Tag Archives: 52 Weeks of Ancestors

Simon Pelletret (c1610 – 1642/1645): A Walk Through Port Royal – 52 Ancestors #460

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Unfortunately, we know very little about Simon Pelletret, one of the founding settlers in Port Royal, Acadia, today’s Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia.

For decades, we only knew his surname through his daughters. Simon was long deceased by the time the first Acadian census was taken in Port Royal in 1671.

In that and subsequent censuses, his two daughters are shown with the birth surname Pelletret. His widow, Perrine Bourg, had remarried to Rene Landry by about 1645, because their first child was born about 1646.

Simon’s oldest daughter, Henriette Pelletret, was born about 1640 or 1641 in Port Royal, and married Pierre Doucet in about 1660.

Simon’s younger daughter, Jeanne, was born about 1643 and married Barnabe Martin about 1666, followed by Jacques Le Vanier about 1691.

Perrine Bourg, Simon’s wife, was born about 1626, someplace in France, so she would have been about 14 or 15 when they married.

Typically, Acadian men married when they were about 30. Based on that calculation, Simon was probably born about 1610.

Most of the early Acadian settlers were recruited first by Isaac de Razilly before his 1635 death, then by Charles d’Aulnay from the area around Loudon, Martaize, La Chaussee, and La Rochelle. The tiny Acadian fort at La Heve was established about 1632, but it’s not believed that families arrived before 1636, according to later depositions.

However, 300 soldiers, laborers and skilled craftsmen did make the 1632 journey. Some stayed, some died, and others made the return trip. Simon could certainly have been at La Heve before Port Royal.

Many ships arrived whose passenger lists did not survive. We know Simon Pelletret was not on the St. Jehan in 1636 with the earliest families. That ship landed at La Heve, reinforcing that colony. He was already in Acadia before the next ship with a roster arrived in 1642.

Early Port Royal

This earliest French fort in the Annapolis River Valley was located across the river and west of what would become the town of Port Royal, on the northern banks of the Annapolis River, and is historically reconstructed today.

Known as The Habitation, it was built as a trading outpost by Samuel Champlain in 1605, but destroyed by the English in 1613.  

The next fort was Charles Fort, built in Port Royal by the Scots in 1629, but relinquished by treaty in 1632, returning the region to French control.

After Razilly’s 1635 death, his brother, Claude de Razilly, received a grant of Port Royal from the company of New France. Charles D’Aulnay, who governed this part of Acadia for Razilly moved the seat of Acadia from La Heve to Port Royal and built Le Fort du Port Royal about 1635, replacing Charles Fort in Port Royal.

The fort, rebuilt and expanded, was later renamed Fort Anne in 1710 when the British captured Port Royal and renamed the town Annapolis Royal.

It was reported that Razilly had brought 40 families over, but I have never found substantiation for that claim. The museum at La Heve mentions soldiers and priests, but not families, although we can’t say it didn’t happen.

There are a couple of things that we do know. For example, we know that in 1654, there were about 270 residents in Port Royal and along the river. They would have resided in about 45 households.

We do know that d’Aulnay was very focused on settlement, and he was reported to have brought an additional 20 families. Eight families plus one couple traveled on the St. Jehan in 1636.

If there were 60+ families that had arrived by 1640 or so, where did they go by 1654? We also know that d’Aulnay made several trips back to France and would have brought new settlers and soldiers with each subsequent trip, so we would expect the number of households to increase with time.

Land in Port Royal

The fort in Port Royal survived several attacks and underwent multiple renovations. At least twice, it fell into extreme disrepair.

In 1705, the old fort needed to be expanded, which meant that several pieces of land adjacent the original fort, owned by the families of several founding families, needed to be expropriated.

The earliest documentation of Simon Pelletret in Port Royal was found by Stephen A. White in a document that referenced the expropriation of that land.

On the list of expropriations from 1705 are the names of François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, Simon Pelletret, and Michel Boudrot, as owners of the plots “adjoining the old fort.” Four of these five names belong to first settlers of Port-Royal. Trahan, for example, arrived aboard the Saint-Jehan in 1636, and Boudrot was a syndic in Port-Royal in 1639. By 1705, all four had long since passed away, and it must be assumed that their heirs were the current owners of these plots at the time of the expropriations. We believe the same was true for Simon Pelletret. Since there was no male of this name in the Acadian censuses from 1671 onwards, it seems likely that this Simon must have been the first husband of Perrine Bourg. Simon Pelletret would have thus received, like François Gautrot, Guillaume Trahan, Jean Blanchard, and Michel Boudrot, one of the first land grants in Port-Royal, very close to the fort. He owned a lot adjoining the side of the old Fort.

Nicole Barrieau, in her 1994 thesis, provided a drawing of the properties.

We know that Simon Pelletret married Perrine Bourg about 1640, had two children by 1643, and died sometime between the conception of the second child and when Perrine remarried about 1645. Therefore, Simon died between 1642 and 1645 meaning we can deduce that Simon received his land appropriation along with the other earliest settlers in Port Royal.

Simon, along with the others whose land was expropriated, were probably settled here and had established farms by 1640 when he married.

Since Simon’s descendants were to receive compensation, and Perrine died between 1693 and 1698, the funds would have fallen to Henriette and her sister, Jeanne. Henriette had also died before 1705, so her children might have inherited in her stead. Jeanne died in 1706, and based on complaints by other families who were owned money from that transaction, it’s probable that Jeanne never saw any of the money either.

What probably did occur is that the daughters continued to own the land, and one of them may have lived there, at least until the fires of 1690 and 1693.

Houses in Port Royal

By 1640, the founding settlers of Port Royal would have had homes with adjacent gardens, outbuildings to support their trade, whatever it was, and to shelter their livestock. Even though they lived on the riverfront, the long skinny parcels suggested that they built their homes near the road, and the land between the house and the river was used for farming.

We don’t know Simon’s occupation, which would have informed his social status, but we do know that the upper echelon of Acadia lived near the fort. The Governor, the King’s lawyers and clerks, the engineer, the Fort Commander, Louis Allain, the miller, Jacques Bourgeois, the surgeon, Abraham Dugas, the armourer, and Michael Boudrot, the syndic.

Most Acadian houses belonged to the farming peasants and were quite small, consisting of one room and a loft.

A reproduction stands in the Annapolis Royal Historic Gardens, today.

While most homes were indeed humble abodes, that’s not necessarily the case with the original homes along the river.

In 1687, Louis Allain was awarded land 5 or 6 houses away from where Simon had once lived. Louis was quite prosperous, and in addition to owning the mill, owned at least two ships that could dock at his property. His expropriation on December 2, 1705 noted that his house was 30 feet long by 22 feet wide, further described as “old”, with a board roof, revetted on the outside with half-rotten four inch blanks, a mud chimney and a very poor floor. A partition of plain boards and two cabinets, which were smaller rooms created by moveable walls, were formed from boards that were not tongue and groove.

Allain’s land was outside the fort, but in the area to be prepared for the parade ground.

Brenda Dunn, in her paper titled, Acadian Architecture in Port-Royal, tells us more about the early homesteads gleaned from archaeological excavations.

The typical home utilized half-timbered construction, known as charpente or colombage where heavy beams are assembled with mortice and tenon joints held in place with wooden pegs.

My hand, with my mother’s ring descended from her Acadian lineage, is shown here against an original portion of the fort’s barracks which seems to be this same type of construction.

The timbers were then filled in with other materials, as shown above. Typically, the fill was clay and mud, but in the garrison, it included bricks and stone.

The Acadian house frames rested on sills, which were placed upon a foundation. The Gaudet family specialized in this type of construction. In 1702, Pierre Gaudet was hired to hew timbers and assemble the frames of the fort’s new buildings. He might even have hewed these timbers,

Brenda tells us that:

When the French engineer Pierre-Paul Delabat arrived to design and build the new fort in 1702, he made a study of local half-timber buildings in the Port-Royal area. He was struck by the impermanence of the Acadian buildings, which he claimed often did not have foundations but sat directly on the ground.

Delabat claimed that Acadians renewed the frames of their buildings every 12 to 14 years, or at least every 20 years. He complained that they used unseasoned wood, which caused the framing to crack and the joints to work, opening up the house to the weather. He also criticized the size and placement of the mortice and tenon joints in the framing. According to Delabat, the interiors were usually finished with panelling (lambrissage), possibly only boards, which he considered a waste of wood and nails. He noted the common use of cellars in Acadian houses, a detail documented elsewhere. His are the only contemporary comments on Acadian charpente construction.

Major de Villieu purchased another house, in the centre of town, which was 46 pieds by 24 pieds and consisted of “a kitchen, a parlour and five cabinets with a cellar underneath.” Described as “a house of brick and wood,” it may have been a frame building with brick fill.

Two archaeological excavations occurred across the river, one at BelleIsle on the Savoie land dating from the late 1600s, and one in the Melanson settlement.

One of the most interesting aspects of both excavations is that the original homes had burned, and the replacement home was built right on top of where the original home had stood.

The BelleIsle excavations uncovered evidence of two half-timber houses, built one after the other on the same foundation. The Acadian builders had placed tamped clay over the remains of the first house, which had burned, and immediately began construction of its replacement.

The original Savoie home, based on the excavation, was about 25 by 36 feet, with an extension on the east end.

The most remarkable feature of the house was a fireplace/oven complex, located on the west end wall. The oven was built against the outside wall on a stone foundation 2.5 metres in diameter. Locally produced clay bricks seem to have been used to line the fireplace while local blue slate tiles served as hearth tiles.

At the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center, located on the original Savoie land, Charlie Tibodeau has reconstructed an Acadian oven, and uses it regularly for visitor demonstrations and family reunions.

If you return to the Acadian homeland, be sure to stop at the Center, but call first to make arrangements, because they aren’t always there.

I wrote about the Francois Savoie homestead and archaeological site, here.

The second archaeological site, the Melanson or Melancon village eventually hosted the homes of about a dozen family members. One of those homes had been rebuilt four times. The first two were of a different type of construction, and the third and fourth were the more traditional half-timber, the walls being filled with clay and chopped marsh grass.

In both locations, tamped clay was spread to prepare the site for the replacement home. Sometimes the ovens were reused. Two styles of ovens were found. The Savoie oven was made with unfired clay tiles, embedded in clay over a plank base. The Melanson oven did not have a plank base, but was built on a wooden platform.

While both sites had some window glass, it was very limited and the Melanson site glass was stamped with a 1740 date.

Today, nothing but nature remains of the Melanson village site.

At least nothing above the earth.

Imagine how much history is buried in Port Royal and other locations beneath development, the fort – or simply beneath fields.

One of the most fascinating tidbits that Brenda reveals is that in 1701, a house in the main settlement of Port Royal, near the fort, was described as having paper windows.

Glass was a luxury, but people needed light. Oiled or greased paper was translucent and was commonly used for windows on the American frontier, and apparently in Acadia too. Greased paper was waterproof and protected the interior from the elements, and insects, while admitting light.

Did Simon’s original home have paper windows?

From what little we know about the early buildings, it sounds like fire was an unwelcome but all too common danger. Rebuilding was a way of life. Some fires would have occurred from open flames maintained for both warmth and cooking, but others were intentionally set.

Acadia, while stunningly beautiful and deceptively tranquil today, was not peaceful then.

What Happened in the 1640s?

Simon was a man in his prime when he died, probably between 32 and 35. Of course, there was all kinds of danger in Port Royal. Everything from a housefire to a capsized boat, to a hunting accident, to dysentery, to a cut turned septic, to pneumonia. Illnesses and accidents that modern medicine routinely saves us from today were fatal then.

Aside from that, there was also chronic warfare between two warring Acadian Governors.

Charles d’Aulnay, and Charles La Tour were supposed to essentially be co-governors of Acadia, responsible for different locations. Suffice it to say that didn’t go well, and the Acadian Civil War resulted.

Whether these events took Simon’s life, or something else did, this chronic clash would very much have been front and center in his life. Port Royal was a bullseye, dead center in the middle of the conflict, and the residents always had to be on guard.

La Tour’s headquarters lay across the bay, at the mouth of the River Saint John at Fort Sainte-Marie. From the mouth of the Saint John River to the mouth of the Riviere Dauphin was about 40 miles, and another 15 or so on upriver to Port Royal.

Depending on the conditions, a ship could cover 100 miles a day, so in essence, the forts, and domains, of these two feuding men weren’t far apart at all.

La Tour actively traded with New England, Boston in particular, and was gone for months at a time. D’Aulnay had a hostile relationship with the English and made trips back and forth to France to recruit new settlers to expand Port Royal.

Another bone of contention between the two men in their escalating feud was that La Tour was Protestant, as were the English, and d’Aulnay was Catholic, as were most of the Acadians (except Charles Melanson), which fostered an atmosphere of distrust.

La Tour was gone to Boston for five months in 1642, and d’Aulnay took advantage of his absence by blockading his fort across the bay.

La Tour returned, angry as a wet hen, with four ships and 270 men to reclaim his fort. He chased d’Aulnay back across the bay to Port Royal, but turned around and returned home without actually catching him.

D’Aulnay had La Tour charged with treason and disrespect to the French crown.

That ratcheted things up more than a notch or two.

The following year, the situation turned deadly when La Tour, on his way to Boston to trade once again, chased d’Aulnay to Penobscot Bay in present-day Maine. D’Aulnay had to run two of his ships aground. He turned to fight La Tour, losing another ship, and three men. He also managed to kill three of La Tour’s men before La Tour proceeded on to Boston.

While in Boston, La Tour garnered sympathy and gathered resources. La Tour attacked Port Royal with English mercenaries on his return trip from Boston. La Tour commanded 270 Puritan and Huguenot men who rampaged through Port Royal, killing three people, burning the mill, slaughtering cattle, and seizing more than 18,000 livres worth of furs that were destined for the next trading trip to France. One livre was worth about a pound of silver.

Another seven Port Royal men were injured.

D’Aulnay was seething, and preparing.

On Easter Sunday in 1645, d’Aulnay summoned every man in Acadia capable of carrying a gun, about 200. They boarded ships, sailed across the bay, and attacked La Tour’s fort – once again while he was in New England.

By this point, it was kill or be killed, because La Tour was in Boston seeking reinforcements and planning to violently take Port Royal. With the English and Boston merchants on La Tour’s side, d’Aulnay was in essence doing battle with a traitor who had access to a LOT more resources than d’Aulnay did. France had neglected Acadia for quite some time. Out of sight, out of mind – but that negligence made Acadia, who was vastly outnumbered, all the more attractive to La Tour and his English conspiratorial buddies.

For three days, La Tour’s wife, Francoise-Marie Jacquelin, and his 40 or 45 soldiers defended the fort. D’Aulnay lost 33 men, but on the third day, managed to breach the fort. D’Aulnay and Francoise-Marie agreed to surrender terms the following day, which included sparing the lives of La Tour’s soldiers. On the fifth day, d’Aulnay, in spite of his promise, hung every soldier from the gallows, in front of Francoise-Marie who was forced to stand on the gallows platform, with a noose around her neck, watching. She was taken prisoner and died three weeks later.

La Tour learned of these events while in New England and sought refuge in Quebec for the next several years.

While this is not the end of the Acadian saga, it’s the end of the portion that involves Simon Pelletret.

Was Simon one of the six men who died at La Tour’s hand in 1643, or one of the people who died or was injured in Port Royal later that year? Was he one of the 33 men who died on Easter Sunday in 1645?

We will never know, but what we do know is that his wife, Perrine Bourg remarried to Rene Landry around 1645, and according to the 1671 census, they had their first baby the following year.

Simon’s Land and the Fort

I visited Annapolis Royal in the summer of 2024, not realizing at the time that I was literally standing on the original land of Simon Pelletret. In fact, if we dug down beneath the fort’s ramparts, glacis and parade ground in just the right spot, we’d find the remains of Simon’s home – at least the stone foundation, if nothing else.

We know roughly where Simon lived based on the 1705 expropriation of the land within Port Royal for the fort expansion and parade ground.

We also know from Barrieau’s map approximately where she placed Simon’s land, along with the value recorded in livres. Simon’s land, along with his neighbor, Jean Blanchard, were worth 73 livres.

You can see:

  1. The original fort according to the Saccardy plan
  2. The fort according to the interpretation of Brenda Dunn, National Parks historian
  3. Boundary of the new 1703-1705 fort
  4. Dashed line indicating the glacis of the new fort

Glacis are sloped earthworks positioned in front of a fort’s wall or rampart that absorbs or deflects cannon fire and helps prevent surprise attacks.

These features are still in place today. In aerial images, you can see the fort’s ramparts, plus the glacis where the walking path surrounds the fort on top of the glacis walls. A moat ran between the two, between the glacis and the ramparts.

The approximate site of Simon’s land is marked in red.

With the aerial view rotated 90 degrees, I’ve overlayed the Pelletret slice of land to the best of my ability to match the Barrieau map.

Simon’s land included some marais near the water, a part of the glacis, a slice of the moat and extended into and across the rampart.

Keep in mind that significant erosion has occurred on the banks of the river, so the land would have stretched further into what is the water, today.

The Annapolis River, then the Riviere Dauphin, is a tidal river, and the brown portion on the riverbanks in the Google satellite photo below is tidal mud.

For perspective, this satellite photo shows the fort, part of the Annapolis Royal waterfront, plus the river and the land across the river where Acadian families also settled. I can just see La Tour’s ships sailing up to the Fort. Simon’s land is marked with the red arrow.

Also visible is the Queen’s Wharf, marked by the red star just above the end of the arrow, where Simon’s descendants were herded onto the English deportation ships in 1755.

This land is so richly infused with Acadian memories, and blood.

Let’s take a walk on top of the fort’s glacis and visit Simon’s land. The small tree or large bush at right is probably on his land. If not, it’s very near.

Of course, when Simon lived here, his land would have been closer in elevation to the water, but the view overlooking the river would still have been spectacular. The mouth of the river is a dozen miles to the left.

Standing on Simon’s land, looking over the Queen’s Whart and across the river. Depending on the accuracy of Barrieau’s drawing and the actual angle of Simon’s land, it’s possible that it included at least a portion of where the wharf would be built decades later.

Just over 100 years after Simon built his homestead where I’m standing, his descendants would be herded onto English ships, separated, and shipped to parts unknown.

It took more than a century, but yes, eventually the English defeated the Acadians and removed them from their homeland.

Here, standing on the wharf, the Pelletret land can probably be seen in its entirely from river level, beginning to the right of the wharf by the marsh stream, and extending up to about where the white Monument du Mons stands, at left. The white building with the three chimneys is the garrison.

Before the glacis, a fortified hill of earth and stone, was built, Simon’s land, shown here, would have included more marshland. He would have dyked and drained his land to reclaim it from the saltwater so that he could farm productively and graze his cattle. That process took about 3 years to be productive, so he might have just begun to reap the benefits of his efforts when he died. His wife may have continued living there after she remarried. 

Everyone needed dry land to build their house and barn, but the marais, or marsh, to be dyked and drained, was prime real estate too. This explains the long, skinny, parcels – assuring that everyone received some dry, higher land, and some marsh.

Standing near the wharf, looking upriver towards the town, plus the beautiful view across the river. The hills on both sides of the river protected the valley.

The white granite de Mons Monument that stands on the glacis today is either on or just beside Simon’s land.

Climbing up the hill, across the glacis, and then onto the rampart, we look out over Simon’s land, the wharf, the river and the hills beyond. You can see the tide flowing in the river, either in or out.

Standing near where Simon’s house stood, we look eastward towards town, across the lots belonging to Michel Boudrot, Jean Blanchard, Guillaume Trahan, Francois Gautrot, and others who lived adjacent the fort and were Simon’s friends and neighbors.

Turning to the left and looking the other direction, we see the rest of the glacis overlooking the river and part of the now-dry moat. The end of the fort by the river, at far left, has been eaten away by erosion.

In front of the garrison, where the contemporary road crosses the old bastion, we find the widest portion of Simon’s land where his house likely stood. At one time, this was part of the main street of Port Royal.

The bastions are steep and tall, which, after all, is the entire point of a defensive structure.

One of Simon’s two daughters, Jeanne Pelletret, who married Barnabe Martin and then Jacques Le Vanier, died in 1706, so she may have lived long enough to receive her share of the payment for Simon’s expropriated land. His eldest daughter, Henriette Pelletret, who married Pierre Doucet, had died by 1694, so hopefully, her children received her share.

As slow as France was to sent money or assistance of any kind, it may well have been Simon’s grandchildren who were the ultimate beneficiaries.

Looking down from the top of the rampart illustrates how high they stand today.

While the new fort’s ramparts were built on Simon’s land half a century after his death, the original fort would have had ramparts within view too.

Simon, and all of the Acadian men would feel very much at home here.

I sat here, with Simon’s spirit, to let it all soak in.

As I sat with Simon, I realized that remembrance isn’t only about stones or places or names – it’s about presence. The wind, the river, and the earth remember what we cannot see.

Simon is still here. He walked these hallowed grounds for at least a few years – too few. His life cut short by some unknown calamity, leaving his wife and two very young daughters to carry on without him.

Did Simon die here, defending the fort from La Tour’s men?

Regardless of how Simon met his fate, his family gathered here for his Requiem Mass in the church – now commemorated solely by this solitary marker that stands as a silent sentinel on the far rampart.

Simon’s earthly remains were carried from the church and laid to rest in the churchyard which lies just beyond where the church once stood, now beneath the rampart, opposite Simon’s home.

The priest would have spoken a final prayer – his young widow weeping, his daughters crying – as the clods of Acadian clay fell hollowly upon his coffin.

His grave, once marked with a wooden cross, so close, but so far away from the life he had shared along the river’s shore, beside the fort, with Perrine, Henriette, and Jeanne.

Only the river and the wind remember now. The wind gently whispers Simon’s story as it dances through the old fort, swirling past his home, and across the river that still murmurs his name.

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Henriette Pelletret (c1640 – before 1694), Life and Death in the Shadow of the Fort – 52 Ancestor #459

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Henriette Pelletret was born to Simon Pelletret and Perrine Bourg about 1641 in Port Royal, Acadia, now Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia.

The first actual record of Henriette is found in the 1671 census, where she is listed in two different ways. Unlike future Acadian censuses, married children are listed with their parents in 1671, and also in their own home with their spouse.

Henriette Pelletret’s mother, Perrine Bourg, married Simon Pelletret about 1640, having two daughters born in 1641 and 1643. Simon died sometime between 1642, when Perrine would have gotten pregnant for her second child, and 1646 when Perrine’s first child with her second husband, René Landry, was born.

In this first census record, Henriette is connected with her mother and stepfather by name and her age, 30. Her full sister, Jeanne, is listed next at age 28, (married to Barnabe Martin), followed by her half siblings, Marie, 25, (married to Laurent Grange or Granger) and Marie, 23, (married to Germain Doucet). After Perrine Bourg and René Landry’s married children were listed, they were followed by a list of their unmarried children: Magdeleine, 15, Pierre, 13, and Claude, 8.

Henriette’s father, Simon, died when she was between the ages of 1 and 5. If he died when she was a toddler, she would never have known him. If he died when she was 4 or 5, she might have had at least a foggy memory of him. It’s worth noting that her mother did not have a third child, at least not one that lived, in 1645, which suggests that Simon probably died before their youngest child, Jeanne, was weaned in about 1644.

Sadly, that suggests that Henriette probably had no memory of her father.

Henriette’s stepfather, Rene Landry, was, in essence, the father who raised her.

What Was Happening in Port Royal In 1643?

Of course, before the age of modern medicine, people died from a variety of illnesses that medications like antibiotics prevent today. Accidents happen, especially living on the water.

We don’t know the occupation or trade of Simon Pelletret, but we do know they lived in a tiny town, with few inhabitants, on the maritime frontier.

Did something happen that might have killed Simon?

Perhaps.

The Acadian Civil War

Charles d’Aulnay

Beginning in 1640, a rivalry between two governors, Charles de Saint-Etienne de LaTour, who controlled parts of Acadia, and Charles de Menou d’Aulnay, above, who controlled Port Royal and other areas, escalated into what is often called the Acadian Civil War.

If Henriette’s sister, Jeanne Pelletret, was born about 1643, then we know Simon was living in 1642. He was probably gone before Jeanne was weaned in 1644, but could have lived into 1645 IF Perrine had a child in 1645 that died before the 1671 census. That’s somewhat unlikely, though, because her first child with René Landry was born about 1646, so she probably remarried in 1645.

A second marriage for a widow was a matter of survival, and that wedding could have happened very quickly.

We don’t really know how many people lived in Port Royal in the early/mid 1640s, but there were only about 270 residents later, in 1654, and many of those would have been children. If the average family size was 5 or 6 people, then there were maybe 45 homes in 1654 after additional families had arrived and put down roots. There would have been fewer a decade earlier.

We know from later records that Simon Pelletret lived in a house on the main street, beside the fort, in the riverfront merchant portion of Port Royal where trading and business transactions took place.

This map shows the families whose land was expropriated in 1705 when a new, enlarged, fort was built. You can see that the Pelletret land was incorporated into the future fort. This is where Henriette was born and probably grew up.

In the 1640s, this was the merchant center of Port Royal, the capital of Acadia.

For five months in 1642 while La Tour was absent, trading in New England, d’Aulnay blockaded the river at Saint John where LaTour’s Fort Sainte-Marie was located and where he lived. La Tour had obviously heard what was taking place, because in July, he returned from Boston with four ships and 270 men to retake his fort, chasing d’Aulnay back across the bay to Port Royal, but not actually catching him.

In 1643, still miffed about d’Aulnay’s blockade of his fort, LaTour chased d’Aulnay to Penobscot Bay in present-day Maine, 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, burying the dead, and fuming.

Later in 1643, La Tour, on his way back from Boston, attacked Port Royal again, killing three men and injuring 7, while La Tour only lost one man.

This 1686 map, although drawn more than 40 years later, shows the main street in town, along with the water mill and fort.

In 1643, bent on destruction and revenge, La Tour’s men rampaged through Port Royal, burned the mill, stole furs and gunpowder, killed livestock and pillaged homes. For some reason, LaTour did not attack the fort directly, which was only defended by 20 men.

We know from these descriptions that in 1642 and 1643 six Port Royal men were killed and seven more injured. We don’t know if any of those later died from their wounds. We don’t know if those men were French soldiers stationed at the fort, or Acadian settlers, or some of each. We also know that the Pelletret family lived in the exact area that was pillaged – so it’s certainly possible that Simon was one of the men killed.

In 1645, on Easter Sunday, d’Aulnay gathered every man, which would have consisted of all soldiers and every Acadian man who could carry a gun – reportedly about 200 in total.

He proceeded to cross the Bay and attack La Tour’s fort, once again, in his absence.

La Tour’s wife, Francoise-Marie Jacquelin, only 23 or 24 years old, commanded the soldiers and defended the fort for days, but ultimately, had to negotiate surrender terms.

