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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Guillaume, oh Guillaume! Wherefore art thou, Guillaume? Or more to the point, where were you born, where did you grow up, where the heck did you live – and what about that forest thing? What was going on there?

Let’s begin by summarizing what we know about Guillaume Trahan’s life in France, and then we’ll discuss what we think, or think we know. And what we don’t know. That list is a little longer.

• We know that Guillaume Trahan wed Francoise Corbineau in Chinon, on July 13, 1627. We have those original records, and that’s fact.
• Guillaume’s marriage record provides the names of his parents as Nicolas Trahan and Renee Desloges. That’s fact too.

• We know that on April 1, 1636, Guillaume, his wife, and two children set sail from La Rochelle on Charles Menou d’Aulnay’s ship, the Saint-Jehan, for Acadia. The roster, held in the archives at La Rochelle, is somewhat confusing, but he’s listed after six other men and his servant as being from Bourgueil. The following six were from Chinon. Guillaume was listed as an “officer of the cavalry.” That’s all fact.

But where was Guilluame Trahan from?

It Takes a Village or Maybe a Small Army

Apparently it takes a small army, because that’s who has provided the necessary puzzle pieces.

Before I go any further, let me thank several people. Unknown and unnamed contributors at WikiTree, especially the one who included a link to Guillaume’s marriage record in Chinon, contributors at WeRelate, historian Genevieve Massignon (1921-1986 to whom I’ve been indebted over and over for her research, Karen Theroit reader’s wonderful notes in her tree, Lucie LeBlanc Consentino’s website, my friend Maree from down under who located and fed me several resources, and Stephen White who included at least some information in his book.

It’s important to note that with actual records, it’s possible to correct earlier postings or information that was either incomplete or in error. We are all humans. It happens.

A very special thank you needs to go to my Cousin Mark who so generously ran MANY hints to ground and surfaced the actual parish documents in Montreuil-Bellay, Bourgueil, and elsewhere.

If I’m on a wild goose chase, Mark is the wild goose herder – and Heaven knows I needed one. He’s probably infinitely tired of hearing me say, “I’m confused,” and providing him with conflicting information that can only be resolved in records held in French archives that I can’t find, navigate, or read.

Not all of the information from various sources is or was accurate. To begin with, I was searching for specific source references because that’s where to start. In one case, two reliable sources provided conflicting information, one citing the other. It’s no wonder I was confused. I’m glad I didn’t take either at face value and incredibly grateful that Mark was able to sort it out – and this isn’t even his family line

Early records, when they exist, are challenging in multiple ways, and there’s so much erroneous information out there.

As genealogists, it’s our obligation to seek records, verify everything, then make sure the narrative really fits the rest of the story and makes sense. Yes, it’s exhausting, BUT THEN THERE’S THAT NEW DISCOVERY! And we’re ready to stay up all night all over again!

Here’s another discrepancy we had to sift through. Guillaume Trahan clearly was not born in 1611, then married at age 16 in 1627, and certainly not as an officer in the military. At age 16, neither thing happened, let alone both. Let’s get on with the rest of our story, now that I’m pretty sure we know where Guillaume was born.

And thank you, Cousin Mark, for helping to preserve what smidgen is left of my sanity!

Acadian Players Map

Speaking of villages, each of these locations play a vital role in the Trahan and wider Acadian history.

• Charles Menou d’Aulnay’s mother, Nicole Jousserand held the seigneury in Martaize.
• Both Aulnay and La Chaussee were just a couple of miles, if that, from Martaize, where many Acadian families originated.
• Montreuil-Bellay was where Guillaume Trahan’s parents lived.
• Chinon is where Guillaume was married and some Saint-Jehan passengers were from..
• Richelieu is the town Cardinal Richelieu built after pilfering some of the stone from Chinon’s castle, which he controlled.
• Bourgueil is the location of the Acadian Pierre Martin family, and also where some passengers on the 1636 Saint-Jehan hailed from. It’s also were Guillaume’s brother lived, and where Guillaume witnessed several events.
• The Razilly family estate is located about 10 miles north of Loudun. Isaac de Razilly founded La Hève in 1632 at the behest of Cardinal Richelieu, his cousin. Charles d’Aulnay was Razilly’s cousin, too, as well as his right-hand man in Acadia.

Razilly’s father, Francois (1545-1600), was the Governor of Loudun, and his grandfather, Gabriel, probably born about 1520 and died in 1579, was the Governor of Chinon, so this entire area was very interconnected and intertwined.

Loudun

The beautiful medieval city of Loudun, with its hills, churches, towers, and ancient carved walls, functioned as the heart of this region. But beneath the surface, a darker history lingers, weighted in heavy silence – long buried but not entirely forgotten.

In 1632, plague struck the city, followed by allegations that demons had possessed several nuns in the local convent.

That spawned, for lack of a better word, witchcraft hysteria, including public exorcisms, torture, and burning a priest, Urbain Grandier, at the stake in August of 1634.

Grandier was quite popular with his parishioners but did not support Cardinal Richelieu’s policies and favored retaining the town’s wall, which Richelieu opposed. Considered a handsome man, there was also gossip about Grandier having fathered a child.

Many believed that this entire episode, known as the Loudun Possessions, was spurred by political rivalry and jealousy, and that Cardinal Richelieu was heavily involved.

Guillaume Trahan would have known about this. Everyone knew about this for miles in every direction. And the message was unequivocal in the end. Do NOT mess around with Cardinal Richelieu. He’s a powerful, dangerous man. You’ll see why this matters in Guillaume’s story later. Just tuck it away for now.

You’d never guess any of its sordid past by walking through Loudun today, although the ivy-covered walls of the Crossroads of the Sorcerers remain for those who know where to look.

Secrets still carved into knowing stones that witnessed it all.

I just happened to be passing by this house wall when I realized that it held numerous interesting carvings. Zoom in. There are several stars, one that might be masonic, some that look like roman numerals, horseshoes perhaps, plus a clear date of 1666 with a man.

I desperately want to understand this history and the message, or messages, that the drawings were meant to convey.

Who carved them?

When?

And why?

Was it simply medieval graffiti, or something more?

I wonder how many other carvings are secreted in the alleys and byways, their stories lost to time as the ancient walls, patched up with mortar, blending with the new.

Me, touching the stones, wearing my mother’s ring from the Acadian side of the family, trying to absorb whatever history those stones on the side of this medieval house have to tell.

Loudun was also the location of the first newspaper, or “gazette,” in France, published by Theophraste Renaudot, who is honored by a statue in the center of town, and financed by Cardinal Richelieu.

On July 16, 1632, Renaudot’s article reported:

The sorrow that there is to solve the difficulties which are in the large companies made differ two months, and opiniatreté of the wind of downstream two other months later than I had not told you the loading for the Company of New France. But finally the loaded vessel from La Rochelle arrived to join two others from Morbihan that Commander de Razilly having the commission of the King to control in the extent of the country in the absence of the Cardinal Duke de Richelieu, brought there at the beginning of this month, charged with all things and three hundred elite men. It carries the assent of the King of Great Britain to remove the Scots out of Port Royal and take of it possession in the name of the Company, which sends to it three Capuchins for the conversion of the people of Acadie, in addition to five Jesuits that it already sent in the other dwellings of Cap Breton, the Gulf and the St. Lawrence River. The embarkment of this noble force returning there illustrates the beginning of colony which will make an easy passage to all the French, for the honor of their nation and their peace, that it will be from now on easy for them to comply with the King, that the great businesses of its kingdom do not prevent it from going across the seas the concepts to increase the Catholic faith, by a procedure quite distant from that which was practiced until now in the discovery of the Indies, where one was satisfied with spoils and to captivate the people.

And with that, Acadia as we know it, was born.

Montreuil-Bellay

Cousin Mark followed Karen Reader’s citation and found Genevieve Massignon’s article for me, in “Les Trahan d’Acadie,” in Cahier de la Society Historique Acadienne; no. 4 (1964); p. 16, which I had translated.

From Cousin Mark:

I can see why Massignon references the records of parish Saint-Pierre at Montreuil-Bellay as “anciens mais incomplets,” ancient but incomplete.

Attached is the screenshot from the Maine-et-Loire Archives showing what records are available. They date back to the early 1580s, but there is indeed a gap, about page 62, where there are none between October 1588 and 1602, and where the size of the record book changes. Obviously, there is one or more missing books. And thus, it is likely that Guillaume’s baptism is from the missing books.

Mark located the unindexed baptisms of Guillaume’s sisters, Renee born in 1612 and Lucrece in 1614, by searching page by page through the mixed Latin and old French records, trying to decipher 400-year-old script. (Bless his patient heart!)

French men typically married when they were between 25 and 30, so about 30ish.

Given that Guillaume Trahan married in 1627, a birth year between 1597-1602 is reasonable. “About 1601” has been used by others, so I’ll certainly not quibble about that. Based on the record availability, we know his birth was probably after October 1588 and before 1602. He could have been born substantially earlier than 1601, but probably not much before 1590 given his mother’s age when his youngest sister was born.

Thanks to other researchers, we know that Guillaume’s parents, Nicolas Trahan and Renee Desloges, baptized children in the now-defunct church of Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay, then located in Anjou, but now in Maine-et-Loire, in France.

• Guillaume Trahan, born when records no longer exist, between 1588 and 1602.
• Daughter Anne Trahan was baptized on February 4, 1605. (Event by Massignon, date by White, original record unable to be confirmed by Mark after reading all records from December 1604-March 1605.) Massignon reports that she married Pierre Molay and they baptized four children between 1624 and 1633.
• Son Nicolas was reportedly born about 1608 and married Lorande Billiard around 1633, but I have not seen records or sources other than “church record” for either event. Massignon reports the baptism of their child in 1633.
• Son Francois Trahan was born somewhere in this timeframe. His engagement contract was dated the 14^th Sunday of Pentecost in 1621 (in Montreuil-Bellay, according to White), and he married on the 14^th Sunday after Pentecost in 1632 in Bourgueil, (according to Massignon, confirmed by Mark). Engagement contracts often occurred between ages 8 and 12, or sometimes older. The minimum age for both children was 7. So, Francois was born in 1610 or before, based on the other children’s births.
• Daughter Renee Trahan was baptized on February 28, 1612 (confirmed by Mark).
• Daughter Lucrece Trahan was born on November 14, 1614 (confirmed by Mark).

Guillaume’s parents were probably married in the same place, or at least nearby. In a feudal society, people were generally restricted to living within the domain or seigneury of the feudal Lord.

While we will probably never know exactly, it’s nearly certain that Guillaume was born in Montreuil-Bellay where his siblings were born.

Furthermore, per Massignon, who very clearly viewed the original records in person:

A second branch [in Montreuil-Bellay], likely related, includes Anthoyne Trahan and Barbe Barault, with three children baptized between 1610 and 1616.

I’d wager this was a brother of our Nicolas Trahan, or maybe a cousin.

The Trahan family was very clearly active in the Saint-Pierre Parish church, adjacent the Prieure des Nobis, tucked just beneath the castle.

The great irony is that I visited this location, quite by accident, a roadside stop at a beautiful castle along the Thouet River, completely unaware. We knew that the Trahan family was from “someplace near here” because the Trahan winery, our destination, was a few miles on down the road – assuming it’s the same Trahan family. (A Y-DNA test would answer this question.)

Montreuil-Bellay is a historic French town surrounding a fairytale-like castle, so it was the perfect and logical place to stop for a quick walk and travel break.

I had no idea how close I was, literally feet from where Guillaume was baptized and where he lived. As I walked through the ancient village, I trod the same streets and cobblestones as Guillaume, his brothers and sisters, and his parents before him.

Who knows how long the Trahan family had inhabited this location and this region? For all we know, they may have lived here before the castle and the churches were built. People didn’t tend to move far. Their ancestors may have labored to construct the holy structures in which their descendants worshipped.

Montreuil-Bellay began as a Gallo-Roman fortified town built on the hill beside the Thouet River. Around the year 1000, Foulques Nerra, Count of Anjou, known as the Black Falcon, built a citadel on the foundation of the Roman village. What would become Montreuil-Bellay was an 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.

Were our ancestors there too?

Montreuil-Bellay was surrounded by immense forests and hosted lavish festivals for hunting and falconry.

The Camino de Santiago

Not only is Montreuil-Bellay significant to the Trahan family, it’s also a pilgrim’s stop on the Camino de Santiago. Pilgrims then and now typically walk the entire distance of the Camino as a spiritual journey, an expression of devotion, or other personal reasons, especially today.

By Manfred Zentgraf, Volkach, Germany – Manfred Zentgraf, Volkach, Germany, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=748316

Known as the Way of St. James, in English, the Pilgrim’s Path begins from several European starting points, traverses through France, and ultimately ends in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain, where St. James is supposed to be buried.

Scallop shells serve as waymarkers for the Camino de Santiago, placed were pilgrims can see them to navigate the path, and also on buildings indicating places of shelter. Historically, pilgrims wore shells attached to their clothing, fostering a sense of community. After completing the pilgrimage, pilgrims picked up a scallop shell along the Galician coast, serving as proof of completion of the arduous and hazardous journey.

Pilgrimages to Galicia began in the 800s when Saint James’s bones were discovered, and Montreuil-Bellay is on one of the four major pilgrimage routes. The old l’hopital Saint-Jean, within the castle walls, served as an overnight for pilgrims and probably other travelers.

While I will never finish trekking the entire Way of St. James, I have walked many portions, and didn’t realize until I saw the clamshell markers that I, once again, had found my way or been guided to the Pilgrim’s Path while also a pilgrim on the path of my Acadian heritage. This only seems fitting.

The stylized shell’s rays represent the diverse paths pilgrims take from start to finish, both on the physical path, and in their lives. The sun or convergence of the lines represents the spirit, the universal center of all life forms, and our own sacred path that unfolds into our life journey.

Now, a year later, I discover that my ancestors lived on the St. James Way in Montreuil-Bellay. For all I know, they sheltered pilgrims and listened to their stories, hopes, and dreams as they made their way on the next leg of their great pilgrimage.

And maybe, just maybe, some of them were moved to join the pilgrim’s trek.

Let’s unravel more about the history of Montreuil-Bellay.

History of Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay – It’s Complicated

The Church of Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay, also known as the Saint-Pierre-des-Nobis church, lies in ruins today, shown by the red arrow, below.

By Lieven Smits – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8543404

The L’Église Saint-Pierre should not be confused with the castle chapel, shown in the forefront of the photo, built between 1472 and 1484 by Guillaume d’Harcourt, Lord of Montreuil-Bellay. The castle’s chapel became a collegiate church served by canons and was named the Collégiale Notre-Dame.

While Guillaume and his parents probably visited the castle church from time to time, it was not their home church.

Their church, Saint-Pierre, now in ruins, was located just on the far side of the castle, at the foot of the keep, where the earliest portion of the village was located.

The remains of L’Église Saint-Pierre are located beneath the castle on the river, accessible by descending the Saint-Pierre staircase from the Place du Marché, and was known to exist here in the 10^th century.

I can just see young Guillaume taking these steps two at a time, running on his way to church, or perhaps on his way back if his mother made him walk and stay clean on the way “to” church.

A priory entrusted to the monks of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey was established between 1097 and 1103, and church reconstruction was completed around 1140-1150. The ruins of the choir include a group of capitals from this period.

During the Hundred Years’ War (1337-1453), the castle was captured by the English and used as a military stronghold, but the French took it back again in 1443.

Probably related to that war, part of Saint-Pierre collapsed, leading to the restoration and construction of the north aisle. 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.

In the 1500s, the castle was rebuilt in the style of the Renaissance and became the residence of French nobility.

Saint-Pierre was just over a century old and still in full use in the early 1600s when Guillaume was baptized there. The church later declined, especially during the French Revolution.

In 1850, when the nave was destroyed, parish worship was transferred to the castle chapel. The church of Saint-Pierre was entirely abandoned and has continued to deteriorate. What was once the church floor is now carpeted with grass inside the ruins.

Descending the Saint-Pierre staircase from the upper portion of the town, you can see the roof of the Maurist Benedictine Priory, known as the Nobis, hidden somewhat behind the ruins of the Church of Saint-Pierre. You’ll find beautiful photos and even a video, here.

The walls of the choir, the transept, and the north wall of the side aisle still stand. Romanesque sculptures and painted walls are tucked within, hailing from the past.

The road along the church runs behind the castle, past the castle church along the Thouet River to the medieval mill.

The castle church, towering over the mill, would have been reserved for the nobility and aristocrats, and Saint-Pierre, the neighborhood church, served the townspeople.

Rumors exist about tunnels between the castle, the former priory, and Saint Pierre, but as far as I know, they are just rumors. Tunnels might have been as much for escape from the castle during a siege as protection for clerics inside the castle. Tunnels do exist within the castle complex, but their paths and full extent remain mysteries. Some may have collapsed, but others can be toured.

Saint-Pierre has never revealed all of her secrets, including the location of the medieval cemetery. Normally, it would be located beside the church, so it must be very close.

I’ve been eyeing a greenspace behind the church ruins and nobis suspiciously, but it would take cadastral maps between then and now to see if houses at one time occupied that greenspace, or if it could be the cemetery.

We don’t know how large Montreuil-Bellay was, but in the 14^th century, when the Hundred Years’ War began (1337), the population was starving and took refuge in the castle mote and the neighboring monastery.

