• Alexandre’s daughter, Madeleine, died on May 16, 1765, age 33, leaving three children and was probably pregnant for the fourth.
• Alexandre’s daughter, Marie Theotiste, died on July 26, 1765, age 27.
• Alexandre’s son, Anselme’s wife, Madeleine Marguerite Dugas was buried on October 6, 1765, and Anselme died not long after. Their only child had been born at sea on the way to Haiti, just a few months earlier.
• Alexandre’s daughter-in-law, Ursule Trahan, widow of Joseph Gregoire Broussard, died October 19, 1765, and was buried the same day, along with her new husband.
• Alexandre’s son, Victor, with whom he had survived so much, died sometime after his wife, Elizabeth LeBlanc, who was buried on October 29, 1765. His son, Jean Joseph, died on September 4^th, and his daughter Agnes died before the next April when Victor appears on the census, with no wife and no children.

Joseph dit Beausoleil Broussard was buried on the 20^th at Camp Beausoleil in the Attakapas District and is believed to be buried near Bayou Teche, likely in the general vicinity of Loreauville, Louisiana. The New Acadia Project seeks to locate the earliest settlements and burial sites.

• Joseph’s son, Raphael, died sometime during this time, probably before August 14, 1765. His son, Joseph, died before May 1765, and a second child may have perished too.
• Joseph’s daughter, Isabelle, lost her son sometime during the Expulsion and before arriving in Louisiana.
• Joseph’s daughter, Marguerite, gave birth to son, Joseph Dugas, after arrival in Louisiana and buried him in October of 1765.

The Broussard brothers, in particular Beausoleil, had risked it all – repeatedly – and by the time they died, had lost most of their family.

Despite the personal cost incurred during the decade straight from Hell, they led the Acadians to a land of freedom, no longer hunted and hated by the English.

These brave sojourning Acadians had now arrived in a place called “home,” and were the founding Cajun families!

Catherine would have been so proud!!!

But back to Acadia. When did their mother, Catherine Richard, pass?

Catherine’s Passing

We know that Catherine was alive in the 1714 census.

Her husband, François Broussard, a decade her elder, was buried on the very last day of 1716. It’s certainly possible that he had not been well since the 1711 Black Hole incident. He certainly wasn’t elderly, about 58 when he was jailed in 1711, and about 63 in 1716 when he died.

The 1717 death entry for Catherine’s son says nothing about either parent, and neither does her daughter’s 1718 entry. That could mean both parents are deceased, or it could mean absolutely nothing.

Most, but not all, of the Port Royal parish registers are available after 1702. However, that’s not universal, and it’s certainly possible that Catherine died anytime after the 1714 census.

Many trees show her death in the vicinity of 1755 when the Expulsion occurred, but there are absolutely no sources anywhere for this information. I suspect that because her death entry was not found, someone speculated, “Oh, it must have been around the time of the Expulsion,” or, “She must have died during the Expulsion,” which may or may not be true.

If Catherine did live to 1755, she would have been 92 years old, or so. That’s not impossible, but it’s extremely unlikely.

It’s much more probable that Catherine died among her family and was buried where she lived, along the river, beside or at least near François Broussard and several of her children that she laid to rest. Probably here, at St. Laurent.

Given what happened to the Acadians in and after 1755, I certainly hope that Catherine ended her mortal journey on this earth surrounded by family, friends, and at least some modicum of peace.

_____________________________________________________________

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François Broussard was born about 1653, probably in France. If he was born in Acadia, neither of his parents nor any siblings survived to the first Acadian census in 1671. Neither is François present in that census, so there is speculation that he arrived in 1671 aboard the ship, L’Oranger, with about 60 other young colonists.

No French settlers arrived from 1654, when Acadia fell to the English, until 1670 when Acadia was returned to French control, so growth in Acadia during that time only occurred by virtue of marriage and children being born. After regaining control, the French wasted no time beginning to repopulate their colony, and new settlers were sent shortly thereafter.

L’Oranger was provisioned by Elie de Laussay in La Rochelle and sailed to Acadia, captained by Guillaume Herutain. We know the ship arrived and returned, but no crew or passenger list has ever surfaced.

Based on correspondence to Acadian Governor Hector d’Andigne de Grandfontaine, dated March 11, 1671, from Jean-Baptiste Colbert, France’s Minister of State (aka Prime Minister), Grandfontaine is informed that he will receive 30 young men and 30 young women of the same age in Acadia. A month earlier, in February, Colbert, in a letter to Jean Talon, the Intendant of New France, mentioned the “boys and girls who will pass this year to the country,” meaning Acadia.

While we have no factual information about François Broussard’s origins, it stands to reason that he originated in or near La Rochelle, like most of the other Acadians. Colbert’s letter indicates that François, about age 18, would have been a good fit for this group of setters. At that age, he would have been considered a young man, capable of hard work, but not yet of typical marriage age.

François is not recorded in the 1671 census. We don’t know when the census was taken, nor when L’Oranger arrived.

We do know that François was in Acadia in 1672, because he purchased clothing belonging to René Bonin. This suggests that he probably arrived with little and was doing well – at least well enough to buy clothes.

In June of 1673, the Acadians in Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, gathered to plan the financing of a Catholic church. Five years later, on October 30, 1678, the parish of Saint John the Baptist was officially established.

Marriage to Catherine Richard

The church that was new in 1678 is marked by a small stone monument today, on top of the fort’s ramparts that were constructed above the burned church in 1701 during the fort’s expansion.

It would either have been here, in the new church, or maybe in the adjacent priest’s home, that François Broussard, about 25, and Catherine Richard, his 15-year-old bride, were married. Young marriages were not uncommon for Acadian daughters.

The 1678 Acadian census shows François Brossard and Catherine Richard, with no children, no land, and five cattle. They had clearly been married less than a year. One or more of those cows may well have been Catherine’s dowry.

Based on their neighbors in the census, it looks like the young couple was living in the town of Port Royal, because known residents, such as the Pellerins and military engineer, Jean Labat, are their neighbors.

Next door, we find Michel Richard and Madeleine Blanchard, Catherine Richard’s parents, but they aren’t listed with any family. Next to that entry, we find Germain Doucet and Marie Landry, and then, Michel Richard, without his wife’s name, but with Catherine’s siblings.

By the 1686 census, François Broussard and Catherine Richard were well established. François is listed as age 33, so born about 1653, and Catherine is 22. They have 3 children, Magdelaine 5, Pierre 3, and a baby girl who is only 11 days old and has not yet been baptized. They own 1 gun, 7 cattle, 6 sheep and 5 hogs. It’s quite unusual, but they don’t have any land shown.

They are listed next to Claude Dugas who lived southwest of Port Royal along the banks of the Riviere Du Port Royal. Based on others in the census, the census-taker may have been crossing back and forth across the river in his canoe.

In 1686, Labat, seeking to encourage settlement and development of the town of Port Royal, drew and submitted a map showing the waterfront homes, which were mostly merchants and administrators, and other homes along the “path to the cape.” Labat himself lived in town along the waterfront, as did Pellerin, so it’s probable that François Broussard lived here at this time, although we know he moved upriver later.

It’s important to note that the map’s legend states that the fort is “ruined.” The fort had fallen into nearly complete disrepair, with the walls down and the enceinte open. None of the fort’s 18 cannons were mounted. In other words, the fort was entirely vulnerable to attack and could neither defend itself nor protect Port Royal.

By 1688, France and England were at war again, fueling clashes and raids in the New England colonies, especially along and near the borders with French territory.

The 1690 Attacks

1690 in Acadia was a watershed year. François would have been about 37 years old, with a wife and several young children, when his world changed forever.

The English, of course, knew that Port Royal was essentially undefended.

Unfortunately, that was a colossal blunder for France.

As tensions escalated and raids increased in the colonies, Sir William Phips, a native of Maine, was commissioned to lead attacks against Acadia out of Boston. Phips, with seven ships and around 700 men, sailed towards Port Royal, which was defended by only between 70 and 90 men, all of whom were sharing just 19 muskets.

To say they were outnumbered is an understatement.

The Acadians were caught entirely off guard. Acadian Governor Meneval later reported that upon the English fleet being spotted in the river on May 19th, he sounded a cannon to summon Acadian men to report to the fort for help, but only three arrived. Forty-two were absent from the area, probably hunting or fishing, and the remaining men were either too far distant to hear the cannon, or chose not to respond.

Meneval made the only reasonable decision possible, under the circumstances. He chose to surrender, albeit with reasonable terms, because there was no chance of survival if they attempted to fight.

After obtaining Meneval’s surrender, and promising NOT to plunder the town, take or damage the property of the residents, the English went on a rampage for days – doing exactly what they swore not to do.

The English soldiers reportedly burned at least a dozen homes in Port Royal and possibly as many as 30 or 35. They did spare the mills and did not attack the upriver farms. While that sounds benevolent, it wasn’t. Their ships drafted too deeply to sail upriver, and exposing themselves in unfamiliar terrain would have been foolhardy, and assuredly, deadly.

Their treatment of the Catholic church, which stood beside the ruined fort in Port Royal must have both sickened and angered the Acadians. The English soldiers, according to their own documents, desecrated the church by cutting down the cross, rifling the building, and breaking religious images. They took the tabernacle, sacred vessels, and everything else they could find, including the clerical gowns.

The Acadian men were rounded up, brought to the church, and forced to sign a loyalty oath to the English King.

François was illiterate, as were most Acadian men, but having no choice, he signed his name with a mark. While most men signed with a simple “+”, François signed with something that looks like a cross on top of something else. I don’t know if he was “saying” something with the cross. Maybe he made a mistake and wrote over it, or perhaps this was his “normal” signature, or he was outright angry. His “cross” was made with multiple heavy marks and is more distinct and stands out more than any other signature mark on the document.

When the English finally left, they took the French soldiers from the garrison and the French administration with them, as had been agreed, although they were supposed to be transported back to France. In addition, they took both priests, Father Petit and Father Trouvé, as prisoners. The priests very likely took the signed oath document with them, secreted beneath their garb, as protection for the Acadians, proving that they had indeed signed and promised loyalty – even if it had been under duress and through gritted teeth. This would explain why the document was found in the Massachusetts Archives several years ago.

A year later, in 1691, the governor of French Canada was still trying unsuccessfully to negotiate the freedom of 60 French prisoners taken during the siege. It’s unclear if they were all soldiers, plus the priests and administrators, or if some Acadians were taken and held too.

The English had never intended to keep any of the promises made in the surrender terms. It’s no wonder that Phips refused to sign the document that he had negotiated and agreed to.

We don’t know what the Acadian church looked like, other than Labat’s map drawings, but there is a church in Montreal, the Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, founded in 1675. The architecture may be similar since they were built about the same time.

Next, Pirates Arrive

A few weeks after the devastating attack in June of 1690, English “pirates” raided Port Royal, perhaps twice. Some reports indicated that the “pirates” were sent from Boston to check on the Acadians to see if they were complying. Regardless of why they arrived, they stole anything that was left, killed the livestock out of pure spite, burned nearly everything else, including the church, and killed some inhabitants. At least two men were hanged, their families locked in their homes, which were set afire, burning them to death.

The Acadians must have been terrified and constantly on guard. This wasn’t a military attack, directed at taking, then administering the land. This was an attack on the residents themselves, bent solely on destruction. Maybe it was a tongue-in-cheek warning to the Acadians. Behave, or else.

Needless to say, any prayer of a good, or even luke-warm trade relationship with the English was out of the question. All trust in their former trading partners had been destroyed permanently.

Ironically, the only reason they had begun trading with the English in the first place was because France had essentially abandoned its colonies.

Was François’s home burned in 1690? If he was living in the town of Port Royal, he almost assuredly lost his home, but he didn’t lose his life or family. François had probably sent his wife and children somewhere for safety – perhaps up in the hills, perhaps to BelleIsle or someplace else upriver.

1693 – The English Return

In the 1693 census, understanding the devastation that Port Royal experienced in 1690, I fully expected François Broussard to be living upriver, but he isn’t.

I don’t know if he’s stubborn, recalcitrant, or optimistic.

François is now 39, so born about 1654, wife Catherine, 29, Marie 11, Pierre, 9, Marie 7 (the newborn baby in 1686), and Catherine-Josephe 3, who would have been born in 1690. François is now farming 7 arpents of land and has 15 cattle, 20 sheep, 16 hogs, and 1 gun.

Surprisingly, François is still living in Port Royal, between Estienne Pellerin who owned Hogg Island, and Jean Labat.

The Acadians still weren’t safe from the English. Even though they were officially under English rule, the Acadians continued to engage with the French. Of course, that was broadly considered privateering by the English, not to mention that the notorious French pirate, Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the Acadians in 1690, and remained living at Port Royal, married to 16-year-old Magdeleine Bourg, in 1693.