In spite of those terms, D’Aulnay proceeded to hang all of La Tour’s soldiers after promising that they would not be harmed. He forced Francoise-Marie to watch, while standing on the scaffold, with a noose around her neck. She died three weeks later as a hostage.

The death of La Tour’s young wife, and the murder of his soldiers caused the warfare between La Tour and d’Aulnay to cease. For the next few years, La Tour lived in exile in Quebec.

For the next five years, d’Aulnay recruited new settlers from France, Port Royal grew, and Acadians lived in peace.

However, in 1650, that era came to a close when d’Aulnay drowned in an accident. One might say karma was at work.

What happened next is simply jaw-dropping. As astonishing as this is – in 1653 d’Aulnay’s widow, Jean Motin, married Charles LaTour in an effort to end the division and unite Acadia. LaTour returned to Acadia, but change was already in the wind.

1654 was arriving like a run-away freight train!

1654 – Port Royal Under Attack Again

In 1654, Henriette would have been about 13 and probably spent her days helping her mother with household chores and taking care of her younger siblings. Maybe she coyly flirted with some of the Acadian boys and young men at church. In particular, perhaps Pierre Doucet, the handsome nephew of the Fort’s Captain at Arms, Germain Doucet.

Pierre Doucet was an orphan, and his uncle, Germain Doucet and his wife had no known children. So Germain raised Pierre and his siblings as his own – at least until 1654 when the unimaginable happened.

Perhaps Pierre Doucet, then about 33, viewed Henriette at 13 as just a child, even though many Acadian girls began marrying about that age. There weren’t a lot of marriage age people in Port Royal, so the pool was limited. However, six years later, Pierre had assuredly noticed Henriette. They married about 1660 and brought forth at least 9, and probably around 14 children.

But 1654 was a horrible year, and Pierre probably suffered more than many, if not most. He was already an orphan, and he lost his uncle and aunt who had stepped in to raise him.

Yes, yes, Pierre was an adult – but perhaps cast adrift. No matter how old you are when your parents, followed by your parental figures, pass out of your life – it’s unmooring.

So, what happened?

Frenemies No More

The Acadians in Port Royal had suffered from prolonged neglect by France for many years. Consequently, they had established a trading relationship with the English in Boston to fulfill their needs. Frenemies. An economic alliance made of necessity.

Everything seemed to be going well. According to some Acadians, perhaps too well.

But then…

On July 14, 1654, the English unexpectedly attacked Port Royal. English Colonel Robert Sedgewick was prepared to attack New Netherlands when, on June 20th, he was informed that peace had unexpectedly been reached. Drat it all! What was a Colonel to do? “All dressed up with no place to go,” Sedgewick decided to attack Acadia instead.

Apparently, there was just too much adrenaline flowing.

Sedgewick and his men boarded their ships and made a beeline North.

One hundred thirty soldiers in Port Royal attempted, valiantly, to defend the fort from Colonel Sedgewick’s 533 New England militia members, plus the 200 professional soldiers under his command, sent by Oliver Cromwell.

Not only were the soldiers in the garrison unsuccessful, Port Royal fell. The Englishmen ransacked Port Royal, stealing what they could and destroying the rest.

St. Johns fell before Port Royal and Fort Pentagouet, in today’s Maine, fell after, defended by 18 men under the command of Germain Doucet, Pierre’s uncle.

Henriette was probably too young to remember the 1645 attack, but in 1654, she assuredly watched as the flames destroyed the church where she worshipped and the savagery that took place.

Given their proximity to the fort, their home could not have escaped the carnage. The only question was “how bad”? The good news, if there was any, is that the English did not torch the entire town.

When Port Royal fell, 113 Acadians were being held by the English. We have no idea who they were, but I’d wager they were some combination of men, women, and children.

When the terror was over, most of the livestock had been killed, but the Acadians were allowed to retain whatever of their personal possessions were left. According to the surrender agreement, personal property and posessions were supposed to have remained untouched – but that agreement didn’t hold.

The French soldiers and administrative officials were shipped back to France – which included Pierre Doucet’s uncle, Germain Doucet, who had raised him.

Perhaps Henriette Pelletret and Pierre Doucet were friends in 1654. Perhaps they prayed together in a makeshift church. Maybe they grieved together as they buried their common friends, and family at the cemetery. Every person in the small congregation would have attended every funeral.

Soon, Henriette and Pierre would be more that friends.

After the 1654 military actions, many Port Royal residents moved upriver, to the BelleIsle area, further out of harm’s way. Based on the neighbors in later censuses, it appears that Henriette’s mother and stepfather had not moved, so Henriette would continue to see Pierre often while passing on the waterside street in Port Royal.

Wedding Bells

Approximately six years later, around 1660, when Henriette was 19 or so, and Pierre was 38 or 39, they married and lived in Port Royal, along the waterfront. Their marriage year is calculated based on the birth of their first child in about 1661, so if their first child died before the 1671 census, they would have married a year or two earlier.

After Acadia fell in 1654, a council of Acadian men would govern under the tutelage and eye of the English for the next 16 years – until Port Royal was returned to France by treaty in 1670.

After that return, a census was taken the following year, in 1671, which is when we find Henriette married to Pierre Doucet. By then, they had been married for more than a decade.

Henriette as a Wife

A second entry in the 1671 census shows Henriette as the wife of Pierre Doucet in Port Royal.

Pierre Doucet is a mason, age 50, and Henriette is 31, placing her birth in about 1640. It’s interesting that her age is given as 30 with her parents, and 31 with Pierre. Either she had a birthday, or there was uncertainty, or it didn’t really matter. Her surname is spelled Peltret, but we know that surname spelling and accurate ages were somewhat arbitrary.

Pierre and Henriette have five children: Anne, 10, Toussaint, 8, Jehan, 6, Pierre, 4, and an unnamed daughter who was three months old. That’s unusual, because Catholic babies were named at baptism which generally occurred within hours or at least days of their birth. They lived just a short walk from the church, or the priest’s home, so perhaps the priest was visiting elsewhere.

The list of children also suggests that they had a child that died who would have been about 5, and another baby should have been about 2, had they lived.

At least one, but probably at least three of Henriette’s children had died before the 1671 census.

They would have been buried, here, in the cemetery beside the Catholic Church, probably someplace near Henriette’s father.

The 1671 Census  Details and Messages

In 1671, Pierre and Henriette owned seven cattle, six sheep and had four arpents of land under cultivation.

Port Royal had been under the control of the English since 1654, so there were no censuses taken until 1671. Unfortunately, there are also no remaining parish records, so we have to infer that Henriette and Pierre married about 1660.

By 1671, some families had moved upriver where there was more land, but many of the core families, especially those engaged in either commerce or government, remained in Port Royal.

There were a total of just under 400 residents, who lived in 68 households.

The Pelletret family is found in two clusters.

Group 1:

  • Laurent Grange, seaman, 34, Marie Landry, 24, children ages 3 and 9 months, 5 cattle, 6 sheep, 4 arpents of land
  • Perrine Landry, 60, widow of Jacques Joffriau
  • Pierre Doucet, mason, 50, Henriette Pelletret, 31, Anne, 10, Toussaint, 8, Jehan, 6, Pierre, 4, and an unnamed daughter who was three months old
  • Francois Bourg, 28, wife Marguerite Boudrot, plus their children
  • Marie Salé , 61, widow of Jehan Claude and also the second wife of Martin Aucoin prior to her marriage with Jehan Claude
  • Germain Doucet, farmer, 30, Marie Landry, 24, 3 children, ages 6, 4 and 3, 11 cattle, 7 sheep on 3 arpents of land

The two Marie Landrys are sisters, both daughters of Rene Landry and Perrine Bourg, so half-sisters to Henriette.

This Germain Doucet in the census is the apparent adopted son of Germain Doucet, Pierre’s uncle who was sent back to France in 1654. Y-DNA testing tells us that this Germain had a Native American father, while the other Doucet men had European forefathers.

Pierre Doucet’s mother is believed to be a Bourg.

Clearly, these people are interrelated.

Group 2 begins 15 houses away:

  • 15 houses
  • Barnabe Martin, 35, farmer, Jeanne Pelletret, 27, 2 children, 4 and 8 months, 3 cattle, 2 sheep and 2.5 arpents of land
  • Clement Bertrand and family
  • Antoine Belliveau and family
  • René Landry, farmer, 52, Perrine Bourg, 45, with family

Of course, Perrine Bourg is Henriette Pelletret’s mother and René Landry is her stepfather. Jeanne Pelletret is her sister.

1678

The next census taken in 1678 shows Pierre Doucet and Henriette Pelletret with five boys, two girls and 10 cattle on 1.5 arpents of land, which is equivalent to about 1.2 acres. Additionally, they own a gun.

We know they have seven living children at this point, although children’s names are not recorded in this census.

They are listed in Port Royal beside three families who we know lived where the present-day Fort Anne stands today.

  • Bonaventure Terriot and Jeanne Boudrot
  • Michel Boudrot and Michelle Aucoin
  • Abraham Dugast and Marguerite Doucet
  • Pierre Doucet and Henriett Pelletret
  • Antoine Bourg and Thoinette Landry
  • Laurans Granger and Marie Landry

Unfortunately, no ages were given.

Rene Dies

Sometime between the 1678 census, and the 1686 census, Henriette’s step-father, Rene Landry, died.

In 1686, Perine Bourg, age 74, was living with her son, Claude Landry, his wife, and child – 7 houses from Pierre Doucet and Henriette Pelletret.

1686

The 1686 census provides significantly more detail about the family.

Pierre Doucet, 55 (who is actually 65), Henriette Pelletret, 40, children: Toussaint, 23, Jean, 20, Pierre, 18, Marguerite, 6, and Mathieu, 1. They have 8 cattle, 12 sheep, and 6 hogs on 5 arpents of land, plus they own two guns.

Five or six arpents of land seemed to be standard issue, given that it’s a very common amount. Abraham Dugas is listed as having ‘2 parcels” and in another census, he is shown with 12 arpents, so that tallies.

Disastrous 1690

If 1654 was bad, it was only a trial run for 1690, which was pure Hell.

In 1654, the English “accidentally” captured Acadia. There was no pre-planning – just opportunity, which they seized with much gusto – then, like the dog that caught the car, wondered quite what to do.

1690 was another story altogether.

In 1689, New France and their Native American allies launched select raids on towns on the frontier in New England. One raid in Schenectady, NY, and one in Salmon Falls, NH were reported to the Massachusetts Bay Colony authorities, which prompted their decision to launch a retaliatory expedition against Acadia.

This decision was more than a little awkward due to the ongoing trade relations between the two entities. In fact, John Nelson was rejected as the leader due to his extensive dealings with the Acadians. John Nelson and Jacques Bourgeois, by far the most prosperous Acadian, had a long-standing friendship that reached beyond Port Royal, although Nelson schemed and plotted against Acadia. There seemed to be more than a little subterfuge involved with Nelson, and I’m not sure which way that river ran.

Instead, Sir William Phips was selected to lead the charge, a man with no military experience other than finding a lost treasure ship. He had, however, survived an attack that destroyed his hometown in Maine during the First Abenake War in 1676, so he welcomed the opportunity for revenge and was thereby commissioned on March 24, 1690.

Just a month later, on April 28, 1690, Phips sailed out of Boston harbor with a fleet of seven ships, 446 men, and a total of 72 mounted cannons. Two more ships joined up along the way.

On May 9th, Phips slipped inside the mouth of the Dauphin River and visited Pierre Melanson dit Laverdure, a French Huguenot known to be friendly with the English. Melanson was the first homestead to be encountered on the north side of the river. Phips inquired about the state of Port Royal and the fort, so he knew well in advance what to expect.

Phips probably didn’t even really need to stop, given that the fort had been in disrepair for years, bordering on completely useless. Beginning in October of 1689, a French military engineer had been razing the fort to build a new one, so the fort, and the town it was supposed to protect, were at their most vulnerable.

Worse yet, the garrison only possessed 19 muskets, which was only one gun for every 3.7 soldiers. How is that supposed to work? The French were VERY negligent about supplying and supporting Acadia – inviting attacks. They might as well have advertised their weakness and slapped a target on Port Royal! Essentially, that’s what they did.

The 1686 census, four years earlier, showed 71 guns scattered between 103 homesteads. Not only is there not a gun for every male that is old enough to handle one, there’s only one gun for every house and a half, or two guns for every three houses.

That means roughly one third of the homes were completely undefended. If 42 of the men were gone, hunting perhaps, that suggests that more than half of the guns, if not more, were absent too, leaving even more homesteads without protection.

Fort Anne, and by extension, Port Royal, were sitting ducks.

The evolution of the landscape of a colonial settlement: the case of Port-Royal, 1686–1710, Nicole Barrieau, 1994 (in French)

The following day, May 10th, Phips and his flotilla sailed on up the river to Port Royal.

This 1686 map from the Barrieau thesis shows the layout of the town, plus the ruined fort.

Acadia fell without a shot being fired. Phips sent an emissary to the fort to demand surrender. Louis-Alexandre Meneval, the Acadian Governor, knew that any resistance was futile, although he was later criticized for giving up without a fight. Not only was the fort unable to be used, the enceinte was open, and the fort’s 18 cannons weren’t mounted. Fighting would have been a death sentence for all men involved – and potentially the rest of the residents too.

Furthermore, Phips assuredly could see both the condition of the fort and the lack of cannone clearly from his position in the river.

What Phips may or may not have known, depending on what Melanson knew and told him, was that there were only a total of 70 soldiers in the fort, and 42 Acadians were absent.

Still, Governor Meneval was determined to obtain the best possible surrender terms, so he sent the local priest, Father Louis Petit to Phips ship, the Six Friends, anchored in the river, to negotiate surrender terms.

The agreed-upon terms included that:

  • The French King’s property and the fort be surrendered to the English
  • The goods belonging to the Acadian settlers would remain untouched
  • The people would be unharmed
  • Equally, or maybe even more important to the Acadians, they would retain the right to worship as they saw fit – meaning as Catholics

Unfortunately for the Acadians, Phips refused to sign the agreement when Meneval went to the ship the following day, although several witnesses on both sides confirmed the agreed-upon terms.

Disaster Unleashed

What happened next was disastrous.

One thing is unquestionable. The terms were breached and the English destroyed the town, church, homes, including private property, and killed livestock. They even uprooted and destroyed the gardens. This behavior continued for days and went far beyond plundering for valuables. This was outright malicious destruction.

According to Robert Rumilly’s 1981 article, 28 homes were burned as well. If that’s true, that includes every home along the water in Port Royal, and probably equally as many either along the Cape or along the river approaching Port Royal.

Phips claimed the English behavior was justified because some of the French were removing stores from the fort which would belong to the English. Not only did Phips claim that voided the entire agreement, he authorized the plunder.

The French story is a bit different. Meneval didn’t leave detailed orders when he went to Phipps’ ship to sign the agreement, and some of the soldiers began imbibing – although I have to wonder why one would do anything to dull one’s responses with the enemy anchored within sight. In any case, some of those drunken soldiers broke into the stores of one of Meneval’s political opponents and removed his goods from the community storehouse.

It’s unclear whether the goods removed belonged to the French King, which would rightfully belong to the English, or whether they were personal property. Not that it mattered, because the act itself was all the English needed to achieve their actual goal.

Regardless, the over-the-top reaction was far too severe for the infraction, even assuming the worst – and was clearly just an excuse.

When Meneval and Father Petit reported the ensuing events, they said that Phips was unhappy with the condition of the fort he was to receive as spoils, and the size of the garrison, and he used that as an justification to terminate the agreement.

If Phips did as he was accused, he would have been looking for any excuse to terminate the agreement, since he clearly knew about the condition of the fort in advance – both from Melanson and by virtue of being unable to see any mounted guns on the nonexistent fort walls. This act seems to be calculated, and his story doesn’t wash.

Later biographers suggested that Phips expected the plunder to pay for his expedition, so he refused to sign the agreement with that in mind. He got what he wanted – surrender – and then he simply took the rest.

In other words, the entire negotiation and terms of surrender agreement was a calculated, premeditated charade by the English.

The Oath

Phips then required a loyalty oath to the King of England. He rounded up all of the Acadian men in the church, clearly before it was burned, and forced them to sign. A total of 61 men signed, including Henriette’s husband, Pierre Doucet.

If 42 men were missing, they must have returned fairly quickly, because almost every household, except for a few elderly men, are accounted for on the signature document.

These 1690 events destroyed the sometimes tenuous and fragile trust between the Boston merchants and the Acadians in Port Royal, which makes what happened next all the more baffling.

Governance

England clearly planned to take Acadia, but apparently, they did not plan to govern Acadia.

Upon their departure, the English did not leave a garrison of English soldiers at the fort as one would expect, and Phips appointed a council of Acadian leaders to govern in their absence. Meneval was captured and taken to Boston.

Former Governor Joseph Villebon was reappointed and returned from France in June. He moved the seat of Acadia to Fort Nashweaak on the Saint John River for a better defensive position, and to coordinate New England ambush raids with the Abenaki.

Port Royal, under English control, was on her own.

The 1690s would be haunted by questions of who was actually in control of Acadia until 1697 when Acadia was returned to France in the Treaty of Ryswick.

The Church and the Land

The Acadians, especially in times of trouble and turmoil turned to their religion, to their church, their Catholic rituals and familiar practices.

Watching their beloved, sacred church burn must have been devastating to the Acadians. The church was their respite, where they retreated for comfort – and now it had been wantonly destroyed.

The church that was burned in 1690 was never rebuilt, and eventually, the nearby cemetery was probably at least partly covered by the glacis of the expanded fort.

MapAnnapolis shows the original church location and the original cemetery site, here. You can read more about the cemetery project, here.

That fort expansion is also how we know that Henriette Pelletret’s parental home was in the literal shadow of the fort. Simon Pelletret’s descendants were compensated when the land was later expropriated in 1704 or 1705

After the church was burned in 1690, services were held at the priest’s home until a new church was built many years after Henriette’s death.

Then Pirates

As if 1690 wasn’t already bad enough, Port Royal was subjected to a pirate raid a few weeks later.

Nicole Barrieau, in her 1994 thesis, quotes a letter from Villebon saying that the pirates burned all of the houses situated between the mouth of the Dauphin River and the fort.

Charles Clarence Webster, in a 1934 paper, reports that “they burned 12 of the houses closest to the sea, 15 or 16 of those at “Le Cap,” and the church… The Mills were apparently left standing.”

Click to enlarge

This 1686 map shows all of the homesteads. Based on the various descriptions, it’s possible that between the dozen or so homes in Port Royal, the 17 homes in “Le Cap,” just inland from the waterfront street in Port Royal, and the 14 houses shown on this map, that every home in Port Royal and west were burned. That would only have left the homes upstream from Port Royal where ocean-going ships couldn’t sail.

Not only did the pirates capture the ship that delivered Villebon, the new Governor, they destroyed homes and cattle, and allegedly killed some of the inhabitants.

The residents reported that little was left, and the pirates not only took what little there was, killed their remaining livestock and torched everything for spite or entertainment.

Families were been horribly uprooted, with many hostages taken. Sixty prisoners were still being held a year later when Villebon tried unsuccessfully to negotiate their freedom.

Their identities, where they were being held, by whom, and their eventual fate is unknown.

Where Was Henriette?

It’s very likely, given that Pierre was a mason, and combined with their census location, that they lived in Port Royal proper, probably right on the main street, possibly in her childhood home, meaning that Henriette was caught in the thick of things. The 1654 and 1690 surrenders, the duplicitous agreements, the horrific plundering and destruction of the town, followed in 1690 by burning and then cruel pirate attacks.

If Henriette and Pierre’s home miraculously escaped the English 1690 devastation the first time, it assuredly did not escape the pirate raids and fires.

Port Royal was left a smoldering pile of rubble.

Then, three year later, it happened all over again.

Rinse and Repeat in 1693

In 1693, once again English frigates sailed into the Dauphin River to launch a retaliatory raid on Port Royal. This time, it was to exact revenge for the notorious pirate, Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, who lived in and operated out of Port Royal. Baptiste fought with the Acadians in 1690, recruited young Acadian men for his ships, armed the Acadians, and preyed on English vessels. Needless to say, the Acadians loved this man. The English did not.

In some ways, while not a full military attack, the June 1693 raid was more brutal. Some accounts say that two citizens were hanged and that their families were locked inside their houses and burned alive.

I pray Henriette did not suffer that horrific, terrifying fate. The reports indicated that a woman and her children were among those burned. That doesn’t sound like Henriette because while some of her children are missing in 1693, not all of her children are missing. However, nothing is confirmed about the report, so we really don’t know – other than the 1690 attack and 1693 raids were both terrifying and horrific.

I shudder to think…

Henriette Dies

Henriette was alive in the 1678 census, gave birth to her youngest child in 1685, and is shown with a one-year-old in the 1686 census.

Henriette died sometime between the 1686 census, where she was reported to be 40, with a one-year old child, and seven years later in the 1693 census.

We don’t know when the 1693 census was taken, meaning before or after the English attack, nor do we know who died.

Seven years elapsed between the 1686 census and the 1693 census, plus the two attacks of 1690, and the one in 1693, so a lot of people in Port Royal could be expected to pass over during that timeframe, even without any exceptional circumstances.

There may be clues though.

In the 1671 census, Henriette is listed as age 30 and 31 putting her birth about 1640 or 1641. Her oldest child is 10, which means Henriette got married and pregnant about 1660. In the 1686 census, she is listed as 40, which puts her birth in 1646, which means that she would have been 16 when her first child was born. That’s not impossible and is fairly typical for Acadian brides.

If Mathieu was age one in 1686, and his mother was actually born in 1640, so was age 46, Henriette had her last child at age 45 and would not have been expected to have any additional children. That’s also a little late for a final child, but again, not unheard of.

If Henriette was actually born in 1646, so 40 in 1686 as the census indicates, she could probably have been expected to have at least one more child the following year, in 1687, if not two more children.

Unfortunately, we don’t have a third tie-breaker census with ages to more closely resolve Henriette’s age. Either age is well within the normal age range for Acadian young women to marry.

What we can say is that Henriette died leaving relatively young children.

If Henriette died closer to 1686, she was not subjected to the 1690 and 1693 depredations. She passed over between the approximate ages of 40 and 46 and left at least two children under the age of 10, one just a baby, for Pierre to raise. At least one of her children seem to be missing from this census.

I tend to think Henriette died later, rather than earlier, because had she died with a baby in the house, I suspect that either another Acadian woman, maybe her sister, would have taken the baby to raise, or Pierre would have remarried.

If Henriette died close to 1693, she suffered through at least some of the 1690 and 1693 events, if she didn’t perish during one of them.

We can say with almost certainty that their home burned, either in 1690 or 1693, or maybe both. In the 1693 census, Pierre Doucet was still living in Port Royal, based on his neighbors. Five years later, in 1698, he was living across the river, again based on the neighbors. He is listed there on the 1707/1708 maps.

In 1693, Henrietta was between the ages of 47 and 53 and left only Mathieu below the age of 10. Three children still lived at home and were probably a help to Pierre. With no young children to raise, Pierre would have bad less motivation to remarry.

In the 1693 census, Pierre was listed as a widower with three children remaining at home, ages 19, 13, and 8,

If Henriette was born around 1640 or 1641, she was between the ages of 45 or 46 and 52 when she said her final goodbye.

If she was born in 1646, she was between 40 and 47 and could have died giving birth to a final child.

Regardless of when Henriette died, I certainly hope it wasn’t violently. Her death, too early, was tragic enough.

Henriette’s mother, Perrine Bourg, then in her 60s, wept at her daughter’s funeral Mass, the location now veiled in the mists of time where the serene church once stood. She laid her daughter to rest someplace in the now unmarked Acadian cemetery, alongside Henriette’s father and stepfather, surrounded by the children who passed before her.

Children

Henriette brought about 15 children into this world, assuming her first child or children did not die.

  1. Anne Doucet, born about 1661, was with her parents in 1671, but by the 1686 census, is shown with her husband. Anne married Jean Hebert about 1676, when she was about 15, and by 1686, had blessed Henriette with 5 grandchildren – 4 boys and a girl. By 1693, she had eight children, and eventually had 14, but four died young.
  2. Touissant Doucet was born about 1663, left for Beaubassin sometime after the 1686 census and married Marie Cassie there around 1690. They had 11 known children, with the first one arriving the following year. Henriette probably never met either Marie or her one or two grandchildren that may have arrived before her death. Touissant had 11 children in total, but only 6 reached adulthood.
  3. Jean Doucet was born about 1665, married Francoise Blanchard around 1692 in Cobequid, and had 7 children. Three are known to have lived to adulthood.
  4. Pierre Doucet, his father’s namesake, was born about 1667 and is living with his parents in 1686 at age 19. Sadly, he is not found thereafter. If alive, he would have been expected to marry in the 1690s, but he is not found anyplace in 1693. His mother has also died.
  5. Unknown child born about 1669, but deceased by 1671.
  6. Madeleine Doucet was born about 1671 and married Rene Bernard about 1689. They had eight children, with the first one being born about 1690. By 1693, they were living in Beaubassin, so she would not have been present in Port Royal when her mother died. Rene died and Madeleine remarried in 1709 in Beaubassin to Pierre Doiron, having two more children. Eight of her 10 children lived to adulthood.
  7. Possible unknown child born about 1673 and deceased by the 1678 census.
  8. Louis was born about 1674 and married Marguerite Girouard about 1702 in Beaubassin. They had seven known children, six of whom lived to adulthood.
  9. Louise (also known as Jeanne) Doucet was born about 1676. About 1691, she married Pierre Chenet, a Parisian in the employ of the King, about 30 years her elder with whom she had three children. After his death, she then married Jean Chrysostome Loppinot in 1702 in Port Royal. They had at least five children. Loppinot had been appointed Court Clerk in 1699, so he was also a government official. However, in yet another attack by the English, their home was burned to the ground in 1707 or 1708, which, according to Loppinot in a note written on Christmas Day 1708, “reduced his family to beggary.” In June of 1710, their home burned again, but this time, by accident. Notes housed in the Canadian Archives reveal that, “The wife and children of the said Mr. Loppinot, along with Mademoiselle Morpain, were in front of the house with a few belongings that had been brought to them, having escaped in their nightclothes. Upon investigating the cause and how the fire had started, those who had arrived first told us that it began in the room facing the tide, where there was a large amount of cotton…” I hope all of Louise’s children were able to escape. We only know the fate of one child born in 1703, and that another child had died in January of 1710. Marie Joseph Morpain had been his godmother at his baptism. I wonder if she was their servant. In 1712, Loppinot obtained the position of court clerk in Plaisance, Newfoundland. By 1733, when their oldest child was married in Louisbourg, both parents were reported as deceased.
  10. Rene Doucet was born about 1678 and married Marie Broussard in 1702 in Port Royal. They had either 10 or 11 known children, with 8 reaching adulthood.
  11. Marguerite Doucet was born about 1680 and married Alexandre Comeau about 1700 in Port Royal, having six known children. Five of her children are known to have reached adulthood.
  12. Unknown child born about 1682 but deceased by 1686.
  13. Unknown child born about 1684 but deceased by 1686.
  14. Mathieu Doucet was born about 1685 and married Anne Lord in 1712 in Port Royal, having seven children, all of whom survived.