The Castle on the Hill

Guillaume Trahan grew up in Montreuil-Bellay in the shadow of the castle on the hill.

The castle dominated the landscape from near and far.

Tradesmen lived in the village, and vineyards surrounded the castle along the fertile river valley.

Thanks to Mark, we know that the church records before the early 1580s no longer exist, and the records after that are substantially incomplete, at least through 1602.

However, we also know that Guillaume’s siblings were baptized in 1605, 1612 and 1614, and additional records for Guillaume’s siblings are found in the 1620s and 1630s, after Guillaume had already departed for Acadia.

Let’s take a walk through the village.

The old and new are woven seamlessly in Montreuil-Bellay.

The Wisteria was in full bloom, climbing ancient walls in narrow streets.

Stepping out from the medieval streets into the plaza reveals the castle unexpectedly.

The Montreuil-Bellay castle is breathtaking, as in catch-your-breath-in-your-throat breathtaking. I can only imagine how impressive it was in the 1500s and 1600s when we know our ancestors lived here.

I involuntarily drew in my breath sharply – as if I had inadvertently stepped back in time into a Disney fairy tale.

The bridge across the mote was constructed in the 1800s to allow the townspeople to worship in the chapel after Saint-Pierre was abandoned. The castle stood to the left.

The church stood straight ahead – but our ancestors probably never worshipped here.

A passage in the wall to the left beckoned, but the gates were closed.

Was there a gate here when Guillaume frequented these streets? Was the castle gate closed to the Trahan ancestors, or did they freely come and go, providing some type of service to the nobility?

While Guillaume’s siblings were being married and living in Montreuil-Bellay, Guillaume had moved on, in one way or another, to Chinon.

Chinon

How did Guillaume manage to leave Montreuil-Bellay and find himself in Chinon?

This 1649 map shows both locations, about 21 miles apart.

We know, unquestionably, that Guillaume was in Chinon on July 13, 1627, when he married Francoise Corbineau, in the beautiful Saint-Etienne church. This assuredly would have been where the bride lived, but if Guillaume wasn’t living there, how did he meet and come to know Francoise?

Between ChatGPT and Cousin Mark, we finally obtained a reasonable translation of their marriage document.

The 13th day of July 1627 were married Guillaume Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and of Renée Desloges (or Deslonges), 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 Francoise’s parents were not named, so I weigh that heavily as well.

Given that Guillaume was later noted to be both a toolmaker and a Captain in the military, he may have been in Chinon on business or errands related to his occupation when he met the lovely Francoise. He may also have been an apprentice.

It’s unlikely that the couple moved away from where she lived, although it’s possible.

They traditionally would have married in the bride’s church and would have lived nearby in the parish – probably within a block or two, at least at first.

Many of Chinon’s medieval homes still stand and are residences and businesses –  and sometimes both, with families living above their shops – probably a lot like 400 years ago.

Between their marriage and the departure of the Saint-Jehan on April 1, 1636, from LaRochelle, Guillaume and Francoise probably had at least five children, given that they were married for 9 years, but only two survived, one of whom was Jeanne Trahan, born about 1629.

Where was Guillaume between 1627 and 1636, and why did he decide to leave with his young family for New France – L’Acadie?

Bourgueil, It Appears

Guillaume was in Bourgeuil, but we don’t know if he lived in Bourgeuil, or nearby, or visited often. We do, however, have hints – and a mystery.

In this 1699 drawing, you can see the Saint Germain church, at far right, the village, and the Abbey at left, with the Loire river on the horizon above the town.

In April 2024, I visited Bourgueil while on an Acadian tour. While I appreciated the history, I really didn’t think this stop pertained to me.

I was dead wrong.

The local volunteers from the Saint Germain church greeted us warmly. Claude Boudrot, one of othe tour operators (and owner) is at left.

Sales of and donations towards these black slates are being used to raise money for desperately needed repairs to the roof of this ancient church, parts of which are over 900 years old. These are the actual slate pieces that will be used.

At the time of the visit, I had absolutely no idea that one of my ancestors had walked and worshipped here. But that has all changed now.

Let’s get some help from a historian

Excerpts taken from the book by R. Ranjard: “La Touraine archéologique” (1975) and modified slightly, photography mine:

Bourgueil like Chinon was located on the Roman road between Tours and Angers and dates to at least 977. Later, Bourgueil became a domain of the Count of Anjou, due to the château at Chinon. The town was destroyed and rebuilt several times and suffered greatly during the wars between 1482 and 1586.

The parish church, dedicated to Saint Germain was consecrated in 1115 and cited in a papal bull by Pope Innocent III in 1208.

The front door of the church opens into the center marketplace of the old town. Directly across from the church stands a winery, now occupying one of the town’s historic buildings that probably stood when Guillaume walked there.

The western portion, with its latticework construction, is visible from the outside and stands out from the rest of the church, which has been more frequently modified.

Gargoyles grace the front and a pump and watering trough stand on cobblestones beside the entrance.

They would have been here when Guillaume graced these doors.

Life-sustaining water for both man and beast.

The structure is composed of three naves forming a single main nave. The outer walls bear heavy buttresses.

The choir, in line with the central nave but set slightly off-axis, is a fine example of late 12th-century Angevin style. Built on a square plan, it consists of three bays, each with three vault compartments.

The ribbed vaults are supported by crossed ogives (ribs) and tiercerons (intermediate ribs). Four elegant columns, with foliated capitals, support the inward-falling arches.

The keystones of the vaults are especially elaborate and richly decorated with figures, allegorical characters, and scenes from the Holy Scriptures.

The stained-glass windows in the chevet (east end of the choir) beautifully color the choir. The windows of the apse are topped by pointed arches.

The bell tower rises to the north, flanked by a stair turret topped with a small dome shaped like turtle scales. The upper floor was converted into a prison, as noted by local tradition. On the second floor, four squinches support four small vaults, the remnants of an earlier structure [that probably supported a dome]. The floor below contains the bells and was rebuilt in 1888. The octagonal spire, capped with a crown of small triangular openings, is characteristic of 12th-century design. It does not rest on the choir as is often the case, but on a tower. This design is rare and contributes to the distinct silhouette of the church.

As luck would have it, the Bourgueil churchbells rang when I visited. Guillaume would have heard these very bells, but of course, I didn’t realize that then.

In the alley to the right, you can see some of the original foundation stone, plus one of the additions, part of the roof, and a few windows.

Given that we find records of Guilluame and his family in Montreuil-Bellay, Chinon and Bourgueil, he may not have lived in Bourgueil itself.

The nearby countryside blossoms with vineyards and farms.

Scattered farmhouses dot the landscape.

Some more prosperous than others.

The French idea of “old” vastly differs from the US. People live in medieval homes everyplace, and this farmhouse along the road isn’t even “old” yet.

This medieval barn is still in fine shape.

It may be in one of these locations with the ancient farmhouses and barns, church steeple more distant but within walking distance, beckoning like a beacon, that Guillaume Trahan and Francoise Corbineau lived with their children.

Nearly every event in the life of a Catholic is tied to a ritual within the church, in addition to regular church services. Birth, baptism, first communion, marriage, holidays, last rites, and burials.

Wherever Guillaume lived, and whichever church he attended, his faith and religious practices would have been a guiding force.

Services Inside Saint-Germain Church

Pierre Martin, one of Acadia’s founding settlers, and his wife, were married in Saint-Germain church in Bourgueil. It would have been here, at this altar, that Pierre and his beloved took their nuptials that bound them for life.

Text from Massignon, image from Mark:

The parish registers of Saint-Germain de Bourgueil, which survive back to the 15th century, help trace the origins of both Pierre Martin and Guillaume Trahan.

One of the earliest relevant entries is from January 6, 1629 (written as 1630), recording the marriage of Pierre Martin and Catherine Vigneau. Witnesses included François Dubreil, “nobleman” and captain of the Château of Monseigneur de Chartres, who later became godfather to the couple’s first son, Pierre, in 1630.

The elegant and complicated signature of “Guillaume Trahan, marshal” appears, a few lines further along, on these same registers, on April 11, 1632, as a witness to a marriage.

On December 14, 1632, he signed as witness to the betrothal of his brother François Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and the late Renée Desloges of Montreuil-Bellay, to Renée Pineau of Bourgueil.

Guillaume witnessed another marriage on October 29, 1635—just months before departing for Acadia.

I think the date was actually September 7th, not December. Massignon’s right, though, that Guillaume’s signature is incredibly beautiful, which tells us that the clergy at Saint-Pierre in Montreuil-Bellay taught him to read and write – and to scribe his name with great flourish, as an artist.

This document also reveals that Guillaume’s mother died sometime between his marriage in July 1627, when she is not noted as deceased, and September 1632, when Francois married, and she is listed as deceased.

Now that we know Guillaume was in Bourgueil, often, even if he didn’t live there the entire time, let’s take a closer look at the Bourgueil that Guillaume, his brother, and fellow Acadian Pierre Martin, knew.

Every Catholic church has chapels tucked away that are dedicated to saints or the Mother Mary. Saint Germain is no different.

Pilgrims, parish members and visitors light candles and offer prayers. My husband is Catholic. I am not. So, our own ritual is always that he lights a candle for both of us.

This simple act of faith is incredibly meaningful and beautiful, bringing me closer to my ancestors by allowing me to share this devotional act.

This giant clamshell, which probably originally functioned as a holy water font, is mounted beneath a sign detailing the history of the church restorations.

Rimmed and mounted in brass today, with the holy water held in the bowl stabilized by pebbles, this massive shell may or may not have been in the church when Guillaume attended.

While the church is not directly on the St. James Way, which is associated with the scallop or clamshell, this shell could certainly be associated with pilgrimage or a prized relic from the Age of Exploration, given that the shells of this size typically originated in Asia and the Pacific.

I really wanted one of those pebbles as a memento, although I didn’t understand why at the time. I wasn’t sure it was appropriate and didn’t see anyone to ask, as we had stepped away from the group into the side chapel, so I left all of the pebbles there.

When I visited Bourgueil, I was unaware of the Trahan connection to that location. Now I recognize the allure of those pebbles.

I may not have “known” about that connection, but I assuredly felt it. I think my ancestors were shepherding me around.

Somehow, I was transported back in time, or maybe into a timeless realm would be a more apt description.

What else happened here, in this ancient church?

Did Guillaume visit because he lived nearby, or were his daughters baptized here?

What about his children who didn’t survive?

Guillaume and Francoise were married for 9 years before setting sail for Acadia with two children. They would have brought forth probably 5, and possibly more.

Are those children buried here?

Were their funerals held here, their mother sobbing her eyes out?

We don’t know where Guillaume’s two surviving children who sailed on the Saint-Jehan to Acadia were born and baptized – nor do we know where the children who were surely born and died are buried.

We know Guillaume was active in this church, so those events would either have taken place here, in Chinon, or in a small church or chapel someplace in between. Perhaps near the woods of Bourgueil.

I followed in Guillaume’s footsteps, treading on stone steps worn smooth by centuries of worshipers, and stepped out into the sunlit plaza. Just like he had.

Was this the final place he prayed before leaving everything behind to set forth for Acadia? What, and how much was he leaving behind? What did the future promise?

Did he ask himself those questions here?

Did he pray for guidance in this holy building?

Perhaps in the chapel where we lit those candles?

Did he turn around and look back, wondering if he was making the right decision?

Maybe he needed a pebble too.

Bourgueil, Chinon and Montreuil-Bellay were not the only churches in the area, as shown by this poster at Bourgueil.

The St. Pierre de Bourgueil Abbey with its beautiful gardens, was only a few blocks from Saint-Germain. This drawing reflects the layout circa 1600, before the fire of 1612, although the entire abbey was not destroyed.

Guillaume would have walked these grounds in reflection, perhaps, or visited to purchase anise, coriander or liquorice cultivated by the monks and especially prized when candied in sugar. The daughters would have loved that!

The front of the Abbey today.

The Abbey is quite large and includes several buildings.

Portions of the oldest part of the Abbey lie in ruins, but some buildings are in use as community resources.

This beautiful wall encloses something, but what?

I desperately wanted to open this door and find out.

And this one too.

Guillaume’s time in Bourgueil is marked by three church records, indicating that he was a Catholic in good standing or he would not have been allowed to sign as a witness. From all appearances, everything seemed to be going well for him.

However, appearances can be deceiving, and that’s not all of the story…

Trouble in the Forest

As it turns out, Guillaume might have gotten in a bit of trouble, or maybe quite a bit.

Massignon reveals a crucial secret:

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 (friend, as we have seen above, 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…”

It is observed that this sentence struck as defendants men of various occupations: religious, squires, captain of guards… and simple inhabitants.

The heavy fines may have influenced some of those involved to leave the region. By April 1636, Guillaume Trahan’s name was on the Saint-Jehan passenger list bound for Acadia.

Moreover, Guillaume Trahan was still in Bourgueil the following year (1635), since he appears there as a witness to a marriage; in which disposition of spirit did this “feller of forest” — excessively judged, perhaps — find himself, when emissaries (perhaps Claude de Launay-Razilly himself?) came to him charged with recruiting volunteers to go to Acadia, Chinon and in Bourgueil? Did they envision before them a country with a freer system, with intact forests where one could be able to cut wood as and when it seemed good?

For Guillaume, fined so heaving in 1634, the promise of a new life in a land of free forests may have been quite appealing.

Note the year here – 1634. The same year that the priest in Loudun was burned at the stake. The message was clear. Richelieu, who ruled Chinon where this court was located, was rich, powerful, and not someone to be crossed.

Forests played a vital role in the region’s climate, landscape, and economy, particularly in relation to winemaking. Wine was an important commodity.

From this, we know that Guillaume was living at least near Bourgueil, probably in one of those two parishes, and perhaps in or near the forest. Was the land he cleared to build his house? If so, was he allowed to remain on the forest land. Given the nature of the sentence rendered at Chinon, it would appear not, but it’s difficult to interpret these ancient documents. I’m also curious about how the young ox was involved in the situation.

There are also challenges with this information. The Bourgueil forest was near Bourgueil, especially given the connection with the Abbey and two churches, and this event clearly occurred someplace between Chinon and Bourgueil. Chinon was part of the Richelieu family landholdings, but neither Bourgueil itself, nor Montreuil-Bellay were directly controlled by Richelieu. But let’s face it, Richelieu was the Cardinal, and perhaps he did not need to “directly” control anything.

I wish we could pinpoint the area of the infraction more closely, because it’s probably an important clue as to where Guillaume lived.

There were other small churches sprinkled along the road South of Bourgueil that Guillaume and Francoise may have attended. Regardless, this is the path Guillaume and his fellow forest conspirators would have traveled as they made their way to court in Chinon. Today, a 10 mile walk that would have taken about 4 hours, assuming a bridge or available boat across the Loire.

Guillaume was levied a hefty fine, 120 livres in total. I can only imagine what his wife, Francoise, had to say to him. Or maybe it’s best if I don’t imagine that. Wives probably haven’t changed much when their husbands do boneheaded things.

This infraction clearly wasn’t an accident, and it didn’t just happen once. What were Guillaume and the others thinking? This was serious.

If Guillaume was clearing land to build a house, he clearly knew that activity would not go unnoticed. This had to be more than a misunderstanding. What were the others doing?

I’d bet there’s more to this story too, but regardless, Guillaume paid dearly.

In 1642, the monthly salaries were listed for the passengers on the Saint Francois, -another of d’Aulnay’s ships that transported families to Acadia. That list showed that laborers earned between 6 and 15 livres a month. Other than the surgeon, Jacques Bourgeois, the highest paid person was the baker who made 200 livres a year, a carpenter made 16 livres per month, the gunner, 15, the ship’s pilot, 12, and soldiers, 10. So, if the wages were comparable with 1634, that wood harvesting adventure in Richelieu’s forest cost Guillaume about a year’s worth of income. How would he ever have paid that much?

How would he feed his family?

Where would they live?

Not only was Guillaume shamed, publicly humiliated, fined, and probably broke, he would also have been hurt, angry, and embarrassed. Everyone in all the nearby farms and towns knew, and I’m sure he saw the looks people gave him, eyes averted, or muted whispers behind hands. And those were the nice people. There were assuredly others. Not to mention that his wife’s family lived in Chinon.

Indeed, Acadia might have seemed like the perfect doorway to a fresh start.

Recruitment

By HRDarr – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=46137362

Isaac de Razilly, a member of the French nobility, pictured above, at right, was appointed a Knight of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem. An explorer and member of the French Navy, he founded La Hève in Acadia in 1632 with 300 men and 3 monks at the request of Cardinal Richelieu. The Razilly estate in France was located at Roiffé, about 10 miles north of Loudon. The Razilly fief was part of the castle of Loudun.

After Razilly’s untimely 1635 death in La Hève, his cousin, Cardinal Richelieu, reached out to Charles Menou d’Aulnay, Razilly’s right-hand man, to continue expansion efforts in Acadia.

We don’t know if Guillaume Trahan paid his fine and was in good standing once again, or if Richelieu suggested he would be a good fit in Acadia and maybe waived part or all of the fine if Guillaume sailed for the New World. Or maybe Guillaume didn’t have much choice. Richelieu needed settlers, and Guillaume needed a graceful exit from his predicament.

