“Sir,” you ask?
Francois was a “Sir”?
Yes, indeed, yes, he was. You never know what secrets are tucked away in old, musty records.
Francois Levron was born around 1651 in France. His dit name, Nantois, seems to suggest he may have originated in or near Nantes.
Francois is absent in the first Acadian census of Port Royal taken in 1671.
André-Carl Vachon, Acadian historian, believes Francois Levron was a soldier who originally settled in Pentagouet, at the fort, shown on the map, above.
The remains of Fort Pentagouet have been located near present-day Castine, Maine, which is only about 110 nautical miles from Port Royal.
The Fort, or where it used to stand, has been excavated and marked with a cross, today.
Vachon reports that in 1672, a famine struck Fort Pentagouet, causing several men to be relocated to Port Royal for the winter.
As a soldier, after arriving in Port Royal, Francois would have lived in the barracks within Fort Anne.
If Francois was, indeed, at Pentagouet, that means he served alongside the man who would one day become his neighbor along the Riviere Dauphin at Port Royal – Pierre Doucet. Half a century later, their grandchildren would marry.
Based on the birth dates of their children, Francois Levron married Catherine Savoye/Savoie around 1676.
Port Royal was a sleepy little town, referred to by the priest, Louis Petit as “a mere depot for pelts.” Only 68 families lived in Port Royal and scattered up and down the river valley. It may have been a depot for pelts, but surprisingly, Petit requested a Nun be dispatched to open and run a boarding school for girls. It’s unclear whether that ever happened.
In the 1678 Port Royal census, Francois and his wife are living with the Widow Pesselet, along with one child, a boy, age 1. They have no livestock and no land, so it’s entirely possible he was still a soldier and the young family was living with the widow as a mutually beneficial arrangement. Based on the neighbors, I can’t tell exactly where they are living, but it seems to be quite close to Port Royal which would make perfect sense if he was or had been a soldier. The census may not have been taken or recorded in house-to-house order.
The widow Pesselet is Barbe Bajolet (1608-c1678), who was married to Isaac Pesselet before being widowed by Saviniue de Courpon. She was one of the few people to make the trek back to La Rochelle, remarry in 1654, then return to Acadia. The 1671 census shows that she had eight children living in France, with two married daughters in Acadia; Marianne Lefebvre, 21, who married Etienne Comeau, and Marie Peselet, 26, married to Jean Pitre. They lived 3 and 4 houses from their mother, respectively. Barbe had 1 cow and 5 sheep, but no land under cultivation.
Was there some relationship with Barbe Bajolet other than a young couple living with an elderly widow? Why was Barbe living with Francois Levron instead of living with her children?
By 1686, when the next census occurred, we find Francois Levron, age 33, living with his wife Catherine Savoye, age 20, which is clearly in error, with children Jacques, 9, Magdelaine, 5, Anne, 2, Marie 1, 8 cattle, and 7 sheep. They have no land under cultivation, once again, and notably, no gun.
They are living between Vincent Brun and Charles Melanson, which tells me which side of the river and corresponds to later mapped locations, showing their land directly across the river from Port Royal.
Fortunately, we have a map of Port Royal drawn in 1686. Based on later maps and the census, Francois Levron and family lived across from Hogg Island, the easternmost area of Port Royal, shown above.
We can easily see the location of the fort, which included barracks, and the Catholic church, then located outside the fort, where Francois would have worshipped, both as a soldier, and later, with his family. Nearby, a cross marks the cemetery where he may well be buried.
Today, the Acadian graves are unmarked, but landmarks such as the officer quarters, fort ramparts, church remains, later English burials and LIDAR data identify the location of the Acadian cemetery.
A New Governor
In 1687, a new Governor, Louis-Alexandre des Friches de Meneval was appointed in the ever-turning revolving door of Acadian governors. His orders were to encourage colonization and agriculture and prevent the English from trading and fishing in Acadia. Meneval brought 30 additional soldiers with him, raising the strength of the garrison to 90, but found the fort in significant disrepair.
His engineer, Pasquine, had suggested a complete rebuild of the fort, but Meneval hesitated and then denied the request to save money – a decision that changed history. Sometimes not to decide is to decide.
Ultimately, the cost was much, much greater.
By 1688, Acadia was having challenges. The younger people began moving to Beaubassin and points north in 1682, causing a labor shortage. Additionally, the Acadians were experiencing a shortage of manure, necessary for fertilizing fields. Who knew a manure shortage was even a thing?
Meneval’s report written in the fall of 1688 stated 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; his own gratuity had not been renewed, and he sought permission to go to France to report to the minister and settle some personal affairs.
I surely wish we knew who those old and disabled soldiers were. Were they married to local women?
Was the drunkard surgeon Jacques Bourgeois who founded Beaubassin in 1682, but continued to live at Port Royal? Did an area this small, and from France’s perspective, insignificant and “back-woodsy,” have more than one surgeon? It’s doubtful.
Meneval’s report went on to say that he, like his predecessor, Denonville:
Recommended that soldiers be allowed to marry and to become settlers; he also recommended that fishing, the country’s best resource, be developed by advancing loans to the settlers and protecting the coasts with armed barks; the settlement at Les Mines (Grand Pré, N.S.) was developing, and he had issued a few ordinances.
Does this mean that no soldiers had married local women, or simply that it was discouraged? We know that by the time Francois Levron’s daughter, Marie, married Jean Garceau in 1703, her husband was a soldier at the fort because the priest recorded that tidbit in the parish register, and the Governor signed as a witness.
Meneval closed his report by saying that the English “very much wanted Acadia.”
As his report was being written, English pirates were attacking and pillaging other French forts and seizing French ships as prizes, many of which had been destined for Port Royal carrying badly needed supplies.
In 1689, William of Orange, the new King of England declared war on France, which reverberated through the colonial holdings of both countries.
Acadia was the weakest, most exposed, and most poorly defended of the French colonies.
The situation in Acadia continued to deteriorate, with political infighting. In 1689, Meneval requested to be recalled to France, and said he would go even without permission, “preferring 100 times to remain three years in the Bastille rather than one single week here.”
That’s ugly, and I’m sure that attitude did not go unnoticed by either the soldiers or the Acadians.
In October of 1689, French ships did eventually arrive. On board was another new engineer, Vincent Saccardy, carrying court orders that instructed him to build a fort at Port-Royal forthwith, and sent a further sum of 5,000 livres. Saccardy had the old fort razed completely and drew up a plan for a vast enceinte, or wall enclosing the fort, with four bastions that would strengthen security by enclosing the governor’s house, the church, a mill, and the guard-houses. Importantly, it would also be able to hold barracks and receive the settlers in case of attack.