Epilogue

By 1685, only Henriette’s eldest daughter, Anne, had married and already had 5 children that Henriette would have been able to enjoy. In fact, Henriette and her daughter were probably pregnant at the same time.

If Henriette lived until 1693, she would have witnessed Madeleine’s marriage in 1689 and Louise’s in 1691. The first baby usually arrived the year following the wedding – and Henriette might have gotten to hold and rock some of those babies!

Of Henriette’s children:

  • Two and possibly three moved away before 1693, so she would have lost contact, if not entirely, then mostly. She probably never saw them again.
  • Henriette buried at least five children. Her son, Pierre, a young adult, died in the same window of time as Henriette.
  • Three children were still living at home in 1693, after Henriette had passed.
  • Four children married and lived in Port Royal permanently, and one until at least 1712. Henriette would have known the first few children born to her eldest daughter, but the rest are doubtful.
  • Four children moved to either Beaubassin or Cobequid, the next Acadian frontiers.

I’m left wondering if the horrific events of 1690, or 1693 might have had something to do with Henriette’s death. I hope not, but it’s certainly possible, especially given that one of Henriette’s older children disappears from the records in the same timeframe.

FIRE!

Henriette’s daughter, Louise, would have been about 15 in 1690 and 18 in 1693 when the English and/or pirates torched their home. Louise’s own home burned twice more in her adult life, in either 1707 or 1708 and 1710, when she was 33 and 35. Four times in 20 years – that’s astounding. Louise must have developed a terrible fear of fire.

Pierre Doucet, Henriette’s husband, didn’t die until 1713. He would have witnessed all of those disastrous events.

I can see him awakened suddenly in the dark to terror – the crackling of flames.

OMG!

FIRE!

Saints, protect us!

Rushing – rushing – rushing in the dark to find, gather, and hold his family and assure their safety in 1690 and 1693.

Then, in 1708 and 1710, he clutched his daughter, Louise, and her children, holding them close as they stood in the chill by the river in their nightclothes, enveloping them in love, sheltering them as their home was reduced to smoking embers. Not once, but twice he saved her from fire as a child. Then, twice more as an adult – not three times, but four.

Thank God!

Thank God they are alive.

Maybe Henriette was there too, embracing and protecting Louise from the other side.

Perhaps it was Henriette who awakened her in the night!

Nothing – not time, distance or death – can crush a mother’s love.

The mist still drifting where the church once stood, their dust mingling with the earth of their homeland – a silent reminder that love outlives everything and warms the souls of all of Henriette’s descendants.

_____________________________________________________________

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Sarah Hickerson Vannoy (c1761 – after 1826), Threw More Than Shade – 52 Ancestors #458

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Until recently, not a great deal was known about Sarah Hickerson who married Daniel Vannoy in Wilkes County, NC, on October 2, 1779.

I always thought that it was odd that neither Sarah’s father, Charles Hickerson, nor her oldest brother, David Hickerson, signed her marriage bond. Maybe that makes more sense now.

Did her family disapprove of this marriage? Did they know something we don’t, or that she didn’t?

Was Sarah head over heels in love with Daniel, blinding her to common sense, or something else?

Were they too much alike, or a bad influence on each other?

Did Sarah have a premonition – a niggling nagging feeling that she tried to ignore and push to the back of her mind where it would eventually rear its ugly dragon head, along with the rest of its body?

Until recently, I thought the problems between Daniel and Sarah’s family began about the time her father died without a will, sometime between 1790 and 1793, when her mother, Mary Lytle Hickerson, died with a cryptic nuncupative will that did not mention Sarah by name.

Mary left some things to individuals specifically, then only says that “all the balance of my property to be equally divided amongst my daughters.”

I also thought that Sarah was pretty much a silent wallflower.

I was very, very wrong. Even quiet people, when pushed too far, eventually find their voice.

Let the Feuding Begin

Let the feuding begin. Except – it had already begun before Sarah’s marriage.

Not only was Daniel Vannoy all too familiar with the court, nearly a year before their marriage, Samuel Steward/Stewart aka Hickerson, aka Little/Lytle, aka Little D. Hickerson, Sarah’s nephew, sued Daniel in November 1778 for slander. And yes, I’m positive that all of those names are the same person because the court documents over the years say so.

I’m not surprised that Sarah’s family was opposed to their marriage, given that court documents tell us that Daniel and Samuel were still feuding in September of 1781. It makes me wonder about their attraction to each other, and the courtship, all things considered. Having said that, the Hickerson family engaged in more than their own fair share of feuding, so I’m not implying “fault” on either side here.

The pace accelerated, and the feuds and court cases came fast and furious after the deaths of Sarah’s parents – but that’s not all…

New Information Surfaces

Information about Daniel Vannoy was spotty and piecemeal until recently, when a newly-discovered document in the NC Archives, plus the new full-text AI search at FamilySearch, facilitated finding MANY previously unknown interactions, fleshing out his life substantially.

However, we knew even less about Sarah. That’s typical for the time period, because women didn’t serve on juries nor work on road crews. They were seldom in court records. Until 1850, unless they were the head of household, they weren’t recorded by name in the census either, so we must do a lot of inferring.

You might want to read the article, Sarah Hickerson (1752-1760 – before 1820), Silent Member of a Feuding Family, before moving on to our new information here. Even if you’re not particularly interested in Sarah herself, trust me on this one – Daniel and Sarah’s story puts soap operas to shame. I literally had to make a dance card to keep track of who sued who, and who testified for, or against, whom, in which trials. Sarah was only mentioned occasionally in what I had found earlier.

That’s been remedied, in spades, now.

Sarah, it turns out, was notorious in her own right! And I’m sure we’ve only discovered a tiny sliver of her story.

Based on court cases involving her husband, Daniel, it seems that life was always tense and dicey in the Hickerson family, probably stemming from a wide variety of sources. The common thread running through everything is that the Hickersons seem to fight with each other and anyone else who had the bad luck to cross them. Turns out, Sarah wasn’t silent at all. Not one bit.

In fact, Sarah had a LOT of spunk – unheard of, literally, in the day and time in which she lived. I admire her bravery.

Sarah was a VERY spicy woman!

I would not want to be on the wrong side of that equation.

Unraveling

Before these new records were unveiled, we had indirect evidence that Sarah’s life may have been unraveling. Little hints that may or may not have meant anything, at least not individually.

For example, she and Daniel moved to far western Wilkes County, the part that would eventually become Ashe County. Then, following several lawsuits, Daniel sold their land, but doesn’t purchase more. After 1795, he never appears on a tax list again.

He’s also missing on the tax list for a few years intermittently before that, which is very odd.

While I chalked all of this up to “early records,” the combination of so much that was “unusual” was beginning to be a pattern and not an anomaly.

Something was going on, but what?

Sued!!

Our spunky Sarah sued Daniel!

What courage this must have taken.

To the sheriff of Wilkes County, Greetings. You are hereby commanded to take the body of Daniel Vannoy if to be found in your county and him safely keep so that you have him before the justices of the county court of pleas and quarter sessions…on the fourth Monday of January to answer Sarah Vannoy, wife of said Daniel Vannoy in a pleas of trespass on the case. To her damage 500 pounds [illegible]…

Dated the 4th Monday of October 1786.

What the heck is going on?

Trespass?

How could Sarah exclude Daniel from someplace where he lived and had as much right to be as she did? And this in a time and place where there was no recourse for domestic violence or other similar offenses? Married women couldn’t even own property in their own right. Women, literally, had no rights separate from their husbands, so how could she sue him? Is “trespass” here code for something else, unsaid?

Were they living separately? If so, how could she support herself and her small children? That was almost an impossible scenario, and is why newly widowed women remarried so quickly. It had little to do with love and a lot to do with survival. Plus, the new husband would own all of the goods of the former husband, so the widow came with benefits.

There’s a 1787 tax list that tells us that Daniel and Sarah were living together.

Whatever happened, it must have been quite egregious for the court to allow the 1786 suit. And the court didn’t just summon Daniel to appear, while legally rolling their eyes at Sarah, they ordered him taken into custody. If he didn’t post bond, he’d be sitting in jail for the next three months, until the next court.

Whatever Daniel did must have been something far outside the norm, because the judges or justices used their discretion in a way that indicated they took Sarah’s accusation very seriously.

I have never, in all of the years I’ve done genealogy, seen a woman sue her husband. It’s very unclear how Sarah was able to sue Daniel for trespass, and what exactly that meant? There’s clearly a LOT that we don’t know.

Women simply did not do such things! Especially not in Wilkes County, NC in 1786.

Then, Sarah dropped the suit. The only problem was that you couldn’t drop a suit without paying the costs already incurred by the court, and Sarah had no money. Either Daniel didn’t either, or he wasn’t about to pay to have the lawsuit against him dropped – which seems counterproductive.

You are hereby commanded that the goods and chattels lands and tenements of David Hickerson, in your bailiwick, you cause to be made 1 pound 70 shillings and 8 pence which lately in the county court…recovered against him on a suit brought by Sarah Vannoy against Daniel Vannoy and dismissed on David Hickerson assuming clerk and sheriff fees in open court. David Hickerson is convicted and liable as appears of record and to have the said monies before the said court at Wilkes aforesaid on the 4th Monday of April 1787.

Here’s the case packet with the details.

Sarah’s brother, David Hickerson, agreed to pay the court costs. I can’t help but wonder is Sarah was pregnant, or something had occurred to cause her to rethink the suit.

We will never know what happened, but, based on what followed later, that household was not peaceful.

The 1790s

In 1790, Daniel and Sarah were enumerated together on the census with their children, like any typical couple, but then Daniel seemed to disappear about 1795. Daniel sold their land in November of 1794, then his two enslaved people in January of 1795 to his brother Nathaniel – although those transactions were never registered until 1802 and 1805 by the oaths of witnesses. Daniel was not present in court to swear to the transactions himself.

What happened to that money? According to 1800 court records, it was gone by then, and Daniel had nothing.

I thought Daniel had died, but recent information proved, unquestionably, otherwise.

Daniel was still in Wilkes County, feuding with various Hickersons and others in the late 1790s, including David Hickerson, who paid so his sister could drop her lawsuit against Daniel back in 1787. Daniel was also found guilty in other suits, and in April of 1799, Daniel lost a lawsuit brought by David Hickerson, with Sarah’s sister, Jane Miller, testifying on David’s behalf. The court ordered a fine and court costs against Daniel. There was also a suit involving Jane Hickerson Miller’s husband, Leonard Miller.

In April of 1800, the sheriff reported back to the court that “nothing of any value” of Daniel’s was found to settle those debts. We now know that Daniel had left. I can’t help but wonder if he took the money from those sales with him.

In the 1800 census, neither Daniel nor Sarah are found.

Sarah is listed in the 1810 census, which led to the presumption that Daniel had died.

But he hadn’t.

He had left, abandoning his wife and family, and was living as an “intruder,” a squatter inside the Cherokee Boundary in Georgia, where US laws could not reach him.

It’s unclear whether or not Sarah knew where Daniel was, whether he was alive or dead, or if she cared. Sarah was much too busy raising their children and scraping by however she could.

Sarah in the Court Records

We find Sarah in court records again, beginning in 1810.

Some of these cases overlap, so I’ve grouped everything having to do with each case together.

1810 – Sarah Vannoy vs Joel Chandler

State of North Carolina To the Sheriff of Wilkes County, Greeting you are hereby commanded to Summon Sarah Hickerson, David Hickerson Junr and Amy Hall personally to be and appear before the Justices of the County Court of Pleas and Quarter Sessions to be held for the County of Wilkes at the court – house in Wilkesboro on the fifth Monday of October next, then and there to testify and the truth to say in behalf of Joel Chandler in a certain matter of controversy before said court depending and then and there to be tried, wherein Sarah Vannoy is plaintiff, and Joel Chandler is defendant. And this you shall in no wise omit under the penalty by law enjoined. – — Witness Robert Martin Clerk of our said court, at Office the fifth Monday of July 1810

So, to be clear, Sarah’s nephew, David Hickerson, and Amy Hall are both summoned to testify AGAINST Sarah. I don’t know who Sarah Hickerson is.

Apparently, there is a second suit as well.

On Thursday, August 1, 1811, Sarah Vanoy filed against Joel Chandler, Plea in abatement, jury sworn, “the def sustained his plea in abatement.”

State of NC to the sheriff of Wilkes – Summons William Gilbreath Sr. personally to appear at [the court] house to give evidence on behalf of Joel Chandler in a suit depending wherein Sarah Vannoy is plaintiff and Joel Chandler deft. Signed July 31, 1811.

Sarah lost that suit. I surely wish we knew what the “matter of controversy” was.

Ordered that the goods, chattels, lands, and tenements of Sarah Vannoy to cause to be made the sum of 9 pounds 6 shillings and 6 pence, which lately in Wilkes court Joel Chandler recovered against her for costs and charges in suit expended, and have monies at the next court. August 1812.

The back of the paper has dates of November term 1811, then Feb. 1812, then May term 1812, then November term 1812. The report was that nothing was found.

This tells us that Sarah Vannoy has no assets that the sheriff can sell to pay her fines and court costs.

What an incredibly sad statement for a woman trying to raise her children, alone. This is a peek into the circumstances of Sarah’s life. She’s 50 years old and doesn’t have any livestock or produce to sell, and she certainly doesn’t own any property or “moveable assets.”

How did she manage to survive? I’m guessing by the skin of her teeth.

1810 Sarah Vannoy vs James Laws

The suits against Joel Chandler and James Laws were filed within a month of one another in the summer of 1810, which makes me wonder if there was some incident that sparked both suits.

State of North Carolina, Wilkes County

To any lawful officer…to execute a return according to law this day came James Laws before me…a justice of the peace…and maketh oath that he having the body of Mary Landtrip under execution at the suit? of Sarah Vannoy and sayeth that she[the] said Mary Lantrup did refuse to go with him and further that she did with force and arms strike beat abuse and tear the clothes of him the said James Laws on the 20th of August against the peace and dignity of the state.

Command you to arrest the body of her the said Mary Lantrip and her as being before me or some other justice of the peace for said county to answer to this above charge and be further dealt with answering to law from under my hand and seal Aug. 20, 1810.

The way this is stated, James is complaining that Mary assaulted him – although how Sarah is involved is unclear.

James Laws prosecutor and Joshua Mitchell in State vs Mary Landtrip, acknowledges themselves indebted to the state in the following: James Laws in summon for the sum of 25 pounds and Joshua Mitchell in the sum of 10 pounds to be found of the goods and chattels, land and tenements to said on condition that they make their appearance of the defendants. [illegible] Mary Landtrip acknowledges herself bound in the sum of 50 pounds and William McGill in the sum of 20 pounds…on the condition that said Mary Landtrip appear at the next court and answer the charges and not depart the same without having acknowledged before me.

William McGill is Mary’s father. She married Amos Landtrip in 1802.

The Raleigh, NC newspaper stated that 250 acres belonging to Mary Landtrip on the waters of Warrior Creek will be sold on August 24, 1811 in Wilkesborough due to insufficient taxes for the year of 1809. This may or may not have anything to do with the situation, other than indicating that Mary had fallen on hard times.

Things Escalate

As my friend used to say, “And that’s when the fight started…”

I was going to say that Sarah had a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day on September 3, 1812, but perhaps, at this point, we should just say it was definitely “memorable.” As in an unforgettable legacy.

Sarah’s day probably wasn’t quite as bad as James Laws’, though.

Sept 4, 1812

Officer to return within 30 days.

Came before me James Laws before me a justice of the peace…under oath says that on the night of the third instant September that Sarah Vannoy thru a window threw upon him a parcel of stinking chamber lie of odorous smell which said action is against the good order of government.

Command you to take the body of said Sarah Vannoy and her to have before some justice of the peace…and answer the above charge and be further dealt with according to law. Signed Sept. 4, 1812

William Laws was bond for James Laws and possibly Joseph Laws.

Wait? What?

I had to read this three or four times. Yes, it did say what I thought it said.

Next thing you know, Sarah is sitting in jail, probably uncowed and very much unrepentant.

State of North Carolina, Wilkes County, September term 1812. Jurors for the state upon oath present that Sarah Vannoy on the fourth of September 1812 force and arms in the county aforesaid and upon one James Laws thru [document damage] there being in the peace of God and did make an assault and him James did then and there and ill treat to his great damage the peace and dignity of the state.

On the back of the verdict is written that Joseph Laws, William Laws and Susannah Rich were witnesses.

Ummm, I’d like to have been a witness. Someone please tell me what happened, and don’t leave out any details!

I would never have discovered this intriguing document without this next gem.

Plot Twist

The record that launched this marathon search for both Sarah Hickerson Vannoy and Daniel Vannoy was sent to me by Jason Duncan.

Roberta,

While searching for records to fill in the story of Nathaniel Vannoy shooting the horse of James Welborn in 1813, I stumbled upon the attached document.

I remember reading where you wrote about a Daniel Vannoy being last seen in Wilkes County in 1795, and he was never heard from again. Could this page be about him?

Maybe you’ve seen this page before, but I wanted to share it in case it’s something new!

This deposition, given by Nathaniel Vannoy, Daniel Vannoy’s brother, on Sept. 23, 1812, reads:

North Carolina, Wilkes County

Nathaniel Vannoy maketh oath that Daniel Vannoy & Sarah Vannoy lived together as man & wife for about the space of fifteen years in this county and during that time had several children. That several years ago his brother [the] said Daniel left this part of this Country & hath not returned. This deponent hath frequently heard from said Daniel by letters & otherways. Who the last time this Deponent heard from him lived in the boundary of the Cherokee Indians. This deponent heard from said Daniel last February at which time he was alive & in good health. Signed Nathaniel Vannoy.

Sworn to before me this 23st day of September 1812. [illegible signature]

Why did Nathaniel swear this deposition? Sarah and James!

By virtue of a Writ of Habeas Corpus Sarah Vannoy was brought in to open Court & ordered to be Discharged from the Custody of the Sheriff in a Case James Laws vs Sarah Vannoy, she being a feme Covert.

Sarah may have been in jail from September 4th through the 23rd.

A “feme covert” is a married woman whose rights and obligations in that time and place were mostly subsumed by those of her husband. Habeas corpus is a legal writ that demands that a person in custody be brought before a court to determine the lawfulness of their detention.

This is about to get ugly, because a writ of habeas corpus in essence questions the lawful or unlawful imprisonment, apparently based on James’ allegation that Sarah was a single woman..

Sarah’s allegation would be that she’s legally married to Daniel, and therefore cannot be held because women have no right, property, or agency outside of their husbands.

The back of this paper says Sarah Vannoy ads James Laws – Habeas Corpus. Superior court Sept. term 1812. Then at the bottom, “obsolete Sept 1812.”

It’s ironic that Daniel’s desertion of Sarah and their children has paid off this one time. It’s probably the single time in Sarah’s life that it was beneficial.

The situation, whatever it really was, is far from over – if it was ever truly “finished.”.

The top of this document is damaged:

Third Monday of September 1812.

Commanded that the goods and chattles, lands and tenements of Sarah Vanoy to cause to be made five pounds recovered of her in an indictment besides the sum of seven pounds, three shillings and 11 pence for costs and charges in the said suit where Sarah Vanoy is liable…and have the monies before the court on the third Monday in March next (1813).

There’s another date at the bottom that says October 9, 1812.

October 15, 1812

The sheriff of Wilkes County is commanded to cause the sum of one pound, 14 shillings and 3 pence be made from the goods, chattels, lands and tenements of James Laws which lately Sarah Vannoy recovered of him on a habias corpus for costs whereas the said James Laws is liable and to have the monies to the Superior Court the third Monday in March of 1813

Dates on the back of this packet show both March term 1813, then “to Sept 1813.”

So James has to pay the court’s costs for jailing Sarah illegally.

But wait, next, James is collecting from Sarah.

March 13, 1813

State of North Carolina, Wilkes County – Command you that the goods and chattels land and tenements of Sarah Vannoy to be found in your county, you cause to be made the sum of five pounds…recovered of her the said Sarah Vanoy…and have the same monies before the court on the third Monday of September.

The back of the packet shows that witnesses for Laws were Susanah Rich and James Laws, so this is the original charge having to do with Sarah dumping the contents of a chamber top onto James. .

We already know that Sarah doesn’t have any assets.

Next, on the same day, she is recovering from him, again, and the amount is different.

March 31, 1813

State of North Carolina to the sheriff of Wilkes County that of the goods, chattels, lands and tenements of James Laws to be found in your county to cause to be made the sum of one pound 18 shillings which lately Sarah Vanoy recovered of him on habeas corpus for costs and charged in said suit expended.

The back of the paper shows the September term of 1813 in the suit of Sarah Vannoy vs James Laws.

The back of the packet said that nothing was found, and another date of September 1813 exists. Witnesses are listed as Joseph Laws, Susannah Rich and James Laws.

A form dated the third Monday of March 1814 commands that:

…from the goods…of Sarah Vanoy the sum of five dollars be made on an indictment of assault and battery besides the further sum of 7 pounds 15 shillings and two pence for costs and charges in the said suit expended whereof the said Sarah Laws (I think they mean Vannoy unless there’s more we don’t know) is liable.

As much as Sarah clearly hated James Laws, if she knew her surname was erroneously recorded as Laws, she’d probably still be rolling over in her grave.

The back of the form shows that Susannah Rich, Joseph Laws, and James Laws were witnesses.

Again, nothing of any value of Sarah’s was found.

Whatever happened, it sat like a cloud over her head from the summer of 1811 until March of 1814, at which time we know that Sarah had no property to be sold to pay her debt.

Sarah probably spent her entire adult life impoverished – first by Daniel’s suits, then by virtue of trying to feed her kids.

Second Plot Twist

Because nothing is ever easy or straightforward.

On June 3, 1811, David Laws, born about 1783 in Wilkes County married Jinny (Jane) Vannoy, born in 1788, the daughter of Nathaniel Vannoy.

John Laws signed for his bond.

On April 30, 1811, David Laws, Jr., meaning “the younger” in this case, married Elisabeth Miller. A John Laws also signed for his bond, but with an X.

Another connection is that Joel Vannoy, who signed with an X, probably the son of Nathaniel Vannoy, signed as bondsman for Joseph Laws and Elizabeth Laws to marry on May 25, 1811.

The Laws family connection to the Vannoy family explains at least some of the familiarity between Sarah and that family. The Miller line may be entirely unrelated to Sarah’s sister, Jane Hickerson who married Leonard Miller.

I don’t know who the father of either David Laws was, but it may have been John. Of course, there were two John Laws involved too. Regardless, this situation was clearly awkward, whether Sarah was warring with Nathaniel’s daughter’s husband, or her niece’s husband’s family, or perhaps both. Especially given that it was thanks to Nathaniel Vannoy’s deposition that Sarah was able to dispute her imprisonment by James Laws.

Sarah never seemed to cross hairs with David Laws until 1826, but given their enmeshment with each other, the Laws family was clearly closeknit.

1816 – Summoned to Court

S. Thronburgh(?) sued Jeffry Johnson and others, and Sarah Vannoy and Jane Laws were summoned to the February term of court in 1816.

Sarah simply cannot escape the Laws family. This Jane Laws is the daughter of Nathaniel Vannoy, Daniel Vannoy’s brother, who married David Laws (Sr.) in 1811. So she would be Sarah’s husband’s niece.

1819 – Sarah Vannoy Sues Thomas Farmer and Enoch Farmer

This lawsuit sounds much more serious and makes the others appear trivial, even though they were clearly serious at the time.

I’m left with far more questions than answers.

In 1819, the State of North Carolina, Wilkes County: Sarah Vannoy before me Leonard Linaerman(?) one of the acting justices…made oath that on the 9th day of December about 5 o’clock on the evening one Thomas Farmer and Enoch Farmer to [the] plantation where the said Sarah Vannoy lives and did by a strong hand and force of arms did rob and take away her daughter Marthea and did take away a cone? and one corn? pot all to the damage of the said Sarah Vannoy and against the peace and dignity of the state. Bring said Thomas Farmer and Enoch Farmer before me to be dealt with…

Signed the third day of December 1819.

On the back of the document, they are released on their own recognizance plus John Judd and Thomas Irvin as security of 25 (probably pounds.)

They appeared on January 31st, 1820 where Lendeman? signed as justice of the peace, as did one J. Vannoy – probably Joel, Sarah’s son.

Sarah Vannoy made her mark

Sarah’s mark for her signature is the only personal thing, aside from DNA segments in her descendants, that remains of Sarah.

What did Thomas Farmer and Enouch Farmer do?

Unfortunately, we’ll never know what they did unless there is a case packet at the NC Archives with greater detail. The phrase “with strong hand and force of arms” is rooted in English common law and means an act taken with physical force. The “force of arms” part may well mean that a weapon was used, but not always. In this case, it sounds that way.

This is the only time we find any record of Sarah’s daughter, Marthea, by any spelling.

My blood runs cold thinking about why they broke in, robbed Sarah’s home knowing they were there, and took Marthea with them. Don’t be confused by the word, plantation, which is what any homestead was always called, regardless of how small or meager. Plantation does not mean large or wealthy. This only tells us that she lived in house that was not in town.

Sarah must have been frantic, or furious and frantic, both. I can only imagine the terror. Those men would likely not have done that with a man in residence, although, with Sarah, they were probably taking their lives in their hands. They must surprised Sarah and Marthea. They were not prepared to defend themselves. But how does one remain constantly prepared to fight off intruders?

Sarah made her way to a Justice and filed the charges the very next day – on a Saturday. Unfortunately, we don’t know if Marthea was accounted for by then, or what information Sarah does not reveal in her complaint. Given that Sarah didn’t even wait until Monday, she must have been overwrought, and perhaps panic-stricken.

What did they do with, or to, Marthea?

Did these people actually behave this way sober?

I can’t find Enoch Farmer in any records, but Thomas Farmer was assigned to several juries and seemed respectable. What happened to him? Or maybe better stated, what possessed him?

This scenario is downright bone-chilling. The things that nightmares are made of. Even AI won’t create an image of this, because it’s too violent.

How could anyone possibly justify this?

Sarah’s Children

We know very little about Sarah’s children.

Martha makes only the third child whose name we know, although Sarah gave birth to several other children.

Nathaniel Vannoy’s 1812 deposition says Sarah and Daniel had “several children” in the 15 or so years they were married, but that only takes us to about 1794/1795 when he sold his land and then his slaves to Nathaniel. Too bad that Sarah didn’t have to sign off on that sale. We know Daniel was in the county until 1799, or so.

If Sarah was 18 when she married Daniel, she would have been born about 1761, and could therefore have been expected to bear children until about 1803, give or take a couple of years in either direction. She could also have been a year or two older or younger when she married, too.