The English got word of this ongoing “nefarious” activity and returned to Port Royal in May of 1693 to mete out punishment. Much like 1690, they raided the town, slaughtered livestock, burned homes and barns full of grain. They did not attack the fort itself, as the fort was now “English.” This attack was clearly punitive in nature, targeted at the Acadian citizens.

The English underestimated Acadian resolve.

Moving Up to the East Side

In 1697, Acadia was returned to French control through the Treaty of Ryswick.

In the 1698 census, François is 45, so born about 1653, Catherine is 35, and they now have seven children. Additionally, they have a servant whose name is not given, two guns, and they live on 16 arpents of cultivatable land with two fruit trees, 15 cattle, 20 sheep, and 14 hogs. The family is doing quite well and is farming about twice as much land as the normal Acadian family, and about twice what they had in previous years.

Sometime between 1693 and 1698, François and family moved upriver. We can tell, because, among other clues, they are living beside Françoise Goudet (Gaudet), the 80-year-old widow of Daniel LeBlanc, who lived just northeast of BelleIsle.

Land, and more importantly, saltmarsh to dyke, reclaim and farm, is much more plentiful upriver than in the town of Port Royal. François went from farming 7 arpents of land to 16

I can’t help but wonder if the 1690 depredations, followed by the 1693 attack, precipitated this move. I’d be amazed if it didn’t weigh into the decision to relocate.

The town of Port Royal, beside the fort, was an obvious target, but the tidal, winding river, full of rocks, protected the upriver residents from approach by the sea.

The 1698 census is confusing and may not have been recorded in procession order, because in 1700, they are right back between Jean Labat and Etienne Pellerin. It’s also possible that they had land in two places.

In the summer of 2024, I returned to Acadia and stood on the upriver land where François Broussard established his homestead that was named Beausoleil, or “beautiful sun”, in English..

Using the contemporaneous maps, I was able to approximate where François lived. Using Hebb’s landing and other landmarks, combined with aerial views, we know that François lived in this area.

François’s sons would have built homes on his land and helped their father farm, especially as François aged.

It’s often possible to discern archaeological sites and soil disruptions using aerial views. This area, with its unique coloration and shapes, is a candidate for François’s homestead and those of his children.

François’s land would have extended onto this peninsula stretching into the river bend, which probably explains why he had so much land.

Saltmarsh has to be dyked and drained for about three years to rid the land of salt before cultivating.

Reclaimed marshland is still some of the most productive in Atlantic Canada today.

Standing at Hebb’s Landing, looking upriver at the Broussard land, at left, the peninsula in the river bend is visible.

Looking across at the land on the far shore of the river from François’s land. In Acadia, the river was a road, not a barrier.

In the 1700 census, François, listed as Jean, is 46, so born about 1654, Catherine is 36, and they now have nine children, ages 2 to 16. They are farming 15 arpents of land, own a gun, 24 cattle, and 26 sheep. Their eldest child has married.

This name suggests that his baptismal name is probably Jean-François Broussard or Brossard.

Chipoudy

François collaborated with Pierre Thibodeau, a miller, who established the new Acadian settlement of Chipoudy between 1698 and 1700. François’s son, Pierre, went with Thibodeau to Chipoudy, scouted a lot for his father, and began clearing it for a settlement. François and his wife apparently visited, were delighted, but apparently never made the move.

Or did they?

François’s friend, Pierre, apparently returned from Chipoudy, or never actually settled there, because he is listed as living across the river from BelleIsle at Pre Ronde, today’s Round Hill.

Perhaps the men traveled to the new frontier, and their wives and children remained to keep the homefires burning in Port Royal.

Today, this marker and one of Pierre’s mill stones mark his mill’s location at Pre Ronde. François would have spent time here.

Beausoleil

In the 1701 Port Royal census, François Brousart (sic) is 48, so born about 1653, Catherine is 38, and they have eight children. Now they own 5 guns, quite an increase, live on 10 arpents of land with 10 cattle, 18 sheep, and 17 hogs. They are listed with neighbors of both Blanchard and Leblanc, indicating that they are living upriver at Beausoleil.

This map, taken at the LeBlanc family monument on LeBlanc land shows the location of the LeBlanc family village in the upper left corner, the St. Laurent Church, shown on early maps as the “Mass House”, Hebb’s Landing, and Jean Brussard’s land, at right.

The fields and mountains behind these Acadian homes are beautiful too.

Looking back, towards the hills from the LeBlanc village marker. This is the golden summertime view François would have witnessed. Beausoleil, indeed!

In the 1703 census, François has reached the half-century mark and is age 50, placing his birth in 1653. Catherine is now 40, and they have eight children at home. Only one arms-bearer is listed, presumably François. Their oldest son, Pierre, is now 20 and lives at home, so I’m surprised he isn’t listed as an arms-bearer as well. The family only has one gun, so perhaps that is why.

The English – Again, and Again

In the summer of 1707, the English blockaded Port Royal, twice. The first blockade occurred in June, followed by the second in late August. Both lasted a couple of weeks, then failed, but on June 7^th, as the English were being expelled, they torched at least two dozen homes in Port Royal once again.

This time, Labatt drew a map, which is dated 1708, which details the locations of the homes in and just south of Port Royal on the cape. François Broussard is not among them, so the family clearly is not living in the town.

Where is François?

The Broussard family was apparently missed in the 1707 census, or was living elsewhere. Based on his absence at Port Royal, and the fact that he was farming 15 arpents of land by 1698, it’s safe to say they weren’t living in the town of Port Royal – but where were they?

Based on later information, I think François was in Chipoudy, present-day Shepody, NB, in 1707, which was not included in the census. Chipoudy wasn’t terribly far from Beaubassin, maybe 20 miles by water.

Acadia Falls Permanently

In October of 1710, when the English returned, yet again, François was about 56 years old. While the 1707 sieges had failed, this one would not. Upwards of 35 English warships carried more than 2000 men, including some professional soldiers, to face just 300, hungry, neglected, and ill-equipped Acadian and French soldiers, 20 unfortunate Quebecois who happened to be visiting, and a few Mi’kmaq warriors. The French soldiers hadn’t been paid in years, nor had the soldiers or Acadians been supplied.

Even if you add every Acadian man and boy above 15 to the mix, you’ve only added 100 to the defensive force. There were many times more English soldiers than the entire Acadian population, including women and children, which only totaled about 570 people.

The Acadians didn’t stand a chance.

After doing their best to defend the fort and town for eight days, facing impossible odds, the best the Acadians could do was to obtain reasonable surrender terms and save themselves from being slaughtered.

In addition to being allowed to march out of the fort, flags flying and drums beating, before handing the keys to the English, the soldiers and Acadians were not to be harmed.

The Acadians retained the right to worship as Catholics, their personal property, and those who lived within cannon-shot of the fort – about 3 miles – could stay for 2 years IF they signed an unconditional oath of allegiance. They had two years to remove their moveable items to another French-held location.

The 3-mile delineation covered about 481 Acadians. Three months later, by mid-January, only 57 had begrudgingly signed.

The terms left the Acadians beyond 3 miles, which included François Broussard, who lived about 10 miles distant from Port Royal, northeast of BelleIsle, in limbo.

Did that mean those Acadians didn’t have to take the oath, and didn’t have to remove? What did it mean, exactly?

Of course, knowing the Acadians, they did everything possible to skirt the requirement to move from the land they had developed for decades. Where would they go? How would they get there, and how would they support their families? Yet, they weren’t about to take that despised oath, potentially having to fight against their own countrymen, their allies, and family members in the Native community.

1711 – A Year of Darkness

Winter descended on Port Royal shortly after the English took possession. Food shortages developed for the English soldiers at the fort, and assuredly, the Acadians were in no mood to feed them.

Between death, disease and desertion, there were only about 250 English soldiers left at the garrison, and none of them wanted to be there.

Samuel Vetch, the British Commander, considered the Acadians intractable, because they were, and wore it like a badge of honor. Based on how François was treated, I would gather he was probably one of the leaders.

I admire his spunk and resolve!

In early 1711, François was one of several residents of the haute rivière, or upper river, who were jailed by Vetch. It’s unclear exactly when this happened, but Vetch returned to Boston in January to essentially beg for food and supplies for his 450 men stationed at the fort in Port Royal.

The Acadians and their allies, the Mi’kmaq, clearly understood the precarious position that the English found themselves in and were becoming openly hostile. Vetch was eventually able to obtain some supplies, but when he returned to Annapolis Royal, the now renamed Port Royal, sometime in the spring, he found that his legions had shrunk by more than half to just over 200 very discouraged soldiers.

Did Vetch jail François and the others either before he left for Boston, or after his return? Maybe Vetch decided that if the jailed Acadians weren’t being fed, it would encourage the Acadians to supply the English soldiers.

Is there more to this story?

Yes, indeed, there is!

In an act of defiance, the Acadians rebelled!

Who’s surprised? Not me!

Battle of Bloody Creek

François Broussard lived about a mile and a half downriver, toward the fort, from Bloody Creek, as the seagull flies.

Bloody Creek was so named after a battle on June 21, 1711 where between 50 and 150 “Wabanaki warriors” ambushed about 70 English soldiers as they traveled upriver, near the mouth of what would come to be called Bloody Creek. Sixteen soldiers were killed and nine injured. The rest were captured, and at least some had to pay ransom for their release.

This success greatly emboldened the Acadians and their Indian counterparts – fueling hope that they could reverse their losses.

Buoyed to about 600 Indian and Acadian men, they attempted to retake the fort.

Unfortunately, they had no heavy weapons and could not effectively launch an attack. The effort was abandoned when English reinforcements arrived.

The sequence of events is unclear, but about this time, several Acadians were arrested for capturing an English soldier. Those involved were:

• Guillaume Bourgeois of Port Royal
• Jean Comeau of Port Royal
• Pierre LeBlanc of Port Royal
• Germain Bourgeois of Beaubassin
• François Broussard of Chipoudy

François Broussard was not known to be from Chipoudy, but he could well have gone there for some time, intending to develop land there, and stay.

This also explains why he was missing in the 1707 census, and this information tells us he was still in Chipoudy in 1710 or 1711. He was probably going back and forth based on the fact that his children were marrying in Port Royal, but François was obviously considered at that time to be “of Chipoudy.”

• In 1702 François Broussard, or at least his family, was in Port Royal, because his daughter Marie Broussard married Rene Doucet. They remained in Port Royal, but lived across the river from the fort.
• In 1704, François was probably in Port Royal, because his eldest daughter, Madeleine Broussard, married Pierre Landry there, although they moved north, because several of their children were born in Pisiguit.
• Missing in 1707 census in Port Royal area
• In 1708, daughter Catherine Josephe Broussard married Charles Landry in Port Royal and lived their lives there in this area.
• In 1709, his son, Pierre Broussard married Marguerite Bourg in Port Royal. Pierre remained at Port Royal until about 1720, when he relocated to Isle Royal, today’s Cape Breton.
• François is found in the 1714 census in Port Royal.
• In 1714, daughter Elisabeth Broussard married Pierre Bourg in Port Royal, and died in December of 1718 there.
• François died in Port Royal.
• François’ namesake child, François Broussard, born about 1695, died at Port Royal in November of 1717.
• Claude Broussard married Anne Babin in 1718 in Grand Pre, although, based on the births of their children, and Claude’s later remarriage in Port Royal, they seemed to go back and forth.
• Alexandre Broussard dit Beausoleil married Marguerite Thibodeau in 1724 in Port Royal, but their children beginning in 1728 were born in Chipoudy and Petitcoudiac.
• Joseph Broussard dit Beausoleil married Agnes Thibodeau, sister of Marguerite, in 1725 in Port Royal. The following year, he was accused of fathering a child with another woman, a charge he denied. Nevertheless, he spent time in jail for refusing to provide support before settling, with his wife, at Chipoudy.
• Jean-Baptiste Broussard married Cecile Babin about 1728, probably in Port Royal where they spent their lives.

The only other person that François Broussard, who was arrested in 1711 for capturing the English soldier, could have been was his son by the same name. However, the younger François Broussard was just a boy, born about 1695, and would not have been capturing a soldier and being arrested at age 15 or 16.

We don’t know how long François was held, or under what conditions.

Beaubassin where Germain Bourgeois lived, and Chipoudy, where François Broussard was from, aren’t far distant. They probably arrived back in Acadia on the same ship, although we don’t know when.

However, Germain never returned home.

According to the parish register, he died in Port Royal while the priest, Justin Durand, was held in captivity in Boston.

One of Germain’s descendants reported he was held in complete and absolute darkness in the old powder magazine at the fort, known as the Black Hole, and died as a result.