We also don’t actually know what Guillaume did for a living. Several people have interpreted his occupation differently: a captain in the military, an edge-tool-maker, a knifemaker, a ferrier, a marshall (listed both in 1632 and 1671), and a blacksmith. One thing seems certain – his occupation had something to do with metals and was a skill that would have been needed in Acadia. There were no other men on the Saint-Jehan listed with this type of trade.

We just don’t know what happened, and probably never will, but it does seem like his departure is probably more than just a coincidence. I’d love to compare the other names on the list of residents fined, the amount of their fines, and the passenger list of the Saint-Jehan – although Massignon says they were not on the list.

But once again, things may not have been exactly what they seemed.

La Rochelle

Regardless of why, Guillaume and Francoise, along with young Jeanne and her unnamed sibling, (probably a daughter who later married Germain Doucet in Acadia), boarded the Saint-Jehan along with their servant, who was “also from Bourgueil.” The roster is unclear whether the entire family group, or just the servant was from Bourgueil.

“Guillaume Trahan, officer of the cavalry, with his wife and two children and a servant, also from Bourgueil”

Wait?

What?

Servant?

How could a man who was just fined a full year’s worth of wages possibly manage to have a servant?

If you’re looking for an answer – I don’t have one. I have no idea. Part of me wonders if the “servant” was perhaps one of the laborers fined in the forest incident who also wanted a way out.

The only other servant is with the six members of the noble Motin family.

Another family is noted as being from “the parish of Bourgueil near Chinon.”

Pierre Martin, laborer, his wife and one child are listed from Bourgueil.

Nine other passengers or families are listed as being from Bourgeuil, and six others are from Chinon. It doesn’t actually say if Guillaume is from Bourgueil or Chinon. His name is placed exactly between the two groups, and the words “also from Bourgueil” are after the unnamed servant.

The people from Bourgueil all seem to be laborers, but some of the passengers from Chinon are craftsmen – a cooper, two tailors, and a cobbler, in addition to two laborers.

This entire group from this area probably traveled together to La Rochelle. Perhaps Razilly or Richelieu bought their possessions and livestock in France, providing them with an incentive and cash for the journey.

La Rochelle

In La Rochelle, passengers preparing to board ships for New France often camped in the grass beside the quay.

Did Guillaume, Francoise and their children walk into town, near the harbour, to attend mass one last time?

To pray for safe passage?

Was Francoise happy to be leaving, or was she already grieving having to leave her family?

Whose idea was this journey to a new land?

It would still have been chilly on April 1^st when the Trahan family sailed through the twin towers of the La Rochelle harbour.

The family would have stood on deck, watching the horizon until the shores of France shrank to a spec and finally disappeared. Then, there was no place to look except forward.

Had Guillaume gone back home, to Montreuil-Bellay, to see his siblings, nieces, nephews, and elderly father? Did he visit his mother’s grave one last time before packing up and setting out for La Rochelle?

Did he have the opportunity to say one final goodbye?

Soon, very soon, he would be an entire world away.

La Hève – Fort Sainte Marie de Grace

La Hève, now LaHave, was established by Isaac Razilly in 1632, but we really don’t know if there were any families or only soldiers and traders at the fort’s garrison. We believe that there were only “300 men” and 3 priests before the arrival of the Saint-Jehan in 1636.

Razilly died in 1635 and was buried in the cemetery beside the fort, but the dream of Acadia did not perish with Razilly. It was carried full-steam-ahead by Charles Menou d’Aulnay.

Thirty-five days after leaving La Rochelle, the Saint-Jehan delivered her passengers in their new home, the tiny outpost settlement of La Hève on the southern Atlantic coast of what we know today as Nova Scotia.

Did the Trahan family have any idea what to expect?

Cobblestone streets in French villages, stunning churches with stained-glass windows that echoed with the chants of monks, and medieval houses gave way to mud, a community well, and an outdoor oven for everyone to share.

Before embarking on this journey, they had never seen the ocean, or beaches before.

The La Hève beaches were rocky and the shoreline battered by wind, rain, and storms. Nor’easters, hurricanes, and biting, driving blizzards. It seemed like the Atlantic was always angry about something.

The tiny settlement planted apple trees fertilized with hope, some of which remain today.

Today’s museum stands where the lighthouse stood, which stood where the original fort was built by Razilly’s men.

One wonders why Razilly named his Le Havre de Grace after a location of the same name at Cap del La Heve in Normandy, France

The settlers constructed their tiny village of a few homes above the fort, clustered on the next outcropping, pictured above and at right, below.

LaHave is starkly beautiful today.

The fort’s remains could still be seen eroding into the sea in the early 1900s, but the only remnants today are in the museum, and these two pieces from La Hève, found in the Acadian Museum in La Chaussee.

Guillaume and his family wouldn’t be in La Hève long, because d’Aulnay moved the seat of Acadia from La Hève to Port Royal at the end of 1636.

They probably barely had their house built, then they were packing up and boarding a ship once again. Ironically, no one cared how much timber you cut here.

Still, they were probably glad to be heading for a more sheltered, forgiving location.

Port Royal

When Guillaume and family arrived in Port Royal, he would have been about 36 years old, maybe 37.

While La Hève is on the fully-exposed Atlantic coast, Port Royal is in the more-protected Rivière du Dauphin, now the Annapolis River.

Not only is the location easier to defend, but it’s also much less exposed to the elements.

The first several years at Port Royal are marked by a lack of records.

Some survive in governors’ and administrative notes, some as records of war, some in England, and eventually, in 1671, more than three decades later, a census which helps us piece the families together.

Unfortunately, no parish records exist until 1702. Based on the fact that no one arriving on the Saint-Jehan except for Pierre Martin, Guillaume Trahan, and their families was later found on the census, nor descendants with their surname, it appears that either most people died or returned to France.

Buried in various Port Royal records are tidbits about Guillaume’s life.

Massignon tells us that on September 21, 1639, Guillaume’s daughter, Jeanne Trahan, is noted as being the godmother to the child of Charles d’Aulnay and Jeanne Motin, a fellow passenger on the 1636 ship. Furthermore, the record states that Jeanne’s parents were Guillaume Trahan, a blacksmith (others interpret this as toolsmith), and Francoise Charbonneau, his wife. Massignon consistently reported Francoise’s surname as Charbonneau, not Corbineau. More important to this record is that Guillaume was noted as Jeanne’s father, and with an occupation.

Life Was Not Peaceful

Life was not peaceful in Port Royal. Charles d’Aulnay and Charles La Tour were dueling governors of different parts of Acadia. In reality, much of the confusion rested at the feet of the officials in France, but nonetheless, the animosity grew into what has been termed an “Acadian Civil War” lasting from 1635 when Razilly died until 1653 when La Tour married d’Aulnay’s widow.

Guillaume wasn’t just a witness or bystander, but was involved, one way or another, with all of this. There were no disinterested parties.

In 1640, La Tour sailed across the bay from Saint John, now the Fort Howe National Historic Site, and attacked d’Aulnay at Port Royal, killing one of his Captains. La Tour surrendered, but unhappy with that, d’Aulnay sailed back across the bay to blockade La Tour’s fort.

On July 14, 1640, Guillaume represented the residents of Acadia, inhabitants at Pentagouet (in Maine), La Hève and Port Royal, alongside Germain Doucet and Isaac Peseley who testified at an inquiry against Governor Charles La Tour.

In 1642, d’Aulnay blockaded the river at Saint John for five months while La Tour was gone. In July, La Tour returned from Boston with four ships and 270 men to retake his Fort Sainte-Marie, chasing d’Aulnay back to Port Royal, but not actually catching him.

The next year, still angry about d’Aulnay’s blockade of his fort, La Tour chased d’Aulnay to Penobscot Bay where d’Aulnay was forced to run two of his ships aground. In the resulting skirmish, d’Aulnay lost another smaller ship, and three men from each side died. Satisfied with his damage, La Tour proceeded on to Boston to trade. D’Aulnay was left licking his wounds and fuming.

Later in 1643, La Tour, on his way back from Boston, attacked Port Royal again, killing three men and injuring seven, while La Tour only lost one man. La Tour’s men rampaged through Port Royal, burned the mill, stole furs and gunpowder, killed livestock and pillaged homes. For some reason, La Tour did not attack the fort directly, which was only defended by 20 men.

Guillaume’s home was unquestionably affected. Pillaged – but if he was lucky – not burned. His family must have been terrified. I’d wager that he was furious.

About 1643, Guillaume’s daughter, Jeanne Trahan, married Jacques Bourgeois, the local surgeon, merchant, and trader. This was a very good marriage for Jeanne and Jacques, both. In 1643, there were few eligible partners.

Port Royal was quite small, with only a few homes along the waterfront. In 1654, there were only about 270 people in total, but most had moved up the river to the BelleIsle area. Nicolas Denys noted of Port Royal that “all the inhabitants there are the ones whome Razilly brought from France to La Hève.” In other words, the original founding families. Later arrives settled upriver or across the river

In the 1671 census, families averaged about 5.5 people per family, so if that holds true in 1654, there were about 50 families total, most of whom did not live in Port Royal proper. In 1643, there were many fewer.

This 1686 map, more than 40 years later, shows the general layout of Port Royal, with Jacques Bourgeois living at Hogg Island, a few homes along the waterfront, the mill, the (then-ruined) fort, and the church shown. Even in 1686, there were few homes along the river.

On Easter Sunday, 1645, d’Aulnay gathered every man possible, 200 in total, and attacked La Tour’s fort across the bay at the mouth of the St. John’s River. La Tour was in Boston again, but his young wife valiantly commanded the soldiers who defended the fort for five long days.

Outnumbered and outgunned, she agreed to surrender terms that specified giving quarter to and not harming the soldiers. D’Aulnay agreed to those terms, but immediately broke them by hanging every soldier in La Tour’s garrison while his wife was forced to watch with a rope tied around her neck. Taken hostage, then “punished” for trying to send a letter through a Mi’kmaq trader to her husband, she died in captivity three weeks later.

Given their status in the community and military experience, Guillaume Trahan,  Germain Doucet and Jacques Bourgeois would clearly have been involved in this unfortunate chapter in history.

Charles d’Aulnay, penning his will in 1649, writes of his wife that “She will not forget the wife of Guillaume Trahan.” This version of his will was replaced in 1650 wherein he mentions how kindly Germain Doucet has cared for his nieces and nephews and leaves to him and his wife both money and free rent for the rest of their lives. Doucet’s wife was Guillaume’s other daughter, whose name is not known.

D’Aulnay unexpectedly died in 1650 in a boating accident, leaving a power vacuum in Acadia – and an opening for La Tour. Acadia had been at war internally, with La Tour on one side and d’Aulnay on the other, essentially since the beginning of Acadia – by this time nearly 20 years. The warfare and warring factions were siphoning the resources and sapping the energy of the Acadian people. It had gone on for too long.

Acadia needed to heal.

In 1653, La Tour returned – and are you sitting down – married d’Aulnay’s widow. La Tour’s brave spouse and d’Aulnay were both probably turning in their graves.

Everyone was probably shocked, but this union offered the healing Acadia needed – and just in time. A united Acadia was much stronger than a divided Acadia. And the English were coming.

Acadia Falls

On July 14, 1654, the English unexpectedly attacked Port Royal. English Colonel, Robert Sedgewick was prepared to attack New Netherlands when peace was unexpectedly reached. “All dressed up with no place to go,” Sedgewick decided to attack Acadia instead.

He first reached La Tour’s fort at Saint John on the 13^th and took that, capturing La Tour in the process. He then sailed across the bay where Port Royal’s governor, Emmanuel Le Borgne, was known to be quite friendly with the English and had been accused by La Tour of conspiring with them.

Entirely unprepared for an attack, especially of this magnitude. Sedgewick had 533 New England militia members, plus 200 professional soldiers sent by Oliver Cromwell. About 130 soldiers at Port Royal attempted to defend the fort, but the English killed 5 and forced the rest to retreat into the fort.

The resulting siege lasted until August 8^th when Le Borgne surrendered with conditions very generous to the English – perhaps “too generous”. By this time, 113 Acadians were being held by the English, along with 23 cannons, 500 weapons, 50 barrels of gunpowder, and Le Borgne’s own ship, the Chateaufort, that was loaded to capacity with alcohol.

In the surrender conditions, Le Borgne was allowed to keep his ship, and the alcohol, which was quite valuable, and return to France. His sons were allowed to remain at Port Royal “as hostages” to watch over his property in Port Royal and elsewhere in Acadia, which he was allowed to retain. Many Acadians accused him of treason and blamed him for the capture of Port Royal and the savagry that followed.

Sedgewicks men tore through Port Royal, defaced the church, smashed windows, floors and paneling before burning the church and killing the settlers’ livestock.

Sedgewick and Le Bourgne’s handiwork would not be undone for another 16 years.

Guillaume signed the Act of Capitulation as “Mr. Guillaume Trouin, syndic of the inhabitants” in the “opposed” column. Given that Germain Doucet was the Commander of the Garrison at Port Royal, he and his wife, Guillaume’s daughter, and their children, if they had any, would have been shipped back to France along with the French soldiers and any Acadians who wanted to leave.

It must have pained Guillaume greatly to sign that agreement, understanding that it meant he would never see his daughter, or grandchildren if there were any, again. Doucet’s wife was one of only two children that Guillaume had with Francoise known to survive to adulthood.

The English had no plan to govern Acadia, because they had no plans to take Acadia in the first place, so they formed a council of Acadians to govern on their behalf, with Guillaume Trahan at its head.

A Second Family

We don’t know exactly when Guillaume’s wife, Francoise, died, other than she was alive in 1639 and was deceased by about 1666 when he remarried.

Given his position within the community, and that most widowers remarried fairly quickly, it’s likely that Francoise died about 1665, because Guillaume remarried about 1666, based on the ages of his children with his new wife, in the 1671 census.

Guillaume married 21-year-old Madeleine Brun, daughter of Vincent Brun and Renée Breau of La Chaussée, south of Loudun, not far from Chinon.

Forty-five years, give or take – that’s a BIG difference in age, but Guillaume was a “good catch”, a respected man of power and influence, and they began a second family.

In 1667, Acadia was returned to the French by treaty, but not effectively until 1670. In 1671, the first census was taken, which reflects Guillaume with his new wife and family.

In the 1671 census, Guillaume’s occupation is listed as “Marshal”, the meaning of which is questionable, but Karen Reader suggests it may be a farrier. We saw that same word back in the 1632 Bourgueil record too, so it’s at least consistent.

Guillaume might have been a bit sensitive about the 45-year age gap, because he is listed as 60 “or thereabouts”, when he was approximately 70. He’s listed with his wife,  Madeleine Brun, 25, son Guillaume, 4, clearly his namesake, Jehan-Charles, 3, and Alexandre, 1. They were living on 5 arpents of land with 8 cattle and 10 sheep.

Three sons. Guillaume must have been thrilled. We have no idea how many children Guillaume and Francoise lost, but given that we know of only two who survived to adulthood, and women were of childbearing age for about 24 years – they would have had at least 12 children, if not several more.

Perhaps this second family, even if he was the age of grandparents or even great-grandparents, was just what he needed.

In the 1678 census, Guillaume is listed with 3 boys and 3 girls, although children’s names and ages aren’t given.

One unknown Trahan child who was born about 1673 was reflected in the 1678 census, but had died by the 1686 census.

In the 1686 census, Guillaume has died, because his widow, Magdelaine Brun, age 47 (actually 41), has remarried to Pierre Bezier, and her children with Guillaume are listed as:

• Guillaume, 19
• Jean, 17
• Jean-Charles, 15
• Marie, 14
• Jeanne, 12
• Magdelaine, 9

The next child is Susanne Joan, 2 months, who is her child with her new husband, Pierre.

Guillaume’s last child, Magdelaine, was born about 1678, and his wife had remarried by 1686, so Guillaume died sometime between 1678 and 1685 when Magdelaine became pregnant for Susanne Joan.

As is typical, it’s more likely that Guillaume died closer to her remarriage, so perhaps he died about 1684. He may have been ill between 1678 and his death in his mid-80s, if not older.

Guillaume lived a very long life for someone born around the year 1600, or perhaps earlier, when medical care as we know it was entirely nonexistent.

Guillaume would have been buried in the Garrison Cemetery after his funeral service in the church, just a short walk from where he lived in Port Royal. Every single person in Port Royal would have attended. Guillaume wasn’t the oldest resident in Acadia, but only two or three men, one of whom may have been his old friend, Pierre Martin, were older. Today, the Acadian graves are unmarked, and their beloved church is long gone.

This humble marker commemorates the location of the Catholic church, with the fort’s bastions and the river in the background. “Mother” and I visited and stood on this hallowed ground, exactly a year ago, today.

Where did Guillaume Live in Port Royal?

It’s somehow ironic that for all the things we don’t know about Guillaume, we do know approximately where he lived in Port Royal.

The Simon Pelletret profile in WikiTree provides the following information:

On the list of expropriations of 1705 appear the names of François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, Simon Pelletret and Michel Boudrot, as owners of the locations “joining the side of the old fort”. Four of these five names are those of the first settlers of Port-Royal. Trahan for example having arrived on board the Saint-Jehan in 1636 and Boudrot having been trustee at Port-Royal in 1639. In 1705, all four had long since died and it must be assumed that their heirs were the current owners of these locations at the time of the expropriations. We believe that it was the same with Simon Pelletret. Given that there was no male of this name on the censuses of Acadia from 1671, we think that this Simon must have been the first husband of Perrine Bourg. Simon Pelletret would therefore have received, like François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, and Michel Boudrot, one of the first concessions at Port-Royal, very close to the fort.