Here’s what we do, and don’t, know.

Given that Sarah and Daniel were married in October of 1779, they assuredly had a baby in 1780, and another one in 1782. We have no record of those children, and at least one died before the first accounting on the 1787 tax list.

  • 1780 – Unaccounted for child born in about 1780 who has died by 1787.
  • 1782 – Unknown son born before 1787 as shown on the tax list where they have two boys under 21, and 1 girl. Let’s put this unidentified boy into the 1782 slot. He was still alive in 1790.
  • 1784 – Elijah Vannoy was born about 1784 and married Lois McNiel in about 1809 in Wilkes County. They removed to Claiborne County, TN about 1811 or 1812 with Lois’s family. Sarah probably enjoyed her first grandchild, a little girl, Permelia, born in February of 1810. Elijah’s second baby would have been born in 1812, but there is no record of that child. That baby may not have been born before Sarah had to say goodbye to her eldest son forever, waving as the covered wagon creaked and pulled away, headed across the mountains.
  • 1786 – Unknown daughter born before 1787 according to the tax list, who was alive in 1810. We will fit her into the 1786 slot although it could just have easily have been the 1788 slot..

Sarah sued Daniel on October 4, 1786, but the suit was dismissed in late April 1787, and they clearly had more children.

  • 1788 – Child probably born in 1788 who has died by 1790.

In the 1790 census, they still have 2 boys under 16, and 1 female child, which means at least two children have died.

  • 1790 – Unknown child probably born in 1790.
  • 1792 – Joel Vannoy, born in 1792 according to his gravestone, or about 1790 according to the 1850 census. The 1830 and 1840 census both show him born between 1791 and 1800, and the 1820 census shows his birth between 1776 and 1794. Therefore, using the overlap of all of those dates, his birth year would have been between 1790 and 1794, so we will count him in the 1792 slot. He married twice – to Elizabeth St. Clair in 1817 and Emily Suddworth in 1832, having a total of 18 children. He was the Wilkes County sheriff beginning in 1825, and died there in 1858.
  • Unknown child probably born in 1794. November of this year is when Daniel sells his land and in January 1795, sold his enslaved people.
  • Unknown child born in 1796. One daughter from the 1810 census is occupying this slot and may be Marthea.
  • Unknown child born in 1798. One daughter from the 1810 census is occupying this slot. Possibly Susanna, even though the ages don’t fit well.

Daniel has departed Wilkes County by sometime in 1800, but that does not mean that Sarah didn’t have a baby in 1800 or even 1801 as his parting gift.

It also doesn’t mean that Daniel didn’t come back and visit from time to time. Although somehow, I doubt he would have found a warm welcome, given that Sarah had no hesitation about suing him in 1786 – although she did drop the suit.

Sarah would have reached menopause within a couple years of Daniel’s departure, so, one way or another, her childbearing years were over.

In 1800, as an abandoned wife and mother, Sarah still faced the most difficult years of her life – somehow raising a family of several children, maybe as many as 8 who were living, from newborn to about 16, without a husband.

At the close of the 18th century and the opening years of the 19th century, I have absolutely no idea how she did it without appearing in the court records binding her children out. It’s mind-boggling, so if Sarah seems angry – I’d say she had every right to be.

The 1810 Census

The 1810 federal census shows Sarah’s household with:

  • 2 females 10-15, so born between 1795 and 1800 – maybe Susanna and Marthea?
  • 1 female 16-25, so born 1785 -1794 – this unknown daughter is occupying the 1786 child’s slot
  • Sarah, age 26-44, which would put her birth between 1766 and 1784. If she was born in 1766, she would only have been 13 when she married, so I would assume that her age in the census is incorrect, which happens often.

Both of Sarah’s sons, Elijah and Joel, are missing in 1810. Elijah married the year before, but Joel would have been about 18 and was not married. He may have been working for another family and living there. It would seem that his mother would have needed his labor, although maybe he made enough working elsewhere to help keep them afloat. Just one more unanswered question.

Sarah’s youngest two daughters are confusing.

  • One daughter shown in the 1810 census, born 1795-1800, is possibly a Susanna who Joyce Dancy McNiel, a now-deceased long-time Wilkes County genealogist, believed to have been born around 1804 and married George McNiel in 1822.

Joyce could not fit Susanna into any other Vannoy family, and she said that Susannah was thought to have lived remotely, “over there,” as she gestured with her hand, which Joyce thought was perhaps Ashe County. Joyce knew that Daniel had lived in that direction, and Elijah was said to be from “over there” or “not from around here” too, so Joyce tentatively connected Susanna to Daniel and Sarah as her parents.

It’s also possible that some of Sarah’s children were living with family members.

Granted, none of this means that Susannah is Sarah’s daughter. The dates don’t work, but we know that both birth and census dates are apt to be “off”. Additionally, Sarah had moved back to Wilkes County, probably in 1794/1795 when Daniel sold the land in what would become Ashe County. So, Sarah was not living “over there” in Ashe County, according to the 1810 census and later court records. She lived in Wilkes County.

  • Thanks to that 1819 lawsuit, we now know that Sarah had a daughter named Marthea, and she fits in someplace.

The 1820 Census

The 1820 census is perplexing at best.

Sarah is listed as a head-of-household, but the oldest female is 26-44. Sarah is very clearly older than 44, which would put her birth no earlier than 1776, just three years before she married, or as late as 1794 – neither of which is possible. Did the census-taker forget or omit Sarah’s census mark in the next column, or was the form later miscopied? Probably. Something.

Is there another, younger, Sarah Vannoy living alone with a child? Possibly, but I can’t find a candidate.

Nothing about Sarah is ever “normal.”

The second female in the household is enumerated as under 10, meaning she was born between 1810 and 1820. This child cannot be Sarah’s, and it’s not Susanna either, if she was born about 1804. In fact, what’s probably more likely is that the mother of this child is the 26-44 year old female living in the household. The child’s mother could well be Sarah’s daughter, but she’s not Susanna, and if she is Marthea, she was born 1776-1794. There is no marriage for a Marthea by any spelling, nor is there a bastardry bond or court records for an illegitimate birth.

I’m striking out here with known possibilities.

It’s also possible that Sarah was taking in widows and their children, or a family member, to try to make ends meet. However, that’s generally reflected in the court records. In 1820, Sarah would have been about 65 years old, so maybe someone was helping her? 65 isn’t exactly elderly.

So far, none of this helps us unravel anything at all.

We still don’t know what happened to Marthea, who was named as the victim violently taken from her mother’s home in the 1819 suit against the Farmer men, just a year before the census.

The 1830 Census

There’s no Sarah Vannoy anyplace in the 1830 census. Sarah would have been about 75, so at that age, it’s likely that she was residing with someone else if she were still living. The most likely candidate would be her son, Joel, who was appointed Wilkes County Sheriff in 1825, but she’s not there, nor with her son Elijah Vannoy in Claiborne County, TN, nor with George McNeal and his wife, Susanna Vanoy in Wilkes County.

However, we have one last sighting of Sarah – and once again, it’s in the court records.

Final Sighting of Sarah Vannoy 

March 2, 1826

The Sheriff of Iredell County summons William Stephenson Sr., Thomas Lackey, Sr. and Sarah Vannoy for the defendant in the case of David Laws vs William Campbell to appear at the courthouse in Wilkesboro on the second Monday of March 1826.

For a brief moment, I wondered if this was actually our Sarah Vannoy, especially since it’s the neighboring county, but then I noticed that the plaintiff was Davis Laws, and Sarah is subpoenaed to testify, in Wilkesboro, for the defendant – against David. Of course it’s our Sarah.

Was Sarah living in Iredell County, or were all three people listed because one of them lived in that county, and Wilkes County wanted all their bases covered? Maybe Sarah left Wilkes after the Farmer men robbed her and took her daughter. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t present in the home where she was listed as the head-of-household in 1820.

Maybe Sarah spent her last few years living in Iredell County, but with whom?

Daniel warred with the Hickersons for two decades, until he left for the Cherokee lands, and Sarah apparently warred with the Laws family for nearly as long.

They may have lived near each other. They certainly had some ongoing connection,  because they sure seemed to know a lot about each other’s business.

Beginning in 1811, hard feelings between Sarah and at least four or five Laws family members endured until at least 1826.

By 1826, if Sarah was born in 1761, she would have been about 64 years old.

Given that the average life expectancy in this era was about 38, she lived at least another quarter century. We don’t know when Sarah died – only that it was after March of 1826.

Sarah beat the odds so many times!

Reflection

As I reflect, looking back across the landscape of Sarah’s life, I can’t help but think about the type of woman she must have been – willing to step up, step out, buck tradition and go where literally no woman had gone before.

Either she was incredibly brave, or a little bit crazy, or maybe some combination of both.

Sarah must have been known as a “difficult” woman, which I perceive as a compliment today, although I’m sure it wasn’t meant as such in her time. Of course that meant no man or men lined up to marry Sarah again – not that it mattered, because she was still married to Daniel. Legally, if nothing else. Maybe she was angry about that too.

Sarah outlived all of her siblings and most of her children. She brought at least 10 into the world, assuming a birth every other year, and buried at least five young children. She probably buried more as they grew up – all without Daniel by her side. Where was he? Off someplace in Cherokee land. He didn’t even know his children. He didn’t provide for them, or Sarah, and he didn’t shed tears, dig their graves, and bury them.

I hope Sarah didn’t have to put shovel to earth to bury her own children, but I have no doubt that she did it, with resolve, if she had to. Anger mixed with grief creates combustible energy.

We still don’t know what happened to Marthea, or when she was born.

All the rest, except Elijah and Joel, simply disappear into the ether – not found in any record – ever. The lives of Sarah and her children were unimaginably hard.

The only two that we know outlived Sarah were her two boys – one of whom moved away, which begets a different form of grief and loss altogether. Along with Elijah went her only grandchild at that time, and a son she loved and who could have helped her. A little bit of Sarah, and hope, died that day.

Sarah’s life must have been excruciatingly difficult, both from an economic perspective, as well as community humiliation and embarrassment. No one wants to be the wife whose husband absconded. People can be incredibly cruel in their judgement towards others in unfortunate circumstances. She would have seen all those sideways glances and whispers shielded behind hands as she walked by. I hope she held her head high, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. Even worse, she saw her children tarred with the same brush – something they clearly didn’t deserve.

I have no idea what happened that caused Sarah to file those lawsuits – but at least Sarah had the spunk to stand up for herself. Perhaps she had simply had ENOUGH of whatever, and that, combined with her warring Hickerson bloodline, meant that she stood up and fought.

I don’t know if she was one of the pack, or ostracized from her family. The Hickerson “family” seemed to be divided and ostracized from each other. Several of their disagreements spilled over into the courts.

I hope that one way or another, Sarah’s life was at least somewhat fulfilling. We know there were several issues, or she would not have sued Daniel for “trespass” in 1786, just 7 years after they were married. We know that’s a sign of something – we just don’t know what. Sarah’s brother, David Hickerson, paid the court costs so she could drop the suit against Daniel, yet he and Daniel filed suits against each other a few years later.

Family relations were especially rocky after the robbery and burning of Sarah’s sister’s home, abetted by another sister, followed by her parents’ deaths. Inheritance does that to families.

Sarah was certainly spicy, but the rest of the Hickerson daughters were too. Seems to have run in the family. Maybe they had little choice.

In Sarah’s case, her temperament may have been the only thing that stood between her and starvation – the ability and willingness to advocate for and fend for herself, and her children.

A bit of sass and irreverence meant survival. It probably also fueled those wagging tongues.

The Great Chamber Pot Incident of 1812

If there’s one moment where I can truly empathize with Sarah, it’s the level of exasperation that she must have felt in 1812 when she threw the contents of a chamber pot either into or out of the window, onto James Laws.

Sarah must have known that in the litigious society that defined frontier Wilkes County, that James would run straight to the courthouse. But that also meant HE had to admit, publicly, what she had managed to do to him.

I can see Sarah laughing as James stood stinking, dripping, and fuming, beneath the window. He probably heard her too. Of course, that added insult and humiliation to injury and made him even angrier.

There’s a part of me that just knows Sarah didn’t care. She literally had nothing to lose, as the court records confirm. Depending on what he had done to her, she just might have relished every moment of his stinking misery.

If you’re going to take a defiant stand and dump a chamber pot onto someone’s head, “accidentally” of course, make it memorable and do a good job. Go big or stay home. And absolutely get yourself sued so that your descendants can not only find you, but unlock the rest of the story about how your miscreant husband abandoned you with an entire passel of children.

Sarah and The Great Chamber Pot Incident of 1812 provided the key to unlock the rest.

Perhaps James Laws, and others, never allowed Sarah to forget that her husband had run off – casting ugly aspersions, or worse. Maybe that’s why Sarah “thru a window threw upon him a parcel of stinking chamber lie of odorous smell.” Perhaps he deserved it. I can’t imagine doing something like that unprovoked.

Sarah and the Laws family had a long and unpleasant history.

Sarah stood, one woman with a fiery spirit, alone, battling an entire family – perhaps an entire area.

Were it not for that well-aimed chamber pot, Nathaniel Vannoy would never have given his deposition about the fact that Daniel and Sarah were still married, even though Daniel had left years before. Daniel was still alive in the Cherokee lands, so Sarah couldn’t be imprisoned as a “femme sole.” Without that chamber pot, and resulting deposition, we would never have discovered three more decades of information, the rest of both Daniel’s and Sarah’s stories.

While I’m grateful for the chamber pot incident, my heart aches for Sarah. The circumstances we’ve simply touched upon, glimpsed through a pinhole illuminated by the court records, reveal a life no one aspires to have.

Imagine the incessant warring, and whatever caused it behind the scenes, defining your life.

Imagine desperately needing a job, but not being able to get one because you’re a woman, and women in that time and place didn’t work outside the home.

Imagine raising your children alone, in a time and place where women had no agency to do so, which would probably make you even angrier.

Imagine the cheap gossip, and perhaps worse.

Imagine wondering where your next meal, and then the next one, was coming from – for years and years.

Imagine being that vulnerable and being able to do absolutely nothing about it.

Imagine your children going hungry – and how angry you would be at the man who deserted all of you.

Imagine having your home robbed and your daughter taken.

Imagine being that woman in frontier America with little or no recourse – except for that well-aimed chamber pot in a moment of overwhelming exasperation.

Every frontier bride dreamed of her own log cabin, some chickens and livestock to feed, a garden, starting a family, and growing old with her true love. Essentially, the pioneer version of living happily ever after.

Whatever Sarah’s life was, it was none of those things.

Daniel Vannoy and the Strange Case of the Two Sarahs – 52 Ancestors #457

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Last week, I thought I had put Daniel Vannoy to bed in the best way that could be done, all things considered, with the amazing breakthrough article, Daniel Vannoy (1752-after 1820), “Lived in the Boundary of the Cherokee Indians” – Say What?. That insight arrived courtesy of Wilkes County, NC historian, Jason Duncan.

Well, guess again, Daniel wasn’t finished yet – even though I thought he was. I swear, that man STILL has a mind of his own!

Now, que Cousin Carol and “Cleanup on aisle 4.”

Cousin Carol and I have been collaborating on and off for at least 30 years, and probably longer. Let’s put it this way, Carol’s now fully adult child was shoving business cards, aka play credit cards, into the disc drive of Carol’s new computer, and disrupted our research at one time. The accompanying pictures of our little “purchaser” were so cute though – how could we not laugh?

Carol did a lot of transcribing old records back in the day and excels at finding extremely obscure information.

Daniel Vannoy is Carol’s ancestor too, so after she read my article last week, she proceeded to see what else she could unearth.

This is not the first time Carol has cleaned up an ancestor after me – or found information that I had missed altogether, or wasn’t available at the time I looked.

Truthfully, I LOVE it when cousins do exactly that. I don’t know if Carol searched differently than I did, used different keywords, had more patience, is simply more skilled, or what, but a few days later, Carol sent me another document that fills in a key piece of Daniel’s life.

Well, in this case, the end of his life.

But like everything else with Daniel, there’s more to the story, and the whole thing is strange.

Really strange!

Daniel’s Death

Using FamilySearch’s full text search, Carol discovered a document that Daniel signed on September 24, 1826, in Fayette County, Georgia, where he left “everything” to one Sarah Evins.

Wait! What?

We left Daniel in Hall County, Georgia in 1820 as an old man.

What is he doing running around Georgia six years later? In a different county? What gives?

Daniel must have been very ill, because this does not read like a normal document – neither a deed or a will.

A deed normally says explicitly what is being deeded, including a land description or the goods involved.

A will normally begins with something like, “I, so and so, being weak of body but sound of mind…” and then goes on to explicitly state exactly what property is being given to various people, even if it is one person.

That’s not how Daniel’s document reads.

After the date, September 24th, which was a Sunday, this says:

Know all men by these presents that I do this day make over all my property that is now in my possession all that (ever?) will hereafter come to me unto Sarah (Marewere, Murewere, Mureweve or maybe Murewood) Evins.

Signed Daniel Vannoy

Witnesses:

Mathew T. Bishop
Aaron Tilghman
Nancy Tilghman

I wish I could make out Sarah’s “middle” name, which is either her birth surname, or another clue to her identity. I’m guessing, based on the ages of the people involved and a later hint that she was the widow of an Evans male in the area.

The Justice

One of the witnesses, Aaron Tilghman, took himself to find one of the Justices of the Fayette County Inferior Court on October 2nd to swear a deposition that he saw Daniel sign the document – and that he saw the other two witness sign as a witnesses as well.

Apparently, court was not in session right then, so Aaron sought out and found a justice to witness his deposition. That’s also quite unusual.

Personally came before me James Strawn one of the Justices of the Inferior Court for said county Aaron Tilghman who being duly sworn deposeth and saith that he saw Daniel Vannoy sign seal and deliver the written instrument of writing and that he also signed the same as a subscribing witness and said Matthew T. Bishop signed the same and Nancy Tilghman do so likewise. Sworn to and subscribed before me this 2nd day of October 1826.

Signed by both Aaron Tilghman and James Strawn J. C.

Recorded October 10th 1826 by Hiram Strawn Clk

October 2nd was a Monday, so he hadn’t been able to get this taken care of for a week and a day. There was no mention of Daniel being deceased, but neither was he present when the Justice witnessed Aaron’s deposition.

The Witnesses

Aaron Tilghman and Nancy Clecker were married in Fayetteville, Fayette Co., GA on May 11, 1823. Aaron was born in 1785, and Nancy was born about 1803.

Matthew T. Bishop, the third witness, was living in John B. Garrison’s district on the 1826 Fayette County tax list, along with one Evans man.

Aaron Tilghman lived in Libins Wharton’s District on the waters of Beaver Dam, adjoining Oliver. Four Evans men live in that district as well.

There is no Daniel or Sarah anyplace on the Fayette County tax list in 1826.

We don’t know, but I’m presuming that the witnesses lived near Daniel and probably were at his house when he signed the document.

Recording the Document

This document was recorded with the Fayette County Clerk on October 10, 1826.

It appears that they weren’t clear whether this was a will or a deed either.

Here’s the reverse index entry.

In the reverse index, this document is categorized as a will.

Based on the other entries, the “Date Recorded” looks to be the probate date.

October 10th was a Tuesday.

Unfortunately, the Fayette County Inferior Court records have not been indexed nor have they been included in the FamilySearch full-text AI-assisted search – yet. Hopefully soon. Some Fayette County record viewing is restricted to FamilySearch facilities. The Fayette County property search seems to be nonfunctional. Daniel may still be hiding!

Fayette County probate records are shown beginning in 1823, but the actual records prior to 1827 seem to be for Henry County, and there is no mention of either Vannoy or Sarah Evins/Evans in 1827 or beyond. Very frustrating. I so wanted to have a peek into Daniel’s final years by viewing the inventory of his estate.

Based on the information we do have, Daniel Vannoy was clearly alive but probably knew death was imminent on September 24th and didn’t know how he was going to leave his worldly possessions to a woman who was not his wife.

This could have been an urgent issue, especially if some of the property normally assumed to be his was actually hers.

The best way to handle the situation? Just give her everything. And that’s exactly what Daniel did in one sentence.

Two Sarahs, One Wife

To be clear, without a will, Daniel’s holdings, whatever they may have been, would have descended to his wife and children, under court supervision. An administrator would have been appointed to handle the inventory and distribution of his assets, after any “just debts” were paid. That’s the normal process. Keep in mind that Daniel left Wilkes County decades earlier owing the court.

Daniel may or may not have known whether Sarah Hickerson Vannoy, his wife, was still living back in Wilkes County, NC. He would either have known or could have assumed that at least some of his children, and probably several grandchildren, were living.

In other words, if Daniel wanted to leave something to someone other than his legal heirs, it had to be in writing and bulletproof. Hence the deposition by Aaron Tilghman in front of a court justice was an attempt at legal armor – anticipating a potential fight.

Does that mean Daniel had something worth fighting for? It might seem so. If all Daniel had was a cow, a legal document might not have been so critical.

Daniel swore his deed/will or whatever it was, and Aaron hightailed it to town to find a justice to take his deposition that he saw Daniel sign, and saw the other witnesses sign too.

Who of Daniel’s Family Was Living?

Would Daniel have known if his wife, Sarah was living or had already passed over?

  • In 1812, we know that Daniel was writing back and forth with his brother, Nathaniel, in Wilkes County, NC. We know that Nathaniel was still living in 1826, but he would have been about 76 by then. He died in 1835 in Greenville, SC, living with his daughter, but we don’t know when he made that move. Daniel may or may not have been still corresponding with Nathaniel.
  • Daniel’s sister, Rachel, died between 1780 and 1787, so not corresponding with her.
  • Daniel’s brother, Abraham, disappeared from the picture about 1770 and probably died.
  • Daniel’s brother, Andrew, died in 1809, so Daniel clearly wasn’t corresponding with him either.
  • Daniel’s brother, Francis, had migrated to Knox County, Kentucky many years earlier and died in 1822, so Daniel wasn’t writing to him, if he ever had.
  • Daniel’s sisters, Hannah and Catherine, who may or may not have married Baker men, may or may not have been living. I’d wager they were not based on the fact that none of the early genealogies mention them other than very briefly in passing, if at all.
  • Daniel’s sister, Susannah, who had married John Long, died about 1812, so he wasn’t communicating with her.

Of Daniel’s siblings, we know that most have died. Only Nathaniel is living, for certain, but we don’t know when he moved away, if they maintained their communication, and if Nathaniel would have known about Sarah. Only one of Nathaniel’s children remained in Wilkes County. The frontier beckoned to most of them sooner or later.

Daniel’s wife, Sarah Hickerson, is unquestionably living in 1819 (more about this later) and is probably the Sarah Vannoy who is on the 1820 census, although the age categories appear to be incorrect. What else is new?

Sarah wasn’t the only person with a legal interest in Daniel’s estate. His children did, and if his child had died, their descendants would have shared in their parent’s lawful share of Daniel’s estate.

Of Daniel’s known children:

  • Elijah Vannoy married Lois McNiel about 1809 and had moved to Claiborne County, TN by about 1812. Daniel probably knew that Elijah had pulled up stakes because he was writing to Nathaniel in 1812, but we have no idea if Daniel had any communication with Elijah, or if Elijah heard news through family members back in Wilkes County.
  • Daniel’s son, Joel, married twice and became the sheriff in Wilkes County. I’d wager that Daniel was aware of Joel’s position, and perhaps that’s why such painstaking care was taken to be sure that Daniel and his witnesses covered every base possible prior to Daniel’s death.
  • We know that Daniel had two daughters born between 1787, but they may have died young. If not, we don’t know who they are.
  • We know that Daniel had a daughter born sometime around 1800 who may have been Susanna, and if so, she married George McNiel, and lived to about 1883.
  • We know that one daughter, Marthea, was living in 1819 and was at her mother’s house when men came and took her. We don’t know anything else, but if Marthea was alive in 1826, she would have clearly been a legal heir.

What we do know, beyond a doubt, is that Daniel Vannoy and Sarah Hickerson Vannoy never legally divorced. I’d guess you could call their situation a “frontier divorce,” although it’s unclearly if Sarah agreed to that arrangement. If Daniel abandoned his family, had no assets to pay his fine at court, but later acquired assets that he left to someone else – I’d wager his name was mud in both the Vannoy and Hickerson families, and in Wilkes County more broadly.

Death Notification

As I pondered this situation further, I realized that unlike today, when children and parents moved to different locations, they had to depend on unreliable communications, such as letters which could take months to arrive – if ever. Plus, both parties had to be able to read and write.

Bad news didn’t travel fast back then and might not have traveled at all.

Given that Daniel abandoned his family in Wilkes County, lived outside of the boundary of the US on Cherokee lands, and moved to another similar location after 1820, it’s questionable that anyone in Wilkes County, NC or Claiborne County, TN was notified of Daniel’s passing. It seems that Daniel took pains to prevent them from inheriting anything.

Furthermore, the only person who would probably have known anything about Daniel’s past, at least enough to know where and to whom to write – if she even could read and write – was the second Sarah. It was not in second Sarah’s interest to notify Daniel’s family, even if they held any affection for him.

Suffice it to say that the ultimate irony would be if the second non-wife Sarah notified the still-wife Sarah of Daniel’s demise. That would surely have stirred up a hornet’s nest and caused all kinds of questions to be asked about whatever those possessions were that Daniel took such pains to leave to the second Sarah.

I’d wager none of that happened, and as far as his children were concerned, either as Daniel aged and his brothers died or moved, or when he died, communications slowed, then simply stopped. Everyone had gone on with their lives in one way or another. The people he left behind probably thought about him from time to time and assumed he had died, which, of course, was eventually true.

Daniel’s youngest children would never have known him, and his oldest ones would only have retained vague memories from childhood. By 1826, Daniel hadn’t been a part of their lives in more than a quarter century – so there was nothing to miss except for long-ago lost opportunity.

Daniel Had Moved

In 1820, Daniel was living in a household in Hall County, Georgia with four other people over the age of 16. It’s virtually impossible that Daniel owned land prior to 1820, since until 1817, that land belonged to the Cherokee. In 1818, Return J. Meigs, the Indian Agent, petitioned the government, asking for pity for a small list of white “intruders,” Daniel among them.

The Georgia land lottery, which awarded formerly Cherokee and Creek lands in Hall County to whites, took place in late 1820, after the census, so until then, and thereafter unless they won land or purchased it from a lucky winner, the families living there were squatters. The Cherokee people in Hall County had already left or become citizens.

It appears from records that in 1819 and 1820, after the lottery was established by a legislative act, a list of eligible recipients was compiled. According to the Georgia archives, the actual land lottery took place by random drawing at the state capital between September 1 and December 2, 1820.

Lots to be awarded were located in Hall County districts 8-12 and were 250 acres each, with an $18 fee to register the lot.

Daniel’s move to Fayette County probably had to do with the lottery, which would have awarded the Cherokee lands on which he lived to someone else – even if he had been a lottery winner. Winners didn’t get to choose where their land was located. You got what you got.