This is the face of the Black Hole, going down. This is what François would have seen, assuming he was jailed there.

Was Guillaime dead, and François mad, when he emerged? How long was he held there?

What a horrific form of torture.

Father Durand was exchanged for English prisoners and returned to Acadia at the end of 1711. Upon his return, he wrote in the parish register that Germain had died during his captivity in Boston.

We know nothing more about François Broussard until 1714.

In the 1714 census in Port Royal, François Broussard is only listed as “Broussard”, with a wife and 5 sons. Although it does not explicitly state his first name or his wife’s name, he is the only Broussard candidate who fits this description. He is enumerated beside a Richard family, and Pierre LeBlanc, one of the other men arrested in 1711 for capturing the British soldier, is his neighbor on the other side.

François died just two years later.

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree

Depiction of Joseph Broussard, Oil on canvas by Herb Roe  https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Joseph_Broussard_en_Acadia_HRoe_2009.jpg

All things considered, it’s not surprising that two of François’s sons, Alexandre Broussard dit Beausoleil, born about 1699, and more particularly, Joseph Broussard, dit Beausoleil, born about 1702 became legendary freedom fighters and Acadian folk heroes during the 1755 Expulsion.

Joseph Broussard, who died in 1765 in Louisiana, was recognized as one of the bravest and most enterprising Acadians and is still revered today. As children, these sons would have witnessed what happened to their father, and their people. Specifically, they would have been about 9 and 12 when their father was arrested and probably held in the Black Hole.

They tried, unsuccessfully, to prevent the Expulsion of the Acadians from their beloved Acadia in 1755. Fighting to the bitter end, Colonel William Foster wrote of Joseph, one of the last Acadians still resisting, “ These people are Spirited up in their obstinacy by one BeauSoleil . . .”

Even when reduced to famine in the winter of 1761, and having to surrender or die, Joseph Broussard continued to be sand in the cogs of the English gears whenever he could.

Altogether, he spent nearly a decade fighting a lost cause and surviving in the woods, protecting his family as best he could. Two of his adult children would not survive.

Eventually, in 1764, Joseph managed to charter a schooner to Hispanola, taking several other Acadian resisters with him. However, he was not prepared for the climate and tropical diseases that killed Acadians. Once again, Beausoleil, came to the rescue of his people, taking survivors to Louisiana in early 1765 aboard the ship, Santo Domingo.

They arrived on February 27^th, and on April 8^th, Joseph Broussard was appointed Captain of the Militia and Commandant of the Acadians in the Attackapas region. He saw at least 200 Acadians, future Cajuns, safely to Louisiana, but he died that September at Beausoleil, near present-day Broussard, LA, 49 years after his father died in Acadia when Joseph was 16 or 17 years old.

François would have been so proud of him!

François Broussard Dies

François Broussard was buried on the last day of December in 1716. He probably died either that day, during the night, or the day before. The priest, Justin Durand, knew him well, and the parish burial entry states that François was about 70 years old, which would have put his birth year at about 1646.

I would interpret this to mean “he was old,” but François was actually only about 63.

We know he had lived a difficult life.

The parish register does not say where he was buried, but we know unquestionably that there was a cemetery at the Mass House, and the Mass House was located between where François lived and Port Royal. Given that François died in the middle of winter, travel on the river would be treacherous, freezing cold, and the ground potentially frozen solid.

Furthermore, I doubt there was any way in Hell François was going to be buried at the English fort where the Acadian church used to be before the English burned it.

Within sight of the Black Hole.

Nope.

Nada.

That was never going to happen!

It would be much easier for his family members to attend if he were buried in the graveyard of the church where he worshipped, so I have absolutely no doubt that this is where François’s family gathered that New Year’s Eve to mourn his passing. I doubt that anyone felt like celebrating the following day.

François’ body would have been washed and dressed by Catherine and his family. The boys and neighbors probably quickly constructed a coffin, or perhaps they always had one ready in the neighborhood. Others would have dug the grave, or perhaps they dug several, just in case, before the ground froze in the fall.

The casket, carrying his earthly remains, would have been loaded onto a cart, similar to this one in Louisbourg, which would have been pulled by an ox to the church for François’ Requiem Mass.

The family would have walked the half mile or so to the church, meeting their neighbors along the way and at the church. The church was probably packed that day. François was assuredly an aged, beloved, community member who had tried, in vain, to save the Acadians from the English.

François’s oldest child was 26 and his youngest, just 12. His widow was 53 or 54 and would live the rest of her life without him, assuming the farm chores, at least until her sons were old enough to carry on.

Five of their children were already married, and two had removed to the Northern colonies.

Standing on François’s land, looking downriver, the Mass house would have been located on the land in the bend of the river, at right.

We can only approximate the church’s location from two 1700s maps today. The locations vary a bit.

The Mass House, aka St. Laurent Church, was located someplace very near this location, along with the cemetery, both now lost to time.

Still, François rests here.

Regardless of the exact location, this remains sacred Acadian ground, cradling the bones of our ancestors.

François Broussard’s grave may be lost to time, but his intractable, indomitable spirit still lives on his land near Hebb’s Landing, and in his descendants around the world.

A Possible Mother?

Several theories about François’s parents have been disproven, but one remains, based on a Catholic dispensation for consanguinity between Charles Broussard and Madeleine Leblanc. They were married in June of 1746 in Grand Pre.

According to the dispensation, they were third cousins on one side, and fourth cousins on the other, which means they shared great-grandparents on either the bride or groom’s side, and great-great-grandparents on the other person’s.

Charles is the grandson of François Broussard, which means François’s parents are Charles’s great-grandparents.

Broussard family researcher, Mitch Conover, postulated that François’s mother was a Doucet daughter who was unaccounted for. However, none are known.

His second possibility is that François’s mother was a daughter of Guillaume Trahan, who arrived with two children from France in 1636. Guillaume and his family first settled at La Hève, then moved on to Port Royal when d’Aulnay established his colony there, about that same time.

Daughter, Jeanne Trahan married Jacques Bourgeois. Guillaume Trahan’s other daughter was most likely married to Germain Doucet, the fort commander who returned to France in 1654 when Port Royal fell to the English. Evidence strongly suggests this marriage, but it is unproven.

No other daughters are known to have been born to Guillaume Trahan prior to his second marriage to Madeleine Brun about 1666, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any. For François’s mother to have been Guillaume Trahan’s daughter, she would have had to have been born before 1638, given that François Broussard was born about 1653 or 1654.

Deceased Acadian historian, Stephen A. White, reduced the list of potential families to Gaudet, Bourgeois, Trahan, Comeau, and Bourg, then systematically eliminated several possibilities:

François Broussard could not have been the nephew of either Jacques Bourgeois or Pierre Comeau, the elder’s wife, Jeanne Bourg, because there were marriages without dispensations between Broussard’s children and close relatives of both of these individuals.

One may also exclude from consideration the Comeau family because Jeanne Bourg’s husband Pierre Comeau’s sisters were still too young, about 1653, the year of François Broussard’s birth, to have had a child.

The lack of a dispensation for kinship in the marriage record of François’s son Claude Broussard, when he married Jeanne Trahan’s granddaughter Marie Dugas (Rg PR 18 Nov 1754), takes away the possibility of a near link between François Broussard and Guillaume Trahan

It would thus appear that François Broussard’s mother could have been a sister of either Françoise Gaudet or Daniel LeBlanc, more likely of the former, because it is already known that there were other members of the Gaudet family in Acadia.

We know little about Daniel Leblanc’s origins, other than that he was in Acadia before d’Aulnay’s death in 1650. Daniel, born about 1626, married Françoise Gaudet about 1650. Her parents and at least three siblings settled in Acadia. There could easily have been an unknown daughter.

Let’s take a look at the ancestors of both the bride and groom using WikiTree’s Ancestors display. .

Madeleine LeBlanc has both Jean Gaudet and his unknown wife, and Guillaume Trahan and Françoise Corbineau in her tree as great-great-grandparents, consistent with a 4^th degree dispensation.

Click any image to enlarge

However, when viewing the ancestors of Charles Broussard, we note that he, like his bride, shows Antoine Bourg and Antoinette Landry as ancestors. Madeleine shows them as great-great-grandparents, requiring a 4th degree dispensation, and Charles shows them as great-grandparents, requiring a 3^rd degree dispensation.

These common ancestors for this couple would require a 3-4 dispensation, and that’s exactly what was given.

I have no idea how White missed these common ancestors between this couple.

Based on this evidence, there’s nothing to suggest the identity of the mother of François Broussard, unless Antoine Bourg and Antoinette Landry are incorrectly assigned in one of these trees. Otherwise, Antoine and Antoinette are reason that Michelle LeBlanc and Charles Broussard were given that dispensation.

We also have the issue of François Broussard’s absence in the 1671 census, although he could have been missed or living in someone’s household as a servant. It’s unclear whether single people were counted in any capacity. If 60 single people arrived in 1671 from France, it’s very unlikely that they had all married, and they are not listed in the census. Neither are 30 newlywed couples with no children. It’s possible that some debarked elsewhere in French Canada, or that the census was taken before the ship arrived.

So, François Broussard’s parents remain a mystery.

All things considered, I lean towards his birth in France and his arrival in Acadia as a young man in 1671. That said, he could still have descended from one of the Acadian families in France.

Perhaps more of his story is yet to be revealed.

_____________________________________________________________

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

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

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

1690

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

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

Click to enlarge

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

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

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

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

1693

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

French Once Again

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

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

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

Early 1700s Unrest

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

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

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

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

Marie Marries

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marie had a front-row seat.

1707 Was Hell!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Labatt Map

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

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

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

The translated version:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cemeteries

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Te Deum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1707 Census

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

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

These families were all interrelated, or would be soon.

1710 – Acadia Falls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I wouldn’t give for her diary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never again would Marie live under French control.

Ever hopeful, the Acadians procrastinated.

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

Marie was pregnant again.

1714-1716

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

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

The English “occupation” was anything but peaceful.

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

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

This was a brutal time in Acadia.

The 1720 Ultimatum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 1730 Incredible Disappearing Oath

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

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

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

The actual oath contained a second page:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Children

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

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

The story of Marie’s children is crushingly tragic.

Where was Marie?

Where was Marie during this time?

That’s a great question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The waterfront would have been bustling when Marie lived here.

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

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

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

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

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

My God, my God, the unspeakable agony.

I can only imagine her unanswered prayers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marie’s light lives on.

_____________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other Bourg’s in the Census

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

Other Bourgs in the census included:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Widowhood and Remarriage

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

What Happened to Simon?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tensions and attacks escalated from about 1635 through 1645.

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

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

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

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

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

Was Simon injured?

Did he die?

We don’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

A pragmatic marriage reflected the harsh realities that Perrine faced.

Living  Under the Chronic Threat of Attack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perrine needed a partner.

Life With René Landry

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

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

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

The English Strike

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perrine must have been terrified.

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

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

Acadians Move Upriver

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life in Acadia Resumes

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

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

Intergenerational parenting was a way of life in Acadia.

Acadia Returns to French Control

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calculating Perrine’s Birth Year

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

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

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

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

The Escalation Prior to 1690

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

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

Life was peaceful for a few years.

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

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

Translated by ChatGPT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The situation continued to escalate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On May 9^th, Phips approached the mouth of the Riviere Dauphin and slipped in to visit Pierre Melanson (Melancon) dit Laverdure, a French Huguenot who spoke both languages and was friendly with the English. Melanson’s home was the first Acadian homestead to be encountered, and Phips wanted to determine the “state of Port Royal.”

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

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

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

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

This was a no-win situation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perrine’s blood must have run cold.

What was Perrine thinking?

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

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

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

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

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

However, that’s not what happened.

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

But, whatever…

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

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

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

The Required Oath

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

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

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

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

Not Over Yet

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

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

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

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

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

But – they weren’t safe yet.

Pirates

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

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

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

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

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

1693

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

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

The notorious pirate, Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, had a family (or two,) lived in and operated out of Port Royal. Baptiste had fought alongside the Acadians in 1690, recruited young Acadian men for his ships, armed the Acadians, and preyed on English vessels. Needless to say, the Acadians loved this man. The English did not.

In May of 1693, once again English frigates sailed into the river to launch a punitive raid on Port Royal for providing safe-harbour to Baptiste.

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

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

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

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

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

This woman must have been both physically and emotionally exhausted.

Yet, survival meant not giving up!

The 1693 Census

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Live and learn.

The Cemetery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perrine Joins Her Ancestors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How does one survive that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, survival itself is an act of grace.

_____________________________________________________________

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By Henri Le Sidaner – https://www.christies.com/en/lot/lot-6397473, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=124649849

Renée Desloges lived in or near Montreuil-Bellay from about 1600 through at least 1614, and probably for most, if not all, of her life.