Saccardy set to work immediately, and in 16 days, with the help of the soldiers, settlers, and 40 sailors, succeeded in building half of the enceinte before it was time for the ship to leave again. Saccardy received an order to re-embark from from the Governor General of New France, Buade de Frontenac, leaving the fort unfinished. Robinau de Villebon, Meneval’s lieutenant, was also ordered to go to France, thus leaving the unhappy governor without an officer and a half-finished fort. I can only imagine his complete exasperation.
Meneval did not leave, but all things considered, he probably lived to wish he had.
Tensions were rising in the region and would soon boil over.
Battle of Port Royal
1690 was a horrible year.
Acadia needed an exceptional, courageous leader. They only had a reluctant one who wished nothing more than to go home to France, regardless of the repercussions.
Acadia had become increasingly enmeshed in the escalations between England and France, and specifically New England. In early 1690, two Indian raids in New England, one in New York and one in New Hampshire, spurred colonial governors to combine forces and launch a retaliatory attack on the French Acadians, whom they blamed for riling up the Indians and encouraging the attacks.
Prior to this time, Acadia and the New England colonies had a trading partnership. This alliance caused at least one of the logical picks for the retaliatory expedition’s commander to be rejected in favor of Sir William Phipps, a man with no military experience but who had found a treasure ship in the West Indies.
Lest we dismiss his prowess, Phipps sailed on April 28th from Boston with five ships, 446 men, and 58 mounted guns.
On the way, he rendezvoused with additional ships, and by the time Phipps approached Acadia, he had seven ships, 78 cannon, and 736 men, 446 of whom were militiamen. That was a force to be reckoned with.
On May 9th, Phipps sailed into the harbour, making contact with Pierre Melanson dit Laverdure, a bilingual French Huguenot who lived closest to the mouth of the river, near Goat Island.
It’s unclear whether or not Melanson knew Phipps was gathering intelligence information, but regardless, after discerning the state of the town of Port Royal with Melanson, Phipps proceeded to sail further up the river, to Port Royal. It was about 20 miles from the sea to Port Royal, with Melanson residing roughly half-way inbetween.
Alerted by sentries, Meneval had a gun fired to warn settlers of the approaching English ships, but only three men came to the fort. I wonder why. Did they not hear the gun? Did they think it wasn’t serious? Were they that angry with Meneval? Were they “too busy” planting?
Acadia was entirely unprepared for the coming onslaught.
The garrison itself only had about 70 soldiers. A few Acadian men in the area were available to help, eventually bringing the total available fighting men to somewhere between 85 and 90, according to different sources. Forty-two Acadian men were absent from the area.
Worse yet, thanks to years of neglect, deterioration, and being half-rebuilt, Fort Anne was in a terrible state of disrepair. Governor Meneval objected when the engineer was sent elsewhere, but to no avail. His protests went unheeded, the engineer did not return, and the fort remained incomplete.
The worst part was that the protective wall surrounding the fort was unfinished, none of the fort’s 18 cannons were mounted, and the entire fort only possessed 19 muskets. Of the Acadian households, which were scattered for another 20+ miles up the river, just over half, 53, had a gun of any kind. Of those, 14 households, mostly those with older sons, had more than one gun. To say the Acadians and French soldiers, together, were unprepared and unable to defend Port Royal was an understatement. Sitting ducks was more like it.
Whatever information Melanson had shared with Phipps, it may not have been everything.
Phipps did not go ashore at Port Royal, at least not initially. The following day, May 10th, Phipps sent an emissary to demand the fort’s surrender. Governor Meneval had little choice, given that they couldn’t defend themselves, not even in the slightest, not to mention they were outnumbered about 10 to 1. Having said that, Meneval was strongly criticized for putting up no resistance at all and simply capitulating.
Meneval dispatched the local priest, Father Louis Petit, to the English ships to negotiate the terms of surrender with Phipps.
- Phipps agreed not to harm the Acadian settlers or their personal property, and to continue to allow unrestricted Catholic worship.
- Meneval agreed that the fort, cannon, and merchandise belonging to the king and the company would be handed over to the English.
- The officers and French soldiers would retain their liberty and be transported to Quebec.
However, Phipps refused to sign a document stating such, even when Meneval arrived onboard the ship on May 12th to seal the deal.
Several eyewitnesses confirmed the verbal agreement.
Never fail to obtain a signed document, although it’s unclear if that would actually have made any difference. However, it is probably the reason that the 1690 oath signature document survives today. The Priest took it with him because he didn’t trust Phipps – with good reason – as we’ll soon see.
Furthermore, the fact that Phipps refused to sign gives credence to the Acadian version of what happened after their surrender.
Surrender
What occurred next is without dispute. Why it happened remains debated.
When Phipps came ashore and saw how weak the fort and garrison were, he regretted the surrender terms he had agreed to – or he had planned this all along.
He immediately imprisoned the soldiers in the church and confined the governor to his home, under guard. Then, Phipps unleashed his men. All of which was counter to the agreement.
Despite the surrender agreement, the English soldiers completely destroyed both the fort and the town, running amok for the next 10 days and looting everything, including the property of the Acadians. Nothing was spared – not their clothes, not their gardens, not their livestock – nothing. The English then burned what was left, including homes, the stockade, and barns. At least 28 residences were torched. Some reports said 35, which assuredly included every home in Port Royal and probably every other home within visual sight of the fort, including the Levron homestead across the river.
Additionally, the English plundered and desecrated the church. Then, for spite, they killed the livestock.
Per the agreement, only the fort and the king’s property was to be surrendered to English control, not the residents’ personal property.
Instead, Acadia was essentially destroyed during planting season.
In a strange twist of fate, the English did not burn the mills, and didn’t bother to travel further upriver to the farms there. That’s probably what saved the Acadians and prevented them from starving.
The English claimed that while Meneval was meeting with Phipps, French soldiers and Acadians were seen carrying items away from the fort – booty which should have been included in the spoils for the English captors after the French surrender.
If Phipps couldn’t see the condition of the fort prior to signing, how, then, did English sailors see men INSIDE the fort carrying things away while Meneval was meeting with Phipps?
When Phipps learned of this “breach of trust,” he reportedly flew into a rage and declared the agreement void – turning the English soldiers loose to do whatever they wished.
The French said that Meneval hadn’t left detailed orders when he departed to meet with Phipps, so the French soldiers began drinking, then broke into a store belonging to one of Meneval’s political opponents. If those goods were privately owned, which it seems they would have been, they would not have been included in the surrender agreement, so while the soldiers were clearly up to mischief, it did not breach the agreement since the goods were private property.
Had it breached the agreement, it could have been easily remedied. Meneval didn’t seem inclined to quibble about anything and would probably have given Phipps anything he asked for. Phipps simply used this as an excuse to destroy Acadia.