Fayette County was formed in 1821 from lands taken from the Creek, and the first land lottery there took place in 1821 when the county was formed. There’s no record that either Carol or I could find indicating that Daniel owned land, which he could potentially have either obtained through that lottery, or by purchase after the lottery. Lottery winners still had to pay to register and claim their land, and some winners sold the land because they couldn’t afford the registration fee.

Qualifications for the Land Lottery

Not everyone qualified to put their name in the hat. Qualifications for the drawing included being a US citizen who had been a Georgia resident for at least three years. To register, one had to go to the courthouse and apply.

To qualify to obtain one draw ticket, the would-be landowner had to:

  • Be at least 18
  • Or a widow
  • Or a family of minor orphans whose father was deceased
  • Or a family of one or two orphans whose parents were both deceased

Two tickets went to people who were:

  • A married man with a wife or son under 18, or an unmarried daughter
  • A widow or orphan whose husband or father was killed in the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, or an Indian war
  • A family of 3 or more orphans whose parents were both deceased
  • The child or children of a person in the penitentiary

People ineligible to participate were:

  • Any winner of any previous Georgia land lottery
  • Anyone in the penitentiary
  • Citizens drafted into any of the aforementioned wars but who refused to serve either in person or by substitute
  • A tax defaulter or someone who absconded for debt. This might have excluded Daniel, but they would have to have known, and it’s unclear whether this means in Georgia or more broadly.
  • Any person who resided upon the lottery territory previous to the extinguishment of the Indian title to the land. This, alone, would clearly exclude Daniel, and may have been why, in 1818, Return J. Meigs was asking for pity on a few “intruders” who had lived there for several years.

There seemed to be a lot of corruption baked into this process. Maybe that explains how the men who were living in Hall County in the 1820 census, before the lottery, are the same families living there after, and generations later.

Regardless, Daniel moved to Fayette County.

That means that my earlier assumption that Daniel was buried at or near Yellow Creek Cemetery in Hall County is wrong. He may have attended the adjacent church, probably attended funerals there, but he’s not buried there himself.

Daniel’s Homestead

Given that the land in Hall County where Daniel lived was part of the lottery, he would have either needed to purchase it from the winner, or move. That meant that Daniel lost any house he had built or any improvements he made on the Cherokee lands where he lived in Hall County, but didn’t own.

Daniel’s cabin may have looked something like this cabin built by a Cherokee in Cave Spring, Georgia, possibly either Avery Vann, a Scottish trader who married a Cherokee woman, or their son, David Vann, who was a sub-chief of the Cherokee people. It’s also possible that Daniel’s home was smaller and one-story.

In a 1908 article in the Atlanta University Press, this cabin was identified to the 1860s in Fayette County. Daniel’s five enslaved people probably lived in a similar structure.

Daniel would have lost all of his improvements, including outbuildings such as barns for livestock. He would have taken his “moveable assets” and literally moved on down the road.

For whatever reason, Daniel selected another area where the Creek people had lost their land to the US government. Given what had just happened in Hall County, I have to wonder why he would do this again.

Fayette County, Georgia

How Daniel chose the next place to move is unknown, but Fayette County was being formed out of lands ceded by the Creek in 1821, just about the time that Daniel would have been trying to figure out someplace to live.

It stood to reason that sometime soon, the lands in Fayette and the other new counties established from Creek land would be coming available in the land lottery, which they did, in 1822.

It’s not like Hall County and Fayette County were next door neighbors. We don’t actually know where in these two counties that Daniel lived, so his move could have been as close as 75 miles, or maybe as far as a hundred. We know it’s in this vicinity someplace.

Daniel didn’t live in Fayette County on Creek land prior to the land being ceded, so maybe he wasn’t excluded from being eligible for that lottery.

Or maybe the reason he moved to Fayette County is because it was newly ceded and he thought it would be mostly vacant. Beginning in 1822, white settlers literally began pouring in, resulting in clashes with the Creek who had not yet removed. It’s also possible that he did win land, or purchased land from a winner.

In 1822, when Fayette was being first settled, Daniel would have been 70 years old.

Fayetteville became the county seat, and Atlanta, in neighboring Gwinnett County, didn’t yet exist. During the Civil War, which began only 35 years after Daniel died, the final chapters of the Battle of Atlanta occurred in Fayette County.

While today, much of Fayette County is urban and suburban, when Daniel selected that location, settlers quickly became cotton planters, leveraging the labor of enslaved people to pick and process the crop. We know from the 1820 census that while Daniel was living on Cherokee lands, he did own 5 enslaved people. One could assume he took them with him.

There is a Georgia 1826 tax list, and there are no records of a Daniel Vannoy, or any Vannoy, or a Sarah Evins, Evans, or anything similar, in any county.

I tried tracking Sarah Evans forward in time, but she is not to be found in the 1830 census either.

Who Was Sarah?

I wish I could decipher Sarah’s middle name in the deed/will that Daniel signed. The closest I can get is perhaps Murwood, but I can’t find any record of a Murwood, or similar, female marrying an Evans male anyplace. I suspect that many of the settlers to that region, perhaps like Daniel, might have been hoping to disappear and not leave many records.

One Sarah Evans appears in the Georgia Tax Digests 1787-1900 for the years 1814, 1815, and 1817 with two enslaved people and no other property. I can’t tell which county, and there’s no way of knowing if it’s the same woman. This might explain part of how there were five enslaved people in Daniel’s household in 1820.

If this is the same Sarah, that really only tells us that she was widowed, and that she and Daniel never married – which we already know.

Of course, the answer to “why not” is that Daniel clearly knew that he was already married. I wonder if Sarah Evins, Sarah-the-second, knew.

The 1827 Land Lottery

The next Georgia land lottery took place in 1827, not long after Daniel’s death, and on the list of winners, we find one Sarah Vannoy who resides in Fayette County. Sarah gives her last name as Vannoy and lists herself as a widow.

One thing that may have helped Sarah is that the requirement that excluded anyone who had previously lived on Indian lands appears to be gone. It’s also not clear if that meant anyone living on any Indian lands, or just the Indian lands being distributed in the current lottery. Regardless, Sarah had no need to be concerned about that, or Daniel’s past debts, and she apparently obtained land. I say apparently, because not all sources agree and the Georgia Archives does not have an online list.

Section 1, District 32, Lot 15 – Vannoy, Sarah – widow – Fayette County, (residence), Hortons (Capt. Dist.) Lee County

Is Sarah claiming to be Daniel’s widow here? It surely appears that way.

Based on this, Sarah was probably substantially younger than Daniel. Daniel was 74 years and 8 months old in October of 1826. Just four months shy of three-quarters of a century. He’s listed on the 1820 census in the “over 45” category. If one of the women in the household is Sarah, then she is probably one of the two females aged 26-44. If she was 44 in 1820, she would have been about 50 when Daniel died.

I sure would like to know what happened to Sarah’s land? It’s possible that she simply sold it, but she still had to live someplace.

I’d further like to confirm that Daniel did not receive any lands in 1822 in Fayette County. Unfortunately, the complete Land Lottery records are only available hardcopy, or at a physical FamilySearch center or affiliated library, and there’s not one close by.

Sarah appears to have won land in Lee County, GA, but their records for this time period no longer exist, so we’ll never know what happened to Sarah’s land, or who her heirs might have been.

Closure for Daniel

At least, now, we have both more information and a wee bit of closure about Daniel.

  • We know that apparently Daniel’s wife and final partner were both named Sarah, not that this is confusing or anything.
  • We know that the second Sarah (Murwood? Evins), who lived in Fayette County, listed herself as a widow, using the Vannoy surname, in the 1827 land lottery. She clearly thought of herself as Daniel’s wife, or it was beneficial (or maybe less embarrassing) to be his widow.
  • We know this cannot be the first Sarah, because in 1826, her name was Evins, with an “M” word for her middle, perhaps her maiden name. Plus, if the original Sarah Hickerson Vannoy was still living, she would not have been a resident of the state of Georgia for three years, and living in Fayette County.
  • If the original Sarah Hickerson Vannoy was living in Fayette County, GA, after Daniel abandoned her and their children back around 1800, I’d wager we’d know about it because he would not have died a natural death. Plus, Daniel wouldn’t have needed to sign anything to leave things to his wife and children because that would have happened automatically.
  • We know that although Daniel lived in Hall County when the Cherokee ceded the land in 1817, and in 1820, he had moved to Fayette County sometime before 1826.
  • I surely wish I could figure out where in Fayette County Daniel lived, because if I could, I might be able to figure out where he is buried. I’d love to take a Google Street View drive down the road where he lived, and to the cemetery where he finally got to rest in peace.
  • We may not know where Daniel is buried, but we do know that he was alive on September 24, 1826, although perhaps barely able to whisper his wishes and sign his name one final time. He’s probably still alive on October 2nd, because if he had already passed, the deed/will document would have been filed that day, in addition to the justice witnessing the deposition of Aaron Tilghman.
  • Thanks to Carol’s amazing find, we now know Daniel’s death date within a week, which is downright miraculous, all things considered. He died sometime between October 2nd and 9th, 1826. It’s ironic that we know Daniel’s exact birth date, and very nearly his exact death date, but entire decades of his life are missing about which we have absolutely no information. It’s normally the other way around, with approximate birth and death years, but detailed land records and such.
  • By October 10th, 1826, Daniel’s journey on earth was complete. His funeral had been preached, his body buried, and he had gone on to visit the ancestors on the other side. His will, such as it was, was filed, and the second Sarah began life as Daniel’s “widow.”
  • Perhaps the first Sarah began life as Daniel’s widow that day too – except she might not have known, and for her, it wasn’t any different than the last 26 or 27 years had been.

Or, conversely, maybe the first Sarah was at the heard of the line, in front of Daniel’s ancestors, waiting there, on the other side, to have a word with him.

_____________________________________________________________

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Daniel Vannoy (1752-after 1820), “Lived in the Boundary of the Cherokee Indians” – Say What???

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When I initially wrote about Daniel Vannoy, I had looked high and low, gathered every scrap of information that I could locate, and thought I had found everything possible.

Possible is a relative thing. That was back in 2019, before the FamilySearch full-text AI search tool had been released, allowing searches across all of the Civil Cases and many other records in Wilkes County, NC. Before Jason Duncan was sifting through criminal cases at the NC State Archives, and before he published his two books.

Just when I thought Daniel Vannoy’s story couldn’t get any more confounding – Daniel made a sudden left turn across three lanes of traffic with no signal.

Whoo boy!!

So, let’s resume where I thought Daniel’s life ended.

1794 was an awful year for Daniel. He was sued several times and was embroiled in a battle with his wife’s family, the Hickersons, after her parents’ deaths.

The last we heard of Daniel was when he sold his enslaved woman, Winny, in November 1794 to his brother, Nathaniel, and then his land in January 1795.

It’s like Daniel evaporated into thin air, so the logical assumption was that, since his wife and children were still in Wilkes County and appear in later census and legal documents, Daniel had died.

But then…

A Tiny Morsel

Jason Duncan is the amazing historian at the Wilkes Co., NC Historical Society and Museum.

Jason located a record at the State Archives pertaining to one Nathaniel Vannoy who got himself into trouble for killing a horse and stealing the horse’s bell around 1813. That “event” turned into an entire unfolding drama, which is well worth the read, here.

Let us just say that Wilkes County in the late 1700s and early 1800s had a bit of a “wild west” flavor. Or maybe a lot!

During the process of researching the various Nathaniel Vannoys who lived during this timeframe, Jason stumbled across another record about one Sarah Vannoy – that also involved Nathaniel Vannoy.

Jason recalled that I had written an article about my Daniel Vannoy, brother to Nathaniel Vannoy Sr. Daniel had his own share of legal and other troubles. After selling his property, he managed to evaporate off the face of the earth.

But Daniel’s wife, Sarah Hickerson did not disappear – which confounded me at the time. If Daniel had died, you’d think there would have been probate files – something. Maybe his orphan children bound out. But there wasn’t. NADA. Daniel never appeared in the court notes after that time either. He literally just disappeared in a weird way. The whole thing just smelled kind of “off” to me.

Never doubt your intuition.

I wrote about Daniel in the article Daniel Vannoy (1752-after1794), Embattled, then Disappeared.

Hickerson Family Brief Summary

Let’s take a brief moment to recap what we know about Charles Hickerson’s children before we move on, as the Hickerson family plays heavily into the events of Daniel’s life.

Charles Hickerson’s Child Spouse Comments
David Hickerson was born about 1750-1760 Married Sarah Ann Talifaferro circa 1781. Leaves around 1809 for Coffee Co., TN. In 1793, he sued John Roberts for slander. David was very litigious. He and Daniel Vannoy battled several times.
Sarah Hickerson was born 1755-1760 Married Daniel Vannoy in 1779. Bought land in what would become Ashe County in 1779. He sold personal property the day after the Hickerson vs Vannoy conviction in 1794, sold his land in 1795, and disappeared.
Mary Hickerson Stewart, probably born around 1755 Husband was probably Samuel Stewart/Steward, son of Lydia Stewart. The Hickerson family had an association with the Stewart family in Rowan County in 1771. Son named Samuel Hickerson alias Stewart alias Lytle, alias Little, as recorded by the court, may have been born before marriage. In 1793, Mary’s mother left Mary the contents of a chest and also named Samuel specifically. Mary may have left the state shortly thereafter.
Joseph Hickerson was born probably before 1760 Married Ann Green or Greer. In 1793, Joseph and Samuel Hickerson testified against Leonard Miller and Jane Hickerson Miller but Joseph apparently mostly stayed out of the rest of the mess.
Jane Hickerson was born about 1760 Married Leonard Miller before 1782 and appears to have “divorced” before 1800. He moved to SC.

Jane may have remarried to John Reynolds in Wilkes in 1806.

 Jane concealed goods from her sister Rachel’s home robbery and arson in 1789. Convicted in 1793 in extremely unflattering terms. Later seems to have reconciled with Rachel, as she later testified on her behalf. Huge drama!
Rachel Hickerson was probably born before 1766 Married Braddock Harris about 1786, moved from Wilkes after 1793. In March of 1789, John Roberts robbed and burned the Harris home.
Elizabeth Hickerson was born 1748-1768. Married a Stewart, probably a son of Lydia Stewart Wound up in Nacogdoches, TX, per 1877 letter from Elizabeth’s elderly daughter saying they left about 1794. She is called Elizabeth Hickerson in a 1794 case in Wilkes County.

Daniel’s (Previously) Known Life in a Nutshell

Daniel married Sarah Hickerson in 1779 in Wilkes County, NC. They had three children who were known to have lived, and there were probably several more.

One of the factors that made Daniel difficult to track, aside from spotty records and the lack of early census records, was that he claimed land on the New River in far western Wilkes County in what would eventually become Ashe County.

By the time the 1790 census rolled around, Daniel was 38 years old and had been married 11 years. Daniel and Sarah had 3 children and owned one enslaved person.

In 1790, 1792, and 1793, Daniel is engaged in normal activities for that time and place, like being a court juror, witnessing deeds, and working on the roads.

Then, in late 1793, he signed a bastardry bond for Reuben Carter who “begot a child on Mary Brewer.” Hmmm, OK.

Daniel’s father-in-law, Charles Hickerson, died between 1790 and 1793, and his mother-in-law, Mary Lytle Hickerson, died in 1793. The lawsuits started almost immediately between family members and continued for years – if not “forever.” I described the ones I knew about in Daniel’s article, as well as the Hickerson articles, but there are more suits now that have subsequently been discovered.

In November of 1792, David Hickerson sued Daniel Vannoy, and David Hickerson and George Snow posted 50 pounds bond for Hickerson. On January 10th, 1793 the court ordered that Leonard Miller and Jane Miller appear in court on the fifth Monday of July in 1793 to testify in this case on behalf of Daniel Vannoy in a “certain matter of controversy”.

In February 1794, the court summoned Nathaniel Gordon, Isaac Purlear and Elizabeth Hickerson to appear before the justices on the first Monday in May to give testimony on behalf of David Hickerson in a certain matter of controversy. I sure wish they would tell us what the controversy is!

In April 1794, Daniel Vannoy sells Winnie, his enslaved woman and her son Reuben, to his brother Nathaniel for 160 pounds. In 1790, presuming that Winnie is the enslaved woman, she had no recorded child, but four years later, she does.

Hmmm, again.

What was going on with Daniel?

Maybe the tax lists will lend a clue.

Tax Lists

Jason has also compiled Wilkes County tax lists from 1777 through 1799 in book form, here.

In 1772, both Nathaniel Vannoy, born in 1749, and Daniel Vannoy born in 1752, are living with their father, John Vannoy in Surry County, while their other two brothers, Andrew, born in 1742, and Francis, born in 1746, are living in their own homes.

After 1772, Daniel’s tax entries are as follows:

Year District Acres & Improvements Notes
1774 Surry Co. Benjamin Cleveland 1 poll, acres not given this year John Vannoy on the  1772 list, 1773 is missing, John is absent in 1774
1775 Surry Co. John Hudspeth 1 poll Spelled Vonoy
1777 Surry Co. Herndon 107.5 ac, 4 horses, 10 cattle, 6 shillings Brother Nathaniel has same amount of land, brothers Andrew and Francis have no land*
1778 – Wilkes County is formed Daniel is named on the first page of the court notes on the third Monday of March 1778 where he is one of many who post bond for the new county officers Daniel is on a jury and works on a road
1786 N. Gordon 100 acres, 2 polls Daniel would be one poll, the enslaved person is probably the second poll
1787 N. Gordon 100 acres, 2 polls
1788 Tax list not missing but Daniel is
1789 Gordon 0 acres, 2 polls What happened to Daniel’s land?
1790 Gywn 0 acres, 2 polls
1791 Gordon 0 acres, 2 polls
1792 Gordon 0 acres, 2 polls Nathaniel Vannoy is in Cleveland’s district with 587 acres and 1 poll
1793 Gordon 0 acres, 1 poll Nathaniel missing
1794 Cleveland 0 acres, 1 poll Daniel now back in the district with Nathaniel Vannoy who has 571 acres and 2 polls
1795 Cleveland 0 acres, 1 poll
1796 Tax lists exist but Daniel no longer appears

*This 1777 land distribution suggests that Daniel’s father, John Vannoy, is deceased and that Nathaniel and Daniel have split their father’s land.

It’s odd that on the tax lists, Daniel is not charged with any land between 1778 and 1786, or after 1787, but he doesn’t sell his land to Patrick Lenin Cavender until January of 1795. That deed is not proven in court until November of 1802, and then by the oath of David Fouts – not Daniel. So apparently Daniel is “gone” by that time.

It’s also odd that even without land, Daniel should have been listed on the tax list in 1796 and subsequent lists – and we know from newly-discovered lawsuits that he lived in Wilkes County.

In April of 1805, the bill of sale from Daniel to his brother, Nathaniel, for Winny was proven by the oath of Rowland Judd.

In the past, I’ve taken this sequence of events plus the tax list to mean that Daniel had died sometime between when he sold his land to Cavender in 1795, and when this deed was proven in court by witnesses in 1802.

It appears, based on new evidence, that is NOT AT ALL what happened!

Questions

But first, I have questions.

If Daniel Vannoy was not being taxed on any land beginning in 1789, how was he serving as a juror in 1790, an assignment that required land ownership?

Daniel has two polls through 1792, which would be him and Winnie, the enslaved woman, whom he sold to Nathaniel in 1794. This tallies, except that Daniel only shows one poll in 1793. Where was Winnie? Was she already working on another plantation?

Perhaps Daniel had the bad habit of getting himself in trouble, and maybe borrowing money, only to have to transfer an asset a year or two, or eight, later.

Not to mention that in 1794, Daniel is charged with Assault and Battery, and winds up embroiled in lawsuits following the death of his wife’s parents. The Hickersons were anything but peace-loving people – and that entire situation spiraled out of control.

You can read related articles here:

1795

Until this past week, the last “sighting” we had of Daniel Vannoy was in Wilkes County in 1795.

Based on the 1794 tax list, it appears that Daniel had moved back to Wilkes County from the western portion that would become Ashe County in 1799, near his brother Nathaniel.

Then disappeared.

The Bombshell

I had thought of several scenarios accounting for Daniel’s sudden absence, including murder, given his history of feuding, or even taking his own life, but not one even approached the bombshell that arrived in an email from Jason.

Roberta,

While searching for records to fill in the story of Nathaniel Vannoy shooting the horse of James Welborn in 1813, I stumbled upon the attached document.

I remember reading where you wrote about a Daniel Vannoy being last seen in Wilkes County in 1795, and he was never heard from again. Could this page be about him?

Maybe you’ve seen this page before, but I wanted to share it in case it’s something new!

This deposition, given by Nathaniel Vannoy on Sept. 23, 1812, reads:

North Carolina, Wilkes County

Nathaniel Vannoy maketh oath that Daniel Vannoy & Sarah Vannoy lived together as man & wife for about the space of fifteen years in this county and during that time had several children. That several years ago his brother [the] said Daniel left this part of this Country & hath not returned. This deponent hath frequently heard from said Daniel by letters & other ways. Who the last time this Deponent heard from him lived in the boundary of the Cherokee Indians. This deponent heard from said Daniel last February at which time he was alive & in good health. Signed Nathaniel Vannoy.

Sworn to before me this 23st day of September 1812. [illegible signature]

By virtue of a Writ of Habeas Corpus Sarah Vannoy was brought in to open Court & ordered to be Discharged from the Custody of the Sheriff in a Case James Laws vs Sarah Vannoy, she being a feme Covert.

A “feme covert” is a married woman whose rights and obligations in that time and place were mostly subsumed by those of her husband. A writ of habeas corpus essentially alleges false imprisonment. In other words, because Sarah is a married woman, with no rights or agency outside her husband, the two are seen as one in the eyes of the law. Therefore, holding her in jail was improper, NOT because it violated HER rights, because she didn’t have any, but because it violated HIS rights, except Daniel was unreachable inside the boundary of the Cherokee Indians.

Say what?????

What Happened?

Holy cow! Daniel abandoned his wife and went to live in the Cherokee Nation?

And, as of February 1812, he’s alive and well?

He’s not DEAD like I thought??

Daniel was born on February 22, 1752, so he would just have had his 60th birthday.

This means that Daniel could have lived up to another 40 years.

My mind was racing.

Now, however, we have a whole new set of problems.

First, no comprehensive federal governmental census was taken inside the Cherokee Nation, at least not until after the removal in the 1830s. Any census taker that might have gone inside the Cherokee Boundaries was only recording non-Indians, as Indians “not taxed” were to be excluded because, at that time, they were not US citizens. Indian Nations were sovereign.

Daniel apparently left Wilkes not long after he sold his land, as he is not found in Wilkes or in Ashe County in any records or in the 1800 census.

If Daniel and Sarah lived together as man and wife for about 15 years, that’s roughly 1794, which ties exactly to the battles with the Hickersons and the sale of his property. At least this much makes sense.

Did Daniel sell out, take the money, and abscond, abandoning his wife, Sarah, and their children? At that time, his son Elijah Vannoy would have been about 10, son Joel Vannoy, a future Wilkes County sheriff, would have been just two or so, and a daughter was born before 1787, so at least 7 or 8. There’s another, unknown son, born before 1787, and possibly a couple more daughters.

How the heck was Sarah supposed to live and support her, their, children?

By now, I’m just dumbstruck, gob-smacked, so I turned to the FamilySearch full-text AI-assisted search for more information on Daniel in Wilkes County Civil cases. Then, I reached out to Jason again to see if he had any additional goodies buried from the state or criminal cases found in unindexed and unfilmed records from the North Carolina Archives.

Buckle Up

Not only did I find more suits, but I also found something I’ve never once seen before in any non-contemporary records.

EVER

I swear – this is surreal!

Sarah, Daniel’s wife, SUED him!

I kid you not!

And this suit was not for divorce or after he left, but in 1787 – before the apparent war within Sarah Hickerson’s family had officially begun with the death of Sarah’s parents – although I think war might have been a way of life in that family.

What the heck was going on?

You are hereby commanded that the goods and chattels lands and tenements of David Hickerson, in your bailiwick, you cause to be made 1 pound 70 shillings and 8 pence which lately in the county court…recovered against him on a suit brought by Sarah Vannoy against Daniel Vannoy and dismissed on David Hickerson assuming clerk and sheriff fees in open court. David Hickerson is convicted and liable as appears of record and to have the said monies before the said court at Wilkes aforesaid on the 4th Monday of April 1787.

This is the detail of the costs that Sarah’s brother agreed to pay. I would LOVE to know what was going on.

Did they kiss and make up? Did Sarah change her mind? Did Daniel agree to something? Was this determined to be “the best thing for everyone” after the hot fires of temper had time to cool? Essentially, David bailed his sister out of the predicament of suing Daniel by paying the court costs for her to dismiss the case.

On the 1787 tax list for Wilkes, Daniel is found with his wife, 2 sons, and a daughter. If their son Joel was born around 1792, this is another, unknown son who probably died.

To put this gracefully, I wonder if any children were born after 1787, as it seems that by 1787, the couple wasn’t getting along – at all. Then again, tempers flare and cool, but this seems like a lot more than that.

I’m dumbstruck that Sarah was brave enough and had the fortitude to sue her husband. That woman had some spunk, or spice. Women simply did not do that! She was obviously EXTREMELY furious about something.

Ok, there must be more to this story. Let’s keep digging.

Whoo boy!

To the sheriff of Wilkes County, Greetings. You are hereby commanded to take the body of Daniel Vannoy if to be found in your county and him safely keep so that you have him before the justices of the county court of pleas and quarter sessions…on the fourth Monday of January to answer Sarah Vannoy, wife of said Daniel Vannoy in a pleas of trespass on the case. To her damage 500 pounds [illegible]…

Dated the 4th Monday of October 1786.

Wait! What?

Sarah had Daniel arrested for “trespass.”

How is that even possible?

Ummm, I have a feeling that trespass in this sense isn’t exactly walking in someone’s yard. Furthermore, based on the 1787 tax list, we know they were living together.

Early trespass laws didn’t apply to walking in open space, no matter who owned it. Women could only own property in their own right under very specific circumstances. Therefore, how could Sarah accuse Daniel of trespass if he owned their land? Trespass only applied to an area where one could exclude someone else, such as a home, the area around the home known as curtilage, and fenced land.

In other words, Daniel entered an area she had closed to him. But how is that even legally possible?

In North Carolina at this time, a married woman was not supposed to be able to sue her husband, because her rights were “through” him and not separate from him. They were seen as one and the same.

Apparently, something quite egregious happened. I’d wager that Sarah was hopping mad. Maybe he’s just lucky she didn’t do worse and make herself a widow.

Daniel wasn’t just summoned to court, he would be sitting in jail for the next three months waiting for the next court session, unless he was bonded out. The court must have been convinced that there was at least some cause to hold him – and not just order him to appear.

Wow!