Renée’s life story, as we know it, is told entirely through local history in conjunction with her children’s parish records. Some when they were born, and some when they married. We have to piece her life together from these few fragments.

So let’s do just that!

According to Cousin Mark, who tenaciously tracked these original records down, the parish records for the Saint-Pierre church in Montreuil-Bellay, where the children’s baptisms took place, date back to the early 1580s. However, there is a gap beginning about page 62, where there are no records between October 1588 and 1602, when the size of the record book had changed.

Therefore, it stands to reason that two things happened during those 14 years of missing records. Renée Desloges and Nicolas Trahan were married, and at least one child, Guillaume Trahan, was born.

Here’s a very rough timeline:

• Son Guillaume Trahan was born sometime around 1601, presumably in Montreuil-Bellay, based on their next child’s baptism. Guillaume could also have been born significantly earlier. It’s almost certain that he was born something during that 14 year gap..
• Space for at least one child born about 1603.
• Presumed daughter Anne Trahan was reportedly born on February 4, 1605 and baptized in the Saint-Pierre Church in Montreuil-Bellay. This event was reported by Genevieve Massignon, and Stephen White provided the date, but both have occasionally made errors. Mark was unable to locate the baptismal record by reading page by page from December 1604 through March 1605. It’s possible that the date is accurate, but the church is not, or vice versa. We know that some Anne Trahan, presumed to be their daughter, married Pierre Molay because they baptized four children in the same church between 1624 and 1633.
• Presumed son Nicolas Trahan was born about 1607. At some point, one Nicolas Trahan apparently married Lorraine Belliard, because they had a daughter baptized in the same church in 1633. Since Renée was reported to be deceased in son Francois’s 1632 marriage record, it’s possible that this Nicolas is the widower who remarried, and this child did not belong to a presumed son.

Cousin Mark’s research:

As for Nicolas Trahan and Lorande Belliard, I reviewed every baptism for 1633 beginning on page 87 and found on page 93, the 28th of May 1633, the baptism of Mathurine Trahan, daughter of Nicolas Trahan and Lorand Belliar, or Lorande Belliard, or close to that spelling. Many of the following words I’m unable to decipher, but I see another Trahan, (François?), probably godfather, and a (damoiselle?) Mathurine Belliar.

The father is clearly Nicolas Trahan; I’ve noticed that in Old French the “h” has a tail to it. And I’ve seen Thrahan with an “h” as in Anthoine and Anthoinette, but not in this record.

I wish Massignon had provided more details on names and dates; it would have made for a cleaner pedigree.

• Son Francois Trahan was born about 1609 based on his marriage to Renée Pineau or Pinsonneau on the 14^th Sunday after Pentecost in 1632 in Bourgeuil. His marriage document states the names of his parents, that they lived in Montreuil-Bellay, and his brother Guillaume was a witness.
• Daughter Renée Trahan was born on February 28, 1612 and baptized in Montreuil-Bellay.

Cousin Mark:

I found the baptismal record of daughter Renée Trahan, on 28 Feb 1612, split between pages 313 and 314 of 345. Filae did NOT help in this endeavor as they did not list the record. The godparents are shown on page 314. It’s interesting that the priest used Roman numerals for the date – CCVIII e’eme, which at first threw me off as I go page by page to locate the records and find the dates. I can’t quite make out the godfather, but the godmother appears to be a Jehanne Duboys. It also appears that Trahan was spelled Thrahan, with an “h” as the letter matches other h’s. The priest also spells Nicolas as Nycolas which was common as many times i’s are found as y’s, as he did in Duboys, not the later Dubois.

I’ve attached screenshots of both pages. The citation should be – Archives départmental de Maine-et-Loire, État civil et registres paroissiaux, Montreuil-Bellay-SaintPierre, Baptêmes, 1581-1613, cote de microfilm 5 mi 1066, pp. 313, 314 of 345

• Daughter Lucrece Trahan was born November 13, 1614 and baptized in Montreuil-Bellay.

Mark:

I found the other daughter, Lucrèce, although I can’t make out her name in Latin, unless hers is the name near the bottom, Lucretia.

This was somewhat harder to find, as most all records from this priest were in Latin with a few in French. Hers is in Latin, but at least Nicolai is close to Nicolas and Renée close to Renata.  The priest starts by naming himself and his title, which was rare in this book. Who knows why? I can’t make out the names of the godparents, but a Lucretia does appear near the bottom, and he uniquely puts the date at the very bottom.

Four children, Guillaume, Francois, Renée and Lucrece have records that confirm Renée as their mother, but the rest need to be evaluated with the understanding that there is another Trahan couple in Montreuil-Bellay that is baptizing children between 1610-1616.

In addition to Cousin Mark’s comments, I also see the name Maturina, or something similar, then another word, then Catarina, a name I can’t read, “daughters of”, then more I can’t read.

If we have any paleographers among our ranks, please have at these records.

Renée’s Time of Death

Unfortunately, we really don’t know much about when Renée died.

There are two possibilities, and one bracketing date.

Let’s establish the bracketing date first.

Son Francoise’s marriage record in Bourgueil on the 14^th Sunday after Pentecost, which calculates to about September 7^th in the fall of 1632, states that his parents are Nicolas Trahan and the late Renée Desloges of Montreuil-Bellay. Therefore, we know Renée was gone by this time.

On July 13, 1627, son Guillaume married Francoise Corbineau in Chinon where his parents’ names are given as Nicolas Trahan and Renée Desloges. Nothing is mentioned about the “late” Renée. If this is accurate and nothing was omitted, especially since the priest probably didn’t know the Trahan family, given that the marriage occurred about 25 miles from their home parish in Montreuil-Bellay, then Renée died between July 1627 and September 1632.

It’s also possible that Renée had already died by the 1627 marriage, and a crucial word was simply omitted in the Chinon parish register.

If that’s the case, then, working backwards from 1627, the next previous record is the baptism of Renée’s daughter on November 13, 1614.

So, Renée was unquestionably alive in November of 1614, probably alive in July of 1627, but deceased by September of 1632.

Renée’s Birth

Using these records, if we assume that the child born in 1614 was the last child born to Renée’s due to her age, then Renée could be assumed to have been born roughly about 1572. 1614-42=1572, but of course that could vary a couple of years in either direction.

If Renée was born about 1572, she would have married in the later 1580s, probably when she was between 16 and 20 years old, so maybe between 1588 and 1592 – exactly when those Montreuil-Bellay records are missing.

If Renée married during those years, it’s clear that Guillaume was not the only child born between her marriage and the first reported birth of Anne in 1605. With the exception of Guillaume, those children clearly did not survive – or at least they aren’t found in later records.

At the other end of the spectrum, if Guillaume was Renée’s first child, born about 1601, then she would have married about 1600. If Renée was about 17 when she married, she would have been born about 1683 and could have been expected to have children until about 1627, about the time when Guillaume married. However, the fly in that ointment is that there are no baptism records after 1614 for Nicolas and Renée in Montreuil-Bellay. We know they lived there in 1614 and as late as 1632 when Francois married.

Another Trahan couple, Anthoyne Trahan and Barbe Barault baptized three children in Montreuil-Bellay between 1610 and 1616, so we know there were records, although it’s certainly possible that they aren’t complete.

So, either Renée was born between 1570 and 1572 and married between 1588 and 1592, or, she was born as late as 1585 and married about 1600, but probably died not long after 1614 because there are no more children baptized.

If Renee was born about 1572, she would have been baptizing babies until 1614, or so.

If Renée was born in 1585, she would have been having children until about 1627.

The only thing we can confidently say is that she was likely born no later than 1585 and was assuredly alive in 1614, so she lived to be at least 29. If she died between 1627 and 1632, she would have been between 42 and 47 if she was born in 1585, and between 57 and 62 if she was born as early as 1570.

Life in Montreuil-Bellay

Regardless of Renée’s life span, we can surmise that she probably lived most, if not all, of her life in Montreuil-Bellay, and assuredly from about 1600 through 1614.

She is most likely buried someplace nearby, with the best candidate location being greenspace adjacent to and behind the Saint-Pierre church.

This is where Renée’s children who died young would have been buried, and where at least some of her adult children and grandchildren are probably buried too. This is where her family lived, was baptized, attended church, and went about their daily lives before Renée’s final mass was delivered, and her family took their final walk with her – beside her coffin.

Nicolas would have eventually been laid to rest here as well.

What was medieval life in Montreuil-Bellay like?

Life in Montreuil-Bellay

So glad you asked. Not terribly peaceful – Montreuil-Bellay has a rather storied history.

Beginning with events that would have directly affected Renée’s family, the town was burned by the Huguenots in 1568. The well-fortified castle was little affected, but homes in the rest of the town went up in flames.

Renée wouldn’t have been born yet, but her parents assuredly were, and she may have had siblings that remembered the Huguenots ransacking residences and torching the town. I wonder how people protected themselves and if they sheltered in the castle.

It’s also possible that Renée family didn’t live here then, or at least not actually in the town.

The homes that appear ancient today were rebuilt as new back then. I wonder how much was able to be salvaged of the original structures.

Were the walls of the buildings, which appear to be stone, able to be saved, with new interiors and roofs? Many of the original roofs were slate.

The castle’s tithe barn, shown above, dates to the days of Joan of Arc (c1412-1431), during reign of Charles VII from 1422-1461, and was used to house 10% of the residents’ agriculatural produce, generally collected for the church or monastery.

Apparently, not all of the town had to rebuild entirely from scratch.

How old are these arches that clearly outlived their original purpose? Were they ovens, perhaps?

Montreuil-Bellay was not a large town or city, and there were only a few streets. We assuredly walked past by their home – the home where Renée lived with her parents, and then the home where she lived with Nicolas Trahan.

The soaring castle is visible from almost every angle in the town. All roads and streets led to the castle, or at least the moat, and life revolved around the castle as well.

The ancient street, just west of and adjacent the castle grounds, descends the hill near l’Eglise Saint-Pierre. The towers are visible behind the medieval homes.

Did Renée’s family live in the upper part of the town, or below, along the river, closer to the Saint-Pierre church?

Defensive walls line the side of the street away from the castle, too steep for houses. What’s left of the church and priory come into view at the base of the hill as it rises slightly from the Thouet River.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785031

The church and priory were abandoned about 1850, but the stunning, sacred ruins remain today.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785034

Renée walked here when the church still stood in its glory, filled with the comforting chanting of monks.

Did their soothing voices bring tranquility when she needed it most?

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785033

Where did these curved, carved steps lead?

How much of this church had to be rebuilt after the fire consumed the town?

How long did that take? Was it “new” once again by the time Renée attended here?

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785090

The church itself has collapsed, but parts of the priory remain intact.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785093

These columns stood before whatever happened that caused the church to be rebuilt in the mid-1400s. It was reconsecrated on January 31, 1485, just 83 years before the town burned.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785095

Some portions of the former priory are used today, but not as a religious institution.

The nave of the attached Saint-Pierre church was destroyed in 1850.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240096

Was Renée baptized in the chancel here, at the head of the nave? She stood here as she pledged her children to God.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240095

The original church and priory entrusted to the monks of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey were built around the year 1100, and the church was then reconstructed a number of years later. Many columns remain from that time period, the capitals on top decoratively carved by master stonemasons and stone carvers.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240099

Renée would have gazed upon these beautiful stoneworks when those columns supported the vaulted roof of the church.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240104

Perhaps Renée sat to the side during mass so she could slip out the door, should her infant cry.

Perhaps she stared up, absentmindedly, as the priest’s voice droned, in Latin, in the distance.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240105

Did the “monsters” on the cluster of columns frighten Renée as a child? Or frighten her children?

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240110

Or did the carvings fascinate Renée? This one looks like a gentle kitten.

Did she want to touch them, running her finger inside the swirls, tracing their ridges and folds?

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240111

Did Biblical stories inspire these carvings, and did the parishioners know the story represented by each column’s capital?

Did the nuns teach those stories in school, or did the priests extol them from the pulpit?

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=162966773

Did Renée tell her children those Bible stories? Perhaps as homilies – examples of good and evil and how children should, and should not, behave?

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=162966774

Did Renée sit beneath these stone-faced witnesses, burying her own parents, and later, thinking about the day that her own children would do the same?

What tales would these capitals tell us if they could speak? They saw Renée and her family at least once every week – and chronicled their lives from cradle to grave.

The circle of life in a French village.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=162966812

Did Renée stroll through the unfinished cloister when she sought solitude?

Was the cemetery nearby?

She would have visited often. There were probably as many funerals as baptisms – and many were for family members. Some were probably for her babies. How many?.

Was the cemetery here, beside the priory, near the cloister, or located on higher ground?

I’d wager that the cemetery lies in this greenspace beside the church and priory, but we don’t know.