Regardless, Meneval must have been furious with the men, but it no longer mattered.
Meneval and his second-in-command reported that when Phipps came ashore, he was extremely unhappy with the condition of the fort and the size of the garrison that he had obtained, suggesting that he had been taken advantage of.
However, given that Phipps spoke with Melanson before arriving at Port Royal, it’s unlikely that Phipps was unaware – not to mention that he could clearly see that the fort had no walls and no cannons were in view. The fort is within full sight from the river.
Phipps’ lament did, however, make a good excuse for what followed.
Biographers later suggested that Phipps needed the plunder to pay for the expedition, and he simply sought, and found, a “reason” to dispose of the verbal agreement. Given that he refused to sign the terms of surrender document, this may have become part of his plan as soon as he found out from Melanson that the fort was in horrible repair.
However, that still does not explain away the choice to destroy everything in sight. Burning the homes, destroying the Acadian farms, and killing their livestock was nothing short of cruel sport.
The English weren’t done yet. After forcing the Acadians to sign a loyalty oath, Phipps put an Acadian council in place to conduct business after the English left.
Then, Phipps kidnapped Governor Meneval, Father Abbe Trouve (of Beaubassin) and Father Louis Petit, holding them hostage along with between 50 and 58 of the French soldiers from the Fort Anne garrison. Sources differ on the number of soldiers that were transported with Phipps and the others back to Boston on the English ships. The soldiers at the garrison who were not transported had managed to escape to Les Mines.
Later in 1690, at least some of the men were exchanged for English hostages in Quebec.
One Acadian man, Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, known often as just “Baptiste,” who would go on to become a notorious privateer, escaped his captors in Boston and made his way back to Acadia.
The destruction of Port Royal and the annihilation of Acadian homes and property, acts of intentional and explicit betrayal, not the actual act of warfare, destroyed any goodwill or trust between the two peoples. Up until that point in time, they had enjoyed at least a halting trade relationship – overtly, covertly, or both.
The 1690 Loyalty Oath
The English required that all of the Acadian men sign a loyalty oath which I transcribed here.
Wee do swear and sincerely promise that wee will be faithfull and bear true allegiance to his Majesty King William King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland.
So helpe us God.
This document was important, because unlike the verbal surrender agreement, no one could dispute that the Acadian men had signed. This signed oath was a critical protective piece, because the English could not claim that the Acadians had never sworn loyalty. Given the breach of trust between the English and French, the priest secreted this document beneath his garb when they were kidnapped and taken to Boston – protecting his parish flock.
We know the Acadian men were required to sign. What we don’t know is what happened to the French soldiers inhabiting the fort who were married to Acadian women, assuming that there were some.
Were they allowed to stay in Acadia? If they stayed, they assuredly would have been required to sign the oath.
What we do know is that Francois Levron did NOT sign the required oath in 1690, but we don’t know why.
Was he still a soldier in 1690?
Regardless of whether he was still a soldier or had previously retired, all available men were called to defend the fort, and Port Royal, so he assuredly would have been involved.
Was he one of the three men who showed up to help the soldiers?
Did he not sign the oath because he was one of the soldiers who escaped?
History tells us that 42 Acadian men were absent from the area.
Was he one of those men?
Where were they?
The 1686 census holds clues:
- The 1686 census tells us that there were 104 households at Port Royal. Of those, almost half, 51, had no gun. Not for hunting, and not for defense.
- Eight 1686 households were widows, none of whom signed in 1690. Apparently, the English weren’t worried about women swearing loyalty, only the heads of household – which I presume means the people most likely to rebel. They clearly didn’t know the women in my family😊
- Nine 1686 households were males 70 or older who did not sign the 1690 oath, and who were not recorded in the 1693 census, so I presume they probably died before 1690. The English clearly weren’t concerned with these men either.
- Of the 1686 households, another 16 are accounted for in 1690 by being known to have relocated to the northern Bay of Fundy colonies, such as Beaubasin, Pisiquid or Les Mines.
That reduces the number of 1686 heads of households that were eligible to sign the 1690 oath to 71.
- Of those, a total of 36 signed in 1690, leaving a balance of 35 heads of household in the 1686 census who are unaccounted for, and not known to have died, who did not sign.
- Of those, two were elderly and living with their children, but were alive in 1690 because they are recorded in the 1693 census.
- In two more families, the men died and the widows had remarried by 1693, so it’s likely that their first husbands had died by the time the 1690 petition was signed.
After eliminating the people who were in the 1686 census, and who signed in 1690, there are still 13 men who did not sign, who were still living in 1693. So, why didn’t they sign?
Recall that 42 men were reported to have been away. Some probably returned during the 12 days that Phipps was anchored in the harbour, and they would have been forced to sign.
- Are these 13 men ones who might have been away, perhaps in the northern settlements, scoping out their options and debating whether to move there or stay at Port Royal? Genealogy research shows that many families had moved north between 1686 and 1690, which is why they didn’t sign the loyalty oath.
- Were those 13 men soldiers who escaped, then made their way back to their families after the British left in 1690? One would think the English would have made them sign when they were discovered back in Port Royal, although that didn’t happen with privateer Pierre Baptiste, who we know unquestionably escaped and is found in the 1693 Port Royal census.
Conversely, a few people had certainly been old enough to be recorded in the 1686 census, and had families, but were apparently missed in the Port Royal enumeration. They signed the 1690 oath and were recorded in the 1693 census.
All of that said, what this tells us is that there was a lot of upheaval and churn occurring in Acadia, and the 1690 attack certainly made things worse.
Imagine being away and returning to find your home gone, everything burned, and your family traumatized, if not worse.
Francois Levron did not sign, but the oath was required. No one was allowed to refuse, so he was clearly one of the men who was absent for some reason.
We can only speculate as to why, but given that they had no land in 1686, they would have been prime candidates to move North to where land was more plentiful and easier to acquire. If he had still been a soldier, he would not have been allowed to leave – at least not until French surrendered to the English in 1690. I can’t imagine that the English would have been receptive to any able-bodied French soldiers remaining – viewing them as potential sparks of dissent.
For whatever reason, Francois Levron and his family stayed at Port Royal.
By 1693, they have 15 arpents of land under cultivation, which perhaps explains why they did not move to Beaubassin or points north. It would be interesting to know how they obtained this land, and if it was before or after 1690.
Had they relocated, their children would have married different spouses, and history would have been completely different for their 15,000+ descendants.
They dug in and stayed, perhaps making the more difficult decision. Life was anything but easy.
After the Oath
Not long after Phipps left, two English pirate ships arrived and burned the rest of what had been spared. More livestock was killed, and more theft and plundering took place, including the desecration of the church.