What I’d give to be a fly on that wall! You know the entire county was discussing whatever this was. The preachers probably even preached about it, one way or another, which might well have just inflamed things even more.

What Led Up to This?

Let’s reach back in time to see if there’s any hint of what might have led up to this impasse in either newly-accessible civil cases through FamilySearch, or criminal cases from the archives.

June 1778 – Both Daniel Vannoy and John Dier/Dyer were securities for John Laws in case of John Greer vs Isiah Watkins and John Laws for words spoken.

“Words spoken” is the early phrasing for slander. In other words, John Greer claimed that Isiah Watkins and John Laws were talking smack about him.

June 6, 1778 – Daniel Vannoy sued James Fletcher over a land entry. Court ordered both to appear. Joel also sued Daniel.

Note that in 1780, James Fletcher is the Entry Officer for land claims when Daniel claimed a second tract further west. That must have been awkward.

June 1778 – In the same session, the court summoned Nicolas Angel, Francis Vannoye and Andrew Vannoye in the claim of Daniel Vannoye against an entry of land made by James Fletcher.

The verdict for Daniel’s suit was found among the criminal or state cases, not civil.

On July 4, 1778, the jury returned the following:

We the jury find the claim that Daniel Vannoy hath set up in his caveat of the land entered by James Flecher, situate lying on the south side of the Yadkin including the plantation whereon the said Flecher now lives to be unjust and of no validity and that the warrant of survey for said land ought to issue to James Flecher in preference of him instead Daniel Vannoy. Dated and signed by each juror on the case.

George Wheatley is the foreman of the jury, and Rowland Judd is a jury member. We will see those names again later.

In September 1778, Daniel Vannoy was ordered to court as a juror in the next session. This is very normal event and he would have been considered to be in “good standing” as a community member in addition to owning land.

On November 16, 1778, the court ordered the sheriff to take Daniel Vannoye into custody and “safely keep” him to bring before the justices on the first Monday of December to answer James Ray of a plea of trespass on the case for words defamatory spoken and to the damage of the said James two thousand pounds proc money. Case jacket says Charles Gordon Security.

This wording is a bit confusing, but “trespass on the case for words defamatory spoken” is an obsolete version of a slander charge.

November 11, 1778 – Samuel Steward vs Daniel Vannoy.

This suit was filed by Sarah Hickerson’s nephew before Daniel married Sarah. Samuel went by both the names of Hickerson and Stewart, as well as Little/Lytle.

There seems to be no half-life for these deep-seated animosities. Unfortunately, that means there’s no healing either.

In 1779, James Ray sued Daniel Vannoy.

On January 15, 1779, the court summoned William Landsdown and Mary Landsdown to appear to testify in March on behalf of James Ray. The court found on December 8th that the allegations made by Vannoy against Ray were false and malicious and that Daniel Vannoy had to pay Ray 200 pounds, plus process money and costs. 200 pounds is equal to about $40,000 today, so this is a hefty fine.

On October 2, 1779, Daniel married Sarah Hickerson.

In December of 1780, Nathaniel Judd sued Daniel Vannoy. The court ordered that Daniel be taken into custody and delivered to the court on the first Monday of March 1781 to answer Nathaniel Judd in a plea why he, with force and arms in and upon the said Nathaniel Judd an assault did maim and him beat wound and ill treat and other injustices to him did to his damage the sum of five thousand pounds.

This is ugly.

In June 1781, Daniel Vannoy was on a jury. It seems surreal that Daniel was accused of a rather severe offense, yet 6 months later, as that case was pending, served on a jury as if nothing was happening.

In June of 1782, the suit brought by Nathaniel Judd was found on his behalf and Daniel was fined 2,451 pounds for assault and battery, including court costs. To be paid in currency or specie. Daniel is to pay the court by the first Monday of June in 1782.

That’s a HUGE amount of money, just under half a million dollars today.

In the criminal cases, Jason found:

State of North Carolina, Wilkes County, October session 1786.

The jurors for said county upon their oath present that Joseph Hickerson late of said county labors? on the 8 day of September in the 11th year of American Independence AD 1786 with force and arms in the aforesaid County in and upon me one Daniel Venoy then and there being in peace of said state an assault did make ? him the said Venoy did beat wound and ill treat to his great damage and against the peace and dignity of the said state.

If you need a translation, this means that Joseph Hickerson is convicted of beating Daniel Vannoy.

In October of 1786, the court ordered the sheriff to take into custody Charles Hickerson and keep him safely to deliver him to court on the fourth Monday of January in 1787 to answer Daniel Vannoy in a pleas of trespass on the case of damage two hundred pounds.

Daniel has been involved with suits with all three Hickerson sons, unless this Charles is Sarah’s father instead of her brother.

This, whatever it was, is clearly escalating.

In January of 1787, Daniel Vannoy dismissed the suit he had brought against Charles Hickerson which had been filed for “trespass on the case for words spoken damage of 500 pounds.” I wonder if this is similar or connected to the suit that Sarah filed against Daniel.

In the January term of 1787, Sarah Vannoy sued Daniel Vannoy for trespass.

Daniel must not have been completely undependable, because the court deputized him sometime between 1788 and 1792 to serve papers in the civil action of Hannah Baltrip vs Edmond Denney.

In July of 1788, John Owen was summoned to testify on behalf of Nathaniel Judd in the civil case of Nathaniel Judd vs Daniel Vannoy.

In April 1788, George Wheatley sued Daniel Vannoy for trespass and damages of 50 pounds, and the court ordered Daniel into possession and then to court in October. Dismissed by the plaintiff’s orders

On the fourth Monday of July in 1788, the sheriff was ordered to take Daniel Vannoy into custody and “keep him safely so that you have him before the justices of the county on the fourth Monday of October to answer George Wheatley Sr. on a plea of trespass on the case for words spoken to his damage five hundred pounds and herein fail not and have you then there.” Ironically, it was J. Wheatley who was the clerk of court and signed the document. On the back, Edmon Denney was Vannoy’s security.

Dismissed in February 1789 by court order.

In May of 1790, Daniel Vannoy and Benjamin Crabtree were summoned to court in October to testify on behalf of Job Cole (or Cob) against Edmund Denney

May court session 1794 – in the case of Jane Steward alias Little alias Hickerson vs Daniel Vannoy summon Elizabeth Roberts and Jane Roberts for the defendant.

May session 1794 in the case of Samuel Hickerson vs Daniel Venoy in custody that the said Samuel is an honest citizen of this state and hath ever beheld himself as such and supported a good name until the said Daniel who well knew the <illegible> with malice on the <blank> day of <blank> in the 179? did in the presence and hearing of divers good citizens of this state speak <can’t read> then false slanderous and defaming words <can’t read> (to wit) “you stole sheep and I can prove it. He stole our? sheep. He is a thief, and I can prove it. You are a thief and stole a side of leather <can’t read> by the speaking of which malicious, false and slanderous words the said Samuel has received damage.” And thereof brings suit.

It’s apparent that this entire situation is turning quite serious and escalates by degrees from words to actions. There are so many suits filed and assorted papers that some appear to be missing and I may have overlooked others.

In August 1794, in the criminal court papers, Jason found this document with some damage at the top.

State of North Carolina [damage].

You are hereby commanded [damage] body Samuel Hickerson if to be found in your county and him safely keep so that you have him before the justices…on the final Monday of November to answer to a bill of indictment for assault and battery committed on Daniel Vannoy. Ordered the first Monday in August, 1794.

In September 1794, we find Daniel’s signature on a document saying he’s indebted along with Hillair Rousseau, so apparently a bond for something.

Jason provided notes indicating that in 1794, William Curry was found not guilty in the assault of Daniel Vannoy, with William Rutledge, Daniel Chandler, Joshua Souther and John Love as witnesses, along with Isaac Parlier as constable.

September 15, 1794 – Court commands justice of the peace to bring the body of Daniel Vannoy before the justice because Jane Miller is afraid that Daniel Vannoy will leave the state.

On the back side of the document, it says that Daniel was bound on his good behavior and gave William Rutlidge as security on Sept 19, 1794. State vs Daniel Vannoy. So this suit is a criminal suit, not a civil suit.

In October of 1794, the jurors present “that Daniel Vanoy, late of said county, labor? on the first day of November? 1794 with force and arms in the county aforesaid in and on one William Curry then in the ? of said state an assault did make against the peace and dignity of the state.”

On the first Monday of November in 1794 in the State vs William Curry:

The State of North Carolina to the sheriff of North Carolina:

You are hereby commanded that of the goods and chattels, lands and tenements of William Curry – you cause to be made the sum of seven pounds, 12 shillings and eight pence which lately in the county court of Pleas and quarter sessions in Wilkes County the state recovered against him a bill of indictment for assault and battery committed on Daniel Vannoy. Jury sworn find the deft not guilty and for costs and charges in said suit expended where of the said William Curry is convicted and liable as appears of record and have you the said monies on the first Monday of February next to render to the said State. Dated the first Monday of November 1794.

So Curry did assault Daniel. But it gets worse shortly.

On the back of this order, the costs are sworn and include witnesses, Isaac Parlier, William Rutledge, Daniel Chandler, Joshua Southern and John Love. This is scheduled for February term 1795.

In the criminal cases in the archives, Jason found the jury verdict with some damage at the top:

The jury for the state …oath proven that Samuel Hickerson late of the said county labourer David Hickerson and William Curry date? Said county labours on the 17th day of May in the year of our Lord 1794 with force and arms in the county aforesaid did in and upon the body of Danniel Vannoy an assault did and him the said Daniel Vannoy then and there being peace of said State did beat and wound and ill treat to the great damage of him the said Daniel and against the peace and dignity of the state.

The back of this verdict seems to imply that the state prosecuted Samuel Hickerson, David Hickerson and William Curry for assaulting Daniel Vannoy. The witnesses seem to be Hilliar Rousseau, John Stanley, Joshua Souther and William Chambers.

That’s three men on one and makes me wonder about how badly Daniel was injured. Did he sustain a traumatic brain injury?

I also think the comment above Gordon’s signature says something about “was on appeal.”

This seems to be the end of that brawl, but there’s more waiting.

On May 1 of 1796, the State of North Carolina ordered:

You are hereby commanded that the goods and chattles, lands and tenements of Daniel Vannoy – you cause to be made the sum of five pounds 6 shillings and 9 pence which lately in the county court…was recovered against him on a bill of indictment for assault and battery…for costs and charges expended whereof the said Daniel Vannoy is convicted and liable as appears of record and have the said monies to the court on the 1st Monday of August next

On the back of this order, the first date is shown as February 1795, then moved to May term 1795, then August, then November, then May and August 1796, then January term of 1797. The two names on the back include William Rutledge, constable, and William Curry, witness. My assumption would be that Daniel Vannoy assaulted William Curry.

In 1797, Daniel Vannoy brought suit against Nathaniel Gordon and won in 1799. I can’t read the judgement for sure, but what I can decipher is that the sheriff tried to auction some sick cattle but there were no bidders. Gordon was surety in a suit brought by Samuel Hickerson against Vannoy, so Daniel may have been trying to collect on what Hickerson owed. It appears that Daniel is just out the money, but who knows. Whatever, it’s just more of the same drama, over and over again, playing on a loop tape.

Aside from the other legal issues and cases we already knew about, many but not all involving the Hickerson family, in 1797, David Hickerson sued Daniel Vannoy for slander. The case was continued three times and resolved in April of 1799, with David prevailing.

Witnesses included:

  • the Miller Childress (children?) and wife, witnesses
  • Jane Miller

The court finds that Daniel must pay David Hickerson 10 pounds 11 shillings and one pence by the first Monday of August, 1796.

This document was followed by a court order to the sheriff that commanded him to make the sum of 11 pounds, 6 shillings and 4 pence from the lands, chattels, goods and tenements of Daniel Vannoy for damages to David Hickerson in the action of slander and to have them to the court by the 4th Monday of May 1797.

In February of 1799 ,the court ordered that the goods, chattels and tenements of Daniel Vannoy be used to raise the sum of three pounds, two shillings and three pence which lately was recovered against him in court on scire facias where he was non prossed for costs and charges in suit that expended whereof the said Daniel Vannoy is convicted and liable as appears of record and have the said monies on the first Monday next to the said office. Damages, costs and charges witness Wm Lenoir. Dated February 1799.

The back of the jacket says that Daniel Vannoy vs Leonard Miller but was not prosecuted. It was apparently resolved in the April term of 1800 when the sheriff reported back that nothing of any value was found.

What this tells us is that by the spring of 1800, Daniel literally had nothing left. Or was gone.

I Can’t Wrap My Head Around This

Not counting what I’ve discovered about Daniel’s wife, Sarah, which is an entirely different article, I’m struggling with the magnitude of what we DIDN’T know about Daniel. I thought I had been thorough, but the FamilySearch AI text search is a game-changer, to say the least. So was Jason’s note to me and his archival findings.

Of course, one thing leads to another – and before you know it, you’re chasing squirrels down ratholes and it’s 3 in the morning.

You only go to bed when your system crashes because you have way too many layers of tabs open at the same time.

First things first.

In order to put some order (pardon the pun) to this, I had to make a summary chart about what we know about Daniel’s life in Wilkes County – combining what we knew before with our new findings.

There was just no other way for me comprehend the connections between all the things that were was happening. The good news and the bad news is that there are so MANY suits and documents – right around 100. Did Daniel EVER go home from the courthouse? He must have in order to get into the next brawl.

I can’t help but wonder how much alcohol was involved.

In order to attempt to make sense of this, I created a fact timeline.

Fact Timeline

# Date & What Person Person Charge or Event Notes
1 1774 Tax List Daniel Vannoy Surry Co. 1 poll
2 1775 Tax List Daniel Vannoy Surry Co. 1 poll
3 1777 Tax List Daniel Vannoy Surry 107.5 ac, 4 horses 10 cattle, 6 shillings
4 March 27, 1778 James Fletcher entered land Caveated by Daniel Vannoy Entered 400 acres S. side of Yadkin
5 June 6, 1778 Daniel Vannoy vs James Fletcher Over land entre, Court ordered both to appear
6 June 1778 James Fletcher vs Daniel Vannoy
7 June 1778 Daniel Vannoy vs Fletcher Court summoned Nicolas Angel, Francis Vannoye, Andrew Vannoye In suit against an entry of land
8 June 1778 Daniel Vannoy With John Dyar/Diar, security for John Laws in the case of John Greer vs Isiah Watkins and John Laws Security
9 July 4, 1778 Daniel Vannoy vs James Fletcher Verdict found for Fletcher George Wheatley as jury foreman and Rowland Judd as a juror.
10 Sept. 1778 Daniel Vannoy Ordered as juror for next session
11 Sept. 6, 1778 Daniel Vannoy Court Minutes, posts bond for new county officials Assigned to road crew and serves on jury
12 Nov. 11, 1778 Samuel Stewart vs Daniel Vannoy Trespass on the case for words defamatory spoken Daniel ordered by court to be taken into custody
13 Nov. 16, 1778 James Ray vs Daniel Vannoy Trespass on the case for words defamatory spoken Daniel ordered by court to be taken into custody, Charles Gordon security
14 Jan. 15, 1779 James Ray vs Daniel Vannoy Williams Landsdown and Mary Landsdown to appear to testify on behalf of Ray
15 Oct. 2, 1779 Daniel Vannoy Sarah Hickerson Marriage Wilkes Co.
16 Oct. 7, 1779 Charles Gordon entered land Adjacent Daniel Vannoy Mulberry Fields tract
17 Oct. 18, 1779 Daniel Vannoy entered land 100 acres Branch of New River called South Beaver
18 Dec. 6, 1779 Daniel Vannoy Serves as juror Wilkes
19 Dec. 8 1779 James Ray vs Daniel Vannoy Court found for Ray Allegations made by Vanoy were false and malicious
20 Dec. 1780 Nathaniel Judd vs Daniel Vannoy Assault and battery Ordered Daniel to be taken into custody and brought to court June 1782
21 June 1781 Daniel Vannoy On a jury
22 Sept. 4, 1781 Samuel Steward vs Daniel Vannoy Unstated Jury called, no outcome listed
23 3 transcribed paged later Nathaniel Jud vs Daniel Vannoy Unstated Jury called, no outcome listed
24 June 1782 Nathaniel Judd vs Daniel Vannoy Verdict on behalf of Judd Daniel to pay by June of 1782 – 2,451 pounds
25 1782 tax list Daniel Vannoy 100 acres, 1 negro, 1 mule or horse, 4 cattle
26 Oct. 23, 1782 Daniel Vannoy granted land 100 acres – same land as above Beaver Creek branch south fork New River
27 1784 Daniel Vannoy Son Elijah Vannoy born
28 April 26, 1786 Daniel Vannoy, juror in court but not this trial State vs Braddock Harris for rape
29 1786 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 100 acres, 2 polls
30 Sept. 8, 1786 Daniel Vannoy vs Joseph Hickerson Assault and battery
31 October 1786 Daniel Vannoy vs Joseph Hickerson Jurors found on behalf of Daniel Vannoy
32 October 1786 Daniel Vannoy vs Charles Hickerson Trespass in the case of damage Court ordered Hickerson in custody and delivered to court in January 1787
33 Oct. 4, 1786 Sarah Vannoy vs Daniel Vannoy Trespass and 500 pounds damages, Sarah is Daniel’s wife, Sarah Hickerson
34 Oct. 4, 1786 Daniel Vannoy Court orders Daniel into custody in case of Sarah vs Daniel trespass Set to be heard on 4th Monday of January 1787
35 Jan. 1787 Daniel Vannoy Charles Hickerson Daniel dismissed case
36 January 1787 Sarah Vannoy vs Daniel Vannoy Trespass Uncertain if this is a second case or part of the 1786 case
37 April 4, 1787 David Hickerson Sarah Vannoy, Daniel Vannoy David assumed costs when Sarah dropped suit against Daniel Court ordered David to pay the costs
38 1787 tax list Daniel Vannoy Wife, 2 sons, 1 daughter
39 1787 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 100 acres, 2 polls
40 April 1788 George Wheatley vs Daniel Vannoy Trespass Court ordered Daniel into custody and to October Court.
41 July 1788 George Wheatley vs Daniel Vannoy Trespass for words spoken Ordered Daniel into custody and to appear in October, Edmund Denney security
42 July 1788 Nathaniel Judd vs Daniel Vannoy John Owen summoned to testify
43 Nov. 11, 1788 Daniel Vannoy Petitioner with others Requesting cost of entering land to be reduced
44 1788-1792 Daniel Vannoy Court deputized Daniel to serve papers related to Hannah Baltrip vs Edmund Denney case
45 February 1789 Daniel Vannoy vs George Wheatley Court ordered dismissed
46 1789 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 0 acres, 2 polls
47 1790 Census Daniel Vannoy Wife, 2 sons, 1 daughter, 1 slave
48 1790 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 0 acres, 2 polls
49 Jan. 28, 1790 Daniel Vannoy Court juror
50 May 1790 Daniel Vannoy Summoned to testify with Benjamin Crabtree on behalf of Job Cole (or Cob) vs Edmund Denney
51 1791 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 0 acres, 2 polls
52 1792 Daniel Vannoy Son Joel Vannoy born
53 Nov. 12, 1792 Daniel Vannoy William Curry Sr. and Jr Witness to deed On Middle Fork Fisher’s Creek
54 1792 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 0 acres, 2 polls
55 1793 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 0 acres, 1 poll The 1 poll would have been for him
56 Nov. 7, 1793 Daniel Vannoy Others Court ordered road hand
57 Nov. 8, 1793 Daniel Vannoy Reuben Carter, Mary Brewer Bondsman on bastardry bond for Carter John Johnson bondsman too
58 Nov. 1792 David Hickerson Daniel Vannoy, George Snow bond for Hickerson
59 Jan. 10, 1793 Leonard Miller, Jane Miller to testify on behalf of Daniel Vannoy Court ordered to appear on 5th Monday of July
60 1790-1793 Charles Hickerson Daniel’s father-in-law Dies
61 Dec. 5, 1793 Mary Hickerson, Daniel’s mother-in-law Joseph Hickerson, Jane Miller, Mary Steward, David Hickerson, children, Samuel Hickerson grandson, witness Amy Hickerson, Jane Miller Will, no signature, no executors, statement “balance to be divided among my daughters” is problematic. Daughter Sarah Hickerson is not listed by name. Amy may be Ann, Mary’s daughter-in-law
62 Feb. 1794 Court summoned Nathaniel Gordon, Isaac Purlear, Elizabeth Hickerson to testify on behalf of David Hickerson
63 1794 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 0 acres, 1 poll Has moved to the Cleveland district where Nathaniel Vannoy lives and how has an additional poll for Winnie
64 April 6, 1794 Daniel Vannoy bill of sale to Nathaniel Vannoy, witnesses Rowland Judd, Isaac Parlier 160 pounds for negro women Winnie, child Reubin Formerly property of Col. Charles Gordon
65 May 7, 1794 Samuel Stewart alias Little D. Hickerson vs Daniel Vannoy slander
66 Same court session David Hickerson vs Daniel Vannoy, Leonard Miller forfeit his appearance as witness in case Same jury as May 7. Case Leonard Miller is husband of Mary Miller, Daniel’s sister-in-law
67 Same court session Samuel Hickerson Daniel Vannoy Attorney McDowal to show why a new trial shall not be granted
68 David Hickerson Court ordered R. Wood to show by David should not pay witness in suit
69 May 17, 1794 (assault date) State vs David Hickerson, Samuel Hickerson, William Curry for assault against Daniel Vannoy Assault, found for state, may have been appealed Verdict is undated but lists witnesses as Hillair Rousseau, John Stanley, Joshua Souther, William Chambers
70 Sept. 1794 Daniel Vannoy Signed document with Hillair Rousseau Probably a bond for something
71 Sept. 15, 1794 Daniel Vannoy Jane Miller Court ordered Daniel into custody because Jane afraid Daniel will leave the state in State vs Daniel Vannoy William Rutledge as bond on Sept. 19
72 Oct. 1794 Daniel Vannoy William Curry Court found William did assault Daniel
73 Nov. 1794 William Curry Court ordered sheriff to make the damage sum from Curry’s property and pay to court by February Witnesses listed as Isaac Parlier, William Rutledge, Daniel Chandler, Joshua Southern and John Love.
74 Nov. 2, 1794 Daniel Vannoy on motion of attorney McDowell Sci fa issues to Samuel Hickerson alias Steward Hickerson Litle This may be to get his share of Mary’s will set aside.
75 Nov. 4, 1794 State vs Daniel Vannoy Indicted assault and battery Fined 1 cent
76 Nov. 7, 1794 State vs Samuel Hickerson Indicted assault and battery No outcome listed
77 State vs William Curry Indicated assault and battery on Daniel Vannoy Jury called
78 State vs William Curry Not Guilty, but Court ordered Curry pay Joshua Souther, John Love and prosecutor Daniel Vannoy to pay other witnesses
79 State vs David Hickerson Court ordered 5 pounds be remitted
80 Nov. 8, 1794 Daniel Vannoy Nathaniel Vannoy Bill of sale for negro woman Wille Oath of Isaac Parlier
81 1795 Tax list Daniel Vannoy 0 acres, 1 poll
82 Jan. 16, 1795 Daniel Vannoy Patrick Lenin Cavender 100 acres on South Beaver Creek Witnesses David Fouts, David Burket
83 1796 Tax list Daniel is absent
84 May 1, 1796 Daniel Vannoy Unstated, possibly William Curry Court ordered to make damages and fine. William Rutledge is constable and William Curry, witness. On the back dates are Feb 1795, May 1795, then 3 dates in 1796 and January of 1797.
85 August 1796 David Hickerson Daniel Vannoy Court finds that Daniel must pay David 10.11.0 by this date Date subsequently moved to May of 1797
86 1797 Daniel Vannoy vs Nathaniel Gordon Appears to be for judgement where Gordon is surety for Samuel Hickerson vs Vannoy Apparently in 1799 tried to sell some sick cattle, unsuccessfully, so apparently Daniel is imply out of luck
87 1797 David Hickerson vs Daniel Vannoy Slander
88 February 1799 Daniel Vannoy vs Leonard Miller Not prosecuted but court ordered to raise 3.2.3 on goods of Daniel
89 April 1799 David Hickerson vs Daniel Vannoy Slander verdict for David Witness Miller Childress, Jane Miller, amount to have been charged to Daniel would be at least 12.4.10
90 1799 Ashe County formed
91 1800 census Daniel Vannoy is absent
92 April 1800 Daniel Vannoy vs Leonard Miller Sheriff reports that no assets of Daniel are found
93 November 6, 1802 Daniel Vannoy Patrick Lenin Cavender Deed proven in court by oath of David Fouts
94 May 4, 1805 Daniel Vannoy Sale of Winnie to Nathaniel Vannoy confirmed by Rowland Judd Confirmed in court by oath of Rowland
95 1810 Daniel Vannoy is absent Sarah Vannoy is in Wilkes
96 Sept. 23, 1812 Daniel Vannoy, alive as of February 1812 Nathaniel Vannoy, Sarah Vannoy Deposition Nathaniel deposes that Daniel and Sarah were married about 15 years, Daniel left and is living in the boundary of the Cherokee
97 1818 Daniel Vannoy Return J. Meigs letter In Cherokee lands
98 1820 census Daniel Vannoy Hall Co., GA

Daniel and the Cherokee

Next, I need to pull on the thread about Daniel living in the Cherokee Nation.

In 1812, when Nathaniel Vannoy gave his deposition about his brother, Daniel, Daniel would have been 60 years old.

I decided to check records on Fold3 to see if Daniel had any connection through the Dawes Rolls or other Cherokee documents.

I found only one relevant document and it was something VERY unexpected.

This document was found in loose papers from 1818 belonging to Return J. Meigs, the Indian Agent for the Cherokee.

It says, as best I’ve been able to parse:

I hope you will pity them and protect them in their just rights.is the request of your able servant Col. Return J. Meigs – George Parriss.

Sir I have been lonely sent the names of those that have lived from fore(?) to five years as intruders and that now Indians to give every possible encouragement those that appears to be poor and not busy I have omitted which are a great many you must know as they would not have perfumed to have arrested company officers.

  1. Thomas Kenady
  2. Daniel Vennoy
  3. Micajah Landrum
  4. John Walker Sr.
  5. Clemon Cavender
  6. John Thomason
  7. John Smith
  8. Obed Light
  9. Capt James
  10. Sanders

This is initialed GP, presumable for George Paris, followed by a text block.

I have added Capt. James as number 9 and the surname Sanders as 10 based on the note at the bottom, shown below.

I can only make out a few words in this line-by-line transcription, below.

There is a Capt.

James (or Harris) has a small

Thre? of liquor that

One Henslee keeps

Very injurious

Also a Sanders near

Blackburns on the chain (or main)?

Federal Road.