This makes perfect sense because these were the first settlers, and many of the descendants of these men were assigned compensatory land just across Allain’s River, side by side.

Cousin Mark sent me a map that shows the land of the men whose land was  expropriated when Fort Anne was expanded in 1705.

You can see the familiar landmarks of the fort, the river, today’s Rue Saint-Antoine, and the long, skinny strips of land that would provide everyone a tiny bit of waterfront.

You can see the various properties, overlaid with the dimensions of the larger 1705 fort extension. The Trahan land (79) falls inside and outside of the upper star point.

I was able to use contemporary landmarks to “true” this map and my location when I visited. The approximate location of Guillaume Trahan’s land is marked with the red broken arrow.

Once again, when I was there, I had no idea I was standing on his land.

I am either standing on or right beside Guillaume Trahan’s five arpents of land in this photo. You can see the fort’s bastions and the Edge of the Queen’s Wharf where the Acadians were forced to board the expulsion ships in 1755.

I wonder if Guillaume’s descendants, generations later, knew that they were actually being forced to leave from the ground that their original Acadian settler ancestors were given after arrival.

Guillaume would have surveyed the Rivière du Dauphin towards the sea to watch for approaching ships, and to determine whether they were friend or foe. Here, in 1654, he watched the English warships approach. Here, in 1670, he watched a French ship approach with a French governor, once again. Guillaume probably wondered if he would live long enough to see this day.

Acadia would fall to the English again, but not in his lifetime.

Cannons eventually stood on Guillaume’s land, defending Port Royal, or at least trying.

The portion of the Rue Saint Antoine that became part of the fort runs beneath this culvert today.

Guillaume Trahan’s land abutted the street and was located between where I’m standing and about where that white statue stands.

It was here, overlooking the river, fort, and town, that Guillaume spent nearly half a century, raised his families, attended church, saw his daughters married, fought wars, waved goodbye to one daughter forever, buried his wife and a few grandchildren, remarried, and added a second family to his legacy.

All he had to do was turn around to visit the church and parish cemetery where he would join Francoise and rest for all eternity.

A Final Wink

Guillaume lived an incredible life. While he must have been frightened from time to time, none of that is evident in his legacy of leadership.

He was, after all, human, though.

I have felt throughout the process of walking with my Acadian ancestors that I have been guided, or perhaps shepherded, or maybe dragged kicking and screaming by some.

Sometimes, I felt like they were trying so hard to communicate something to me, and I was strolling along obliviously as they were SCREAMING, “Over here, look over here!”

Guillaume has, perhaps, one of the more persistent voices. Thankfully, I finally heard him, even if he did have to drag me across an ocean, two other countries and several provinces for me to hear him clearly.

Guillaume, I’m listening if you have something else to say. Please, please whisper in my ear.

And right on queue, Guillaume spoke up.

Last year, when I was in Bourgueil, I was disappointed that Pierre Martin wasn’t my ancestor, and he was the only Acadian ancestor with roots there.

Nonetheless, I felt an incredibly strong “pull.” I don’t know how to explain it, other than I felt I belonged there, to that place. Part of me was there and had returned home. I kept asking if there were other Acadians from there, and of course, the answer was “no.”

I very much wanted to help preserve the Saint-Germain church, even though it wasn’t “mine.”

The tour guides, Claude and Anne-Christine always donate on behalf of their tour groups to the places that so generously make themselves available so that we can appreciate the history first-hand.

Anne-Christine, shown above, holds the roof slate that the folks from Bourgueil had created to commemorate our group’s visit.

We all donate to the “pot” to be divided among the various locations, but I felt the need to contribute something more. I have no idea why.

Jim and I were digging around in our billfolds to see how many Euros we had between us.

I don’t remember how much we came up with, but after the tour, I handed it quietly and privately to the very kind lady, in the center, above, who had explained about the urgent need for the roof restoration.

This lady clearly loves this church, and facilitated the tour inside. Now, I wonder if she, too, is a cousin.

A few weeks later, I received a text on my phone from Anne-Christine.

It made me cry.

Thanks to that very kind lady, Jim and I now have our own roof slate, waiting for its moment to be anchored in place, an unbroken thread from the day Guillaume last worshipped here 11 generations ago.

A piece of me will forever remain in Bourgueil, held fast under the sky, while centuries of clouds turn above it. Long after we are gone, the names will still whisper — perhaps puzzling those who will one day look up and wonder about those white marks on the roof – some 300 or 400 years into the future.

I hope Guillaume will explain.

Guillaume spoke. He called to me, and even though I had no idea at the time, his voice clearly reached me across the centuries. Three times I had stood exactly where he had – without knowing it until months later. Three times, he had guided me.

I had some catching up with Guillaume to do, but now, everything makes sense.

_____________________________________________________________

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The first glimpse we have of Jeanne Trahan that provides any hint about her age is the 1671 census, where she is listed as 40 years old, living with her husband, Jacob (Jacques) Bourgeois, a surgeon, age 50, in Port Royal with their 12 children, two of whom have married.

This provides her birth year about 1631.

The 1678 census doesn’t state ages, but the 1686 census gives her age as 57, suggesting her birth about 1629. The 1693 census shows her as 64 which tallies to 1629. The 1698 census shows her as 72, which subtracts to 1626.

Censuses give us one 1626, two 1629s, and one 1631.

Jeanne’s first child was born about 1644, so any of the two earlier dates could work. If Jeanne was born in 1631, she would have married at 12, and that’s too young even for Acadian brides.

Her last child was born about 1667, which means that if Jeanne was 42 when this child was born, she would have been born in 1625. If Jeanne was younger than 42, say, 40, she would have been born about 1627, so that works. We know this is the youngest child that lived, but we don’t know if Jeanne had a later child or children that perished.

Further research revealed that Jeanne’s parents had married in July of 1627 in Chinon, France, so it’s very unlikely that she was born before 1628.

Based on this information, I would think that Jeanne was probably born right around 1629, as two of those dates indicate.

Jeanne’s Parents

We know who Jeanne’s parents were through a very unusual resource, at least for that time in Port Royal.

Prior to 1650, Charles Menou d’Aulnay, a very influential figure in Jeanne’s life, was the Governor of Acadia.

In an article by Geneviève Massignon, published in 1963, she reports the baptism of d’Aulnay’s daughter, thus:

Stating that Marie, daughter of Sir Charles de Menou, squire, Sieur d’Aulnay, Lieutenant General for the King on the coast of Acadia, land of New France, was baptized around 4 o’clock in the evening on the same day she was born—at about 1 o’clock in the afternoon, Wednesday, September 21—and that she was consecrated to the Holy Virgin by Claude Petitpas and Mr. Boudrot, first syndics of Port Royal. Her godfather was Pierre, son of Pierre Cachet, and her godmother was Jeanne Trahan, daughter of Guillaume Trahan, a blacksmith, and Françoise Charbonneau.

Marie d’Aulnay was born in 1639, in Port Royal.

Not only does this provide us with the name of Jeanne’s parents, it also confirms that they were both living in 1639, or they would have been noted as deceased.

So far, we know positively that Jeanne’s parents were very early arrivals to Acadia.

As it turns out, we are very fortunate that the arrival of Jeanne Trahan, with her parents, is documented on the passenger list of the Saint Jehan, d’Aulnay’s ship.

The Saint Jehan left La Rochelle on April 1, 1636, with 78 passengers and 18 crew aboard, although few stayed in Acadia. On board were Guillaume Trahan, “officer of the cavalry”, his wife, two children, and a servant, from Bourgueil. Many of the laborers, with whom he is listed, are from Bourgeueil or Chinon. A translated list can be found, here and here.

I wonder about the identity of the servant. Who were they, and why were they were chosen for this journey?

Jeanne’s Birth

In a feudal society, people married where they lived, and they didn’t have children far from that area.

Chinon is located about two miles from the Loire River, as the crow flies, on the banks of the Vienne River, just upstream, 5 or 6 miles from where it joins the Loire. The old town was much smaller than it is today, with the medieval village below the castle on the north side of the river.

By Graphisme_Agnes_Dahan.jpg: Agnès Dahanderivative work: Nev1 (talk) – This file was derived from: Graphisme Agnes Dahan.jpg:, FAL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18585582

A strategic location, given that rivers were trade routes, Chinon was fortified by the 5^th century. Fortresses and castles servicing both English and French Kings were added and expanded in later centuries.

By Neige19 – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16671278

The castle, once home to King Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, passed to Richard the Lionheart in 1189, who was childless, and then to their youngest son, who would become King John of England, He lost the castle in 1205 to the French King Philip II Augustus.

No machine-readable source provided. Own work assumed (based on copyright claims)., CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=335359

In 1307, French King Philip “The Fair” ordered the Knights Templar arrested. Jacques de Molay, the Grand Master, along with others were held in the castle tower above the keep, as a prison, before they were tried and executed.

In 1429, Joan of Arc, then just 17, climbed the path up the hill and met with the future King Charles VII of France and, as an emissary of God, acknowledged him the rightful heir to the throne.

Louis XII, waited in the castle at Chinon for the papal legate to deliver his annulment papers that would allow him to marry Anne of Brittany in 1498.

No machine-readable source provided. Own work assumed (based on copyright claims)., CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=335335

Although steeped in history, Chinon fell out of favor as the royal residence, and in 1631, Chinon became part of the estate of the Duke of Richelieu. Cardinal Richelieu not only neglected both the city and the fortress – he partially dismantled the castle, using the stone to construct the nearby town of Richelieu.

Cardinal Richelieu, along with his cousin, Isaac de Razilly before his 1635 death, and Razilly’s cousin, Charles d’Aulnay recruited Acadians from within their family territories, which very probably explains the connection between Jeanne Trahan’s parents, d’Aulnay, and their decision to leave Chinon for Acadia.

The Medieval City

Given that Jeanne’s parents were married at Saint Etienne in Chinon, I’d wager she too was born in Chinon, although she may have been baptized in a different church.

We know that Jeanne was born approximately two years later, so her birth could have taken place anytime in 1628 or 1629, and anyplace in Chinon.

Chinon was not a small town, even then. Located on the river Vienne, not far from the Loire, Chinon borders the Poitou and was an important Medieval transportation gateway. By the time Jeanne’s family lived there, Chinon had been in existence for more than a thousand years.

The stately Chateau Chinon and her fortress stand on the hill in the perfect defensive position. The Riviere Vienne in front, with white limestone bluffs rising behind the city.

As a child, would Jeanne have been allowed to climb the hill to overlook the old city from the castle gate, following the path that Joan of Arc walked in 1479?

Jeanne’s home probably still stands in one of Chinon’s ancient, medieval streets, yet today. Many of these buildings date from the 14^th, 15^th, and 16^th centuries.

The front of Saint Etienne church which is much deeper than it is wide. This church was reconstructed in the 1400s, except for the bell tower. By the time Joanne’s parents were married here, the remodeled church was already 200 years old.

Little Jeanne would have held her parents’ hands as they walked to church, stepped inside, and took their seats to pray.

You can view an absolute treasure trove of photos, both interior and exterior, here. Turn the lights down, listen to some Gregorian chants which would have been the music echoing in the church in the 1600s, and slowly transport yourself into the pictures.

Become Jeanne. Become her parents. Worship with them in their church.

The medieval streets with their half-timbered homes were wagon cart width then, and there’s no way to widen them without tearing out entire streets of historical homes. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened. Small cars can thread their way through, carefully.

The old city is woven into the new, and medieval homes aren’t torn down, but incorporated into life in Chinon today. The bricks of the church show wear, but this is the same stone that little Jeanne passed, and probably touched, tracing outlines of centuries past, on her way to worship.

Jeanne’s family would have lived within a few blocks of the church which was located in the eastern part of Chinon. The entire town wasn’t very large, and each of the four historic churches would have had its designated parish surrounding the church itself.

By the time Jeanne and her parents sailed to Acadia, they had a second child, which tells us that Jeanne had lost at least one, if not two, siblings.

The cemetery in Chinon would probably have been someplace close to the church, initially in the churchyard, but there’s no trace today. Maybe it was in what was undeveloped, open space between these two closely located churches.

At some point Jeanne’s parents had a difficult decision to make. Were they going to take their two children and set out for New France?

Given that they lived in a city, Jeanne’s father would have been a craftsman or tradesman of some type, and not a farmer, so he would have found that the new world offered opportunities not present in France. The roster of the Saint Jehan listed him as a military officer, so perhaps he was doubly useful on the voyage.

La Rochelle was the gateway to the New World then, at least from France. First, they had to travel from Chinon to La Rochelle.

La Rochelle

In 1636, Jeanne would have been 6 or 7 years old, certainly old enough to remember a grand adventure. Chinon must have been buzzing about this new opportunity, because six other men on the Saint Jehan were from Chinon. Six families are listed as being from Bourgueil, including Jeanne’s parents, along with another five men.

I can’t help but wonder if they were related.

It’s only about 100 miles to La Rochelle, today, but then, the path was much less straightforward. The group that was preparing to depart may have taken the Vienne or Loire River partway, then switched to an overland route – or perhaps it was overland all the way.

By Jack ma – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6931687

There was really no good way to get there from Chinon. Perhaps they took the old Roman road network. They main street through the oldest part of Chinon had originally been a Roman road.

Jeanne must have been wide-eyed. An entire world opened up for the little girl who had probably never ventured more than a few blocks away from home.

Was she excited, or frightened, or maybe a little bit of both?

Once in La Rochelle, the Acadia-bound group would have gathered near the wharf before departure.

Would-be passengers camped on the grass together, sometimes for several days, before boarding the ships bound for New France

Jeanne’s mother probably didn’t let her play along the waterfront, both for fear of losing her in the busy port, and for fear of her falling into the ocean. Jeanne might have been excited about their adventure, but her mother was probably much more reserved in her enthusiasm.

It would still have been chilly on April 1^st when they boarded the Saint Jehan, someplace between 45 and 55 degrees, not to mention the strong, biting Atlantic winds that chilled their bones. Maybe it wasn’t just the wind sending a shiver up their spines.

Jeanne’s parents probably went to church one last time.

Once on board, there really was no going back. At least not easily.

Getting settled below deck, where it was more comfortable, was probably a relief, although they would have heard the unfamiliar creaking of the ship and it rocked to and fro as they sailed between the twin towers, past the church’s steeple, into forever. .

The trip would normally have taken someplace between 6 weeks and 3 months, depending on the weather, the design of the ship, and the experience of the crew. For comparison, the Mayflower took 66 days in 1620.

La Hève

However, the Saint Jehan was speedy. Nicolas Denys, agent for the Saint Jehan, was responsible for the passenger list and recorded that they arrived in La Hève on May 6^th, just 35 days after their departure.

Compared to either Chinon or La Rochelle, La Hève must have seemed like an incredibly foreign world. Maybe another world altogether.

There were no streets, castles, or churches. There might have been one small chapel, perhaps in the fort, but we aren’t sure.

They were one of only seven families at La Hève, a harsh, windswept peninsula protruding into the Atlantic. There were no other Europeans, and the Native Mi’kmaq must have seemed very strange to Jeanne.

Instead of stone castles and ancient buildings lining medieval streets, they had a small fort where the museum now stands, on the end of the cape.

The families lived down the beach, on the next point, in the distance, where they would have built their own homes.

Jeanne probably was allowed to play along the beach here, collecting shells and rocks. Perhaps. At least eventually.

What child doesn’t love pretty rocks?

The sea must have seemed endless to a little girl. If she remembered much about France, it was fading into the distance.

They didn’t stay long at La Hève, as d’Aulnay was in the process of moving the families and workers from La Hève to Port Royal, where they would be settled by the end of the year.

Port Royal

Port Royal was yet different again.

The next glimpse we have of Jeanne was in 1639 when she was allowed to stand as godmother for Charles d’Aulnay’s daughter.

This is somewhat unusual, because normally a godparent would need to be 16, because their role is to support the child’s spiritual development, which a child as young as 10 would not be prepared to do. An exception would have to be made by the local priest, which might have been done if there was an urgent need – but with at least a few Acadian women available, why would the exception have been made to allow a 10 or even 11-year-old child to act in that capacity? The oldest she could have been, if she were born the same year (1627) that her parents married, was 12.

The identity of the other godparent, Pierre, son of Pierre Cachet, is a mystery. Perhaps Pierre Choiseau from the Saint Jehan roster, who arrived with a wife and two children from Bourgueil?

And why were two children selected? Did the fact that the baby was baptized at 3 hours of age, at 4 in the afternoon, have something to do with the selection of the godparents? Was it because that’s who was available? Was the baby distressed?

Probably so, because there was no priest present, and the baptism was performed by two Acadian men.

Marriage

We know that Jeanne Trahan married Jacques Bourgeois about 1643 in Port Royal, so she was considered an adult by then, or at least adult enough to marry. Her first child in the 1671 census is shown as having been born in 1644.