Indeed, 1690 was just a horrible year.
I can only imagine how discouraged Francois must have been. He had four children under 13 and a new baby. How would he provide for them if his home burned, his land was ruined, and his livestock killed? How could he protect them?
What followed was an anxious, uneasy “peace” in Acadia, with frayed nerves and absolutely everyone constantly on edge. A smoldering quiet hung uneasily in the air, like the smoking embers of their homes.
Life was difficult at best. Homes had to be rebuilt, fields repaired as best they could, somehow crops had to be planted, assuming they could be given the salinity of the seawater if their dykes had been broken. Food was in short supply, and the people were emotionally and spiritually wounded.
English vessels from New England arrived to trade and check on the inhabitants, and of course, to take French prizes if they could find French ships lurking nearby.
When the English were gone, French privateers operated out of Port Royal, boosting the beleaguered economy by outfitting their ships from local merchants and tradesmen. The privateers also attracted local young men as crew with the promise of prizes and plunder and a way to exact revenge upon the despised English who had caused, and continued to cause, such pain.
In fact, the Acadians had their own privateer who didn’t even bother to hide.
Meet Pierre Baptiste!
Pierre Baptiste – Acadia’s Legendary Pirate
Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, or simply Baptiste as he was commonly called, was a famous or maybe infamous pirate whose crew was primarily Acadian.
Baptiste had defended Acadia, standing with the brave Acadian men at Fort Anne in 1690. He was taken prisoner, along with other unnamed Acadians, and transported to Boston, but escaped.
Bravo Baptiste! I hope you took other Acadian men with you!
Now hot under the collar, he renewed his efforts against the English, and committed to protect Acadia. It’s unclear, but this may have been when Baptiste actually turned to privateering, commissioned by the French who governed the rest of New France.
Baptiste was quite successful, taking eight ships in 1691 on his first mission, one within sight of Boston Harbour.
Brave, intelligent and incredibly confident, there was nothing Baptiste wouldn’t try. On the flip side, he was also wiley, scheming and willing to do whatever was necessary to accomplish a goal. I’m not sure if those were good qualities or bad, considering. He was both renowned as a celebrated hero and a brazen, rascally scoundrel, depending on who was doing the telling. One thing was certain, he was a colorful character and one you assuredly wanted on your side.
France praised Baptiste and celebrated his successes. England detested him.
The English retaliated. Again. In 1693, they attacked Port Royal, burning a dozen houses and three barns that were full of grain.
Pierre, our privateer friend, is actually recorded on the 1693 Port Royal census, married to Magdelaine Bourg, with 30 arpents of land and, wait for it…15 guns. In that census, three men had four guns, and five had three. No one else even came close to Pierre’s arsenal.
I can hear the census taker now:
“How many guns to you have?”
Baptiste: “Guns…hmm…let me see. Do you mean here in the house?”
“No, altogether.”
Baptiste: “Altogether meaning here in Port Royal or everyplace?”
You can see where this is going, right?
Whatever the “real” answer, the recorded answer was 15, which dwarfed everyone else’s count.
Francois Levron would have known Baptiste well. In 1690 at the fort, a brother-at-arms, and at church, of course. Every time an English scare materialized, the men would have rushed to the fort together. Sometimes, it wasn’t just a scare. All too often, the alarm was the real deal. The Redcoats were coming!
The town of Port Royal was actually quite small, with most of the population scattered between Port Royal and and the upriver communities – sprinkled over the next 15 or 20 river miles. Everyone pretty much knew everything about everyone.
If you’re a privateer, you’re going to anchor your ship right in front of the fort, which is also adjacent to the Port Royal “business district,” such as it was. It would be where the blacksmith shop was located, the armorer, the tavern, merchants, and so forth.
The local merchants would have loved Baptiste, because he came with money or goods to trade. They all needed to rebuild.
It was also where all the local people congregated to attend to business, attend church services, or bury the dead – so a pirate sure to make contact with the local boys who were your next starry-eyed recruits.
Large ocean-going ships couldn’t travel further upriver due to the shape of the land, river, rocks, and tidal flow.
Know who lived right across the river from the fort? Francois Levron.
In 1693, Francois Levron, age 42, is living with Catherine Savoye, age 34, and their children, Jacques 14, Madeleine 11, Anne, 9, Marie, 7, Elisabeth, 3, Joseph, 2, and Jean Baptiste, 1. They have 10 cattle, 12 sheep, 6 pigs, and are living on 15 arpents of land. The family has one gun.
Interesting, isn’t it, that his child born between 1691 and 1692 was named Jean Baptiste. That could be entirely unrelated to Baptiste, or maybe not.
Francois Levron is still living in the same area, very near Pierre Doucet and Laurens Grange(r), across from the fort, just to the right of the white church. .
In 1686, Francois Levron had no land and no gun, but in 1693, the family had both.
In 1686, only 53 of the 104 households had guns.
In 1693, almost all families owned at least one gun, but some, especially with older sons, had more. Every family, with only three exceptions, is armed – and that probably just means that Pierre Baptiste hadn’t gotten those three men a gun yet.
Never again would Acadia be vulnerable and unarmed. Never again would they be left unable to defend themselves – at least not if Baptiste had anything to do with it. He probably had spare guns from the English prizes he took.
After what happened in 1690, these guns would have been as much for defense as hunting. You can fish without a gun, but you can’t fight off the British without one.
Baptiste armed the Acadians right under the noses of the British – who were in essence absentee landlords. Not only that, Baptiste lived at Port Royal, married a local woman (apparently among other wives elsewhere, but that’s a whole other story), and was recorded in the census – in plain sight. It looks like he lived right in Port Royal, probably in the house closest to his ship.
Talk about thumbing your nose at the English. I love this guy, regardless of his personal issues.
Not everyone in Acadia was happy with that arrangement, though. Some felt that Baptiste’s presence focused the wrath of the English upon Acadia.
Who’s to say if they were better or worse off for his presence?
Get the Popcorn!
Baptiste was entertaining, to say the least, and assuredly kept every tongue anywhere near Port Royal wagging.
In 1693, the census shows Baptiste, age 30, with his wife, Madeleine Bourg, age 16. He was actually about 34.
Madeleine Bourg, after having Baptiste’s child about 1695, wound up going back home to live with her parents when it was discovered that he already had at least one wife in France, Isabeau (Judith) Subiran – who he eventually brought to Acadia to live with him.
I kid you not!
Madeleine’s marriage to Baptiste was annulled for bigamy.
Lord have mercy on this rascally man.
Baptiste’s luck changed a bit in 1695, with his vessel running ashore. He escaped with his crew, as always. Escaping was his forte, and he seemed to be the luckiest man ever.