I believe the gist of this document is that Return Meigs is asking for these white men, who are known as “intruders” because they are not Cherokee, to be treated differently from poor, lazy people who have come to live on the Indian lands. But why were Capt. James and Sanders in a separate note? Did the people on the actual list live in close proximity to each other, in a settlement, perhaps, and the other two did not?

Furthermore, the location, Blackburn on the <something> Federal Road could be a huge clue as to where Daniel is living. It’s clearly where the bottom two men were living.

Google sometimes produces incredibly useful information.

Indeed, there was a Federal Road through the Cherokee Nation from Cherokee County, GA, through Macon County, NC, on to Chattanooga TN.

It gets even better.

In Forsyth County, GA, there is a Blackburn Tavern on the Federal Road where the Cherokee Chief Vann’s family built two taverns. One was on the Etowah in the Hightower Community in Forsyth County, GA, and one was near Backburn’s ferry.

The Etowah River crossing near Blackburn’s Ford was important. Blackburn owned the ferry and stand at the Federal Road on the Etowah River.

In 1818 Ebenezer Newton mentioned the Federal Road “near Blackburns,” describing the road as difficult and poorly maintained.

This document from the National Park Service describes the history of the Cherokee Removal from Georgia and mentions that Lewis Blackburn married Cherokee Mary Daniel and had improvements on both sides of the river. This also notes that beside the road, he found inscribed on a headstone, “Here lies the body of James Vann who departed this life February 1809, age 43.”

This is the FindaGrave entry for Chief James Vann, along with a location in the Blackburn Cemetery that holds approximately 250 graves, mostly unmarked.

Taking a drive along the road today reveals little of the cemetery. You’d never know it was there if you didn’t know it was there.

Little is visible of the cemetery today.

Most of the stones are broken and laying flat.

In this photo of the Etowah, you can see the present-day bridge, the old Federal Road, crossing the river in the background.

This is where the Vann family lived, the center of the Cherokee Nation. Return Meigs knew these men well.

How far did Daniel live from here?

Wilkes County to Blackburn Ferry

How far is it from Wilkesboro to Blackburn Ferry? About 150 miles, walking.

Given that in 1800, Daniel had no assets found, he probably set out on foot, with literally nothing – so he would have been walking. He could have walked maybe 20 miles a day, so if he went directly to Blackburn, he could have made the journey in about a month or maybe 6 weeks.

He may also have stopped in other places to work, or however it was that he earned enough to feed himself. Had he planned all along to take shelter among the Cherokee? Did he know where he was going? Did he have a destination in mind, or did he simply know he wanted to be “gone?”

After all, he had been doing battle with the Hickerson family, according to the court records, from November 1778 until 1799. Twenty-one years is a very long time with lawsuits counted by the dozens.

Assuredly, given the environment that Daniel was leaving behind in Wilkes County, he wanted to get as far away as possible – away from the Hickerson family and probably away from county sheriffs and courts too.

But why didn’t he and Sarah relocate together?

And why in the Cherokee Nation?

Why Did Meigs Write This Note?

No one writes something without a reason? Why might Return J. Meigs have written this note in 1818 about taking pity on “intruders,” meaning men or families who were not Cherokee, but lived within the Cherokee Boundary?

The history of the Cherokee, along with other Native tribes, consists of a series of land concessions. None of this history is pretty.

Part of this area of Georgia was ceded by the Cherokee to the federal government in this timeframe. Hall County, Georgia, was formed on December 15, 1818, from Native American lands ceded in the Treaty of Cherokee Agency (1817) and the Treaty of Washington (1819). The Cherokee agreed in the treaty terms to move west across the Mississippi River, one of the earliest steps in the eventual Trail of Tears. These families became known as the “Old Settlers.” The 1819 cessions allowed Cherokee Nation citizens to move west of the Mississippi, onto a reservation, or to stay and become US citizens.

The area that became Hall County was ceded in 1817, and Meigs wrote his letter in 1818, before the 1819 cession.

The Hall County website states that when the county was formed, “the region’s mountains were still populated by the Native Americans, as the trading center of Northeast Georgia. Gainesville, its seat, soon became a frontier boom town as settlers flocked to homesteads in the rolling hills formerly inhabited by the Cherokee Indians.”

The removal became a horrific event, but the treaty’s terms tell us what the Cherokee expected. Many Cherokee families were already admixed, but were members of the Cherokee tribe, living on Cherokee land.

If the Cherokee signed up for removal between 1817-1835, the US government was supposed to provide to each head of household:

  • A good rifle
  • A blanket for each family member
  • A kettle
  • 5 pounds of tobacco
  • Compensation for all improvements abandoned

Each head of household removing at least 4 persons would also receive $50. Additionally, the government was to pay for the cost of removal and support for one year afterwards. Approximately 1,000 Cherokees were reported to have removed before 1817, but there are no records. The Old Settlers census was taken in 1851.

There are no Vannoys on the Baker Roll, the 1817 Cherokee Reservation Roll, or other enrollment rolls that I checked.

The Hall County seat became Gainesville, incorporated in 1821. Murrayville with a tiny population of about 50 is located about 10 miles northwest of Gainesville, and the Vannoy family, along with the other white families noted in Meigs letter, lived North of Murrayville.

The best map I have ever found of the Cherokee cessions is the 1884 Royce Map of Former Cherokee Land in the Middle United States.

Zooming in shows a list of land ceded and when, along with a location description and color code.

Scrolling down reveals the map.

We can see that the 1817 Treaty that affected Georgia was number 23, took effect July 8, 1817 and is yellow. Gainesville is near the number 15.

The red band #15 is known as the Wofford settlement and was ceded in 1793. It was established in lands taken from the Choctaw and given to the Cherokee as a buffer zone between white settlers and tribes, and turned into somewhat of a lawless no-mans-land. This land was disconnected from the tribal lands, and was not heavily populated by the new Cherokee residents.

Neither Daniel Vannoy, nor any other people, with the possible exception of John Smith, included on Meigs 1818 list are found on the 1798 or 1804 list of Nathan Smith’s settlement in the Wofford survey, here.

The yellow lands are east of the Chattahoochee River, the portion where Daniel Vannoy lived that was ceded by the Cherokee in 1817.

The pink area #15 remained part of the official Cherokee lands until 1838, but by then, few fully-Native Cherokee remained. Mixed blood families established farms in this pink band after 1818, but Meigs would not have been writing, asking for pity for them. They were not being displaced and would not be for another 20 years. The Cherokee agreed to remove, but the write settlers, “intruders” as they were termed, did not agree to give up their homes and land they farmed, so they would have found themselves in limbo.

Based on this map, we know the boundaries of where Daniel Vannoy, and the others lived, but can we discern anything about their lives?

“Intruder” Life Among the Cherokee

The Vannoy men had spent their lives on the American frontier, long before the Revolutionary War. They were frontiersmen through and through. Daniel’s father, John Vannoy, settled on two frontiers, pushing the way westward, and his four sons continued the family legacy.

Surry and Wilkes County were carved out of the wilderness inhabited by various Native tribes.

They were friends with the Boone family who lived nearby. In fact, Daniel Boone’s brother, Edward, was baptized the same day in the same church as Daniel Vannoy. The families knew each other well. Hunting and woodland survival would have been second nature.

I wondered what life as a white “intruder” living on Cherokee land was like.

Apparently, Daniel Vannoy wasn’t the only Wilkes County man to settle within tribal boundaries. Various documents reveal other names like McGrady, Cavender and Woodall.

In 1817, Hugh Montgomery, who later became an Indian agent for the State of Georgia, was paid 16 dollars for a journey down the Chattahoochee River to what is now Hall, Gwinnett, and Fulton counties to view the freshly ceded Indian lands. Indian families were covered under the treaty, but no one knew how many white men, termed “intruders” were living among the Cherokee. Montgomery’s job was to notify the non-Cherokee intruders that they had to report to authorities – probably the very last thing any of them wanted. Montgomery’s original report is transcribed in part:

Sir, I have just Returned from the Frontiers & have Down to give you the names of the white persons who I find living on the Indian lands adjacent to this County. Let it be Remembered that I did not visit the South west Side of the County, I had no expectation before I set out that any person had Settled over the appalatchee. When I got to the Hog mountain, I learnt that the persons named in the Deposition sent to you were all in that Quarter & that they had been all advised to Return before the Depositions were forwarded to you & had Refused. I had a Right to believe that the names of all were sent you, I was also informed that most of them had either moved on or were about to Remove, with the exception of a John Camp and a few others.

I am omitting most of the names, which are available in the original and also here, and resume his letter when he begins reporting on an area relevant to Daniel Vannoy.

…and near the Chestetee are Freeman Averbee Danl. Short, Noah Langly, John Martin, & Jese Martin and at and above the Shallowford are William Staker, William Baity, a man by the name Mason, an other by the name of Hainsan other by the name of Hawkins, & John Wagoner, James Abercrombi a Senr James Abercrombi a Junr Benjm Morris, Henry Morris, John Diffy, Henry Barton, Holly Barton, Widow & George Davis. I did not see all of them, but the greater part of those that I did, promised to Come in. Some few will, Say about one in ten, the ballance will not.

From Yellow Creek Baptist Church and adjacent cemetery to the Chestatee River is about 2.5 miles, as the crow flies. In between, we can see Abercrombie Road, from end to end, which is clearly where the Abercrombie family lived. They are listed in Montgomery’s report, and found in the 1820 census. A Google Street View drive today shows that Abercrombie Road remains heavily wooded, with few homes. I can’t tell where the original homestead was located, but regardless, we know that Daniel was here.

You can also see that Martin’s Ford Road used to cross the now-flooded Chestatee River, which may well be the “Shallowford” that Montgomery referred to, and it intersects Abercrombie Road.

Montgomery’s next commentary is difficult to read, but reflects reality:

There are a great many Shifts which those people make to get settling on those Lands. Some Rent of Indians or Mixed Bloods. Others Settle Down on Such place as pleases them and get Some stroling Vagabond Indian to live or Stay with them. They Call themselves his Croppers. He is to hunt & they Cultivate the Ground. They find him a Gun & ammunition. They have the meat & he the Skins, but it often so turns out that he has two Hoggskins for one Dearskin, & this accounts for the Frontier people loosing so many of their Hoggs as they do. Others (if possible) More Lax in their Morrels and Still Less Delicate in their taste will Kiss a Squaw for the privilege of their Land & Range. He then becomes a Landlord. He has his Croppers, Tenants, & Hirelings &c. thus a whole Settlement Claim under him. What seems more abominable than all is that others give their Daughters to the Indian fellows for the privilege of Living in their Country themselves. Of this Last & and worst Class are John Tidwell & Noah Langly. The Former has given four of his Daughters to Indian fellows for Wives & the Latter two thus a Motly Race are propigating fast verry fast on the Chatahoochee & its waters.

And it gets worse, although his question about land rights is valid. Daniel was probably wondering the same thing.

I Should like to know how far the Individual Indians have a Right to Rent or Lease Lands. My own impressions are that Indians have not a principle tittle to any Lands, that theirs is a mere occupant claim, that they are tenants at the will of the Government. The Treaty Reserves the Lands to them for their Hunting grounds. It prohibits all Citizens of the U. S, or other persons from Settling on them with out permits from the Agent of Indian affairs. Those people have no permits. They are not Indians altho Some of them try to look & act like them, & it seems that to get foothold in the Nation by any of their ways which I have Described has all the effect of taking the Indian Black Drink, it makes them inimical to every person who Does not  ware a Long hunting Shirt & mockisins or a Match Coat & Smell like Tainted Dearskins  & I think I am warranted in saying that If the Comrs. fail of success in the present Treaty it will be in not intirely to the Clamours of those fellows Seconded by a few of the Mixed Bloods, the spurious product of those Disgracefull & unnatural Matches.

The ”Indian Black Drink” is Yaupon Tea which is a strong stimulant drink brewed from the toasted leaves of the Yaupon Holly used in Native American ceremonial, social and spiritual life to induce ritual vomiting for spiritual purity, to prepare for war or games, and to enhance the euphoric and psychotropic effects of the brew.

From Montgomery’s trip report, we gather that he neither saw nor heard about Daniel Vannoy. Daniel was clearly tucked up in the backcountry – well out of sight. Given his prior experience with people of authority, he probably wasn’t about to come out. Not to mention that Montgomery’s disdainful attitude may have preceded him.

Daniel probably wasn’t going to present himself to authorities either, especially given that he may have absented himself from Wilkes County for legal reasons, such as owing the court that debt. Not to mention that he was still married to Sarah – regardless of his living arrangement in Hall County.

These combined factors is very likely the reason that Return Meigs wrote his letter asking for pity for a select few intruders. We can gather that Daniel had a good work ethic, although one has to wonder if it was Daniel’s work ethic, or the work ethic of other household members, that got him his letter.

Given that we know there were many other intruders as well, from Montgomery’s letter, why did Meigs single out these few men? Clearly he thought highly of them for some reason. Meigs advocated for voluntary removal of the Cherokee across the Mississippi which embroiled him deeply in Cherokee politics and double-dealing to obtain land cessions. Meigs believed that removal was in the best interests of the Cherokee, and attempted to secure the best deal, at least in his opinion, for the Cherokee.

In 1808, Meigs, when writing about the continued intrusion of whites into the Cherokee hunting grounds, which depleted the game, stated that, “It is my opinion that there never will be quietness on any of these frontiers until the Indians are removed over the Mississippi.”

History tells us a few other things about the white intruders:

  • Some intruders were escaping US law, and in 1812, when requesting troops to protect the Cherokee, Indian Agent William Loving wrote to William Clark in St. Louis that, “there are some whites of the worst character in this country whose influence with the Indians is dangerous to the peace of the land.”
  • Some intruders clustered together with similar families – such as Wofford’s Settlement in Georgia, often operating in contested borderlands.
  • Many of the Cherokee resented the intruders and viewed the taking of resources as theft. Some bands evicted the interlopers, sometimes violently.
  • European traders often “married in” to the tribe, complicating loyalties and economic factors. Many of those men had European wives whom they traveled back to, maintaining multiple families. These relationships were known as “country wives” and were tolerated by the European wives if they were aware of them. They had little other choice.
  • The 1819 Treaty promised to remove intruders, but enforcement was inconsistent and failed to protect the Cherokee. After this time, white settlers flooded in, especially with the discovery of gold, with little or no consequences, ratcheting up animosity and conflict.
  • The intruders themselves lived in a lawless land with no governmental protection, among people who often resented their presence. Some, like Daniel, may have sought this exact situation to escape the law and accountability. Somehow, Daniel, who had left with nothing, managed to obtain five enslaved people which suggests that he was engaged in either farming or some type of labor-intensive craftsmanship or trade.
  • The intruder situation escalated with the ceding of land, followed by the discovery of gold, followed by land-grabs. The history of violence in Hall County and this part of Georgia from 1820-1840 is described here.

The Other Men on Meigs’ List

Can we learn anything from the other men on Meigs’ list?

Hall County, Georgia, was formed in 1818 from former Cherokee lands, so I checked the 1820 census along with other resources.

  • Captain Thomas Kenady/Kennady/Kennedy – Can’t identify.
  • Micajah Landrum was born in 1785 in Union County, SC, and died in 1823 in Hall County, Georgia. His wife was Patience Beard. In 1820, he is living 10 houses from Daniel Vannoy and is buried in the Yellow Creek Baptist Church Cemetery. There is a James Landrum on the 1819 treaty list of the people whose children were designated to receive land granted to their parents in Georgia after their Cherokee parents had died.
  • John Walker Sr. – Can’t identify him specifically due to his common name, but one John Walker or maybe Walkers lived in Capt. Cotter’s district in Hall County. There is a John Walker Sr. on the 1819 treaty list of the people whose children were designated to receive land granted to their parents in Georgia after their Cherokee parents had died.
  • Clemon Cavender – Clemeth Cavender was born in 1774 in Virginia and died in 1836 in Murrayville, Hall County, GA. He married Rebecca Deadman in 1799 in Rowan County, NC. It’s worth noting that in 1795, Daniel sold land to Patrick Lenin Cavender in Wilkes County, which was sworn in court in 1802 by a witness, but I cannot find Cavender after that. Clemouth Cavender lived in the same district and is listed on the same census page with Daniel Vannoy in 1820. Clemon is buried in the Cavender Barnes Family Cemetery north of Murrayville, Hall County, Georgia.
  • John Thomason, possibly Thompson – common name. Thomason family members are buried in the Yellow Creek Baptist church. Andrew Jackson Thompson born in 1787 established a trading post and is buried in the Old Thompson Cemetery, now under Lake Lanier. The graves were relocated to the north end of the lake.
  • John Smith – an even more common name, but one John Smith does live in Capt. Tanners district in Hall County, GA in 1820.
  • Obed Light – Born about 1775 in Virginia and died in 1849 in Forsythe County, Georgia. His wife, Mary Moore was born in Jackson, Georgia and died in Hall County, Georgia in 1849. Obediah Light lives in Capt. Tanners District in Hall County, GA in 1820, four houses from John Smith. There’s no known grave for Obed, but several Light families are found in the Flowery Branch Cemetery, in Hall County. In June of 1817, Indian Agent Hugh Montgomery journeyed down the Chattahoochie River to part of what is now Hall County and made a list of white persons, intruders, living on Indian lands. He notes that Obediah is living on the mouth of Big Creek, which is near Flowery Branch.
  • James – There is a John James in Capt. Alices Miller’s District, Hall County, GA in 1820.
  • Sanders – There are both a Jacob Sanders and Isaac Sanders in Capt. Byrd’s District in the 1820 census in Hall County, Georgia.

The common thread among the people we can identify is that they died in Hall County, Georgia, which of course indicates that they lived in Hall County as well.

This suggests strongly that “our” Daniel lived in Hall County in 1820, and that all of these men noted were the same ones on the list of Return J. Meigs in 1818.

Where in Hall County?

Of the various men that Meigs listed, the two who lived closest to Daniel on the 1820 census are Micajah Landrum who lives 10 houses away from Daniel Vannoy, and Clemon Cavender who was listed on the adjoining census page, but further away.

The burial locations for both of these families is found in relatively close proximity, just four miles apart. Micajah is buried in the Yellow Creek Baptist Church where some of the Thomason family are later buried as well. The sign on the church says it was founded in 1823, but the cemetery could have already been in use.

Clemens Cavender is buried in a private cemetery about 4 miles away.

Therefore, we can make the assumption that Daniel Vannoy lived in fairly close proximity to both of these families.

The following heads of family were listed on either side of Daniel Vannoy in 1820.

Name Burial Location or link
Charles Hawkins
James Abbercrombie Died 1840 buried Yellow Creek Baptist Church
Thomas Wisnt? Can’t read
James Smallwood Died after 1825. Burial location unknown
Elijah Smallwood Family members buried in Holly Springs Baptist church. 34°28’10.2″N 83°44’04.2″W
Mimia? Norris
James Whitlock Family members buried in Dewberry Baptist Church #1 Cemetery 34°28’10.2″N 83°44’04.2″W
Jesse Hulsey Dewberry Baptist church https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/125023260/jesse-hamilton-hulsey
Rebecca Norris
Solomon Peek https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Peek-173
Martin Ingram
Edward Hawkins https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Hawkins-6887
Allen Savage Later family members buried in Holly Springs Church further south in the county.
Edward Level? Died 1832 buried Dekalb Co.
John Kimbal
David Smith
Holly Barton On Montgomery’s 1817 report, she is listed as a widow, beside Henry Barton.
Jesse Henson
David Smith
Balam Dowdy Moved on before 1830 https://freepages.rootsweb.com/~bobfarmergenealogy/genealogy/Farmer001/ps18/ps18_029.htm
Lemuel Coats
Taletha Spheres
Daniel Vannoy
Elsey Montgomery Some later Montgomery family members buried at Yellow Creek
Barnet Watkins Later Watkins also buried at Yellow Creek
William Fleming
John Hedrick
Jediah Blackwell
Denny Rice
Flemon Parks https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Parks-4387
Easley Roberts
John Lane
Nevel Wooten
Micajah Landrum Yellow Creek Baptist Church Cemetery.
Jacob Cockrum
Margaret Smith
William Morris Later Morris family members buried in the Chandler Family Cemetery https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/281961806/christiania-wright-morris
John Eubanks
Joshua Cox
John Holcomb

No Vannoy is listed in the 1830 census in Hall or neighboring counties, so Daniel has (apparently) died. He would have turned 70 in 1822 and 78 by the 1830 census. He is probably buried someplace nearby, either in a private family cemetery or perhaps in the Yellow Creek Baptist Church cemetery. Given that Daniel didn’t own land, my bet would be the Yellow Creek Cemetery.

Given the combined information that we have about Daniel Vannoy’s neighbors, including where their descendant family members were buried, it’s safe to say that Daniel lived someplace in relatively close proximity to the Yellow Creek Cemetery.

One thing is for sure. He knew these people well and probably attended more than one funeral here – even if he didn’t attend services. .

Daniel spent at least the last decade of his life, if not more, here. He left Wilkes County no later than 1800 and was living here in 1812. We know he was still here in 1820, which means he witnessed, first hand, the heartbreaking removal of his Cherokee neighbors who had apparently accepted him into their community.

The Cavender Cemetery is on private land. Many cemeteries were then – at least until local churches were formed. We know that a stone in the  Yellow Creek Cemetery dates to a death that occurred in 1815.

I started my Google Street View drive near the location of the Cavender Cemetery, knowing that Daniel assuredly followed this same path when visiting other settlers.

I always look for log cabins. There weren’t many buildings of an age suggesting they were here during the log cabin era – but this group of buildings might qualify.

Daniel arrived with nothing, at least as far as we know, so he would probably have lived in a humble log abode.

The well-cared-for Yellow Creek Church Cemetery, across from what was clearly a very early community church, is where some early settlers were buried.

Many graves here are unmarked.

I could find no history of this cemetery, distinct from the church’s establishment in 1823, but it’s possible that it preceded the church substantially. One thing is certain, the white families were being buried someplace, and probably not in the traditional Cherokee manner.

There’s no indication that Daniel ever owned land in Hall County, so he wasn’t buried in a family cemetery, at least not his family.

There’s a good chance that Daniel rests here, along with the rest of the people in his household in 1820.

The 1820 Census

In the 1820 census for Hall County, GA, on August 7th, we do find Daniel Vannoy in Capt. Abbercrombie’s District.

Daniel’s household contains:

  • 1 male over 45 (Daniel)
  • 1 male 26-44
  • 1 female age 16-25
  • 2 females aged 26-44.

Additionally, the census taker listed 5 slaves. It’s worth noting that the federal census does NOT include “Indians not taxed.” So, if Daniel had a Native wife or family members, he would be listed, but they would not be.

If you group these people into couples, the oldest male would be Daniel who was 68. One of the females age 26-44 could be his spouse – or – if his wife was Native she should not be recorded!

Is this our Daniel? Based on the other evidence, especially his brother, Nathaniel’s deposition combined with Meigs’ 1818 list, it has to be. There are no other known Daniel Vannoys, let alone in the right time and place, given our other evidence.

Which begs another question!

Did Daniel Have Another Family?

We know that divorces simply weren’t a thing in the late 1700s or early 1800s in North Carolina. Divorces, when formalized, had to be granted by the State legislature, not counties, and required very serious causes. More common was that couples simply separated informally and just went their own ways. Divorce laws weren’t relaxed in North Carolina, allowing courts to grant divorces, until 1835.

It’s very clear that’s exactly what Daniel Vannoy and Sarah Hickerson did. Well, it’s what Daniel did, with or without Sarah’s blessing. He left, and she apparently didn’t know where he went, or if he was alive.

We know that for a fact, because in 1812, Daniel’s brother, Nathaniel Vannoy signed a deposition stating that Sarah was acting as a “feme covert,” meaning that Sarah was legally married. Nathaniel further stated that she and Daniel had lived as man and wife for approximately 15 years, having several children, then Daniel left and was living in the Indian Boundary.

Feme covert is a legal term and is contrasted against “feme sole” which meant that the woman was “alone”, acting outside of marriage. A feme sole could be widowed, divorced, or never married, but regardless, she was acting on her own regarding her estate and property. That wasn’t the case with Sarah – she and Daniel were still married, even though he had been absent for many years – at least a dozen by 1812.

Based on the 1820 census, there were multiple people living in Daniel’s household, including three females. At least one could have been his wife.

Still, since there was no legal divorce, Daniel could have been jailed for abandonment of his wife and family – and he had assuredly had enough of seeing the inside of a jail cell. There’s no way of knowing whether or not Daniel’s life was peaceful in the Cherokee country, or if the chronic arguments and fights he got into were as much a factor of his personality as the other person’s.

The Cherokee treated marriage and divorce much more flexibly, more as social arrangements, as long as both parties agreed, and less as legally binding contracts intended to last forever. Women chose, enjoyed a great deal of freedom in her choice, and clans were involved. Women could end a marriage simply by putting her husband’s things outside their abode. In the later 1800s, Cherokee marriage was influenced by European customs, but in the early 1800s, traditional customs and values were still prevalent.

There’s no way to know if the women living in Daniel’s household were his spouse and child or children, or another arrangement.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons Daniel sought protection within the Cherokee Boundary where he was not subject to the county sheriff.

One aspect that I do find perplexing is how Daniel, who apparently had nothing when the court sought his assets in 1800, nothing, managed to have five enslaved people by 1820. Or, did Daniel actually secret away all or part of the money from the land sale and use it to seed the next chapter in his life? Is that perhaps part of why Sarah was unaware of his whereabouts and if he was alive or dead?

How did he acquire or afford five enslaved people? Did they “accompany” or come along with the other household members?

There’s still so much we don’t know.

Did Daniel Marry a Ragsdale Daughter?

In the Benjamin Ragsdale Family book, here, on page four it states that Benjamin Ragsdale was born March 28, 1734 in Prince George, VA and died in 1815 in Anderson, SC. He married Susannah Price in Chester, SC. Their children were:

  • Susannah Ragsdale who married Archibald Hamilton who was an attorney and handled Benjamin’s estate.
  • Hezekiah Ragsdale
  • John Ragsdale
  • Unknown daughter Ragsdale who married Daniel Vannoy
  • Thomas Ragsdale born about 1772 in SC and died in Indiana

A comment on my blog article about Elizabeth Vannoy Estes provides tantalizing information in the form of a query:

I descend from Ragsdale family in Canton, Ga. About 50-60 yrs ago a Ms Van Leer did an extensive genealogical history of the Ragsdales and I have it and that’s what led me to this post. One of my ancestors, Benjamin Ragsdale b in mid 1700’s, had a few children and one of them was John Ragsdale who married Nellie Harnage and she’s from a well documented Cherokee family so they are well known. An entry for John’s sister, FNU Ragsdale states that she married a “Daniel Vannoy of the Cherokee Nation”. Do you have any idea if this Daniel Vannoy is related to your Vannoys? Your family group is the only one I find when I search around for Vannoys in the same areas as my family. They were all pioneers of western N & S Carolina and Tennessee and Georgia while it was still Cherokee territory.