Catholic church law allowed girls as young as 12 to marry. That and the fact that she had a baby the following year suggests that she was at least 13 or perhaps even 14 when she married, and 15 when the first baby arrived. This correlates with the 1629 birth year.

In 1643, there probably weren’t many marriage candidates in Acadia, so the pool was limited. Perhaps the family focused on finding a good match and not so much on the couple “falling in love.”

Or maybe you fell in love with whomever opportunity placed in front of you – maybe in the literal pew in front of you in church. Or the neighbor next door.

Jacques Bourgeois, the surgeon and also d’Aulnay’s right-hand man would have been considered not only a good marriage candidate, but the best possible candidate in all of Acadia for young Jeanne.

It’s probably not a coincidence that Jeanne married early. No one was really secure on the frontier. Life was short – sometimes much shorter than expected. Live it while you can!

Needles and Pins

In 1643, 1644, and 1645, there’s no question that Jeanne’s father, as a military officer, was involved in both the raids on LaTour’s forts, and the defense of Port Royal. Both of the men Jeanne loved were at risk.

The most harrowing episode was in July of 1643 when Port Royal was attacked, three of d’Aulnay’s men were killed, and seven injured. La Tour rampaged through Port Royal, burning the mill and pillaging homes.

In the midst of all of this, Jeanne had her first baby, a little girl. Daughter Jeanne Bourgeois was born sometime in 1644. She never married, at least not that we know of, and died in her late 20s or early 30s sometime after the 1671 census, but before the 1678 census.

In 1646, Jeanne’s second child, Charles Bourgeois, arrived. He married Anne Dugas around 1668 and would eventually settle in Beaubassin, where he died sometime around the birth of his last child in 1678. His widow remarried the following year.

Given the four-year gap between Charles’ birth and Jeanne’s next child, she assuredly brought a baby into this world in 1648 who died before the 1671 census.

Jeanne’s children who passed from this world too soon in Port Royal are buried someplace in the Garrison Cemetery, in what are today unmarked graves

Hogg Island

We don’t know exactly where Jeanne’s parents lived in Port Royal, but the early settlers were given land near the fort.

When the fort was extended in 1705, Guillaume Trahan’s descendants were expropriated. Jeanne was living on what is today Annapolis Royal’s main street.

Sometime in this timeframe, and before 1650, d’Aulnay awarded Hogg Island to Jacques Bourgeois and Jeanne Trahan, a prime piece of real estate adjacent the fledgling outpost, fort, and village of Port Royal.

This 1686 map shows two structures on Hogg Island. Jeanne’s parents would have lived in one of the houses along Main Street, very close to the fort, before she married Jacques and set up housekeeping on Hogg Island.

This 1753 map shows Hogg Island more clearly.

Not only was Hogg Island large and well-positioned along the river, it was much larger, 20 arpents, than the typical land grant of around 6 arpents – and was surrounded by the river on three sides. Perfect for a merchant trader like Jacques.

Jeanne would live on Hogg Island most of the rest of her life – probably at least 50 years. In the above photo, I’m standing on a part of Hogg Island on the causeway crossing the river, photographing the river towards the ocean, which shows another portion of Hogg Island, along with Port Royal, to the left.

Mom’s ring that descended from her Acadian line traveled with me to find her ancestors.

Today, Hogg Island looks very different and is the home of Canada’s first tidal power generation station. Ironic that the Bourgeois land here, and in Beaubassin, would eventually both be involved in different types of natural alternative energy production.

As a businessman, Jacques would have loved that idea! Making money from the tide!

Hogg Island would be unrecognizable to Jacques and Jeanne, today, but it’s still the land where she lived and loved and grieved.

I didn’t realize when I was having this little picnic on the pulloff on the bridge that I was actually on the end of Hogg Island. Jeanne was welcoming me home with a seagull chorus, and I didn’t even realize it.

Community

We know that Charles d’Aulnay had confidence in Jeanne, because she became his daughter’s godmother at a very early age, so when d’Aulnay unexpectedly died in 1650, it may have affected Jeanne deeply.

Port Royal parish registers from this timeframe don’t exist, but I’d wager that Charles d’Aulnay was the godparent for Jeanne’s second child and first son, Charles Bourgeois, born in 1646.

By 1650, Jeanne and Jacques had a daughter, a son, and either a baby born in 1648, or a baby born in 1648 who had died. Because there was never a male child named after her husband, Jacques, I’d bet this baby that died before 1671 was named Jacques.

Jeanne’s fourth child, Germain Bourgeois, joined the family in 1650. Again, without parish registers, we’ll never know, but I’d wager that the Germain Doucet de la Verdure, who was married to Jeanne’s unidentified Trahan sister, stood as Godfather to Germain Bourgeois.

Germain would marry twice, first to Madeleine Belliveau in 1673 and then to Madeleine Dugas in 1682, both in Port Royal. Germain was involved in the founding of Beaubassin with his father, but died in 1711 in Port Royal

In 1652, the family expanded again, and Marie Bourgeois joined her siblings. She married Pierre Cyr in 1670. The couple founded Baubassin, along with her father. She married a second time in 1680 and died in in Beaubassin in 1741.

The Unexpected Wedding

Charles d’Aulnay and his rival, Charles LaTour had been engaged in skirmishes and outright battles for years in Acadia, attacking each other’s ships and holdings, laying seige to each other’s forts and villages, and attempting to run the other out of Acadia.

D’Aulnay’s unexpected death in 1650 opened a power vacuum in Acadia and set the stage for Charles La Tour to return. In 1653, to everyone’s surprise, he married d’Aulnay’s widow, which assuredly had to be quite the scandal since the two men were mortal enemies, and d’Aulnay certainly had a hand in the death of La Tour’s wife in 1645.

Acadia needed to heal its internal wounds, and that’s what their marriage served to do. It’s a good thing, because just a year later, Acadia would be attacked from the outside.

The 1654 English Attack

The attacks just kept coming, except this time, the English were the aggressors, not a rival French faction. And, Jeanne was either heavily pregnant, or had a newborn baby. Either way, both Jeanne and the child were extremely vulnerable.

The Acadians had been trading with the English out of Boston, so the last thing they expected was an attack.

Yet, that’s exactly what happened.

Robert Sedgewick had been ordered to attack New Holland (New York), but after a peace agreement was unexpectedly signed, he decided to attack someone else. The Acadians – yea – what about the Acadians? Let’s go there and attack them!! Tally ho!!!

Because it was peacetime, the Acadians were not expecting the English ships sailing up the Riviere Dauphin to be “enemies,” bent on doing them harm.

Sedgewick, with 300 armed men, sailed up the river to Port Royal in July 1654, facing about 130 Acadian men and soldiers who were caught entirely by surprise and valiantly attempted to defend the fort. Not only were the brave Acadians outnumbered, more than two to one, but the 200 English soldiers were professionals.

Once again, Jeanne’s father and her husband would both have been involved in defending Port Royal, as much as was possible.

The Acadians did their best and holed up in the fort, but the English held them and Port Royal under siege.

This is where things get really ugly.

On August 16^th, Germain Doucet de La Verdure, Jeanne’s brother-in-law, surrendered to the English, having negotiated what the Acadians felt were reasonable surrender terms under the circumstances. Acadians were provided at least some protection. The settlers were to keep their land and belongings, the French soldiers in the fort were to be paid in pelts and transported back to France, not killed, and the Acadians could worship as they saw fit – meaning as Catholics – without interference.

The French officials would also be sent back to France, and an Acadian council was put in place to function on behalf of the English during their absence. “French officials,” in this case, probably included Germain Doucet and his Trahan wife and children, if they had any.

Those terms could have been much worse since both the English and the French knew very well that the Acadians stood no prayer of winning a battle against the English who outnumbered them, were far more experienced, and who had not been caught by surprise.

The Articles of Capitulation:

It was concluded on board the Admiral’s ship, the Augustia, anchored in the river and before the fort of Port Royal, “and for the greater security of the contents of the above articles the said Sieur de la Verdure has left for hostage Jacques Bourgeois, his brother-in-law and lieutenant of the place, bearer of his procuration for the present treaty, and the Sieur Emanuel le Borgne, the son, until the completion of the present agreement which was begun at the first sitting held yesterday and concluded today, August 16^th, 1654.

The reference to Jacques as Doucet’s brother-in-law means he was married to either Jacques’ sister, or Jeanne’s sister. Jacques was not known to have any siblings in Acadia and immigrated alone. On the other hand, we know that Jeanne Trahan had a sister who was listed on the ship’s roster. Germain Doucet and his wife were not known to have had any children themselves, and we never hear from them again – so it’s presumed that they returned to France.

While this capitulation agreement spared the Acadians’ lives, it would have pained Jeanne greatly to watch her sister climb aboard that ship destined for France, knowing she would never see her again. Her sister would have probably been between 20 and 25.

During this time, it must have been a bit touch-and-go, an emotional roller-coaster. Jeanne’s father, Guillaume Trahan, was a syndic at Port Royal, meaning an official of some sort, and signed the capitulation agreement on behalf of the Acadians. Would Jeanne’s parents be forced to leave too?

Apparently not.

Following the signing of the agreement, the English soldiers immediately broke the agreement, burned and pillaged Port Royal and the surrounding homes. They torched the church and the priest’s home, ransacking the area for days. There’s no way that Hogg Island, nor Jeanne’s parents’ home near the fort, were spared. In fact, being some of the more well-to-do families of Port Royal, they were probably targets.

The settlers were offered passage back to France, if they wished. It’s unknown how many, if any, went.

In addition to all of this, Jeanne had either four or five young children at home between the ages of 2 and 10. Given that her youngest child would have been about 2, Jeanne would have been expecting in 1654 – or newly delivered.

Jeanne and Jacque have another “blank space” in the 1671 census, where a child’s name should have been.

This baby probably died at or shortly after birth in 1654, because their next child was born a year later in 1655.

Was the death of their child in 1654 connected in any way to the August attack?

While Hogg Island was prime real estate, an island separated from Port Royal only by a small stream, it could also have been a death trap. Where were they to go? How could they stay safe? There was river on three sides.

What did Jeanne do?

Guillaume Bourgeois was born the following year, probably named after Jeanne’s father, who was most likely his godfather. The church had burned, so this child would have been baptized wherever the priest happened to be that day, with whomever could stand as godparents. Jeanne’s father was a good choice.

Guillaume Bourgeois eventually left Port Royal for Beaubassin where he married in 1686, having only one child before his death between 1690 and the 1693 census.

Another child would have been born to Jeanne about 1657, with that child passing as an infant, because Jeanne’s next child was born the following year.

Daughter Marguerite Bourgeois was born in 1658, first married in 1676, and settled in Beaubassin where she remarried in 1679. She remarried again in Port Royal in 1707, but returned to Beaubassin where her final child was born. She lived until 1732, passing away in Beaubassin.

Francoise Bourgeois was born about 1659, married Claude Dugas in 1673 in Port Royal, died after the 1693 census but before 1697 when Claude remarried. She probably lived near her mother in Port Royal, and they would have enjoyed one another’s company, especially since so many of Jeanne’s children departed for Beaubassin. Francoise’s husband was in Beaubassin in 1682, but they are listed in Port Royal in the census, so it’s unlikely that Francoise and Claude ever actually settled in Beaubassin.

Anne Bourgeois was born about 1661, married Rene LeBlanc in Port Royal about 1678, and had settled in Grand Pre by 1688. Their children were born there and also in Les Mines (Minas). Anne died in Grand Pre in 1747.

Jeanne would have given birth to another nameless child about 1663 who probably didn’t die immediately, because there’s a full four years between Anne and Marie, born in 1665, suggesting that the unnamed child born in 1663 lived at least long enough to be weaned before Jeanne became pregnant again.

Marie Bourgeois, Jeanne’s second daughter to be named Marie, was born about 1665 and married Antoine LeBlanc about 1680. They lived in Port Royal in 1686, but had made their way to Les Mines by 1693 where she died sometime after 1703 and probably after 1714.

1665 was a year of incredibly mixed emotions for Jeanne. She welcomed a new daughter, but bid farewell to her mother, Francoise Corbineau who was about 56 – certainly not old by today’s standards.

We know that Jeanne’s mother died about 1665 because her father remarried about 1666, at age 65. Of course since Jeanne’s mother’s death date is calculated based on the approximate year that Guillaume remarried, we really don’t know how long between the death and the nuptials.

Perhaps a Scandal

Jeanne’s father was about 65 years old when her mother died.

Jeanne must have been shocked by what transpired soon thereafter.

Around 1666, Guillaume Trahan married Madeleine Brun.

That’s not so unusual, but what is rather surprising is that Madeleine was born on January 25, 1645, in La Chaussee, France. We have an exact birth date from the parish registers, documented by the church in LaChaussee, and yes, Madeleine was 21 years old in 1666.

Since Acadian parish registers don’t exist from that time, the best we can do is to calculate the year of their marriage based upon the year of the birth of their first child as recorded in the 1671 and later censuses.

While many grooms were substantially older than their brides, a gap of 44 years is quite remarkable. It may or may not have been considered a bit scandalous at the time. One reason why I suspect it might have been is because in the 1671 census, Guillaume has reduced his age to 60, from 70, so perhaps the situation was a bit “sensitive”.

This turn of events may have been difficult for Jeanne to wrap her head around. Jeanne’s new step-mother was dead-center in age between Jeanne’s two oldest children.

Madeleine Brun may well have come over to play with Jeanne’s daughter, Jeanne when they were both little. Then not so many years later, Madeleine married Jeanne’s widowed father.

Madeleine would give Guillaume seven more children, beginning in 1667 – Jeanne’s half-siblings.

Both Jeanne’s last child, a second daughter named Marie, and Madeleine’s first child, a boy named Guillaume, were born about 1667.

Jeanne’s daughter, Marie Bourgeois (the younger) married Pierre Comeau about 1689, spent her life in Port Royal, and died in June 1716 there.

Jeanne went from having only one known living sibling who married Germain Doucet and either died or traveled back to France, to having seven half-siblings who were all a generation or more younger than her. Jeanne’s last half-sibling was born about 1678, when her father was about 77 and Jeanne was about 50, so she was half a century older than her youngest sibling. I might have a difficult time wrapping my head around this one, too.

In 1668, the year after Jeanne’s youngest child was born, her children began marrying, which meant that in short order, grandchildren began arriving. She must have been overjoyed. Who doesn’t love babies?

However, many of Jeanne’s children founded the distant colony of Beaubassin, so while Jeanne welcomed her first grandchild in 1670 thanks to son Charles, a little girl named Marie, she wouldn’t know most of her grandchildren, and certainly did not see them on a regular basis, if at all.

It’s possible that Jeanne had one or two additional children who perished before the 1671 census. If Jeanne was born in 1629, she would only have been 38 in 1667 when her last known child was born, and clearly had more time to bring additional children into the world, at least in 1669 and 1671. Many women bore children into their early or even mid-40s, so Jeanne could have buried two or even three more children.

Port Royal Becomes French Again

In 1667, Port Royal was returned to France by treaty between France and England. Functionally, the transfer didn’t happen until 1670 when a new French governor arrived. He immediately ordered a census be taken in the spring of 1671.

THANK GOODNESS!

The 1671 census is incredibly important to genealogists, because it’s the first glimpse of families, complete with ages, occupations, wives surnames, and other critical information.

The 16 years spent under English rule had been good to the Bourgeois family. Jacques and Jeanne were listed first in the census and were the wealthiest, most prosperous family in all of Acadia.

• Jacques Bourgeois, surgeon, 50 and his wife Jeanne Trahan, 40. One son and one daughter are married. Then the list of children:
  • Jeanne, 27
  • Charles, 25 (also listed as a farmer under his own household with his wife and a daughter who is one and a half)
  • Germain, 21
  • Marie 19 (also listed as gunsmith Pierre Sire’s wife, age 18, with a 3-month-old son)
  • Guillaume, 16
  • Marguerite, 13
  • Francoise, 12
  • Anne, 10
  • Jeanne, 4
• They have 33 cattle, 24 sheep, and 20 arpents of land in two different locations.

It’s hard enough to lose a baby or young child, but I can only imagine how soul-crushing it must have been for Jeanne to lose her oldest child, a daughter by the same name, sometime after the 1671 census, where she was 27, and before the 1678 census, where she is absent.

I’ve often wondered why daughter Jeanne never married. In a land of scarce marriage partners, it has occurred to me that she may have been disabled in some way. Her birth could have been difficult, or a myriad of other reasons. Regardless, unless she married after 1671 and left no trace, she died as an adult between 27 and 34. She was the first adult child that Jeanne had to bury. I hope Jeanne was able to bury her daughter beside her mother in the cemetery just up the hill.

If daughter Jeanne had married and died in childbirth, then Jeanne would have buried her daughter and grandchild both someplace in the garrison graveyard..

Beaubassin

In 1672, the year after the first census, Jeanne’s husband, Jacques, and some of her adult children founded Beaubassin, the first Acadian colony extension beyond Port Royal.

In addition to being the local doctor-of-all-things, Jacques had been actively trading for decades. Under English rule, trading furs obtained in Acadia with New Englanders, especially out of Boston, was quite profitable. In exchange, the Native people would barter for manufactured items, such as axes, kettles, and guns.

Jacques, a savvy man, had long ago learned the importance of strategic locations.