By 1697 he had been outfitted with a new ship and been sent raiding along the New England coast. He spent the rest of his life vacillating between being imprisoned in Boston, and escaping to return to someplace in Acadia – often Port Royal. His nickname should have been Houdini, or maybe Houdini should have been named Baptiste..
Baptiste was living in Port Royal in 1703, or at least his French wife was. She died on October 19th, 1703, and is noted as the wife of “Sieur Captain Baptiste” by Father Felix Pain, and was “buried in the presence of relatives” which would have been either her daughter(s) or Baptiste himself. Pirate or not, bigamist or not, he is addressed as “Sir” by the priest who was clearly aware of the situation. Everyone was “aware” of the situation, and I can’t imagine that there was any love lost between Baptiste and Madeleine Bourg’s family. After all, that marriage anullment made the child illegitimate and brought shame onto Madeleine – whether it should have or not. Fortunately, she remarried about 1697 and seemed to have a “normal” marriage the second time around.
Baptiste, it appears, was none the worse for that indiscretion.
In 1706, Baptiste became the port Captain of Beaubassin.
In January 1707, in Port Royal, Baptiste married yet another wife, Marguerite Bourgeois, after her second husband died. She was the daughter of the founder of Beaubassin. This marriage, frankly, shocks me given that Baptiste was a known bigamist. However, Marguerite’s father was the surgeon, Jacques Bourgeois, who was probably the man referred to as a drunkard in 1690 – so he probably had a few skeletons in his closet too. Baptiste and Bourgeois probably tipped a few together.
Maybe Baptiste was also an expert at “explaining” his behavior, too. Plus, he seemed to be something of a legandary “favorite son.” In all fairness, he defended Acadia when Acadia couldn’t really defend itself, and may have saved Acadia multiple times. Obviously his playboy ways were overlooked – although I doubt strongly if his first Acadian wife’s family forgave him.
Once again, in 1707, Baptiste came to the aid of Port Royal, serving with distinction when the British launched another brutal attack. Francois Levron was probably very glad to see his old friend once again.
Baptiste presumably died in Beaubassin, sometime after the 1714 census where he is listed as Sr. (Sieur) Maisonnat, along with Marguerite Bourgeois.
Regardless of his spicy personal life, especially in Catholic Acadia, he was always treated with respect in any written document. I’m guessing that everyone knew that without him, there might not have been an Acadia – and if so, their lives would have been much more difficult.
Everyone needs a folk hero, and perhaps better even yet, if they provide popcorn-grade entertainment. An Acadian soap-opera. I mean, who WASN’T interested in the latest chapter of “Baptiste – Acadia’s Beloved Bad-Boy Pirate”?
“Have you heard about Baptiste?”
“No, tell me, what did he do NOW?”
I’m still left wondering if Francois Levron was one of those unnamed Acadian men who escaped in 1690, and if he was in the company of Baptiste. Does our family owe the life of our ancestor to our unconquerable Acadian privateer?
Orchards
In the 1698 census, Francois Leveron, now age 50, is living with Catherine Savoye, age 38, along with children Jacque, 23, Anne, 14, Marie, 12, Elizabeth 10, Jeanne, 4, Jean-Baptiste, 7, and Pierre, 2. They have 10 cattle, 13 sheep, and two hogs on 15 arpents of land, along with 20 fruit trees.
Ah yes, Acadian orchards are, yet today, known for their wonderful fruit – especially apples. Many of the old apple trees remain on land that was once Acadian farms. On the census, almost every family had fruit trees.
These trees remain in the marsh where Catherine Savoye’s parents lived. Perhaps Francois and Catherine planted seeds from Catherine’s parents’ trees.
Next door to Francois in 1698, we find Clement Vincent, 22, married to Magdelaine Leveron, age 16, with 5 cattle and 8 sheep.
Francois’s oldest daughter has wed, although no church records from this time remain. The church had been burned, so she likely married in the rectory or perhaps in the little Chapel at BelleIsle.
MapAnnapolis shows both the Levron and Vincent properties.
On the Google Maps image, below, the left red arrow near the bottom, beside the creek, is the Clement Vincent land, whose wife was the daughter of Francois Levron.
On the map above, using the creek as an anchor point, and Hogg Island across the River, the Levron land was between the rightmost red arrow below Granville Road at the Public Works building, and the red arrow on the map below, where MapAnnapolis places their marker.
You can’t see these yards from the road, but I wonder what that circle in the back yard is.
However, the 1698 census itself is somewhat confusing, because both Francois Levron and Clement Vincent are reported smack dab in the middle of the group of families on the south side of the river, a dozen miles upriver, including the Girouard family near Tupperville whose land today still sports a large apple orchard.
Rene Forest is the household just before Francois, and Emanual Hebert is the household on the other side of Vincent. Are Francois Levron and his son-in-law actually living upriver, or is their census report stuck in the middle of those families, out of order? It seems unlikely that they are living upriver, especially since the 1700 census shows him among the same families across the river from Fort Anne at Port Royal
But then, 1714 shows the family upriver again.
Port Royal Becomes French Again
In 1697, Acadia was returned to French control by the Treaty of Ryswick which ended the King William’s War.
However, the transfer wasn’t effectuated until 1699 when Joseph Villebon, the new Acadian Governor, wrote:
It is more than 60 years since Port Royal was founded and the work of clearing the land and the marshes began. The latter have, up to the present time, been very productive, yielding each year a quantity of grain, such as corn, wheat, rye, peas and oats, not only for the maintenance of families living there but for sale and transportation to other parts of the country.
Flax and hemp, also, grow extremely well, and some of the settlers of that region use only the linen, made by themselves, for domestic purposes. The wool of the sheep they raise is very good and the clothing worn by the majority of the men and women is made of it.
Port Royal is a little Normandy for apples… [Several] varieties of apple tree are found at Port Royal, and russet pears. There are other varieties of pears, and cherries… There is an abundance of vegetables for food… cabbage, beets, onions, carrots, chives, shallots, turnips, parsnip, and all sorts of salads; they grow perfectly and are not expensive. Fine green peas… Beef…The sheep are very large… suckling pig… Hens, cocks, capons, pullets, tame geese… Eggs, butter… These are the things which can be obtained from them for food. They are hunters… hare and partridge are very numerous …there are also wild fowl.
In the 1700 census, Francois is listed as Leuron. This wasn’t the most accurate census ever taken. His age has decreased, which is a neat trick if you know how to do it. Catherine is 41, son Jacques’ age has also decreased and he is now 21, Madelaine is recorded as living at home again and is 18, and her husband is missing, Marie is 14, Elizabeth is the same age as two years earlier, 10, Joseph who was missing in 1695 is 9, Jean-Baptiste is 8 and the baby Marie Jeanne, is not shown at all. They still have 15 arpents of land, 12 cattle, 18 sheep and one gun.