Below the castle, the road by the church, which stood in the grass, at right, leads along the river which runs beside the road, at left. The road along the most exposed part of the castle is walled and gated.

Renée would have walked here, looking up at the massive castle above the walls.

Did Renée wonder about the people who lived there, high upon the hill? What their life, inside those towers was like?

This location was chosen because the castle fortified the river crossing, which served as a trade crossroads, and the elevation made it easy to fortify the castle. Intruders would have been intimidated and discouraged by the castle’s imposing appearance and impregnable fortifications.

However, the church and the original village were established at river level.

The street beside the church was quite steep, so villagers climbed steps to the upper town and the entrance level of the castle.

Renée probably ascended these stairs, first with one, then two, then an entire brood of children.

On good days, they would have been laughing and perhaps racing up the stairs to the upper streets in town.

On other days, funeral days, well…no one would have been smiling. Most of the village probably attended, because everyone assuredly knew, and was probably related to, everyone else.

The stories these exquisite steps and stones could tell if they could only speak.

Did Renée descend these steps as a bride on her way to be married?

Did she ascend them with Nicolas after their wedding?

Did Renée stop here to rest and catch her breath as she returned home after mass, heavily pregnant?

Did Nicolas and Renée rest here after having their baby baptized a few hours after delivery?

If you don’t take the stairs, you can walk up the steep Rue du Tertre. Of course it probably had a different name then.

The buildings along the Rue du Tertre are quite ancient as the top of the street approaches the Rue du Marche.

Did Renée live in this part of town? It would have been the old quarter, the remnants of the original town beside the castle, even then. Was this part burned and rebuilt after the fire?

Even the wisteria is old and wizened, perhaps harkening back to Renée’s lifetime!

When we reach the Rue du Marche at the top of the hill, we turn towards the castle.

Today, the buildings lining the modern street retain their original shape with structural support from the cross irons installed hundreds of years ago when they were built. The spires of the castle and church peek up from behind, and just a few feet further is the bridge across the castle moat.

This scene just outside the castle made me smile. The castle spires are visible above a “little red library,” which stands in front of buildings probably built between the 1200s and 1400s. Of course, Renée, as a woman who was born in the 16^th century, would not have been taught to read. The priests, who were literate, explained what the townspeople needed to know.

Nicolas may have learned to read and write in a school at the priory, and Renée’s son, Guillaume, had a beautiful, flowing, artistic signature – so he was clearly educated!

The castle was actually a massive complex terraced above the river with rumors of underground tunnels providing an escape into the castle for the monks, nuns and priests living in the neighboring priory. and conversely, out of the castle in case of seige.

The castle complex spans the center of Montreuil-Bellay for blocks in several directions.

Above the Saint-Pierre church, the stunningly beautiful fairy-tale-like castle stands at the center of town, rising high above the countryside.

This stone stands at the crossroads in front of the castle as a silent sentry, a witness to centuries of travelers, pilgrims, residents, invaders, and royalty.

Probably every child since this stone was put in place climbed on it as their mother admonished them to get down before they get hurt.

In 1850, when the Saint-Pierre nave collapsed, this entrance was crafted through the castle wall, which enabled the townspeople to worship in the castle chapel that had previously served only the nobles who lived there.

The castle was actually a small city within a city, adjacent the church and priory, with its own kitchens, hospital which was similar to a hostel, tithe barn, church, living quarters, and guard towers. Many of the villagers would have provided labor and services to the castle’s residents.

The moat stands empty today, but at one time, it was filled with water and guarded the castle, deterring invaders.

In 1337, this moat, along with the monastery, sheltered the local population when battles of the Hundred Years’ War caused the local population to starve.

Why were they not brought into the safety of the castle?

Were Renée’s ancestors in Montreuil-Bellay then? Did they seek refuge here?

Renée, I came to find you, Nicolas and Guillaume.

Did Renée ever dream that she would have descendants a dozen generations and 400 years into the future who would return to Montreuil-Bellay?

She could never have imagined that just a few years after her passing, her son Guillaume would board a ship with her grandchildren, cross the sea, and become a French founder in a new land called Acadia.

Au Revoir, Renée

As we said goodbye to Montreuil-Bellay and turned to leave, knowing I would never return, the emotion of the moment washed over me – as abbreviated as our reunion had been.

Tears streamed down my face as I watched Montreuil-Bellay disappear into the distance.

Tears for the pieces of your life I’ll never know, but ache to.

Tears for the woman you were and your personality – none of which I can uncover.

What did you look like?

How did your laugh sound?

What color was your hair? Your eyes?

Tears for the babies you buried, and the grief you bore.

Tears for what befell your descendants, some 5 generations and 150 years later, in 1755, as they were rounded up in Acadia, forced onto ships, and expelled into lands unknown. Did you visit them, shelter them, and comfort them on their unwilling journeys?

Tears because I can only partially reconstruct the descendants of one of your children – Guillaume.

You have more than 22,657 known descendants, according to WikiTree, which is more than six times the population of Montreuil-Bellay today. But if the entire truth were known, you probably have many times that.

Tears because you likely never knew your grandchildren. If you did, it would have been Jeanne born to Guillaume about 1628 or 1629, and possibly her siblings, who would have been born every 18-24 months thereafter until Guillaume’s family boarded that ship in 1636. Of course, we know you probably died between 1627 and 1632, and we think that Guillaume lived near Bourgueil, some 20 miles away – too far for you to hold and rock your grandbabies.

Tears because distance and death cheated you of that joy.

And now, tears because I was so close to the church where the most sacred events of your life transpired – and I didn’t even know it when I was there.

The ruins of the church that anchored your faith, since reduced to rubble and ruins, hidden below the castle, at the foot of the stairs, beside the river – probably just a stone’s throw from your grave.

I didn’t know.

I didn’t know.

I’m so sad that I didn’t know.

I can only unearth and reconstruct the tiniest fragments of your life, Renée, yet your ancient beauty, deeply rooted in Montreuil-Bellay, blossoms forth yet today.

The rest lies forever in silence, like wisteria in the winter, waiting eternally for spring’s warming hand.

I wish I could do you justice.

_____________________________________________________________

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We find the first record of Nicolas Trahan in Montreuil-Bellay, France, with the baptism of his daughter, Anne, on February 4^th, 1605, as reported by both Genevieve Massignon and Stephen White, but Nicolas was assuredly in Montreuil-Bellay before that.

By Père Igor – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4447291

Montreuil-Bellay

Montreuil-Bellay began as a Gallo-Roman fortified town built on the hill beside the Thouet River, a tributary of the Loire, at a crossing as old as humans inhabiting the area. The name, Thouet, is derived from the ancient Gallic word for tranquil.

Around the year 1000, Foulques Nerra (987-1040), Count of Anjou, known as the Black Falcon, built a citadel on the foundation of the Roman village.

Why did the Foulques, a fearsome warrior, fortify this particular location? We don’t know for sure, but it was likely part of his consolidation of power. Clearly, he wanted to fortify the village itself, probably to protect the river ford.

But to protect it from whom or what? At that time, the location that would one day become Montreuil-Bellay was the boundary of the Count Angevin’s possessions facing the Poitou, at the crossroads of Anjou, Tourraine and Poitou. Nearby Saumur belonged to “the enemy,” Gelduin the Dane and was eventually taken from the Count of Blois. The Black Falcon’s lifelong arch-rival Odo II, Count of Blois controlled other nearby regions, including Tours. Foulques strategy seemed to have been surround and conquer. If this all sounds quite messy, it was.

A devout Catholic, Foulques also built or endowed several abbeys and may have been the benefactor of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey at Montreuil-Bellay, which was established between 1097 and 1103. The adjacent Saint-Pierre church reconstruction was completed between 1140-1150.

In 1205, due to the strategic importance of Montreuil-Bellay, the King of France undertook a major fortification, building 11 towers, a gate, digging ditches, erecting walls and defensive military platforms.

Montreuil-Bellay became a nearly impregnable fortress on the front lines of the battles between England and France, eventually falling to the Plantagenet family. King Louis VIII held court there in 1224.

History records that the keep and fief were given not long after by Count Angevin to his vassal, Berlay the First – and for the next two centuries, the Berlays succeeded one another until in the 1400s when the castle passed to the Harcourts, a strong Norman family, then fell to the Orleans-Longueville family. The Bellay part of Montreuil-Bellay originated with Berlay.

The Thouet was once the head of navigation. In 1430, a group of merchants in Saumur suggested creating a navigation over the stretch of river that included Montreuil-Bellay, requiring passages through three mill weirs, which were small dams. King Charles II authorized the project, probably through the construction of flash locks. The project was to be financed by allowing the Lords to impose a tax on wine, an important commodity, that would pass through Montreuil-Bellay.

This 1896 etching by Octave de Rochebrune of 15th century Montreuil-Bellay depicts the castle, church, medieval mill and the lower town gates.

During the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453), the English captured the castle and used as a military stronghold, but the French took it back in 1443.

In the 1500s, the castle was rebuilt in the Renaissance style and French nobility resided there.

FIRE!

In 1568, which would have been in the lifetime of Nicolas’s parents, and perhaps Nicolas himself as a child, the Huguenots ransacked and burned the old part of the city.

Widespread intense fighting occurred in this region and throughout France during the second French War of Religion. The castle was well fortified and suffered little lasting damage, but the same could not be said for the homes in Montreuil-Bellay. While I can find no record that specifically details the fate of the church, Catholic churches were often targets, even when homes and towns weren’t burned, so assuredly the Saint-Pierre church did not escape without substantial damage.

As the flames consumed their town, the residents lost their livelihood, livestock if they had any, homes, and all of their possessions. We don’t know how many lost their lives. These violent and brutal depredations were often not inflicted by the military, but by fellow citizens, sowing widespread distrust and perpetual fear among once-peaceful neighbors. The result was that many people were displaced and fled the affected areas, disrupting commerce and trade, which in turn led to poverty.

Given the records of Nicolas Trahan and his wife, beginning in 1605 and continuing through the 1614 birth of their child, and the records of Anthoyne Trahan, who also baptized children between 1610 and 1616, it’s reasonable to at least tentatively surmise that they were related, and probably siblings – although no living child of Nicolas is named Anthoyne. Unfortunately, Massignon did not record the names of Anthoyne’s children.

We don’t know if the Trahan family lived in Montreuil-Bellay before or during this time of great upheaval, or if they perhaps relocated here after the town was destroyed, and peace had been secured.

The parish church, Saint-Pierre was assuredly an integral part of life in Montreuil-Bellay, but it also has its own history.

L’Eglise Saint-Pierre 

The parish church, Saint-Pierre, would have been the functional center of the lives of the Catholic families that lived in Montreuil-Bellay, beginning about the year 1100. Let’s take a walk and stroll through the ruins.

By Lestrange, Henry de (comte) – Base Mémoire, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=66151749

The Saint-Pierre church was abandoned in 1850 after the nave was destroyed and the parish was transferred to the castle chapel. This 1905 photo shows sheep grazing among the peaceful ruins.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785029

This church existed in one form or another, and through at least three separate “rebuildings,” if not more, for about 750 years. That’s roughly 25 or 30 generations, give or take.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785091

The first records describe a priory entrusted to the monks of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey established between 1097 and 1103, part of which still stands today.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785094

A reconstruction was completed around 1140-1150, although we don’t know why the church needed to be reconstructed.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240108

Perhaps the church was older than we know or had been damaged in local warfare. France was not a peaceful place during this era.  

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240094

The ruins of the choir include a group of capitals from this period, which are the beautiful decorative carvings that rest on the top of columns.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240100

When Nicolas was a boy, these would have been intact, and he may have daydreamed during services by staring at these carvings. What was coming out of their mouths, and why?

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240101

Was this an angel?

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240102

OK, this guy is scary. He looks like he’s wondering what is happening, too. 

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240107

Were there long-forgotten Bible stories to go along with these “things” – whatever they are?

During the Hundred Years’ War, the English castle and used as a military stronghold, but that didn’t last long, as the French reclaimed Montreuil-Bellay in 1443.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=145240109

Were these damaged during that occupation? What happened to the church?

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785030

Probably related to that war, part of Saint-Pierre collapsed, leading to the restoration and construction of the north aisle.

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=162966813

After being rebuilt, the church was reconsecrated on January 31, 1485, as both the parish and priory church – an event that must have been joyfully celebrated by all the townspeople. That’s only about 100 years before Nicolas was born, so maybe his great-grandparents joined the chorus, raising their voices in thanksgiving. 

By GO69 – Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=162966775

In 1568, the Huguenots burned the town, and probably the church. It assuredly sustained damage as it was not fortified like the castle.