The Missaguash River connected the Baie Francoise, today’s Bay of Fundy, with the greater Atlantic, 15 miles across the isthmus of Chignecto to the Baye Verte. Jacques recognized that as a strategic location, and that’s where he established the village of Mésagouèche, later Missaguash, eventually renamed Beaubassin in 1676.

Beaubassin was described as “the first swarming of the Acadians to establish their hive,” by one historian, but I’m not so sure that Jeanne was the queen bee of that hive. In fact, I don’t think she was there at all for more than 20 years.

Beaubassin was between 9 and 12 days away by boat, one way, and someone had to maintain the home fires. Raise the rest of the children in Port Royal and keep an eye on Jacques’ business ventures there.

It seems that Jeanne wasn’t only Jacques’ wife, but was also his business partner.

However, that doesn’t mean Jeanne wasn’t heavily invested and involved in Beaubassin. Not only was it an increasingly important aspect of her husband’s life and  trade, her children had set out to become the first settlers in Beaubassin.

More land, less supervision, the ability to trade freely with the English – lots of benefits.

But for Jeanne’s mother’s heart, Beaubassin must have been incredibly bittersweet.

Of Jeanne’s children:

1. Eldest child Jeanne died at some point between 1671 and 1678, presumably in Port Royal.
2. Charles married about 1668 and probably helped his father establish the initial colony of Beaubassin.
3. Germain married in about 1673 in Port Royal and had three children before his wife died. He married a second time in 1682, and the newlyweds made their way to Beaubassin.
4. Marie married about 1670, and the newlyweds left for Beaubassin.
5. Guillaume married in Beaubassin in 1686, but seems to have been going back and forth, as there are records of him in Beaubassin and Port Royal, both before and after his marriage. In 1686, he was living in Port Royal, owned land in Beaubassin, and had died before the 1693 census when his only child is found living with Jeanne in Port Royal. This has tragedy written all over it.
6. Marguerite married about 1686 and made her way to Beaubassin with her new husband. He died there, and she remarried in 1680.
7. Francoise married Claude Dugas about 1673, and by 1679, they were living in Beaubassin. However, after some intense drama in Beaubassin between 1682 and 1684, Françoise and Claude returned to Port Royal, where they lived the rest of their lives. In the 1686 census, they still owned land in Beaubassin.
8. Anne married about 1678 and was living in Port Royal in 1686. By 1693, they were living in the Minas Basin, and in Grand Pre by 1701. She had a set of twins among her children, born in 1688, but Jeanne probably never was able to meet them and may never have known.
9. Marie married about 1680, lived in Port Royal in 1686, but by 1693, they were in Les Mines.
10. Jeanne’s youngest daughter, Jeanne, married about 1689 and is Jeanne’s only child to spend her entire life in Port Royal.

Yes indeed, Jeanne’s offspring were the life-well of Beaubassin. She essentially lost her first adult child to death, second through fourth children and her sixth to Beaubassin. Her fifth and seventh children went back and forth, apparently, between Beaubassin and Port Royal, but by 1686 were living back at Port Royal.

Jeanne’s eighth and ninth children left Port Royal by 1693, possibly as a result of the horrific 1690 attack, and landed in the Minas Basin someplace, then Grand Pre. Neither place was close to Beaubassin, each other, nor Port Royal.

Only Jeanne’s 10^th child stayed in Port Royal, living her entire life there. Francoise died in Port Royal about 1697 after returning from Beaubassin and may have died before her mothre.

Germain returned before his death in 1711, although to the best of our knowledge, he never lived in Port Royal as an adult.

Jeanne’s children not only founded and settled Beaubassin, some died early deaths on that frontier. While Port Royal was somewhat sheltered from the open Atlantic by the surrounding hills and river valley, Beaubassin was not.

Beaubassin’s settlers endured the direct westward Atlantic winds that ushered in brutal storms powerful enough to uproot trees, and horrific Arctic winter blizzard conditions.

For Jeanne, even though she may never have visited Beaubassin until her later years, her heart was clearly split between the two locations. She assuredly thought and wondered about her children and grandchildren living there every single day. Thankfully, she eventually had some grandchildren in Port Royal.

Jeanne’s second child, Charles, died not long after Beaubassin was established. Documents tell us that some sort of plague occurred in Beaubassin in 1678, and perhaps Port Royal as well – possibly accounting for Charles’s death at only about 33.

Jeanne’s father, Guillaume Trahan, died sometime between the 1678 census and 1684 when his widow remarried. His last child was born in 1678 when he was about 77.

The 1678 census is less specific, but shows Jacques and Jeanne living in Port Royal with two girls at home, 15 cattle, and 20 arpents of land. Son Guillaume isn’t shown, but, to the best of our knowledge, he also hasn’t married. I’d wager he was on his way back and forth between Beaubassin and Port Royal when the census was taken.

In the 1686 census, Jacques (called Jacob) Bourgeois and Jeanne Trahan are living in Port Royal. Their son, Guillaume Bourgeois, 31, is living with them on 20 arpents of land. However, at the bottom of the census document, Guillaume is listed as a resident of Port Royal, but owning land in Beaubassin. He has 2 guns, 30 arpents of land, 8 cattle, and 3 sheep. He clearly left shortly after the census and married in Beaubassin.

Guillaume Bourgeois, died about 1690 in Beaubassin, about the time his only child, Jeanne, was born. Something happened to his wife at about the same time, because they only had one child, his wife did not remarry, and their daughter, age 3, is living with her grandparents, Jacques Bourgeois and Jeanne Trahan in 1693 in Port Royal. Let’s hope that Jeanne’s granddaughter brought her comfort and was a ray of exuberant sunshine in the Bourgeois home.

Guillaume would have been the third of the first five of Jeanne’s children who grew to adulthood to pass over to the other side – and those deaths around 1678 and 1690 occurred in Beaubassin, so Jeanne would not have been able to attend their funeral. No closure. No comforting rituals. Just a cold message on the next ship or boat to arrive between the two locations. By the time Jeanne received word, her child had been gone from this realm for at least two weeks, probably more. Maybe somehow she “knew.”

On one of those ships, the return letter would have said that Jeanne’s daughter, Jeanne had died, then her father, Guillaume, the grandfather of many Beaubassin founders, had passed over too.

By 1690, Jeanne would have been about 60 or 61, and Jacques about 70 or 71. Their last child had married in 1689, and their granddaughter, Jeanne Bourgeois, who eventually lived with them, would have been born about this time. She may or may not have already come to live with them in Port Royal. We don’t know exactly when her parents died, but no second child was born in 1692 that lived, so one if not both of granddaughter Jeanne’s parents would have been gone by then. Young Jeanne, her grandmother’s namesake, knew her grandparents for a few years, but she never knew her parents.

I do wonder if Jeanne stood as her granddaughter’s godmother, which is why, or at least part of why, Jeanne was living with her grandparents in 1693.

By now, Jacques and Jeanne should have been enjoying something akin to retirement – looking out over the beautiful tidal river coursing past Hogg Island. Watching sunsets and enjoying the fruits of their labors. Letting someone else do the heavy lifting, as it were.

Perhaps they were. I hope so, for even just a short time. A blink and a minute.

Their life was about to change. Maybe change is too weak a word.

The 1690 attack

In 1690, the English brutally attacked Port Royal. Again.

Even though Jacques founded Beaubassin, he and Jeanne were recorded in Port Royal in every census through 1693. Even if Jacques happened to be on his way back and forth that fateful May day in 1690, Jeanne would assuredly have been at home in Port Royal

The British fleet, consisting of seven ships, with 78 cannons, manned by 736 men, sailed up the river and anchored in front of the Fort Royal. The night before, alerted by a sentry, Governor Meneval had discharged the cannons at the fort, not just to warn the residents, but to call them to assist.

Only three men responded. 42 were reported absent, although we are left to wonder if absent means literally gone from the immediate area, or absent means that they did not respond to the summons.

Would it have made a difference in the end? Probably not.

Meneval attempted to defend the fort and the town of Port Royal, but he only had 90 soldiers, and only 70 were available. Worse yet, between them, they only had 19 muskets.

How did this even happen?

These numbers are a bit baffling in numerous ways, because the 1686 census shows a total of 103 households with a total of 71 guns. A few households, 9, were widows or listed without a spouse, but do not underestimate these women. About half of them had guns, and I’d bet every single one of them knew exactly how to use them.

Nevertheless, Port Royal was outnumbered, outgunned, and overwhelmed. They weren’t just outgunned, their fort was in a complete state of disrepair, and their cannons weren’t even mounted. They couldn’t defend themselves – at all. 19 guns against 78 cannons.

Meneval had been begging for resources from France, but to no avail.

And now the chickens had come home to roost. Well, actually, the English had come to take over – but same thing!

Meneval sent the priest to negotiate surrender terms on the English warships anchored in the river in front of Port Royal. I’m guessing that Jeanne, then about 60 or 61, had already vacated Hogg Island upon seeing the arrival of the fleet, followed by the warning cannon shot.

Mutually acceptable surrender terms were reached, including that:

• The Acadians could retain their property and continue to worship unmolested
• The French garrison and officers would be sent back to France unharmed
• The fort and “King’s property” would become England’s

However, the English commander, Phipps, refused to sign the agreement the next day, although there were multiple witnesses for both sides.

This is a dark, foreboding foreshadowing of what was coming next.

Phipps claimed that he had no idea about the poor condition of the fort, which seems incredulous, given that he had met with Charles Melanson, an Acadian on the north side of the river who was widely regarded as being “too friendly” with the English, to inquire about conditions at the fort. Additionally, Phipps had sent an emissary to the fort to request surrender BEFORE negotiations began AND he could clearly see the fort from the river.

Nope, Phipps was full of hooey!

Phipps found a convenient excuse to unleash his soldiers to do whatever they wanted – and they did – plundering the town, church, and nearby farms, and burning 28 homes.

Where was Jeanne?

We have no idea.

Was the Bourgeois home burned? Most probably, unless for some reason it managed to be spared due to Jacques’ favored trading status with the English.

The Acadian men were rounded up in the church near the fort and forced to sign a loyalty oath to the English crown.

Jacques’ name is absent. Was Jacques even in Port Royal at that time? Some speculate that he actually penned the oath, which is why he didn’t sign. That’s certainly possible, but a comparison of the only signature we have of his to the loyalty oath doesn’t seem to match. I wish we had an additional sample of his handwriting.

One thing is for sure. Port Royal was a mess. Her residents were homeless and distraught – their town having been turned into an inferno.

A few weeks later, English pirates came and finished stealing and burning whatever was left.

Beaubassin, however, was untouched – this time.

1693 – Rinse and Repeat

Two things of note happened in 1693. The census, and another English attack – and we don’t know which occurred first.

In 1693, Port Royal is under the control of the English, and Jacques is listed as “Jacob.” He’s 74 and Jeanne is 64. Their granddaughter, the orphan of their son, Guillaume, is 3 and lives with them. They are more prosperous than ever, with 15 cattle, 20 sheep, 15 hogs, and one gun, living on 40 arpents of land. It’s certainly possible that Jacques’ 40 arpents is his 20 and his son, Guillaume’s 20, or that some is in Beaubassin and some is located in Port Royal.

Jeanne’s daughters, Francoise and Jeanne still live in Port Royal, and one of Jeanne’s grandchildren, Charles Bourgeois, eldest son of her son Charles, had returned to Port Royal and married, although they would return to Beaubassin shortly.

Perhaps Charles took his grandparents with them.

The English, never tiring of attacking Port Royal, apparently, struck again in retaliation for the French assisting and giving quarter to French Privateer Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, a man who fought side-to-side with the Acadians in 1690, was taken prisoner and escaped, and had become a living legend and folk-hero to the Acadians. In the 1693 census, he’s living in Port Royal.

Among other things, Baptiste, as he was called, traded for guns. While the Acadians were very poorly armed in 1690, that wouldn’t happen again. In 1693, almost every Acadian had at least one gun, but Baptiste had 15, far more than anyone else. He was arming Acadia and training the young men right under the noses of the absentee English landlords.

In retaliation, the English sailed up the river, burned a dozen homes, including one with women and children inside, and three barns full of grain.

There’s an odd twist to all of this, because Baptiste remained in Port Royal for some time. He’s there through 1703, but in January of 1706, he was named Port Captain of Beaubassin, and in the middle of January of 1707, he became the third husband of Jeanne’s daughter, Marguerite Bourgeois. She, on the other hand, was at least his third, if not fourth, or more, wives. I’m not sure how to count the bigamy annulment, or how many French wives he had. After all, he was a pirate, and there were rumors…

1793 seemed to be a turning point for Port Royal. Many younger people had had enough. They left and settled in Les Mines, Beaubassin, and Grand Pre. Port Royal had been attacked and burned twice in three years – and was living under the thumb of the despised English.

Apparently, the 1693 attack was the last straw for Jacques and Jeanne too. Perhaps their home was burned, perhaps for the second time in three years, and they were just too old and tired to rebuild again.

1696 – The English “Visit” Beaubassin

Jeanne and Jacques may have thought they were escaping to safer quarters in Beaubassin – away from the English attacks. Apparently the Bourgeois family felt safe in Beaubassin, even without a fort – because they never built one there.

Beaubassin was the only early Acadian settlement without a fortification.

They were wrong.

In 1696, Benjamin Church decided to “visit” Beaubassin to exact revenge for an attack by the French and Indians in New England, and he was seeking scalps for scalp bounty.

Arriving on September 20th, Church had to wait for the tide to rise in order to land at Beaubassin, which provided the Acadians and their Mi’kmaq allies with enough warning and time to hide in the woods.

After disembarking and climbing the path to the homes in the village at Beaubassin, Church met Germain Bourgeois on the path, reportedly carrying a gun and an ammunition box. Church’s account of this encounter, penned a few years later and published by his son, informs us that Jeanne and Jacques are living with Germain, or at least at his house, at that time.

Church’s account says that Germain, after being told to stop or he’d be shot, laid his gun down and expressed “his desire that Church would make haste with him to his house, lest the savages would kill his father and mother, who were upward of fourscore years of age and could not go,” meaning go into the woods to escape.

The next events are very reminiscent of Port Royal in 1690. The village was ransacked and plundered by the English for 9 days, most homes were burned, and the men were rounded up and forced to sign a loyalty oath.

More unbridled terror.

Jeanne had survived the English attacks of 1643, 1654, 1690, 1693, and now 1696 in Beaubassin. Good Lord, was there no end?

How many homes were burned?

Did Jeanne lose family members in those fires?

Had her son and his wife been killed in 1690? Is that why she was raising her granddaughter?

Back in Port Royal, Jeanne’s daughter, Francoise, died sometime between 1692 and 1697, inferred from the fact that her last known child was born in 1692 and her husband, Claude Dugas, remarried about 1697. Based on the number of missing children between those dates, Jeanne was probably burying Francoise’s children before she buried Francoise herself. Given Francoise’s age, I wonder if her death was related to childbirth.

Or worse…

I can’t stop thinking about the report of a woman and her children who were burned to death in a home in 1693.

I hope Jeanne was at least able to say goodbye to Francoise and bury her. So many of Jeanne’s children died where she wasn’t, so she would have experienced no soothing Catholic rituals and had no closure.

1698

In 1698, Jacques and Jeanne are unquestionably living in Beaubassin where he is listed first in the census. Jacques, 82, and Jeanne, 72, are living with their son, Germain, his wife, Madeleine Dugas, 34, and only one child, Agnes, age 12. What had happened to Germain’s other children? Is this related to the 1696 attack?

If their home was burned, they have recovered, at least somewhat, because they have 22 cattle, 15 hogs, 21 arpents of land, 3 guns, and 1 servant.

The Final Frontier

Two years later, in the 1700 census, neither Jacques nor Jeanne are found in the census in Beaubassin or Port Royal.

After more than 72 years, Jeanne has slipped the bonds of Earth, not long before or after Jacques.

They spent their last few years in the incredibly beautiful village that Jacques funded, if not actively founded by moving there himself.

Jeanne may have visited earlier, but with children and livestock to tend at home, that’s unlikely. It’s not that she wasn’t invested, however, because her children and grandchildren’s lives were spent here, and their DNA is mingled with Beaubassin’s soil.

When Jeanne arrived, sometime after the 1693 census and before September of 1696, a beautiful expansive horizon would have greeted her – along with grandchildren and great-grandchildren she had never met or known.

She had a lot of catching up to do.

I’m so glad Jeanne was able to spend her final years among her expansive family – part of the tapestry she had woven but never been able to participate in.

The little church was probably located on the hill where the English built the fort in 1750, with the cemetery just outside. This handdrawn map depicts the foundations of Acadian homes from archaeological research in 1948, 1958 and 1968.

Beaubassin was destroyed in 1750, so we have no records of where homes or the church, or the cemetery were located. However, in 1891, when tracks for the new railroad were being laid, they accidentally disturbed the old Beaubassin cemetery.

Years later, in the mid and late 1900s, additional work was done to locate the foundations of the Acadian homes.

Combining that information together, we know that Jeanne and Jacques would have been buried here, in what is today a beautiful field, with the bay in the distance, just across the bridge from the fort that was built in 1750 by those cursed English, and then abandoned five years later.

Few visit where the Bourgeois village and Acadian homes once stood, now reclaimed by nature.

Beaubassin is remote, her salt-marsh dyked fields today the domain of cows, horses, and a wind-turbine farm.