There is a 1701 Acadian census, but the entire family is missing, with the exception of Marie who is now age 15 and working as a servant upriver in the home of Emanual Hebert. This is quite confusing.
By 1702, the fort had fallen into disrepair again – which seems like a constant refrain. Perhaps a more accurate telling of the saga is that France continually neglected Acadia, sometimes going 4 or 5 years without resupplying the soldiers, or bringing new recruits.
Is it any wonder things fell into disrepair and morale plummeted?
Once again, a new, expanded fort was planned, but progress was halting.
With only about 100 men, the new fort was estimated to be completed in 1703 or 1704. Not wanting to take that risk, Port Royal residents contributed as much as they possibly could. A new church and hospital was added inside the fort.
The governor in charge at the time, Jacques-Francois de Brouillan, was incompetent at best, and criminal at worst.
In the 1703 census, Francois Leuron is listed with his wife, unnamed, with 2 boys and 4 girls. Two are arms-bearers. Clement Vincent lives two houses away with his wife and one female child.
1704
Sure enough, the Acadian’s worst fears came to pass once again.
Angry again about Indian attacks in New England, the English sought revenge by attacking Acadia again in 1704. They burned homes, destroyed crops, killed cattle, tore down dykes and laid both the Fort and the town of Port Royal under siege.
For 17 days, the soldiers and possibly the townspeople holed up in the fort. The English attacked during that time, but there was no devastation like there had been in 1690. This seemed to be more spur-of-the-moment and focused on retaliation than a planned assault focused on capitulation. After 17 days, the English, apparently satisfied with their revenge, simply left.
The next year, in 1705, the English returned with 550 men in two gunboats, 14 transports, 36 whaleboats, and a shallop. They killed people and captured prisoners along the way as they sailed around Acadia – leaving destruction in their wake everyplace they went.
De Brouillan was replaced in 1705 with an acting governor, thankfully, and not long thereafter, 600 feet of the unfinished fort’s ramparts washed away into the river, caused by torrential spring rains.
I can only imagine the horror as the Acadians witnesses the devastation and wondered why God was betraying them.
Many of the 185 soldiers at the fort were young and inexperienced, and frankly, didn’t want to be there.
Governor Daniel Subercase arrived in 1706. A competent leader, Subercase realized the massive task that he faced. The fort remained unfinished, no supply ship from France had arrived for some time, and morale was at an all-time low.
Port Royal had come to depend heavily on privateers for protection. They kept the English ships at bay and transported supplies. They also brought captured English sailors to Port Royal to be used for exchange barter in the future. Because that inevitable “future” always came with the English.
The first thing Subercase did was to take 35 English prisoners to Boston to exchange for Acadian men being held. I’d surely love to know who those Acadian men were.
Subercase knew the fort needed to be completed quickly, and even sold his own belongings, including his clothes, to raise the funds to do so.
The problem was, he just couldn’t do it fast enough. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was Fort Anne.
1707
The 1707 Acadian census lists Francois Levron using his more familiar name. “Le bonhomme Nantois,” which means “the good man Nantois,” with his wife, 2 boys 14 or older, 2 younger boys, 2 girls 12 or older and 1 younger girl. They are living on half an arpent of land with 2 cattle, 2 hogs and one gun.
What happened to his land?
That’s a lot less than the 15 arpents of land under cultivation in 1700, before the depradations of 1707 – so the census may have been taken after the English “visited” again. He may have still had the land, but it wasn’t under cultivation because – well, the English had destroyed everything again. Dykes kept seawater out and you can’t farm salty soil. Using the Acadian dyking system, it takes about 3 years for the salt to wash out of the soil and for it to become productive again.
Clement Vincent lives next door with his wife and 2 children, also with half an arpent of land under cultivation.
It’s not uncommon for military men to have a “dit” name, such as Nantois, which might reflect a location, something about them, or even a humorous nickname – long after they were no longer soldiers.
Nantois suggests someone from Nantes, a beautiful medieval town with a complex history that includes Romans, Protestants, and Catholics.
Was this castle in Nantes part of Francois’s life before Acadia?
Did he sail from Saint-Nazaire, a seaport on the Loire River, in Nantes, which is located about 30 miles upriver from the Atlantic Coast, one of the largest ports in the 17th century?
How I wish I could ask him.
In the 1707 census, Francois Levron’s neighbor is his son-in-law, Clement Vincent. Beside him is Pierre Doucet, and on the other side Julien Lore/Lord who is recorded using only his dit name, LaMontagne. This places Francois Leveron unquestionably on the north side of the river, which is documented in a 1708 map.
This close-up image of the river was drawn by Labat in 1708, reflecting the depredations of 1707. You can see the word, “nantois” written along the road. You can see 5 structures. Two or three are probably homes, given that at least one son-in-law is living right beside him. His other son-in-law, Jean Garceau is probably living there too. The other structures are probably barns. We can also see that most of the area is treed. No fields are evident, but the small area around the buildings looks like it’s marsh when compared with other known marshy areas.
Francois’s 1707 reduction in land on the census may very well reflect what occurred in 1707, depending on when the census was taken.
Yes, the English attacked – again.
The 1707 Attack
Assuming that Francois arrived in colonial France as a soldier, we don’t know how long that lasted. He could potentially have served until 1690 when the French surrendered Fort Anne to the English, and then became an Acadian resident with his wife and children. In 1690, he would have been about 40.
In 1693, Francois was assuredly NOT a French soldier, so he would have been earning a living from his 15 arpents of land.
In 1697, when France recovered Acadia, it’s unlikely that Francois would have begun serving again, although once a military man, always a military man.
Those skills never leave you and would have served to protect his family in 1704 and again, in 1707.
Acadia, for the beautiful bucolic river valley that it is, was not necessarily a peaceful place.
I suspect that some periods calmed down and lulled the residents into complacency, right up until something happened. Then, the old ever-present anxiety returned with a vengeance. Always living on the edge, and half expecting an attack any minute became a way of life all over again.
The fort was dilapidated. The old powder magazine was leaky and wet. You can’t fire cannons without dry powder. The fort was in terrible condition, and morale was at an all-time low. The Acadians at Port Royal were, once again, sitting ducks, but Subercase heroically attempted to rectify the situation as best he could – going so far as to sell his clothes to do so.
The next attack came in March of 1707, the governor only had 160 soldiers to defend not only the fort, but the town as well. Many of his soldiers were inexperienced and had no desire to fight. Essentially, they had been recruited from the “quays of Paris” and likely had no choice in the matter. Some had run away and defected to the other side.
