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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Name	Role	Wage	Advance Livres	Sous	Deniers	Commentary
Captain LeBoeuf	Captain		162 due Since Sept 1642	0	0	Captain’s wages carried over from and of year 1641 not rectified. #1
Jehan Marton	Ship’s Pilot	12 livres/mo	64	2	1	Plus advance. #1
Pierre Brettois	Ship’s Boatswain	12 livres/mo	36	0	0	Received advance. #1
Matelin Gomeau	Sailor	10 livres mo	45	0	0	Received advance. #1
Name crossed out – maybe Jean Jacquet or Samuel?	Sailor	8 livresmo	42	0	0	Line was crossed out. #1
Jean Giroux	Sailor	livres/mo	22	0	0	Received an advance. #!
Jouannis Marot	Sailor	9 livres/mo	39	0	0	Received advance. #1
Pierre Lemasson?	Sailor	9 livres/mo	42	0	0	Received advance. #1
Jehan de Mes	Carpenter	16 livres/mo	47	7	0	Received advance. #1
François Rublanche	Sailor	12 livres/mo	36	0	0	Received advance. #1
Marceau Mallet	Gunner (cannoneer)	15 livres/mo	30	0	0	Received advance. #1
Noël Guittault	Sailor	11 livres/mo	28	4	6	Received advance. #1
André Margonne	Sailor	12 livres/mo	24	0	0	Received advance. #1
Guillaume Blondel	Sailor	11 livres/mo	28	7	0	Received advance. #1
Jehan Moutton	Cabin boy		11	9	6	Received advance. #1
Pierre du Breuil	Sailor	Absent	40	0	0	Marked as absent. #2
Jehan Poirier	Sailor	Absent	36	0	0	Marked as absent. #2
Bertrand Aubert	Soldier	9 livres/mo	18	0	0	Received advance. #3
Habraham Fleurant	Soldier	9livres/mo	23	0	0	Received advance. #3
Jehan Saubriat	Soldier	7 livres/mo	14	0	0	Received advance. #3
André Savigneau	Soldier	10 livres/mo	14	0	0	Received advance. #3
Henot Jacop	Soldier	10 livres/mo	30	0	0	Received advance. #3
Jehan Moizard	Soldier	9 livres/mo	33	0	0	Received advance. #3
Jehan Oslie	Soldier	10 livres/mo	30	0	0	Received advance, to remain behind on land. #3
Pierre Chalopin	Soldier	75 livres/yr	37	10	0	Received advance, to remain overseas at the post. #4
François Pofroy	Baker	200 livres/yr	100	0	0	Received advance, to remain overseas at the post, baker by trade. #4
Jacques Bourgeois	Surgeon	45 écus/yr	47	4	0	Surgeon; salary in écus, to remain overseas at the post. #4
Mr. Mallet	Assistant commissary		3	0	0	Received advance and left as assistant commissary. #4
Pierre Fleureau	Soldier		33	0	0	Fled but received advance. #5
Philippe de la Haye	Soldier		36	0	0	Fled but received advance. #5
Massiau Brullon	Soldier & Surgeon		37	0	0	Fled but had received advance. #5
Maliedin Quaucet	Soldier		20	0	0	Assigned to M. Courroux, received advance. #5
Jehan Michel	Soldier		33	0	0	Fled but received advance.. #5
Mathurin Leduc	Soldier		33	1	6	Fled but received advance. #5
Jehan du Bois? or Puis	Soldier		36	0	0	Received advance. #5
Alexandre Langleborne	Soldier (wounded)		33	0	0	Wounded soldier, received advance. #5

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.

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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