It’s this very harshness, ruggedness and remoteness that were the hallmarks of the frontier trading post and village that Jacques Bourgeois sought, and where Jeanne spent her sunset days on that final shoreline.

How Jeanne’s world changed in four score years, across two continents and three frontiers.

_____________________________________________________________

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Jacques Bourgeois first arrived in Acadia in 1641. I wrote about his journey from La Rochelle in the first chapter, Jacques Bourgeois: Surgeon of Port Royal. Please read that article before this one to obtain a complete view of Jacques’ incredible life.

These articles include many photos, which make them lengthy, but I’m writing with the understanding that many people will never be able to travel to these locations to visit Jacques – so I’m taking you along with me.

A picture really is worth 1000 words. Continue reading →

Jacques Bourgeois is one of the earliest Acadian ancestors. Unlike many, he has an actual proven arrival date, and he’s a fascinating character with an ever-present mysterious edge.

Not only was Jacques a primary founder of Port Royal as a seat of government, he also founded Beaubassin which also served briefly as the capital of Acadia. I suspect he was a far more powerful man than many knew, even then – greasing various wheels of power behind the scenes.

Jacques literally lived through the first half of the entire Acadian existence in Nova Scotia – from 1642 to about 1700. Roughly 58 years. It would be another 55 years after his death until the Grand Dérangement, as the 1755 expulsion of the Acadians was known.

Early Life

There’s a lot of controversial and unproven speculation floating around about Jacques’ potential parents. It’s all unproven, so barring new information tying Jacques to a European family, I’m omitting it from this discussion because I don’t want to be responsible for perpetuating speculative information. That said, the least speculative version appears on the first two pages of this document.

Other histories report that there were two men in Acadia at the same time named Jacques Bourgeois, one being “our” Jacques’ father by the same name. I have not seen anything to substantiate this claim either, and we do have evidence otherwise, including a 1687 deposition.

Our Jacques Bourgeois was born around 1619 or 1620 in France. That much is fact!

Between his birth and his arrival in Acadia in 1641/1642, he apprenticed as a chirurgien, a surgeon, sometimes called a barber-surgeon, someplace. Studying as a surgeon then meant an apprenticeship where one learned how to perform specific procedures, like bloodletting, from a “master.”

A barber-surgeon wasn’t the same thing as a physician. One difference was that a chirurgien required no formal training and did not have to pass a test, which a physician did. Requirements, skills, and “quality” of training and care varied widely. I’m sure that more remote country areas were grateful for compassionate care from whoever had the knowledge and skills to help them.

There are no records to suggest where Jacques studied or apprenticed.

I asked ChatGPT to draw an authentic chirurgien from France in 1640, so our Jacques might have looked and dressed something like this.

This drawing of a French Chirurgien in the early/mid 1700s shows him gleefully wearing the tools of his profession.

Medicine and hospitals were often associated with the Catholic Church, and surgeons in France during this timeframe had multiple duties. They were referred to as barber-surgeons because in addition to “surgery,” they also pulled teeth, shaved people, trimmed beards, and cut hair – probably with the same blade they used for surgery after simply wiping it clean.

Sterilization and the sources of infection weren’t yet understood, so the razors used for haircuts and grooming were also used for whatever was necessary for the next patient with an injury who needed stitches, or more.

Well, that was AFTER stitches came into vogue and wounds were closed with ligatures instead of the horrific practice of cauterization, all without anesthetic, of course.

If you’re cringing, me too.

Surgeons played key roles in battlefield medicine and “dentistry,” such as it was at the time, along with assisting with difficult childbirths. If a surgeon was called for a birth, it’s probably unlikely that the child survived. Midwives were much more experienced. Many times, by the time a surgeon was involved with any injury, it was so severe that the patient perished. If they didn’t die from the injury itself, or bleeding, they died of infection.

In the 1600s, it was still believed that the body had “four humors” and illness was caused by the humors being out of balance. Bloodletting, purging, and enemas were believed to restore balance. Sounds like a wonderful profession, right?

The only pain relief available to surgeons was opium, henbane, which is both a hallucinogenic plant and poisonous in addition to being a painkiller, and of course, “spirits.”

It must have been a depressing field – and Jacques apparently self-administered his own “tonic” in the form of strong spirits.

That might explain why Louis-Alexandre des Friches de Meneval in his 1688 report after his 1687 arrival as Acadia’s new Governor, reported that:

The cost of living was high; there was a shortage of flour and of workers; some of the soldiers were old and disabled and had ceased to be of any use; the contingent of the preceding year had received bad muskets and that of 1688 had only 19 muskets between 30 soldiers, so that half of them were without arms; the surgeon was a drunkard, and the court had neglected to supply funds with which to pay him; a hospital and medical supplies were needed.

A hospital in 17th-century France was somewhat different than today’s hospital in that it was a charitable institution, often part of a monastery, and served religious, shelter, and severe health needs. Mortality rates were high, and sometimes hospital patients were served by nuns, not doctors.

Jacques Bourgeois was the surgeon for all of Acadia – so he was assuredly well-known by everyone, but clearly worked under very challenging conditions.

Nevertheless, Jacques was the most prosperous Acadian by any measure. He also owned productive land and was a fur trader, farmer, shipbuilder and mariner as well.

His merchant vessels plied the waters of the coastline of the Baie Française, now the Bay of Fundy, to trade with the Mi’kmaq people, then following the coast in the other direction to New England to trade with the English.

But let’s step back in time to Jacques’s arrival in Acadia

D’Aulnay and Acadia

In 1632, England returned Acadia and what is now Canada to France by treaty, and the French King began granting land concessions.

Isaac de Razilly established the outpost of La Hève in 1632 on the southern coast of Acadia, almost opposite Port Royal. With Charles de Menou d’Aulnay as his assistant, they transported men and eventually a few families to populate this remote outpost.

D’Aulnay recruited heavily from La Chaussee and the area near Loudon, in France, his mother’s seigneury.

Many Acadian families farmed in the region and attended this church in La Chaussee, now attached to the Acadian Museum.

After Razilly’s death in 1635, his brother became the new Governor of Acadia, and d’Aulnay continued to work for him. Razilly never set foot in Acadia, while d’Aulnay not only ran the colony, but moved the seat of Acadia to Port Royal. He built a new fort there, moved the La Hève residents, and requested 20 additional families.

Acadian Civil War

Acadia was about to become embroiled in its own Civil War – small though Acadia might be.

Charles La Tour also held a commission, granted in 1635, for part of Acadia located at Cape Sable and the mouth of the Saint John River. Cable Sable was between La Hève (now La Have), Pentagouet and Port Royal, all controlled by d’Aulnay, and Saint John was directly across the Bay from Port Royal.

It’s no wonder that they stepped on each other’s toes. Animosity between the men grew.

Accusations and worse were flying by 1640, and d’Aulnay obtained an order from the King to arrest La Tour, administer his two forts, and send La Tour back to France to make an accounting of himselt. D’Aulnay tried, but could not overpower La Tour’s fort at the Saint John River to arrest him, so on February 15, 1641, instead of returning La Tour on the ship that had carried the King’s order, he returned with a letter stating that La Tour refused to be arrested. D’Aulnay also returned to seek assistance in Acadia, and additional power.

Eventually, d’Aulnay obtained controlling interest in the company that Razilly controlled, which had already sunk a ton of money into Acadia, with virtually nothing to show for it.

While Razilly and the rest of the investors were discouraged and disappointed, d’Aulnay, on the other hand, was upbeat and exceedingly hopeful. He saw a bright future for Acadia and his optimism must have been infectious.

Setting Sail for Acadia

On May 7, 1641, a Tuesday, Jacques Bourgeois, a young surgeon of 20 or 21, was in La Rochelle, preparing to sail to Acadia. We don’t know if d’Aulnay recruited him from his mother’s seigneury or not, or if Jacques was already living in La Rochelle or elsewhere.

Jacques was probably living in a rented room in La Rochelle, or at least slept there overnight before his journey. The crew and passengers were all paid something in advance, so they had money to visit the pub one last time, or leave money with their family, just in case they never returned.

While Jacques’ shipmates may have slept in the grass beside the dock, Jacques, as the surgeon, had a larger advance than anyone else, so he very likely slept inside, in a room someplace.

Come morning, he descended the worn stairs that had seen thousands of feet before him.

This journey he was about to undertake was both exciting and fraught with peril. Jacques, although anticipating his new life, probably slept fitfully, if at all. Maybe a little wine, or something stronger, helped with that.

Was the chill he felt, walking alone in the early morning on the uneven cobblestones just the norning dew, or was it something else? A touch of fear, perhaps?

Regardless, that day that would change his life forever. Jacques walked down the streets of La Rochelle through the city gate.

The future awaited.

The harbour was still asleep, but gleamed peacefully and beautifully in front of him. Inviting him down to the water’s edge.

In the stillness of the dawn, he walked along the waterfront, and down to the wharf. He saw the church in the distance and the towers, ancient sentries of the gate he would pass through. A portal to a distant land and unknown future.

Were they beckoning him, or warning him to stay in La Rochelle?

Did Jacques look at the harbour in front of him and wonder about the future, or was he simply excited to set out on an adventure? He was, after all, a young man.

Uncertainly also begets opportunity.

As the sun emerged on the horizon, was the adrenalin and excitement that kept him from sleeping the night before still pumping through his veins? Or, had he joined with some of the other passengers or friends and family for a boisterous “au revoir”?

Sometimes a little fear can be soothed, or masked, by spirits.

Did he walk to the towers as the harbor stirred from its sleep, with laborers on the docks and wharfs beginning to load ships that were destined to leave that day?

His destiny lay on the Saint-Francois. She was moored and waiting, rocking gently to and fro.

Did Jacques slip into a church and say a prayer? What was his prayer to God for?

Did he carry his rosary tucked away in his pocket?

Did he pray to Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, and perhaps carry a St. Christopher medallion with him? Perhaps he wore it around his neck where he could touch it easily?

Did Jacques realize there were few eligible women for brides in Acadia? Did he think about any of this as the sailors weathered hands loosed the ship’s ropes from the mooring rings and he sailed off into forever?

As the ship slipped between the towers, did his throat tighten a bit?

Did he expect to return to La Rochelle at some point?

He never would.

Jacques must surely have realized that some ships never arrived at their destination, and their passengers slept eternally among the fishes.

Ships were as sturdy as they could make them, but the ocean’s power was immense.

Was he just a tiny bit afraid? Did he quietly wave goodbye to all that was familiar and swallow that knot in his throat?

Did he think of his mother?

As they sailed out of the harbor, past the island, into the sea, did Jacques by any chance have a premonition that he was setting eyes on La Rochelle, and France, for the last time – ever? They became mere dots on the horizon, then disappeared into the past.

Did his parents and family know he was leaving? Embarking for New France? Were they still alive, and if so, where did his family live?

Was anyone standing on the shore, waving as the ship sailed into the sunlight of tomorrows?

Jacques Bourgeois set sail on the ship, the Saint-Francois, with 34 other men, including:

• The captain
• The pilot
• Boatswain who was in charge of the ship and crew, who he managed through whistles
• 9 sailors plus three marked as absent
• A carpenter
• A gunner (cannoneer)
• A cabin boy
• 17 soldiers, including one wounded
• One soldier is listed as both a soldier and surgeon, which causes me to wonder if his specialty was battlefield injuries
• A baker
• An assistant commissary who would have managed food and supplies

For the next several weeks, these men would be his bunkmates, his companions. Fellow adventures, sharing stories about their families and lives back in France, and their hopes and dreams for the future. They probably all pretended not to be homesick and prayed not to be seasick.

Based on what we’ve learned about the rest of Jacques life, I’d say he enjoyed the journey, because ships became interwoven in his future.

The Saint-Francois

We are fortunate to have a roster of d’Aulnay’s ship, the Saint-Francois.

On December 12, 1642, Nicolas Denys penned a statement that totaled the cost of the expedition, including what was paid to crew members, passengers, and soldiers, which I transcribed and translated with the help of ChatGPT. I am unclear whether this was the cost one way only, or both ways.

Update in November, 2025. Marc Bourgeois, a native french-speaking genealogist, was kind enough to translate the original and provide me with updates. You can also find out what is known about the remaining rosters of all of the Acadian voyages in the Internet Archives, here.

• Note #1: Ships crew begins with the captain and continues through Jehan Mouton.
• Note #2: Three men were the names of sailors who received money, fled and were put in the service of the king. Jacques Boullant, Matelot, received a 33 livre advance, but was marked as absent. So was Pierre du Breuil and Jehan Poriier, who are on the list that follows.
• Note #3: Military, begins with Bertrand Aubert.
• Note #4: Names of those who are to remain overseas. Begins with Denis Baniard, a soldier who needs to be added to the chart. He was to receive 75 livres per year, received an advance but the amount is not stated, and is to remain oveseas at the post..
• Note #5: Names of soldiers who fled during the last release. Begins iwth Pierre Fleureau.

The note number has been added in the Commentary column.

For reference, the livre was a unit of accounting, and one livre equaled about 20 sols. Each sol equaled about 12 deniers. Originally, one ecu was equivalent to about a pound of silver. Jacques was the only man paid in ecus.

By Cgb – http://www.cgb.fr/louis-xiii-le-juste-ecu-dargent-2e-type-1er-poincon-de-warin-1642-paris-monnaie-de-matignon,v25_0984,a.html, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=29310693

An ecu was an actual coin. Before 1640, the ecu was only made of gold, but in 1640 King Louis XIII introduced the silver ecu which was worth about six livres. Jacques’ pay of 45 ecus per year, equivalent to about 270 livres, was significantly higher than anyone else’s pay and was in an actual coin which could be traded because it was a precious metal. The next highest paid person was, surprisingly, the baker. Everyone needs to eat!

It’s interesting to note that only five men were designated to remain overseas at the post:

• Denis Baniard, a soldier
• Pierre Chalopin, a soldier
• Francois Pofroy, the baker
• Jacques Bourgeois, the surgeon
• Mr. Mallet, the assistant commisary

Apparently, the other men or went back to France at some point.

It’s also interesting that everyone received an advance, which must have been customary at that time.

Jehan Piorier, a sailer marked absent, is the same name as a man who would eventually become one of the founding Acadians. We don’t know if this was the same Jean Piorier, or not. If so, he arrived on another ship, because he was absent on this one, and married Jeanne Chebrat by 1647 in Acadia.

It would be another 30 years before the first census in Port Royal that would either enumerate the residents, or their descendants, assuming anyone had survived.

A lot can happen in 30 years.

A lot did happen in 30 years!!

Warfare

The conflict between Charles de La Tour and Menou d’Aulnay began with Razilly’s death and lasted in one way or another until 1645 when d’Aulnay captured La Tour’s forts, forcing him into exile.

In fact, this Acadian Civil War may have been part of the reason why d’Aulnay recruited a surgeon.

In 1640, La Tour left Saint John, crossed the Bay of Fundy, then attacked d’Aulnay at Port Royal. D’Aulnay’s prevailed despite his captain being killed. La Tour surrendered, and d’Aulnay proceeded to blockade Fort Saint John.

As luck would have it, Jacques Bourgeois arrived just in time to become engaged in the next blockade of St. John in 1642. Did he wonder what the heck he had gotten himself into?

The 1643 Battle of Port Royal

D’Aulnay blockaded La Tour’s fort, again, for several months. In July of 1643, La Tour arrived from Boston with four ships and 270 men to retake his fort. After succeeding, he then chased d’Aulnay back home across the bay and attacked d’Aulnay at Port Royal.

Three of d’Aulnay’s men were killed and seven wounded. La Tour burned the mill at Port Royal, killed livestock, seized furs, gunpowder and other supplies, but he did not directly attack the fort which was only defended by 20 soldiers.

This gives us some idea of the defensive force, or lack thereof, at Port Royal.

Jacques, then 23 or 24 years old, assuredly treated those injured soldiers and perhaps the ones that died too.

All of the residents had to be worried. Not IF La Tour would come back to haunt Port Royal, but when? How many soldiers would he bring with him? How many ships? Would he burn the fort? Would he kill the residents? What about the families?

The game of cat and mouse was deadly.

Could Port Royal and Fort Anne defend itself?

Marriage

In the 1671 census, Jacques Bourgeois is listed first, a surgeon, age 50, married to Jeanne Trahan, age 40. Their eldest child is Jeanne Bourgeois, age 27, so she was born about 1644.

This means that Jacques and Jeanne Trahan were married about 1643, so not long after Jacques arrived in Acadia, although perhaps two battles after he had arrived in Port Royal. Did they marry before the 1643 Battle of Port Royal?

Not many European brides were available in Acadia, as few families had made the trip, so Jacques was probably very pleased to marry Jeanne, even though they were a young couple. Men, in that timeframe, generally didn’t marry until they were about 30, but young women often married as soon as they were mature enough to bear children. Jacques was about 23 and Jeanne was about 15 when her first child was born.

They would have been married in Port Royal not long after it was established. There may or may not have been an actual church, but regardless, they would have been married by the priest, or a ship’s chaplain – some man of God. Of course, no records from that timeframe remain.

The War Continues

In 1645, the continuous war between d’Aulnay and La Tour reached a crescendo, and it’s almost a certainty that Jacques Bourgeois was involved. Why do I think that? It’s incomprehensible that d’Aulnay would enter a military action without his trusted surgeon on board.