Now, all Acadian men who could carry a gun were soldiers defending their homes, families, and homeland. No question remained about what happened when the fort could not be defended. Everyone remembered 1690 and their homes having burned multiple times by now.
They knew it would happen again – and it did.
Governor Subercase managed to hold the fort, somehow, against more than 1000 men from New England, but the sheer imbalance foreshadowed the future.
Having no other choice, the governor recruited pirates who were more than happy to assist the Acadians by taking English ships as “prizes.” While France ignored Subercases’s pleas for help, the Acadians lived off the booty of the corsairs for the next three years.
This did help, but it also enraged New England, whose ships were being lost and who could no longer easily access the fishing grounds on the Grand Banks.
They would steam and their anger would fester for three years. The attack in 1710 was unlike any other.
1710
Captured English sailors had been warning the Acadians for three years. 1708, 1709, and then 1710 that an attack was coming.
When the promised attack didn’t happen, perhaps the Acadians became a little complacent. What they did accomplish was to finish the fort. Almost.
On a crisp October day, Armageddon arrived in the form of 3400 English soldiers on 43 ships, with more firepower than existed in all of Acadia. Their sheer number of soldiers was three times the number of entire people, including women and children, in all of Acadia – not just Port Royal.
Can you imagine the shocked looks on Acadian faces as they realized the magnitude of the invasion and what was about to unfold – as the ships just kept coming and coming – one after another until they could no longer see the end of the ships in the river.
The Acadians stood no chance – yet – unlike 1690, they were not about to give up without at least some sort of resistance.
These people were incredibly brave!
Imagine how they felt seeing their former French comrades with the English – soldiers who had once served with them in the garrison – but had deserted and betrayed them.
The river began to look like a parking lot. There were so many ships that it took several days for them to all sail into position in the river.
Their only prayer now was for the long-absent French fleet to show up and barricade the English fleet into the river where they could be dealt with accordingly.
While that was a nice fantasy, maybe a dream, and assuredly a prayer, it didn’t happen.
No, the Acadians were entirely alone.
The sentry near Goat Island had sounded the alarm, so there was at least a little time to gather the women and children in the fort. The soldiers and Acadians rushed around inside the fort to finish as much as possible. They had received no supplies, pay or rations from France in four years – so they had been “making do” a lot – with whatever they had.
Francois’s wife and children, and his daughters and their children, who lived right across the river, were probably sheltered inside the fort. The upriver homesteads likely had a different safe plan.
The most secure location in the fort, by far, was the “Black Hole,” formerly the old powder magazine.
It was also the most terrifying – a subterranean chamber. Only one way in and the same way out.
I hyperventilate even looking at this, yet I forced myself to stand there last summer – to experience what my ancestors had.
What would happen if no one ever came and opened the door? There was only one answer.
By 1710, Francois was no spring children. He was 60ish, but I’m sure as long as he had a breath in his body, he was going to fight.
Francois’s oldest son, Jacques was 31, had just married Marie Doucet that January, and she was three months pregnant. Francois’s second son, Joseph, 19, and Jean-Baptiste, 18 would certainly have been standing beside their father, facing down the English. Pierre would have been 15, so I’m not sure where he would have been. My guess would be standing right beside his father and brothers.
Daughter Madeleine’s husband, Clement Vincent would have been fighting, and she and their four children would probably have been sheltering with her mother, Catherine Savoye, wherever she was. Catherine could have gone upriver to BelleIsle where she grew up, and hid in the hills behind the river. The English would never find them there.
Daughter Anne wasn’t married, but Marie had married Jean Garceau and probably lived in the third house on the Levron homeplace. Their third child was just a few months old. Jean Garceau would have been fighting with his father-in-law, and Marie was probably in the Black Hole with her mother. (I’m not even Catholic and I’m crossing myself.)
Daughter Elizabeth had married Michel Picot and had one child. Daughter Jeanne was 16 and Madeleine was 10.
If the fort fell and everyone inside died, literally the entire Levron family – three generations – would be wiped out in one fell swoop. Eight men fighting, and 16 women and children in the black hole. Nothing will motivate a man to fight more than that. Francois must have felt an incredible weight and desperation on his shoulders that day – far greater than any earlier battle – because his family was larger and he was responsible for every soul, including his unborn grandchild.
Maybe what he felt was unflinching determination.
And so, they stood firm, the Acadian men, French soldiers, a few Mi’kmaq, their brethren who had come to stand and die with them, and about 20 men from Quebec who had the bad luck to be there when the English arrived. Incredibly outnumbered, they held off the invading English as long as humanly possible.
I’m sure they prayed to all that is holy.
The English landed and advanced on both sides of the river, eventually surrounding the fort so closely that the people inside the fort could hear their mocking voices.
TheEnglish 1710 siege map shows their landing locations, along with the Acadian homesteads, and, of course, the fort.
The English had done their homework well and knew a great deal about the fortifications.
Hell’s Fire rained down on the Acadians for days. Gunfire and grenades were lobbed over the fort walls.
The French were being squeezed from all sides.
I wonder if Francois Levron could glimpse his home across the water. Was it standing? Was it burning? Had he let his livestock loose in the hills, hoping they would survive?
The Acadian men turned to guerrilla-style resistance – a fighting style they had learned from the Mi’kmaq, and one the English were unfamiliar with.
Still, they were vastly outnumbered, and the English had been able to mount their cannon on the dykes behind and across Alain’s Creek from the fort.
Armageddon! Hell’s utter fury!
And then…
Silence.
Uncanny, eerie silence.
The French were quite confused, but soon saw two English officers approaching the fort waving flags of truce. Truce, not surrender.
The English had to know that the Acadians really didn’t want to commit suicide, and after the beating they had been taking, were probably ready to surrender. The Acadians clearly saw the handwriting on the wall.
The English demanded a surrender. Subercase negotiated. Everyone’s future rested on him and his skill. What a heavy weight to hear.
Given his circumstances, Subercase did a fine job.
The Acadians would not be massacred, and neither would their families. The English prisoners were released from the fort, and the English boats headed upriver to fetch the Acadian women and children who had sheltered there. The absolute worst thing that the English could have done was to harm the Acadian families. However, the Acadians could do nothing except trust them.
The Acadians were allowed to keep six cannons and two mortars, although I have no idea why. Maybe as salve to their dignity. The English received the rest of what was inside the fort as spoils of war.
The men could not hold the fort, although they did their best in the face of insurmountable odds, and managed to last for 19 days. They also managed, thanks to Subercase, not to be slaughtered. They would live to raise their families, and perhaps, to fight another day.
The French soldiers were provided passage back to France on the English ships, and once again, England controlled Acadia and renamed Port Royal, Annapolis Royal.