We know, based on both earlier and later records, that Nicolas Trahan had a son, Guillaume, who was born before records remain for the Saint-Pierre parish. According to the Maine-et-Loire Archives, and thanks to Cousin Mark, we learn that some records for this parish reach back as far as the early 1580s, but there’s a very large gap between October 1588 and 1602, when the size of the record book changes.

Today, the Saint-Pierre church lies in ruins, but was fully active when the Trahan family lived in Montreuil-Bellay.

Based on Nicolas’s son Guillaume’s marriage in 1627, and subsequent baptisms at Saint-Pierre, we know that Guillaume’s baptism took place during those missing years.

We are incredibly fortunate that Guillaume’s marriage record, as well as that of Nicolas’s son, Francois, both provide the names of both parents. Francois’s 1632 parish marriage entry in Bourgueil provides the location of their residence in Montreuil-Bellay, too.

This means that we know positively that Nicolas Trahan and Rene Desloges lived in Montreuil-Bellay from at least 1605 through 1632, and probably until his death. Renee had died sometime between 1627 and 1632.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785032

Nicolas Trahan was probably married in this church sometime between 1588 and 1590 based on the birth dates of both his oldest and youngest children.

We can calculate Nicolas’s approximate birth year, roughly, by subtracting about 30 from about 1590, so about 1560. Nicolas could certainly have been born either slightly earlier, or later. It’s possible that this was not his or Renee’s first marriage.

We’re assuming that their last child born in 1614 was due to Renee reaching the end of her fertility. If that was the case, then 1614-42=1572 for her birth. Often French men were older than their wives – so maybe Nicolas was born between 1560-1570, roughly. That would put their marriage in about 1590 or shortly thereafter, so that makes sense.  Of course, if Nicolas and Renee had additional children after 1614 whose births are not recorded in the church records, they could both have been born later.

Given Guillaume’s birth about 1600, it’s safe to say that Nicolas probably wan’t born much after 1570, and could have been born significantly earlier.

Genevieve Massignon viewed the original records and found another male Trahan, living at the time in Montreuil-Bellay. Anthoyne Trahan and Barbe Barault, with children baptized between 1610 and 1616, is likely related and probably a brother or cousin. .

Both Nicolas and Anthoyne Trahan, were probably born before the records are extant in the early 1580s. Of course, that fire consumed Montreuil-Bellay along with any records in 1568. The Trahan family may not have been living there then, or Nicolas may have remembered the devastation and wild trauma from the perspective of a small child. Whether he was alive or not, he certainly would have heard the stories from his parents who would have been unfortunate witnesses.

Massignon:

Parish records from Montreuil-Bellay reveal more about the family. Nicolas Trahan and Renée Desloges had at least two daughters, Renée (baptized February 25, 1612) and Lucrèce (baptized November 14, 1614). Baptisms for their sons Guillaume and François are missing, but another son, Nicolas, married to Lorraine Belliard, had a daughter baptized in 1633. Another relative, Anne Trahan, married Pierre Molay and baptized four children between 1624 and 1633.

Someplace nearby, probably adjacent the church, Nicolas lies in repose today, but that location is lost to history.

The history of the church does not end here, but it does end. The beloved Saint-Pierre sustained significant damage during the French Revolution in the late 1700s, probably leading to its literall downfall in 1850.

The Trahan Surname

These records mark the beginning of the known, documented Trahan family in Montreaul-Bellay.

Do we have any idea whatsoever where they might have come from?

FamilySearch reports that the surname, Trahan, is an occupational word associated with silkmaking.

French: variant of Trahant or Trahand (and, in North America, an altered form of the former), a metonymic occupational name for a silkworker who drew out the thread from the cocoons, from a derivative of the verb traire ‘to draw or stretch’.

How does this relate to the local or regional history?

Silkmaking was initially established in Lyon in 1466, although the city was hesitant to proceed with establishing the industry because they did not want to interrupt and jeopardize their relationships with Italian merchants who supplied silk.

In 1470, the silkworkers were sent to Tours and to the Château de Plessis-lez-Tours.

Tours was only about 45 miles from Montreuil-Bellay, and we know that in the 1500s, the French nobility was living in the castle at Montreuil-Bellay. This might be a clue.

By 1540, Lyon, 285 miles away, was embracing silk production, but it was interrupted by the Wars of Religion.

Is this at all relevant to the Trahan family? We have no idea, but the genesis of the name itself can’t be entirely disregarded.

Here’s what we do know.

Silkmaking was a complex process requiring a community of workers with multiple specialized skills that included mulberry tree cultivation and maintenance, silkworm keepers, reelers who boiled the silk cocoons and extracted the silk filaments, spinners who made it into thread, weavers, dyers, and of course, merchants. None of this is reported in Montreuil-Bellay, but there was nothing to prevent a man with the Trahan surname, perhaps an itinerant male reeler, from settling in Montreuil-Bellay, especially after one of their depopulating events when workers would have been needed.

I sure wish we had Trahan Y-DNA testers from France so that we could track their locations and tie them to timeframes.

The Trahan Winery

We have good reason to believe that the Trahan family remained in or near Montereuil-Bellay.

Montreuil-Bellay was known for its wines then, and still is today.

The Trahan name lives on just a few miles away at the Trahan Winery.

Today, only 13 miles from Montreuil-Ballay, we find the Domaiin des Trahan.

The drive from Montreuil-Bellay to the winery is simply quintessential French countryside.

It doesn’t look a lot different today than it did when Nicolas lived here. While we think of French peasants as not traveling more than a mile or two in any direction, we know from church records that Nicolas’s sons make those trips regularly, with both sons marrying some 20 miles away in different directions.

It appears from the parish record in Chinon that Nicolas was in attendance in 1627 when Guillaume married Francois Corbineau, so he obviously traveled too.

Travelers along the road would catch glimpses of the castle spires through the trees as they approached.

The walls were built to withstand the onslaught of the enemy army.

Watchtowers still stand and look like they could still fend off an enemy today. Nicolas probably stood watch here at some point, gazing over the countrside.

The castle’s church, which is not the same as the village church for the townspeople, peeks out over the castle wall. This church was not for peasants, but for nobles who lived in the castle.

Arrow slits in the towers were for firing on anyone approaching from the hill leading to the mote below – a foolhardy act that would have led to certain death.

In 1850, after Saint-Pierre was abandoned, and the parish was transferred to the castle chapel, an entrance bridge and opening in the wall was constructed for the parishioners to cross the mote and enter the church for worship.

In 1337, when the Hundred Years War began, the local population was starving and took refuge in the castle moat surrounding the castle, and monastery. No water fills the moat today.

A beautiful view of the castle from the modern bridge crossing just above the river ford.

The mill is visible from this position on the road. Initially, the navigation locks would have been located at the mill dam crossing the river.

The road running parallel across the river affords a distant view of the castle and upper level of the town, high above the river, viewed between sweetly-scented blossoming trees in the orchard.

Springtime in France is glorious! It’s no wonder that Acadians brought seeds for fruit trees with them.

Descendants of the earlier inhabitants of Montreuil-Bellay, including Nicolas Trahan, lovingly care for the fields today, still within the castle’s shadow.

But not with oxen anymore. Modern oxen are green and named Deere.

Fields and old bridges made of stone were probably standing when Nicolas walked here or traveled this road by cart, perhaps, tending to business.

One can always find their way home – just locate the castle or church spires on the horizon.

Another mile or two and the fields give way vineyards.

Modern roads weave their way between ancient farms and terraced villages with grapevines growing wherever they can gain a foothold.

A modern sign points the way to our destination.

We’ve arrived.

In the nearly 400 years since the church records at Saint-Pierre, the Trahan family has only migrated a few miles down the road. The Trahans have been vintners for at least four generations.

The Trahan winery is still a family affair. The entire family turned out to greet us. I think you’re looking at generation 5 and 6, if I’m not mistaken.

I desperately want to know how many generations distant I am from them. I’m guessing about a dozen or perhaps slightly more.

Of course, we don’t know positively that this Trahan lineage is the same as the Trahans up the road a few miles in Montreuil-Bellay 400 years ago – but I’m willing to bet that it’s the same family. They could be Nicolas’s descendants through either Francois or Nicolas, or the descendants of Anthoyne, or maybe unknown brothers or uncles of those men, or even further back in time.

A Y-DNA test would answer that question.

The award winning winery blends both the old and new.

The inside is beautiful. I would have brought that carved wooden platter home with me in a heartbeat – but it’s a family heirloom. I’m grateful for their hospitality and sharing their history, and wine, with us.

Casks with stainless steel in the background and a message for the ages. “I prefer the wine from here to the water from there.” Almost every French person would enthusiastically agree.

You can like their Facebook page, here.

Beautiful hand-painted labels. I want quilt fabric like this. I think they could sell those as prints or even as cards. Maybe wine-label cards!

It’s not just the labels that win awards!

The Trahans were kind enough to give us a tour and educate our Acadian group about winemaking.

While the public-facing areas are quaint and beautiful, the Trahan winery employs science and technology to produce the best wines possible. Each wine has its own “recipe,” for lack of a better description, so you’ll see huge stainless steel vats beside traditional casks. Every wine receives what it needs.

I love the oak casks, because they remind me of life in Nicolas’s time.

Each type of wine ages differently.

After the tour, they kindly provided samples with cheese, of course. It’s France!

Even the glasses are beautiful, and the wine was exquisite.

I’m not a huge wine drinker, although I must say that this wine experience was exciting, in part, because it was “family” wine.

I chose to take a walk outside while everyone else tried each kind of wine. Besides that, Jim was more than happy to drink mine! I was so grateful for his magnanimous sacrifice.

This is the production work area out back – the “farming” area.

I immediately noticed the age of the building, at right.

The X-shaped iron crossbars give it away. You see these all over Europe, and they are hallmarks of medieval buildings.

These are tie rods or anchor plates that, in essence, hold the building together and provide structural integrity. Throughout Europe, many medieval structures with these irons in towns and across the countryside have a carved façade with a date, some dating to the 14^th century which tells us when the structure was built.

The French are masters of blending the old with the new, incorporating history and heritage into their everyday lives.

Standing here, I wondered how long ago one of Nicolas’s descendants or relatives made the trip down that road and became the steward of the vineyards – and if that barn was already old even then.

Or, maybe it worked the other way around, and the Trahans were winemakers long before Nicolas lived in Montreuil-Bellay.

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Francoise Corbineau was probably born between 1607 and 1611, given her marriage in 1627. It’s likely that she was born in Chinon, the same town where she was married, based on typical French family birth and marriage patterns.

One thing we know for sure is that the couple would have been married in the bride’s church, St. Etienne, on that mid-July day in the summer of 1627.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170463493

The average temperature in July lingers in the mid to high 70s. Chinon is built on the side of a hill that rises above the Vienne River, so there was probably a breeze.

Furthermore, the thick stone walls of the Saint-Etienne church would have held the cooler nighttime temperatures, ranging from 55-60.

Hot or chilled, sunny or raining, as a radiant bride looking forward to life as a wife and mother, Francoise wouldn’t have cared one bit.

On their way to the church, Francoise and her family would have made their way through the cobblestone streets, walking together, probably passing La Maison Rouge, the “Red House,” and other medieval buildings located in the center of Chinon. Today, the Red House is a Vrbo and you can stay there, or just look at the pictures, imagining what it was like to peer out these same windows four hundred years ago.

These ancient streets, alleys, byways, and walled gardens echo yet today with their voices, harkening to times gone by.

Now, residents, some of whom may well be descendants of Francoise’s family, visit the library and bookstore, and eat at “La Maison Rouge” across the street.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170611525

The heart of Chinon remains medieval, with buildings that stood when Francoise’s footsteps echoed there as she walked to the church that July day, if her parents were living.

Francoise’s siblings and extended family would have joined them on their procession to church. Francoise might even have had grandparents still living to bless her union with Guillaume Trahan.

Had Francoise and Guillaume been legally betrothed, a contract between families, when they were children, or did they meet and fall in love? Guillaume’s brother had been betrothed some 11 years before he wed, so Guillaume and Francoise may have been too.

Perhaps Francoise’s family lived in a medieval home like one of these. Many remain standing and in use today.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170613813

The wedding party would have probably walked along the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, one of the main streets through Chinon, greeting other villagers as they approached the church. Or maybe all of the parishoners attended the nuptials and walked with them. 

How I long to visit and traverse these streets, sit in the outside cafés, sipping on something decadent in the French sunshine. Soaking up the ambiance, thinking about Francoise walking past with her family, chattering excitedly on her wedding day, 398 years ago. Such is life in France.

Perhaps if I squint a bit, I can see her.

What would the lovely Francoise have been wearing?

Unlike the white dresses of contemporary brides, French medieval brides wore their finest colorful tapestry gowns reflective of their family’s social status – often decorated with needlework and lace, and accented with lavish headpieces.