In April 1645, d’Aulnay got word that La Tour had departed for Boston and issued orders that every man who could carry a musket needed to report.

D’Aulnay needed every man old enough to carry a gun or fire a cannon. It’s difficult to believe there were 200 men in all of Acadia, but that’s the number d’Aulnay was reported to have. Nine years later, after several more ships of settlers has probably arrived from France, Nicolas Denys reported that there were about 270 people in Port Royal, which would equate to about 30-40 households. Even if all households had three adult or near-adult sons, that’s only 100-120 people, so it’s logical that nine years earlier, d’Aulnay’s crew would have been comprised of soldiers at the fort, plus all able-bodied Acadian men. Perhaps d’Aulnay had multiple ships in port at the time to buoy those numbers.

D’Aulnay first sent an emissary across the Bay to Saint John to request that the fort surrender, but the request was dismissed by La Tour’s wife, Françoise-Marie Jacquelin.

D’Aulnay with 200 men sailed across the Bay of Fundy, set up a battery on shore, and made one last call for surrender, which was met with catcalls and insults.

The fort then raised the red flag of defiance, and d’Aulnay attacked.

La Tour’s 23-year-old wife, Françoise-Marie, assumed command and fought valiantly for someplace between 1 and 5 days, accounts vary, even though badly outnumbered.

On April 16^th, Easter Sunday, before dawn, expecting the advantage of surprise, d’Aulnay ordered his men forward across the ditches and ramparts. However, La Tour’s men were waiting for them, and greeted them with swords, pikes and halberds.

Giving up on under the direst of circumstances, Francoise-Marie obtained d’Aulnay’s assurances that he would not harm the soldiers, granting “quarter to all.”

Furious over their resistance, after the surrender, d’Aulnay immediately broke his promise, forcing Francoise-Marie to watch the execution of every soldier, except the one who agreed to be the executioner, bound, with a rope around her own neck.

D’Aulnay did not hang Francoise-Marie, but after discovering that she had attempted to send a letter to La Tour in Boston through a Mi’kmaq friend, he ordered her into “severe restraints” where she fell ill.

She died three weeks after the fort fell, under questionable circumstances, a hostage of d’Aulnay.

LaTour did not find out about his wife’s death until June, then retreated to Quebec and did not return until after d’Aulnay’s demise five years later, in 1650.

Jacques Bourgeois would have witnessed this entire barbaric event personally.

How I wish he had left us a journal of his life.

Hogg Island

The first land granted by d’Aulnay, en censive, meaning as a feudal lord, was in Port Royal, near the fort, the hub of social, religious and trading activity. In 1646, Jacques and Jeanne were granted an island called île aux Cochons, Hogg Island, situated in the Riviere Dauphin (today’s Annapolis River) on the outskirts of Port-Royal.

In a 1702 document, Jacques’ land at Hogg Island is mentioned as having been granted by d’Aulnay forty years earlier, except we know that d’Aulnay died 52 years earlier. The document continued to describe the land as bounded by the road and the River Dauphin, but the number of feet in width was left blank. Brouillan, the Governor beginning in 1701 took Hogg Island which, at that time, belonged to Etienne Pellerin. He then extended Rue St. Antoine to lay out a town in that direction and erected his home on Hogg Island, wherein he could see the fort from his abode.

This 1686 map shows Hogg Island and other buildings in Port Royal, along with what looks like two buildings on Hogg Island.

It’s also interesting that you can see the typical boats used in the river, not the ocean-going ships, of course.

Acadians, including women, rowed back and forth across the river like we drive across bridges today. The river divided the Acadian community, but it seemed to function quite well on both banks of the river.

Here’s another hand-drawn 1686 map. The scale is a bit off in this one, you but you can still see the location and buildings, along with the waterfront mill and the cemetery near the fort.

The drawings of the ships on this map are beautiful.

I can see Jacques and the other men rowing their boats in the basin.

Jacques Bourgeois sold Hogg Island to Etienne Pellerin years later, sometime around 1700.

This map from 1708, after Jacques had died and Hogg Island was still owned by the Pellerin family, shows the land in greater detail, including the stream that sets Hogg Island apart from the rest of Port Royal and makes it an island.

You can also see the dykes that keep the saltwater at bay and allow the fields to be farmed.

Jacques may have been a surgeon, but perhaps more than anything, he was a shrewd opportunist and an investor in Acadia.

Jacques began trading with the English out of New England, specifically with John Nelson and William Phipps. He learned English and became the King’s interpreter between the French and English at Port Royal.

For the first thirty years of his life in Port Royal, Hogg Island wasn’t only his home, but his trading post, store, and place of business. As a surgeon, he probably treated people there as well, although I suspect that he visited most people in their homes.

It didn’t hurt anything that visitors who came to barter or trade could tie their boats or canoes on the shoreline, right on Hogg Island. If he was smart, and he assuredly was, he probably had a tavern too so his guests would wet their whistle and make themselves comfortable with a hearty meal.

Perhaps the amenities made the trading process easier!

Walking Hogg Island

When I visited Nova Scotia in 2024, I walked Hogg Island in the late afternoon and at dusk, thinking about Jacques’ life there.

Today’s Hogg Island looks very different.

I can’t tell the exact boundaries, but I can identify the waterfront portion. I know that Hogg Island is at least the area within the red arrows and may extend across Highway 1 to the right.

Hogg Island was probably named as such because, due to the enclosing stream, you could pasture hogs and cattle without them wandering off. In Acadian terms, it was prime real estate both for farming and trading.

Today, at the location where St. George Street along the waterfront turns right and becomes Chapel Street, Annapolis Royal has placed a historical sign.

While today’s road to Hogg Island ends here, there’s a nice walking path above the shoreline.

There’s only one path out and back, so you’re walking with me in both directions.

As we walk, to my right, I can see the contemporary homes, but I imagine Jacques’ home standing there, along with his barns, of course, and maybe even a store of sorts, used for trading.

Perhaps a trading post where men would walk a short path up from the river, pull a chair up close to the fire, warm their hands, dry their boots, imbibe, and make their best deal.

They dyked the marshlands here just as they did elsewhere along the river.

Today, looking over the water at the homes at Granville Ferry, across the river, we can see the ruins of docks built on Hogg Island in the late 1700s and 1800s after the English occupied the region following the Acadian expulsion in 1755.

This area was later selected for docks because it was convenient for manufacturing and shipping, just the same as it was for Jacques Bourgeois.

The river is tidal, and it’s easy to see that it’s not high tide.

During my visit to my mother’s ancestors’ homeland, I wore her ring as a way to take her along with me. Here, “Mom” is visiting Jacques Bourgeois, with the Levron and Doucet properties in view across the river.

If not initially, eventually, everyone is Acadia was related to everyone else.

Did Jacques live on this knoll, above the scrub, near the end of Hogg Island?

The tide moves rapidly in this river. Not understanding a temperamental tidal river claimed the lives of many.

As I reached the end of the island, where it begin to curve to the right, I realized that the sun was beginning to set.

What a stunning golden-hour picture. I hope Jacques loved it here as he viewed the works of Mother Nature’s paintbrush.

While I actually wanted to continue walking, the path was increasingly obstructed by modernity, because we were approaching the area of the power plant, and I didn’t want my visit to Jacques’ world to be interrupted by the 21^st century.

I turned around and began meandering back. I wanted to walk out on the ruined wharf, but it looked treacherous, and the tide was coming in, plus the mud. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going and decided that I really shouldn’t tempt fate.

The sun began to set in earnest, and my ancestors put on quite the show. In this panoramic photo, you can see the path, the shoreline, the sunset, of course, and the shore across the river.

No one, not one single Acadian, had moved here because of Acadia’s beauty. They wouldn’t have even known about that, but Acadia is breathtaking.

Jacques would have seen this exact view hundreds of times, in all types of weather.

Jeanne Trahan would have breathed in the beauty of these sunsets as the sun began it’s nightly journey behind the mountains.

Their children would have glimpsed this beauty over the distant hills, perhaps as they pulled a final bucket of water from the well for the night.

The traders, be they French, English or Indian would have wanted to tie up before the sun slipped behind the hills, and darkness descended.

Canoes and small boats would have been pulled up onto the shore, safely above the tide line.

Larger boats would have been tied to the dock or anchored, or both.

Wares to trade would have been unloaded here.

Different merchandise would be loaded back onto the boats after deals were struck, meals eaten, and perhaps a day or two spent exchanging news and resting.

Larger ships probably needed a wharf. One existed near the fort, but Jacques, being a wealthy man, probably had his own, especially if he was a shipbuilder.

Standing here, drinking in the raw beauty, I couldn’t help but think that eventually, Jacques would see one final sunset from his beloved Hogg Island.

Perhaps they took this for granted – just part of everyday life in Acadia.

It’s peaceful today, but Jacques would have witnessed English warships sailing up this river. Fortunately for him, he lived beyond the fort, so perhaps slightly safer.

On the other hand, Jacques traded with the English. It’s difficult to know whether that was an advantage, or disadvantage, with whom, and when. Life in Acadia was not straightforward, and the politics were much like the tidal river – complex and always changing.

Perhaps Jacques wandered the shore as the sun set, praying or pondering.

Did he wonder from time to time if he had made the right decision about something?

Opportunties that he had taken, and ones that he hadn’t?

Was he glad that he left France?

Did he ever think about an alternate life that he might have lived there?

Did Jacques enjoy the waterfowl in the shallows, or was he too busy to notice?

Did he commit these stunning summer sunsets to memory to sustain him through the interminable, grey winters?

Did he even consider the notion that his 8 times great grandchildren would make their way back to Hogg Island to say his name and watch these sunsets “with” him?

As the sun set, did Jacques sometimes wonder if the sun was setting on Acadia?

Did he ever wonder if his descendants would see the same thing?

Jacques would soak in the elixir of these sunsets for nearly 60 years.

Was Acadia his passion, or just his business? Or maybe, some of both?

In less time than Jacques lived in Acadia, another 55 years, most of his grandchildren, would collectively watch one final sunset before they were loaded onto waiting ships and removed from their beloved homeland.

Had he understood their eventual fate, would he have left La Rochelle that fateful May day in 1641?

D’Aulnay’s Death

On May 24, 1650, Jacques’ benefactor, Charles d’Aulnay drowned in a boating accident in the icy waters in the Port Royal basin, signaling a turning point for both Acadia and Jacques.

Jacques appears to have been d’Aulnay’s second in command. In his 1699 deposition, Jacques stated that after d’Aulnay’s death, he had been entrusted with all of “the titles of honour, of grants and commissions that Mr. D’Aulnay had received from his Majesty,” and that he had entrusted them to a Mr. Nelson in Boston to have them bounded properly. Jacques never got them back.

Ironically, in 1692, John Nelson, the man in question, attempted to lay claim to all of Acadia as a nephew and heir of Sir Thomas Temple and in whose right he claimed the proprietorship of Acadia under an old grant of Oliver Cromwell. This might well have had something to do with his failure to return d’Aulnay’s land titles and other documents to Jacques, but I digress.

However, this does illustrate the degree of misplaced trust Jacques had in the English in Boston.

In a rather amazing twist of fate, three years later, in February 1653, Jacques Bourgeois stood as a witness to the marriage of Acadia’s next Governor, Charles La Tour, and Jeanne Motin de Reux, the widow of former Governor Charles d’Aulnay.

Yes, you read that right!

Given what happened in 1645 to La Tour’s wife, at the hands of d’Aulnay, those years must have been very tense, to say the least.

If you just said, “Wait! What?” and are shaking your head in disbelief, you’re not alone. I still can’t wrap my head around this, given that d’Aulnay killed La Tour’s men and wife, and Jacques was almost assuredly along on that endeavor. Both d’Aulnay and La Tour’s wife must have been rotating in their respective graves.

The marriage was determined to be in the best interest of Acadia by all parties. While in some ways, it was a marriage of mutual convenience and benefit, it wasn’t only that – given that they had children.

While a tentative peace had settled over Acadia, it wouldn’t last long.

1654 – Hostage

Life changed dramatically in Acadia in 1654.

The Acadians had been trading with the English, so they were familiar with Port Royal, its layout, and the residents.

The English attacked Port Royal, but it was rather spontaneous, not planned in advance.

Nicolas Denys reported that Robert Sedgewick of Boston had been ordered by Oliver Cromwell to attack New Holland (New York). As Sedgewick prepared, a peace treaty was signed between the English and the Dutch.

Sedgewick commanded 200 of Cromwell’s professional soldiers, plus 100 New England volunteers, and was now all prepared, but with no battle to wage.

Since Sedgewick was “all dressed up with nowhere to go,” he attacked various locations in Acadia in August 1654 and destroyed most of the settlements, even though it was peacetime. This included Castine in Maine, Port Royal, La Hève, and at the Saint John River where he took Charles La Tour prisoner.

I swear, this feels like a soap opera.

The Acadians clearly had not been expecting this turn of events.

Sedgewick sailed up the Riviere Dauphin to Port Royal in July 1654, facing about 130 Acadian men and soldiers who valiantly attempted to defend the fort. Not only were the brave Acadians outnumbered, more than two to one, but the 200 English soldiers were professionals.

The Acadians did their best and holed up in the fort, but the English held them and Port Royal under siege.

On August 16^th, Germain Doucet de La Verdure surrendered to the English, having negotiated what the Acadians felt were reasonable surrender terms that provided at least some protection. The French settlers were to keep their land and belongings, the French soldiers in the fort were to be paid in pelts and transported back to France, not killed, and the Acadians could worship as they saw fit – meaning as Catholics – without interference. The French officials would also be sent back to France, and an Acadian council was put in place to function on behalf of the English during their absence.

Those terms could have been much worse since both the English and the French knew very well that the Acadians stood no prayer of winning against the English who both outnumbered them and were far more experienced.

The conclusion to the Articles of Capitulation was this:

It was concluded on board the Admiral’s ship, the Augustia, anchored in the river and before the fort of Port Royal, “and for the greater security of the contents of the above articles the said Sieur de la Verdure has left for hostage Jacques Bourgeois, his brother-in-law and lieutenant of the place, bearer of his procuration for the present treaty, and the Sieur Emanuel le Borgne, the son, until the completion of the present agreement which was begun at the first sitting held yesterday and concluded today, August 16^th, 1654.

This document was signed by Jacques with only his surname, but I have been unable to find the original document in the archives.

Brenda Dunn, in her book, A History of Port-Royal-Annapolis-Royal, 1605-1800, reports that in violation of the negotiated terms of surrender, the English soldiers rampaged wildly through the town afterwards, including through the monastery and newly constructed church, smashing windows, doors, paneling, and even the floor before torching it all. This is par for the course, and we know they behaved in this way multiple other times.

Sedgewick then departed from what was left of Port Royal, leaving an Acadian council he had appointed in charge. Through this, we have learned that Jacques, by then about 35, was second in command – a lieutenant, at Port Royal.

This must have been somewhat awkward, or maybe not. Jacques traded regularly with the New Englanders out of Boston. He had also become a successful merchant, farmer, and shipbuilder. His fur trading with the Indians took him to every corner of the colony.

While he was clearly very successful, I do wonder, though, if his trading with the English, followed by being left as second in command by them caused some of his neighbors to cast a suspicious eye in his direction.

For the next 16 years, Acadian life continued in this pattern.

So long as they were undisturbed, the Acadians were content to follow their Catholic faith, plant their crops, raise their families, and continue with the seasonal rhythms of life on the banks of the beautiful Rivière Dauphin.

Yes, they lived under the English, but there would have been some trade benefits – and no one seemed to care much so long as they were primarily left alone.

1671 Census

In 1667, Acadia was returned to France by treaty. A new French Governor arrived in 1670, and ordered Acadia’s first census.

It’s on this census that Jacques, listed as Jacob, is noted as a chirurgien as well as on his daughter, Marie’s second marriage record in 1680 in Beaubassin.

• Jacob Bourgeois is age 50
• Jeanne Trahan, his wife, is age 40

One son and daughter are married and listed elsewhere in the census

• Jeanne is 27 and living at home
• Charles is 25 (married)
• Germain is 21
• Marie is 18 or 19 (married, age given differently)
• Guillaume is 16
• Marguerite is 13
• Francoise is 12
• Anne is 10
• Marie is 7
• Jeanne is 4

Jacques has 33 cattle, 24 sheep, and 20 arpents of land in two different locations.

Everyone else has between zero and 16 arpents of land, with several families having 6 arpents, which seems to be the norm.

Jacques is clearly the most prosperous man in Acadia.

By age 50, many men, especially men who were clearly comfortable, would have relaxed and enjoyed their life along the bucolic river, watching those spectacular sunsets.

But not Jacques.

In fact, the following year, in 1672, Jacques Bourgeois gathered his resources, including several family members, began preparations, and set out for yet another frontier.

Beaubassin

Jacques reportedly sold a part of his holdings at Port-Royal and, with his two older sons and two of his sons-in-law, pioneered the Acadian settlement of Mésagouèche, later Missaguash, then eventually renamed Beaubassin, on the isthmus of Chignecto.

Beaubassin represented “the first swarming of the Acadians to establish their hive,” as one historian describes it.

Join me, and Jacques for incredible adventures in Beaubassin in my next article.

_____________________________________________________________

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