On October 16th, the key to the fort was ceremonially passed from Subercase to Nicholson, the English commander, and the Acadians were allowed to march out of the fort with full honors, carrying the French flag, “arms and baggage, drums beating and colors flying,” even in defeat.
I can see Francois Levron marching through this archway, probably staring straight ahead, defeated, but head unbowed.
Labat drew another map in 1710.
This map shows the Nantois land once again, with four divisions of some type, but unlike the other homesteads that depict fields. There’s a 5th square to the right of the other four, too. That could have been the son who had just married.
To the left, around the bend in the river, Labat also drew the English camp of 1707. With the English camped right there, you know for sure that Francois Levron’s homesteads were burned.
On both the 1707 and the 1710 maps, you can see other settlers’ fields that were under cultivation. How did Francois Levron survive with no fields? Did he have another skill or trade? And what are those little Xs along the shore? Perhaps markers to keep ships from running ashore or encountering rocks?
Today, you can’t see much of anything from the road, unfortunately.
Based on the shape of the road, the shore and the river, it looks like the Levron home was located down this driveway, behind the houses.
I sure would like to know what those rough areas are in the back of the houses. I wonder if the homeowners have found anything resembling homestead remains. Generally rocks formed the foundation and make mowing or plowing impossible.
This 1753 map drawn and enhanced from a 1733 house map of Acadia shows the “Nantois” Levron property.
1714
There was only one more Acadian census, taken in 1714. But Francois had aleady died earlier in the year.
ChatGPT translated his death record thus:
On the twenty-third of June in the year 1714, I,
the undersigned, serving as parish priest at Port Royal in Acadia,
have solemnly buried François Levron, a resident of Port Royal,
about sixty years of age, who died of illness
after receiving the sacraments. In witness of which
I have signed the present register on the same day and year as above.
Fr. Justinen Durand, Recollect missionary
It looks like Francois died and was buried the same day. Perhaps he died early, and it was hot.
The Nova Scotia Archives translates his age as about 70 years old. I see soixante, not soixante-dix, and although I struggle with this old handwriting, I do think they are wrong this time. I’m very grateful for these indexed records, but I’ve learned always to retranslate.
How old was Francois when he died? What evidence do we have.
Using the various censuses that provide ages, we have the following:
| |
1678 |
1686 |
1693 |
1698 |
1700 |
1707 |
| Francois |
|
33 (1653) |
42 (1651) |
50 (1648) |
49 (1651) |
Listed |
| Catherine |
|
20 |
34 |
38 |
41 |
Yes |
| Jacques |
1 |
9 |
14 |
23 |
21 |
Yes |
| Madeleine |
|
5 |
11 |
M Clement Vincent |
18 |
|
| Anne |
|
2 |
9 |
14 |
16 |
Yes |
| Marie |
|
1 |
7 |
12 |
14 |
M 1703 Jean Garceau |
| Elisabeth |
|
|
3 |
10 |
10 |
M 1705 Michel Picot |
| Joseph |
|
|
2 |
|
9 |
Yes |
| Jean-Baptiste |
|
|
1 |
7 |
8 |
|
| Jeanne |
|
|
|
4 |
|
|
| Marie Jeanne |
|
|
|
2 |
|
Yes |
| Pierre |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Madeleine |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Based on the various census documents, his birth year averages 1650. It looks like Francois was born about 1651, which means he was about 63 when he died. In any case, he was closer to 60 than 70.
Francois Levron may rest someplace in the garrison cemetery, in the fort where he probably lived at one time as a soldier, and where he so bravely fought against the English at least half a dozen times. Where he stood with Baptiste. Just a few feet from where Acadian history had been made over and over.
Francois still stands guard, someplace.
It’s possible that Francois was buried in the St. Laurent’s Chapel cemetery at BelleIsle, where many of the upriver Acadians are buried – most church records don’t specifiy which cemetery – only that they were buried and when.
We know that several residents were buried at St. Laurents after 1710 when the English controlled Annapolis Royal and the church there, such as it was.
The 1714 census reflects Francois’s death, showing only the “widow Nantois”, with 2 sons, and 1 daughter. However, they are living smack dab in the middle of seven Girouard families, clearly upriver. Other families, including his son-in-law Clement Vincent are listed “near the fort.”
This is the third time that we find the Levron family among the upriver families, so there’s some connection there, but we may never know what it is.
One Final Respect Paid
It’s a huge pain, but often viewing and translating every record of someone’s children and, minimally, the births of their grandchildren yields unexpected nuggets worth their weight in gold. Baptismal records, witnesses, and more.
Generally, those ancillary people aren’t indexed, but, honestly, they should be because, among other reasons, they document relationships and serve as a different kind of census. Specifically, who is still alive. Sometimes relationships are provided as well.
Francois’s unmarried son died in 1725 and was buried in the cemetery at St. Laurents. His death record is somewhat unusual in both it’s length and phrasing – not to mention that he is working as a domestic.
The Nova Scotia Archives extracted what they considered to be the important parts of the record, but it’s the first part of Pierre’s burial record that reveals more about Francois, even 11 years after his death in 1714.
On the twenty-first of the month of January, 1725, was buried in the cemetery of Haut-de-Rivière, in my absence, the body of Pierre Levron, about thirty years old, son of Sieur François Levron, resident of Port Royal in Acadia, and of Catherine Savoye, his father and mother (both) deceased, (he died) the previous day after having confessed, in the house of Pierre Giraud as well.
This record was recorded by Father de Breslay who had only just arrived in Annapolis Royal that year. The Priest did not know Francois Levron personally, so his reference to him using the honorific of Sir, especially when he did not use that for everyone else, has to reflect how Sieur Francois Levron was remembered in the Acadian community more than a decade after his death.
A good man, “bonnehomme Nantois,” and a brethren at arms with Acadia’s privateer, Baptiste, both known as Sieur.
Origins
Who were Francois’s parents? Is he related to Levron family members in France? Is there any possibility of tracking Francois to parish records in France?
Francois’s nickname, “Nantois” provides us with a potential clue about his origins, but his Y-DNA might give us answers – if a male Levron who descends from Francois were to take the Y-DNA test.
Y-DNA tracks a male’s direct paternal line both recently, to men with a common or similar surname, and also back in time beyond the advent of surnames.
If Francois originated in Nantes, whose residents are known as Nantais, he might match another male from that region. He might have an ancient connection to the Namnetes, a tribe of Gaul who inhabited what is now Nantes during the Iron Age, or perhaps to the Romans who followed.
If you are a Levron male who descends directly through your paternal line from Francois, I have a DNA testing scholarship for you. Let’s learn together. Please reach out.
_____________________________________________________________
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