Famous painter Peter Paul Rubens painted a portrait of his bride, Helena Fourment, in her wedding dress in 1630.

Regardless of what Francoise wore, I’m sure she was radiant and Guillaume thought she was the most beautiful bride ever!

At St. Etienne, Francoise, Guillaume, and their families would have entered the church through the beautiful wooden doors, beneath the ornate stone carvings that had welcomed countless brides.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170699771

After entering, their voices would have dropped respectfully.

The solemn nave awaited, the priest prepared to marry the joyful couple who likely exchanged nervous, expectant glances.

Family members assembled in the pews, jostling for the “good seats.”

Guillaume was probably about 30 when they married, and we know that he was described as a Marshall in records just a few years later.

He may well have been a military man and also a tradesman. Francoise would be marrying well – although she could have never dreamed where her life with Guillaume would take her.

To an entirely new world.

Thankfully, the priest scribed their marriage entry into the parish register for posterity.

The 13th day of July 1627 were married Guillaume Trahan, son of Master Nicolas Trahan and of Renée Desloges, and Françoise Corbineau, daughter of the late Corbineau and of Françoise Poret, the said Trahan and Corbineau assisted by Pierre Ligné, Pierre Aubry, Suzanne Ligné, daughter of Master Guillaume Ligné, and other witnesses, this I have signed.

Piget, priest

Well, that was one interpretation of this document, but there’s also another, posted by Karen Theriot Reader, that Cousin Mark reviewed painstakingly, and seems to be more likely the case.

I am leaving this original version here, just in case – in part because some people may have used it and I don’t believe in just “disappearing” something without stating why it was changed.

The 13th of July 1627 was married Guillaume Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and Renée Deslonges with Françoise Corbineau, of this parish St. Etienne. Present Nicolas Trahan, father of G. Trahan, Pierre Ligier, Pierre Baudry, dame Anne Ligier, wife of M. Gilloire, attest, and declare they do not sign.

ChatGPT and Transcribus gave me multiple different translations of the names involved, which made the situation even more confusing. Hint – don’t use AI for documents you can’t verify.

Acadian researcher and now-deceased historian Stephen White stated that her parents were not named, so I weigh that heavily as well.

The sad news is that while we thought we knew her father was deceased, and her mother’s name, we don’t unless an analysis by a French paleographer tells us otherwise. 

We don’t know if or how the witnesses were related to the bride and groom, but it’s likely that they were. Families had lived in these towns for hundreds to thousands of years.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170463474

While Chinon was popular with nobles in the 15^th and 16^th centuries, the town, located on the Vienne River just upriver from the Loire, dates from prehistoric times when rivers served as highways and connected the fertile plains of the Poitou to the rest of France.

A thousand years before Francoise and her family lived here, a Gallo-Roman fort stood, followed by a hermitage and monastery.

A thousand years before that, the Celtic tribe known as the Turones inhabited this region, backing the Gallic coalition against Rome in 52 BCE, some 2000 years ago.

Far from being primitive, the Turones were organized and minted coins, such as these from the 5^th through 1^st century BCE, or between 2000 and 2500 years ago.

After their wedding, the newlyweds probably lived in one of the timeworn quarters that lined the quaint streets in Chinon, at least initially. Chinon was not large, and these narrow lanes were already ancient by the 1600s, the houses having already witnessed hundreds of years of history.

Early records are spotty, and unfortunately, no further records for the couple have surfaced in Chinon churches.

Guillaume grew up in Montreuil-Bellay, but the couple is not found there either.

An exhaustive, indexed search might reveal more, but these records have not been transcribed and they are not indexed. .

Where Did Francoise and Guillaume Live?

Truth be told, we don’t know exactly where Francoise and Guillaume lived for the next 9 years, but we do have hints.

Based on later records, we know that Guillaume was married to Francoise during the remainder of the time they lived in France, so we can presume that wherever we find Guillaume, Francoise isn’t far away.

In January of 1629, less than two years after their marriage, Guillaume witnessed the marriage of fellow Acadians Pierre Martin and Catherine Vigneau in the town of Bourgueil, a medieval crossroads village in the wine region.

In addition to the Saint-Germain church where the couple was married, Bourgueil had a significant Abbey, monastery, gardens and vineyards, and oversaw several nearby priories. Five hundred years before Francoise and Guillaume lived in the area, the Abbot had introduced vineyards and winegrowing into the region.

Saint-Germain, the local church attended by the townspeople is located on the market square, in the center of the town.

In the fall of 1632, Guillaume once again witnessed a wedding at the Saint-Germaine church in Bourgueil for his own brother, Nicolas Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and Renee Desloges of Montreuil-Bellay, to Renée Pineau of Bourgueil.

Montreuil-Bellay, Chinon, and Bourgueil are not far apart, but they also aren’t exactly close, either. It’s about 10 miles from Chinon to Bourgueil, about 21 miles from Bourgueil to Montreuil-Bellay, and about the same distance from Chinon to Montreuil-Bellay.

Were Guillaume and Francoise members of the parish at Bourgueil after their marriage?

If so, then where are their children’s baptisms?

A Rough Patch

I don’t want to project stereotypes onto Guillaume and Francoise, but they may have encountered a “rough patch” in 1634, or maybe one that began in 1634.

Put bluntly, Guillaume got himself into trouble, and worse yet, in trouble with the Cardinal, the Abbey, and most likely, his wife.

Acadian researcher, Genevieve Massignon located the following records:

While leafing through the Report of the Departmental Archives of Indre-et-Loire, in the name of the parish of Bourgueil, I found a record reporting in 1634 “a certain number of inhabitants of Bourgueil.” The list of their names includes those of François Dubreil (another witness to the marriage of Pierre Martin) and of Guillaume Trahan.

Now François Dubreil already appears in the List of Fines for feudal dues made by Messire Léonard d’Estampes de Valençay, commendatory abbot of the royal abbey of Saint Pierre de Bourgueil, for a piece of land adjoining that of Nicolas Simon, in October 1618.

The sentence, rendered by the court of Chinon in 1634, cites as plaintiffs “the inhabitants of the parishes of Saint Germain and Saint Nicolas of Bourgueil [church within the Abbey], the joined prosecutor” and “further Messire Leonor d’Estampes,” [Abbott of the Royal Abbey of St. Pierre of Bourgueil], and as defendants, three religious, two squires, a “warden of the forest of Bourgueil,” François Dubreil, Guillaume Trahan, and a few other persons. This sentence orders that “everything which has been undertaken usurped and cleared by the said defendants from the appurtenances and dependencies of the said forest of Bourgueil during forty years in the said conserved land by the proceedings of visitation and surveying and alleged leases for rent, which we declare null and of no effect — shall in the future belong to the body of the said forest of Bourgueil… making express prohibition to the said defendants and all others to in future cut or fell any wood in the said forest, nor change the nature of it on pain of a fine of five hundred livres.”

The sentence then lists the fines incurred by the defendants: “The said Dubreil, in fifty livres of fine for having had the said pieces containing twelve arpents cleared to go there to take the wood which was there in the last forty-eight years and a half, in two hundred livres for half the damages and interest and restitution of the fruits…”

“The said Trahan, in twenty livres of fine and in sixty livres for the value and estimation of a young ox and for the expenses of two arpents which he had torn from the forest and which were found at his house and in forty livres for damages and interest…”

Whoo boy.

I bet Francoise was furious. French wives of that era were either pregnant or nursing a newborn and gave birth every year or two.

So, when this took place, let’s say that they had children, as follows:

• Their first baby born in the summer of 1628, a year after their wedding
• The second child born around Christmas of 1629
• The third child born in the summer of 1631
• The fourth child born near Christmas of 1632
• The fifth child born in the summer of 1634
• The sixth child born around Christmas of 1635.

Clearly, if babies died at birth, some would be born more closely together, and if every child lived, they could be born more than 18 months apart, but generally not more than 24 months apart.

Given this estimated timeline, in 1634, Francoise was probably pregnant for and gave birth to their fifth child. So picture Guillaume having to come home and tell his wife, either cooking, gardening or cleaning something, surrounded by 4 or 5 young children, possibly pregnant again, how much trouble he was in.

I can hear her asking, and probably not in a pleasant voice, “À quoi pensais-tu?” What were you thinking???

French wives worked every day from sunup to sundown, but they weren’t paid, so they were entirely dependent on their husbands’ income.

Based on known wages for various trades and occupations of the time, it appears that not only was Guillaume prosecuted, made an example of, and heavily fined, but Francoise was in essence tarred with the same brush. Punished equally by the fines, even though she had nothing to do with the infraction.

If I have to guess, and I do, I’d say she was utterly furious with Guillaume and was trying to figure out how to retain some shred of dignity, not to mention figuring out how she was going to feed her family. Maybe they didn’t have a baby the next year and he got to sleep in the barn for a while.

If Francoise’s parents were still living, or her siblings, she could probably have obtained food from them, but no adult wants to be reduced to begging – not to mention WHY.

The good news, if there is any, is that this map shows the Bourgueil Forest, which provides a clue as to where they might have lived. Guillaume’s fine was probably so severe because forests were essential to the climate required for winemaking.

Guillaume wasn’t completely ostracized because he once again witnessed a marriage in Bourgueil on October 29, 1635.

Given Guillaume’s continued appearances in the church records, it makes sense that Francoise and Guillaume lived near Bourgueil, someplace along the roads where a type of oilseed, now known as canola, was sewn and harvested for oil lamps and lubrication.

Five months after Guillaume witnessed that final wedding, the couple was no place near Bourgueil.

Francoise bid her family, her parents, her siblings, everyone she loved goodbye for the very last time.

If she was already angry with Guillaume for the 1634 “incident”, being ripped away from her family certainly didn’t make the situation any better.

I can feel her crying so hard she couldn’t even breathe.

Sailing for Acadia

On April 1^st, 1636, the ship Saint-Jehan set sail from La Rochelle for Acadia, transporting the first families to settle in the fledgling colony. Guillaume, Francoise and their two children were on board.

To say this was a high-stakes risky move is an understatement.

Why did Guillaume decide to do this?

Notice, I didn’t say Guillaume and Francoise, because at that time, women were expected to simply comply with and obey their husbands’ decisions.

That does NOT mean they didn’t have opinions, though. They just didn’t have many options and no agency.

So, if Guillaume was going to Acadia, Francoise and their children were going too.

They sailed from the beautiful harbour in La Rochelle on April 1^st, arriving at Fort Sainte Marie de Grace in La Hève on May 6^th, 35 days later. For that time, it was a quick trip.

Isaac de Razilly and then Charles d’Aulnay, after Razilly’s untimely death in 1635, had likely been recruiting in the Bourgueil region. Several families from both Chinon and Bourgueil were listed on the ship’s roster, including Guillaume.

“Guillaume Trahan, officer of the cavalry, with his wife and two children and a servant, also from Bourgueil”

If you’re wondering how they managed to afford a servant following that hefty fine, I wonder too. It doesn’t make sense, unless one or the other of their families were at least minor nobility – but there’s no evidence of that. Was declaring someone as a servant a way to take a family member along? Or, maybe one of the other people who were fined in 1634?

We’ll never know.

Passengers

Who else was aboard the Saint-Jehan?

If there were families, there would be babies arriving soon. Was there even a midwife?

The list of passengers included four women in the Motin family, a family of lesser nobility. Anne and Jehanne Motin were siblings. In Acadian, Jehanne, also called Jeanne, married Charles d’Aulnay, the Lieutenant in charge of Acadia and who owned the Saint-Jehan ship. A female cousin and one female servant accompanied the Motin family.

The rest of the roster consisted of crew members or passengers headed to Acadia to establish a settlement in the remote outpost.

There were some young couples. One laborer and his wife, with no children, plus a saltmaker and his wife.

From Bourgueil, there were 4 wives and 7 children, plus Guillaume, Francoise and their two children.

There was also a widow and her two children, one male and one female, all designated as laborers.

In total, there were 12 other females, counting the widow’s daughter who may have been a young adult.

There were 7 children in addition to Francoise’s children, excluding the widow’s children.

That’s it. That’s the entire female and family support system that these women would have in Acadia. And trust me when I say that men did not deliver babies, and childbirth was dangerous. Every married female could be expected to deliver a child within the following 18 months, so surely SOMEONE had experience delivering babies. Perhaps the widow.

Culture Shock

This map shows three homes in the habitation at La Hève. These families had gone from multi-storied half-timbered homes snugged up side by side in cozy medieval towns to a few isolated buildings with the Atlantic wind whistling between them. The freshwater pond by the fort may have been their only nearby watersource.

There were no other French women or families within thousands of miles, not to mention across an ocean.

The laborers and single men would have lived in the garrison inside the fort, but the families built tiny one-room houses and planted gardens as best they could with seeds they had brought along.

Not houses like in France, but small cabins that shared a single outdoor oven, and eventually, a common well. There was no boulangerie in the market square, no baker, no butcher – the settlers and soldiers had to do it all. I’m sure they quickly learned to fish.

Talk about culture shock!

Standing on the beach where the fort once stood, the habitation was built on the outcropping at far right in the distance.

The settlers planted apple trees with seeds brought from France. A winemaker was on board, too, so they probably transplanted vines, cuttings or planted seeds as well.

By the end of the year, d’Aulnay had moved the seat of Acadia to Port Royal, a much less harsh environment, not exposed directly to the Atlantic Ocean.

While we know the names of the Saint-Jehan passengers, we have mostly blank pages about what happened to them.

• Pierre Martin and his wife survived. He is credited with planting apple orchards in the Annapolis Valley near Port Royal. Their child, Mathieu was reportedly the first French child born in Acadia.
• Jeanne Motin survived, but her story is long and difficult. She first married d’Aulnay not long after arrival, followed a few years later by his arch-rival, Charles La Tour in 1653, eventually moving south to Cape Sable with La Tour and dying there around 1663 with a newborn.
• Of course, Guillaume Trahan, Francoise, and at least one daughter survived.

Otherwise, every single person on the Saint-Jehan either perished with no record and no descendants surviving to 1671 when the first census was taken, or returned to France at some point.

Perhaps Acadia was too different from France and not what the passengers had hoped or expected. Or, perhaps they died in the intervening years. Acadia was a harsh mistress.

What About Francoise in Port Royal?

We know that Francoise was alive in 1639, because her daughter, Jeanne Trahan was the godmother for Jeanne Motin and Charles D’Aulnay’s infant daughter, and Francoise is mentioned, but not noted as deceased.

Francoise is also mentioned in 1649 in d’Aulnay’s first will, although not by name, where he mentions that his wife, Jeanne Motin, who he had described as a “devout and modest little servant of God”, “Will not forget the wife of Guillaume Trahan.”

Guillaume Trahan became an influential leader in Port Royal. He, and other early settlers were given land along the river beside the fort and garrison where ships docked, trading transpired, and the moving and shaking occurred.

In addition to being the heart of commerce, Port Royal endured multiple attacks, some quite severe, from d’Aulnay’s arch-rival, Charles La Tour, in the 1640s. Port Royal subsequently fell to the English in 1654, then was ransacked and pillaged.

Unfortunately, there are few records during this timeframe.

Port Royal, the river and countryside were post-card beautiful, and when not under attack, exquisitely peaceful.

Francoise witnessed and survived those terrifying episodes and also basked in the beauty of Acadia. The photo above was taken on Hogg Island, where her daughter and son-in-law lived – so she surely enjoyed this scene often.

Death and Grief

The next indirect evidence we have of Francoise is when Guillaume remarries.

According to the 1671 census, Guillaume has remarried and has a family with his second wife. Their oldest child is Guillaume, age 4. So, if Guillaume remarried five years earlier, about 1666, then we can estimate Francoise’s death occurred in or about 1665 in Port Royal, nearly 30 years after she and Guillaume settled there.

Francoise would have been buried in the churchyard, beside the fort, and within sight of their home.

The Acadian’s Catholic cemetery was destroyed in 1755 when the Acadians were expelled by the English, and it has always been believed that the graves were marked with white wooden crosses that deteriorated with time.

The one and only stone recovered just happens to be for Joseph de Menou, apparently a son of Jeanne Motin and Charles Menou d’Aulnay, with a clearly inscribed date of 1651.

The Canadian National Park Service states that:

During the summer of 1989, archaeologists working at Fort Anne uncovered a stone bearing the name, Joseph de Menov Sievr Dones and the date of 1651. The eldest son of Charles de Menou d’Aulnay Sieur de Charnisay, Joseph had inherited his father’s titles after Charles’ death the previous year. The purpose of the stone is not known.

Please note that at that time, V is equivalent to U in script.

This relic is confusing, because Joseph, born about 1640 is supposed to be the eldest son of Joanne Motin and d’Aulnay, who, along with their other children, was sent back to France to be raised by their grandparents after d’Aulnay’s 1650 death left his wife riddled with debt.

If that’s the case, then either this is not a gravestone, or they had a second child by that same name that died in 1651. If they had a second child, he would not have the title “Sieur”, but other than a gravestone, what else could this possibly be?

Either way, this stone assuredly speaks silently of grief and tragedy within the close-knit Acadian community. Jeanne Motin was Francoise’s close friend, as attested in d’Aulnay’s will, and Jeanne’s husband had died tragically in 1650.

Then Jeanne had to send her eight children back to France, where she would never see them again. Oh, my aching mother’s heart. Jeanne also married La Tour, a man she probably secretly despised and whose wife her husband had murdered, as a matter of survival and expediency. It’s unclear whether her children were shipped back to France before or after this 1653 marriage.

Jeanne’s heart must have been broken, over and over, and the heart of Francoise, as one of her closest friends, would have ached right along with Jeanne.

The two best friends and sisters-of-heart probably stood together on the shoreline, watching the ship with all eight of Jeanne’s children pull away from the dock, and sail away. Grief times 8.

Perhaps the two women stood here, Francoise holding Jeanne as she sobbed, until either the ship was entirely out of sight, or the daylight sank beyond the horizon and night overtook them. Jeanne would never see her children again, including the baby. How the children must have wept and cried for theri mother, too. They had already lost their father.

The two close friends eventually died about the same time, although after Jeanne Motin remarried in 1653, she lived across the bay in Saint-Jean for three years, then retired to Cape Sable in 1656 until her death in 1663. When Jeanne died, she had five children by LaTour, aged from about 9 to a newborn

I’m sure the two women missed each other terribly, and their reunion, on the other side, was glorious.

Francoise’s Children

We have a few facts about Francoise’s children.

In 1636, on the Saint-Jehan, Francoise and Guillaume had two children. One of those children was Jeanne Trahan, born about 1629.

Francoise would have witnessed Jeanne’s marriage in about 1643 to Jacques Bourgeois. Jacques was a surgeon and the most prosperous settler in Port Royal, so that marriage would have been considered a very good match. Jacques worked for d’Aulnay, who probably arranged the marriage. It’s evident that those couples were close.

We know that Francoise had a second living child when they sailed in 1636, but we don’t know if that child was male or female. If male, he died before 1671 and before having children who survived to 1671 when the first census was taken.

If that child was a female, she would have been between newborn and 8 years old. If she was the first child born after their marriage, in 1628, she would have been marriage age about the same time as her sister. If she was between that age and newborn, so born between about 1630 and 1636, she would have been eligible to marry between 1644 and about 1651.

A Trahan daughter married Germain Doucet sometime before 1650 when Germain Doucet and his wife were mentioned in d’Aulnay’s will, although Doucet’s wife is not mentioned by name.

The reason that Germain Doucet’s wife is believed to be Francoise and Guillaume Trahan’s daughter is because in 1654, Jacques Bourgeois, who we know was married to Jeanne Trahan, is described as Germain Doucet’s brother-in-law in the Articles of Capitulation.

That can only mean one of two things. Germain Doucet was either married to:

• Jacques’s sister, but Jacques came alone in 1642, and there is no known sister
• The sister of Jeanne Trahan, Jacques’ wife. Jeanne arrived with her parents and with another known sibling. Francoise would also have had time to have another daughter after their 1636 arrival who would have been marriage age before 1654.

Of those two options, it’s MUCH more likely that Germain Doucet married a daughter of Francoise Corbineau and Guillaume Trahan.

Germain Doucet was also a powerful man in Port Royal, so he, too, would have been considered a good marriage partner by Guillaume Trahan for his daughter.

Unfortunately, as Commander of the Fort when Port Royal fell in 1654, Germain Doucet was shipped back to France iwith his wife and children, if they had any. No records of Germain or his family after the fall of Port Royal are known.

In 1654, Francoise would have said goodbye to one of her only two children, much as she had said a painful goodbye back in 1636 to her own family in France. This turn of events must have seemed horrifically unfair.

To the best of our knowledge, Francoise only had two children who survived to adulthood, or more specifically, to adulthood and to the 1671 census, or who had descendants who survived to the 1671 census with the Trahan surname. No unknown Trahans are recorded or noted in parish records after 1702, no dispensations that would suggest that Francoise had another surviving child, and no Belle-Ile-en-Mer declarations after the deportation.

Francoise would have brought several more children into this world. She would have spent most of her adult life pregnant, praying for children destined not to survive.

Unfortunately, infant mortality was high, and less than half of the children born made it to adulthood. In her case, it was far more than half.

If Francoise married at 16, and had children through age 42:

• She would have had 12 children if she gave birth to a child every 24 months and that child lived long enough to be weaned.
• We know that often babies were born 18 months after the prior birth, so if she had a baby every 18 months, she would have borne 16 children.
• If every other child died at or shortly after birth, meaning that she had every other child 12 months after the previous birth, she would have had around 20 children.

This means that Francoise buried at least 10 children, probably more like 15 or 16, and possibly as many as 18. I can’t even begin to imagine her pain. She must have both looked forward to each birth with hope, but also with a sense of dread.

Additionally, she had to say a forced goodbye to her adult daughter in 1654, never knowing what happened to her.

Francoise suffered an immense amount of grief.

Some of those tiny bodies would have rested in graves in the parish churchyard in France, beside whatever parish church they attended. Possibly Chinon or Bourgueil or perhaps someplace inbetween.

One might have been a burial at sea, or in an unmarked grave in the cemetery at Le Have.

The rest would have perished in Port Royal and been buried beside the church, within sight of where Francoise lived. Perhaps that’s how she held them close, even in death.

Francoise’s Grandchildren

The ray of sunshine in all of this is that Francoise DID have grandchildren that she knew and could enjoy. Jeanne Trahan, who married Jacques Bourgeois, had eight living children before Francoise’s death.

Jeanne also had at least five children who died during that timeframe.

If Francoise Corbineau was born in 1607, she would have had her last child sometime about 1649 or 1650.

Her daughter, Jeanne gave birth to her first child about 1644, so for the next six years or so, both mother and daughter would have been bringing children into the world together. The difference is that most of Jeanne’s children born during that timeframe lived, and none of Francoise’s did. While pregnant herself, Jeanne would have stood beside yet another tiny grave, holding her mother as she grieved each baby’s passing, – probably at least four times. We don’t know how many times Jeanne, as a child, stood beside her mother at the cemetrey before that.

I’m sure Francoise never lost track of each child, or their names, or when they were born and died. Their tiny images would have been permanently seared in her mind, and on her heart. She probably thought of them often, wondering what they would have been like as they grew up, married, and had children of their own.

Her daughter, Jeanne lost a child born in about 1650. We don’t know if that child died as an infant or older, but we do know the child died before 1671. Francoise likely stood graveside with her daughter, burying grandchildren born about 1648, 1650, 1654, 1656, and 1663. She may also have stood with her daughter whose name we don’t know, who married Germain Doucet, in a similar capacity – and that daughter assuredly stood with Francoise and her sister, Jeanne, too.

How did Francoise bear that level of grief? Perhaps this small cross, excavated on the fort grounds, provides a clue. Part of the land where the fort is located belonged to Guillaume and Francoise during their lifetime.

This tiny cross that speaks so profoundly of faith could have been part of Francoise’s rosary. Maybe her well-worn rosary was placed in her hands in her coffin.

In 1665 or so, Francoise’s daughter, Jeanne, and her 8 living children, along with Guillaume, all stood around another grave, saying their final goodbyes, as they buried Francoise, who would have been in her 50s. Not at all old by today’s standards.

Both of the other original female Acadian settlers who sailed aboard the Saint-Jehan in 1636 and remained in Acadia were still living. Along with Francoise’s family and the other residents of Port Royal, Marie Catherine Vigneau, who had married Pierre Martin would have been standing graveside, but Jeanne Motin was living in Cape Sable and would have been unaware of her old friend’s passing until long after she was buried.

Such was life in Port Royal.

Francoise’s Legacy

What an incredible life Francoise lived and legacy she left.

Francoise was probably born in Chinon, lived someplace between there and Bourgueil, then sailed for Acadia in her mid-twenties with her husband and two small children. She settled in the remote outpost of Le Have for several months, and then became one of the founding Acadian mothers in Port Royal.

She must have been an extraordinarily strong woman.

Francoise probably never dreamed of, desired, or wanted a life of adventure – but the dice rolled differently and fate had other plans. Francoise sailed thousands of miles across that Atlantic, becoming an original French settler in Acadia. She helped to forge a new “Acadian” culture in a foreign land that her descendants would always think of as home.

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