I asked if the poster had additional information, and they provided this:

“The Ragsdale Family in England and America” By Ms Blake Ragsdale Van Leer, later updated in the 1970’s by June Hart Wester, is the main source I have for them. It can be found online if you are interested in seeing the entry I’m referring to, but it only says that “a daughter” of Benj Ragsdale “married a Daniel Vannoy of the Cherokee Nation in Ga before 1815”. Since her brother John is well documented as marrying into the Cherokee Harnage family and went on TOT, I was hoping she would be fairly easy to find but I can’t find a Daniel Vannoy that fits just yet. However there are later Vannoy daughters, (possibly their daughters?) that are referred to in many Cherokee genealogies. Starr’s is one

At that time, this was just “interesting,” but did not seem incredibly relevant.

Cherokee County where John Ragsdale married Nellie Harnage is about 20 miles distant, today – and who knows where in that county they were married so it could have been much closer.

The burial record of Benjamin Ragsdale, son of John Ragsdale and Nelly Harnage, shows the family’s residence in the Cherokee Nation and subsequent removal.

There are no records to indicate where in the Cherokee Nation that the Ragsdale family lived, although there is a John Ragsdale in neighboring Gwinnett County, Georgia, in 1820.

Is the Daniel Vannoy in Hall County the person who married the Ragsdale daughter? I’d sure like to know the original source of that information. It seems too specific to be made up – and ours is the only Daniel Vannoy with any connection to the Cherokee in Georgia.

The bottom line is that I don’t know, but I’d love for one of Daniel’s known descendants to match a DNA test of a descendant of that union – if there were any.

Daniel’s Children

There’s a LOT that we don’t know about Daniel’s children.

On the 1787 tax list, Daniel has two male children and one female

We know for sure that he had two sons who lived to adulthood, but the combined records show that there were more:

  • Elijah Vannoy, born about 1784 and married Lois McNiel in about 1809 in Wilkes County. They removed to Claiborne County, TN about 1812 with her family.
  • Unknown son born before 1787 on the  tax list.
  • Unknown daughter born before 1787 on the tax list who was alive in 1810
  • Joel Vannoy, born in 1792 according to his gravestone, or about 1790 according to the 1850 census. The 1830 and 1840 census both show him born between 1791 and 1800, and the 1820 census shows his birth between 1776 and 1794. Therefore, taking all of those dates, his birth year would have been between 1790 and 1794. He married twice – to Elizabeth St. Clair in 1817 and Emily Suddworth in 1832, having a total of 18 children. He was the sheriff at one time and died in 1858 in Wilkes County.
  • Daughter in 1810 census born 1795-1800, possibly a Susannah who Joyce Dancy McNiel, a long-time Wilkes County genealogist, believed to have been born around 1804 and married George McNiel. She could not fit Susanna into any other Vannoy family.
  • Marthea Vannoy, probably born between 1795 and 1800, named as a victim by her mother in an assault suit in 1819.

If Daniel left in 1800 and not before, he left Sarah with children who were:

  1. Elijah, age 16
  2. Unknown male, age 13-20, if he was still living
  3. Unknown female, age 13-20
  4. Joel Vannoy, age 8-10
  5. Susannah or unknown female, age 0-5
  6. Marthea, age 0-5

The Rumor

Daniel’s son was Elijah, born about 1784, whose son was Joel, born in 1813, whose daughter was Elizabeth, born in 1847, who married Lazarus Estes and died in 1918. When I first began doing genealogy, the oldest family members remembered her when they were very young and she was very old. The family story was that her mother was full-blooded Cherokee and that her brothers had gone to Oklahoma to claim head-rights.

Eventually mitochondrial DNA proved that to be incorrect. Her matrilineal ancestors are European.

While Elizabeth’s brothers went to Oklahoma, as did her father-in-law, no one attempted to, or claimed head rights. They did, however, live near or among the Native people. One purchased some (formerly) tribal land when sold by individual Native people.

Still that rumor was by then fully enmeshed in the family lore and would not give up the ghost. Everyone was adamant, in several family lines who had separated decades earlier. This persistence didn’t make sense, nor did the fact that separate family lines had the same story.

Now, however, it makes a lot more sense. Elijah never talked about his father, probably because he was embarrassed and ashamed that his father had run away and abandoned his family to live with the Cherokee.

The location wasn’t right in Tennessee, because the Cherokee didn’t live in that part of Tennessee, and the timing wasn’t right either. The Cherokee had removed more than a decade before Elizabeth’s birth in 1847, so she could not be fully Native.

No one ever dreamed that while an earlier ancestor had lived among the Cherokee, we descended from a non-Cherokee wife. We had no Cherokee lineage from Daniel, but the rumor of him living among the Cherokee might just have been reinforced by its “secret” status.

Never mind that the details were wrong, the family member identified was wrong – the living with the Cherokee part was right. That part was true, but not in the way anyone could ever have imagined

What a convoluted, twisted, contorted path it took to arrive at this conclusion. Without that one piece of paper, thanks to Jason, we would never have had any idea what happened to Daniel, or where he spent the final two decades or maybe even quarter-century of his life.

Part of me wonders if Daniel was coming and going between Wilkes County and the Cherokee lands the entire time he was married. That might explain a lot.

Daniel’s Legacy

I’m struggling with this one.

Regardless of why Daniel left, I can’t imagine abandoning a wife with six children between the ages of 16 and newborn, or maybe as old as age 3 if the two daughters born between 1795 and 1800 were born in 1795 and 1797.

In Wilkes County, in the year 1800, a woman couldn’t even own her own property. He clearly knew that.

Sarah had no agency for herself. She couldn’t get a job to support her family. We will never know, of course, but I’d wager she lived off the charity of her (and maybe Daniel’s) family, perhaps tried to farm a small, rented plot by herself, took a job as a domestic in the home of someone who took pity on her, or maybe all of the above. One thing we can be sure of is that she was understandably and justifiably angry – that didn’t change.

Maybe the suit Sarah filed against Daniel in 1787 was prescient.

The only possibility that could remove at least some of the responsibility from Daniel’s shoulders is if one or a combination of those beatings he endured caused a brain injury, making him prone to outbursts and even more impaired judgment. Or maybe he suffered from a mental health disorder. His lawsuits for slander began before he married Sarah, though.

It’s also possible that some of those beatings by Sarah’s brothers and family members were as a result of how he treated her.

I also noticed that while Daniel served as a juror three times before 1781, he only served once, in 1790, after that. Perhaps the court no longer viewed him as an upstanding member of the community.

Without being there, or without additional information, we just don’t know what happened, or why. Taken together, this behavior was not normal, not even on the frontier.

If you chose your spouse unwisely in 1700s America, there was no do-over, no reset, no divorce, except at the state level with extenuating circumstances, like abandonment – which Daniel did. Still, someone had to pay for a divorce petition. As we’ve seem. everything had court costs and associated fees, and Sarah assuredly could not have afforded to petition the state legislature.

Otherwise, there was only “unto-death-do-us-part,” or until your husband leaves the country, hides beyond the Indian boundary line, leaving you to survive however you can, with your children, but continues to write to his brother saying he’s fine and in good health. When he wrote that letter, his children were still at home, being cared for however Sarah could care for them.

Did they have enough food? Or clothes? Daniel certainly didn’t care enough to stay and make sure they had the bare necessities.

By 1800, Sarah assuredly regretted her choice on several levels and had a rough road both behind and ahead of her. She was embroiled in lawsuits as well, which I’ll cover in my next article. They help us understand the life that unfolded after Daniel’s departure.

The lives of these two people, my ancestors, leave me incredibly sad. My heart aches, for whatever happened, even watching it unfold almost 250 years later. My heart breaks even more for their children caught in the unrelenting web of violence and feuding.

No wonder Elijah moved away after he married, to a location where he no longer lived under the shadow of the father who abandoned his family. Elijah never talked about his father. No one knew who he was. Elijah never named a son Daniel, but he did name one Joel, after his little brother. We had to figure out from scratch who Elijah’s parents were. His grandchildren didn’t know – only that he and Lois McNiel had eloped and married.

It took Y-DNA plus autosomal DNA matching to descendants of all six of Sarah Hickerson’s siblings by multiple descendants of Elijah Vannoy to cement Daniel as his father.

As for Daniel and everything we’ve discovered – as a genealogist and the family storykeeper, I’m thrilled to finally know and be able to share the closing chapter of Daniel’s life story, but on a personal level, it feels very different.

I try very hard not to judge my ancestors. What Daniel chose is unthinkable to me today. There has been far too much abandonment in my father’s family – and it was always the wife and children who suffered. Always. And not just when it happened, but for the rest of their lives. Many children were were once victims went on to repeat the behavior – causing immeasurable generational trauma.

I remind myself that I don’t know what burdens Daniel carried, circumstances he endured, or what might have driven him to such decisions. I always tell myself that things might not have been as bad as they seem from generations distant. Then again, maybe they were exactly as they appear, or worse.

Humans have the agency to change, but Daniel didn’t. He chose a different path.

In Daniel’s case, reserving judgement and being charitable is exceedingly difficult and feels nearly impossible. His actions, especially in regard to his children resist forgiveness, stirring dark images and leaving me with forboding questions that can never be resolved.

And so I am left without closing words.

I cannot write Daniel’s epitaph. His choices wrote it long ago.

._____________________________________________________________

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Unfillable Shoes

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“J. Crew 1993. Resoled three times. Warm and dry inside, no matter what. We used to laugh and laugh.”

Joy, artistry, beauty, service, generosity, devotion – seeing the best in everything, and finding the best in everyone.

Those are your hallmarks.

 

She waited until after I finished speaking at the conference to tell me you were gone.

“Have you had something to eat? To drink? Please take a few minutes to go to the bathroom and collect yourself, then come back and sit down. I’ll call you in 10.”

She knew.

She knew.

The grief we would share.

That we would cry so hard neither of us could catch our breath or speak – just hear each other sobbing on the other end of the phone and knowing we weren’t alone.

Grief is an evil taskmaster. A thief in the night.

Yet grief is redirected love.

What do we do with it now?

You would not want us to grieve.

Yet, we can’t help it, and we do.

Those shoes, though.

They are so emply.

Unfillable.

 

He taught school, then retired.

But never really retired.

He split his time between “here” and “there” – there being mountainous highland villages where his lifelong mission was advocacy for education.

And by advocacy, I don’t mean hollow words and shallow platitudes.

I mean 36 years of raising money for supplies so children can attend school. Delivered up rocky winding roads in the worst of conditions.

So the kids aren’t condemned to child labor in the fields picking crops.

So they have a chance.

Including the girls.

“Whatever problems need to be solved – education is the key.”

The path out of systemic poverty.

Not a free pass – but an opportunity that could never occur otherwise.

We signed on as partners – donated – supported – did what we could.

In his words

With every notebook, every pencil, every box of crayons, you are giving a child not only hope, but real, permanent tools to thrive in their world. Seeds, skills, dreams, and opportunities. Thank you for having faith in these babies…. They will not waste the chance that you have given them.

They learned to read, and write, math, and geometry. Life skills that serve them well.

For just pennies over $2 per child, per year – he saved so many.

So many.

Thousands and thousands.

This year alone – more than 2,500 children received supplies – and he wasn’t finished.

Each small school has about 40 students.

He single-handedly supplied more than 60 village schools so far this year.

Last year, more than 4,000 children, or about 100 schools.

Every year for 35 or 36 years.

Maybe 100,000 kids. I don’t know.

Across generations.

An enduring partnership.

He planted seeds.

Now the first generation he saved, in their thirties, saves the next, and the next.

Some return as teachers.

Others pick up the boxes of the most basic school supplies in the city and drive the trucks up those impassible roads. None are paved.

Then donkeys carry the boxes the rest of the way to the villages when all else fails.

Then, the excited children carry the boxes the rest of the way.

Those mud-slick roads, shaken by earthquakes and washed out, again, by torrential rains.

Rivers of mud.

Yet, he never stopped.

Those worn boots, purchased “here” in 1993, three years after beginning his work “there.”

No longer a young man himself.

This year he climbed those mountains paths, so wet that his boots never had time to dry as he stayed in humble homes along the way, grateful to sleep on the dirt floor beside the woodstove, overnight.

His students, “our kids,” couldn’t wait – because delay meant school would start without them – and we would lose them to the fields of no opportunity.

Twice every year, he trekked to those villages where he was welcomed as the Godfather he was.

Unassuming to a fault, he never claimed or acknowledged such. If you said something in that vein, he quietly deflected to say how grateful the children are, or how grateful he is, and they are, for your contribution.

He would tell you that now Maria can read and reads to her grandmother, or someone else makes handwork and sells in in the market now.

During Covid, he somehow procured and delivered beans and essential foods, instead of books – saving them yet another way. Until they could once again study.

Who is going to tell them that their beloved Godfather is gone?

I can hear the collective wail in my bones.

 

Each spring and fall, after school started, he would return, “here” – where his cherished students from pre-retirement life still relied on him.

He grew up in a small town where everyone was related and not only knew your name, but knew everything about your family for generations. The juicy gossip and the mundane. Who got a job at the local grocery. Who is feeling poorly. Who loves whom.

Teaching, education, his forever love and passion summoned him to a big city.

He taught in a tough part of town, to students who desperately needed the opportunity of education, and a role model.

His devotion never ended.

They weren’t simply “students” to be taught, they were souls to be shepherded.

And he did.

God love him, he did.

I loved this man, and would, from time to time, do something for this gentle soul who unfailingly gave all to others.

I ordered a Lady of Guadalupe rosary, his patron saint, but the surprise was spoiled when delivery was greatly delayed. Here’s the story, extracted from a text message string a few weeks ago, just a week before he left for the mountains again.

Me: It was supposed to be one package with one rosary. As a surprise.

I ordered a second one for me but they also sent the second one to you.

So apparently you needed two.

If you EVER see them, you’ll understand

Him: They came as a surprise and I did need two. One I hung on my bedpost, the other rode around in my truck until I got a call from an x-student who was going to kill himself.

Apparently, one cannot just show up to <omitted> birthday party and expect your ex, her fiancee and her family to just welcome you. It was awful, and the rosary had been in the car 4 hours. To someone SO unchurched, and SO self-absorbed, she represents a Mother who is not in federal prison and me…the only fool who’d take a 2:30 AM phone call.

He was hysterical, and I got his pistol, and we drank a lot of coffee, but he got lots of tough love too. Most of this was his fault. Most of this was about what he wants, not the baby involved, and if you only call every 7 years, just talk to the rosary, I will be gone. He was fascinated by the rose scent…a tiny gain, and another night to live.

You do so much without trying, dear Roberta. Thank you from me, and him, and an un-named baby girl.

Funny, I’m crying now – Saturday night I had to be the grown up.

Me: OMG I’m freaking sobbing.

Him: It’s no accident, these things.

Me: They were both meant for you after all.

And yes, the young man now owns that rosary. And he’ll have to talk to it now because, well, his mentor is gone.

One more saved child, or children.

One by precious one.

 

But now, your comment, “I will be gone,” haunts me.

Did you know?

My brother from another mother.

A week later, your one bag packed, wearing those well-aged boots, sporting your signature straw fedora, you left once again.

For the last time.

Did you turn around and look back for one final glance?

Did you wrap up one last time in your quilt-of-love that I made for you from scraps of my life, and from the clothes of another soul that I loved?

Another soul ripped from us all too soon.

I’m sure he greeted you there.

I love you both!

Of course, you would never have hesitated to go, because the children needed you.

Their need awaited the Godfather and the opportunities for a better life that he brought.

Opportunity through the books, paper, glue, pencils, and colored markers that replaced the crayons of a few years ago.

This year was harder than most – but you were a warrior – undeterred.

Torrential rains poured at night begetting mudslides.

You posted a video.

We were terrified by the deep, rushing water, concerned for your safety.

Three days before you quietly left us, you said:

“I’m fine. These are night rains. Mudslides and tremblers have bedeviled us all month, and I can’t get my boots to dry. Feeling old, but lucky.”

That was just three days before…

Before…

Before you silently departed

Passed over

To another realm

And left those unfillable shoes.

Gone gently into the night.

Too soon.

Oh, too soon.

My soul is crushed and screaming.

All I can see how is an abyss.

 

You shared this with me, years ago, as one of your favorite inspirations.

May we all keep walking.

Through the fire, if need be.

You did.

Shepherding us all.

It feels like fire now.

Burning

Aching

But as you said to me

Another time,

“The river cannot go back.”

And now you rest

Safe in death on the other side,

Having passed the mantle

To those of us so unready.

May the flowers decorating your casket be respendent,

A glorious riot of color

Accompanied by both weeping and immense joy .

Your memory blesses and graces

Us all.

I hope they bury you with your rosary.

That matches the “Lady” tattooed on your back.

For eternity.

May your legacy endure and the seeds you planted sprout for generations.

May we all leave a legacy of love

And unfillable shoes

Renée Desloges (c1570-1627/1632), Fragments of Life in Montreuil-Bellay – 52 Ancestors #454

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

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

So let’s do just that!

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

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

Here’s a very rough timeline:

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

Cousin Mark’s research:

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

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

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

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

Cousin Mark:

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

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

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

Mark:

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

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

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

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

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

Renée’s Time of Death

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

There are two possibilities, and one bracketing date.

Let’s establish the bracketing date first.

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

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

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

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

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

Renée’s Birth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life in Montreuil-Bellay

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

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

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

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

What was medieval life in Montreuil-Bellay like?

Life in Montreuil-Bellay

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where did these curved, carved steps lead?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some portions of the former priory are used today, but not as a religious institution.

The nave of the attached Saint-Pierre church was destroyed in 1850.

Was Renée baptized in the chancel here, at the head of the nave? She stood here as she pledged her children to God.

The original church and priory entrusted to the monks of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey were built around the year 1100, and the church was then reconstructed a number of years later. Many columns remain from that time period, the capitals on top decoratively carved by master stonemasons and stone carvers.

Renée would have gazed upon these beautiful stoneworks when those columns supported the vaulted roof of the church.

Perhaps Renée sat to the side during mass so she could slip out the door, should her infant cry.

Perhaps she stared up, absentmindedly, as the priest’s voice droned, in Latin, in the distance.

Did the “monsters” on the cluster of columns frighten Renée as a child? Or frighten her children?

Or did the carvings fascinate Renée? This one looks like a gentle kitten.

Did she want to touch them, running her finger inside the swirls, tracing their ridges and folds?

Did Biblical stories inspire these carvings, and did the parishioners know the story represented by each column’s capital?

Did the nuns teach those stories in school, or did the priests extol them from the pulpit?

Did Renée tell her children those Bible stories? Perhaps as homilies – examples of good and evil and how children should, and should not, behave?

Did Renée sit beneath these stone-faced witnesses, burying her own parents, and later, thinking about the day that her own children would do the same?

What tales would these capitals tell us if they could speak? They saw Renée and her family at least once every week – and chronicled their lives from cradle to grave.

The circle of life in a French village.

Did Renée stroll through the unfinished cloister when she sought solitude?

Was the cemetery nearby?

She would have visited often. There were probably as many funerals as baptisms – and many were for family members. Some were probably for her babies. How many?.

Was the cemetery here, beside the priory, near the cloister, or located on higher ground?

I’d wager that the cemetery lies in this greenspace beside the church and priory, but we don’t know.

Below the castle, the road by the church, which stood in the grass, at right, leads along the river which runs beside the road, at left. The road along the most exposed part of the castle is walled and gated.

Renée would have walked here, looking up at the massive castle above the walls.

Did Renée wonder about the people who lived there, high upon the hill? What their life, inside those towers was like?

This location was chosen because the castle fortified the river crossing, which served as a trade crossroads, and the elevation made it easy to fortify the castle. Intruders would have been intimidated and discouraged by the castle’s imposing appearance and impregnable fortifications.

However, the church and the original village were established at river level.

The street beside the church was quite steep, so villagers climbed steps to the upper town and the entrance level of the castle.

Renée probably ascended these stairs, first with one, then two, then an entire brood of children.

On good days, they would have been laughing and perhaps racing up the stairs to the upper streets in town.

On other days, funeral days, well…no one would have been smiling. Most of the village probably attended, because everyone assuredly knew, and was probably related to, everyone else.

The stories these exquisite steps and stones could tell if they could only speak.

Did Renée descend these steps as a bride on her way to be married?

Did she ascend them with Nicolas after their wedding?

Did Renée stop here to rest and catch her breath as she returned home after mass, heavily pregnant?

Did Nicolas and Renée rest here after having their baby baptized a few hours after delivery?

If you don’t take the stairs, you can walk up the steep Rue du Tertre. Of course it probably had a different name then.

The buildings along the Rue du Tertre are quite ancient as the top of the street approaches the Rue du Marche.

Did Renée live in this part of town? It would have been the old quarter, the remnants of the original town beside the castle, even then. Was this part burned and rebuilt after the fire?

Even the wisteria is old and wizened, perhaps harkening back to Renée’s lifetime!

When we reach the Rue du Marche at the top of the hill, we turn towards the castle.

Today, the buildings lining the modern street retain their original shape with structural support from the cross irons installed hundreds of years ago when they were built. The spires of the castle and church peek up from behind, and just a few feet further is the bridge across the castle moat.

This scene just outside the castle made me smile. The castle spires are visible above a “little red library,” which stands in front of buildings probably built between the 1200s and 1400s. Of course, Renée, as a woman who was born in the 16th century, would not have been taught to read. The priests, who were literate, explained what the townspeople needed to know.

Nicolas may have learned to read and write in a school at the priory, and Renée’s son, Guillaume, had a beautiful, flowing, artistic signature – so he was clearly educated!

The castle was actually a massive complex terraced above the river with rumors of underground tunnels providing an escape into the castle for the monks, nuns and priests living in the neighboring priory. and conversely, out of the castle in case of seige.

The castle complex spans the center of Montreuil-Bellay for blocks in several directions.

Above the Saint-Pierre church, the stunningly beautiful fairy-tale-like castle stands at the center of town, rising high above the countryside.

This stone stands at the crossroads in front of the castle as a silent sentry, a witness to centuries of travelers, pilgrims, residents, invaders, and royalty.

Probably every child since this stone was put in place climbed on it as their mother admonished them to get down before they get hurt.

In 1850, when the Saint-Pierre nave collapsed, this entrance was crafted through the castle wall, which enabled the townspeople to worship in the castle chapel that had previously served only the nobles who lived there.

The castle was actually a small city within a city, adjacent the church and priory, with its own kitchens, hospital which was similar to a hostel, tithe barn, church, living quarters, and guard towers. Many of the villagers would have provided labor and services to the castle’s residents.

The moat stands empty today, but at one time, it was filled with water and guarded the castle, deterring invaders.

In 1337, this moat, along with the monastery, sheltered the local population when battles of the Hundred Years’ War caused the local population to starve.

Why were they not brought into the safety of the castle?

Were Renée’s ancestors in Montreuil-Bellay then? Did they seek refuge here?

Renée, I came to find you, Nicolas and Guillaume.

Did Renée ever dream that she would have descendants a dozen generations and 400 years into the future who would return to Montreuil-Bellay?

She could never have imagined that just a few years after her passing, her son Guillaume would board a ship with her grandchildren, cross the sea, and become a French founder in a new land called Acadia.

Au Revoir, Renée

As we said goodbye to Montreuil-Bellay and turned to leave, knowing I would never return, the emotion of the moment washed over me – as abbreviated as our reunion had been.

Tears streamed down my face as I watched Montreuil-Bellay disappear into the distance.

Tears for the pieces of your life I’ll never know, but ache to.

Tears for the woman you were and your personality – none of which I can uncover.

What did you look like?

How did your laugh sound?

What color was your hair? Your eyes?

Tears for the babies you buried, and the grief you bore.

Tears for what befell your descendants, some 5 generations and 150 years later, in 1755, as they were rounded up in Acadia, forced onto ships, and expelled into lands unknown. Did you visit them, shelter them, and comfort them on their unwilling journeys?

Tears because I can only partially reconstruct the descendants of one of your children – Guillaume.

You have more than 22,657 known descendants, according to WikiTree, which is more than six times the population of Montreuil-Bellay today. But if the entire truth were known, you probably have many times that.

Tears because you likely never knew your grandchildren. If you did, it would have been Jeanne born to Guillaume about 1628 or 1629, and possibly her siblings, who would have been born every 18-24 months thereafter until Guillaume’s family boarded that ship in 1636. Of course, we know you probably died between 1627 and 1632, and we think that Guillaume lived near Bourgueil, some 20 miles away – too far for you to hold and rock your grandbabies.

Tears because distance and death cheated you of that joy.

And now, tears because I was so close to the church where the most sacred events of your life transpired – and I didn’t even know it when I was there.

The ruins of the church that anchored your faith, since reduced to rubble and ruins, hidden below the castle, at the foot of the stairs, beside the river – probably just a stone’s throw from your grave.

I didn’t know.

I didn’t know.

I’m so sad that I didn’t know.

I can only unearth and reconstruct the tiniest fragments of your life, Renée, yet your ancient beauty, deeply rooted in Montreuil-Bellay, blossoms forth yet today.

The rest lies forever in silence, like wisteria in the winter, waiting eternally for spring’s warming hand.

I wish I could do you justice.

_____________________________________________________________

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Nicolas Trahan (c1570->1632), Life in the Heart of French Wine Country – 52 Ancestors #454

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We find the first record of Nicolas Trahan in Montreuil-Bellay, France, with the baptism of his daughter, Anne, on February 4th, 1605, as reported by both Genevieve Massignon and Stephen White, but Nicolas was assuredly in Montreuil-Bellay before that.

By Père Igor – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4447291

Montreuil-Bellay

Montreuil-Bellay began as a Gallo-Roman fortified town built on the hill beside the Thouet River, a tributary of the Loire, at a crossing as old as humans inhabiting the area. The name, Thouet, is derived from the ancient Gallic word for tranquil.

Around the year 1000, Foulques Nerra (987-1040), Count of Anjou, known as the Black Falcon, built a citadel on the foundation of the Roman village.

Why did the Foulques, a fearsome warrior, fortify this particular location? We don’t know for sure, but it was likely part of his consolidation of power. Clearly, he wanted to fortify the village itself, probably to protect the river ford.

But to protect it from whom or what? At that time, the location that would one day become Montreuil-Bellay was the boundary of the Count Angevin’s possessions facing the Poitou, at the crossroads of Anjou, Tourraine and Poitou. Nearby Saumur belonged to “the enemy,” Gelduin the Dane and was eventually taken from the Count of Blois. The Black Falcon’s lifelong arch-rival Odo II, Count of Blois controlled other nearby regions, including Tours. Foulques strategy seemed to have been surround and conquer. If this all sounds quite messy, it was.

A devout Catholic, Foulques also built or endowed several abbeys and may have been the benefactor of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey at Montreuil-Bellay, which was established between 1097 and 1103. The adjacent Saint-Pierre church reconstruction was completed between 1140-1150.

In 1205, due to the strategic importance of Montreuil-Bellay, the King of France undertook a major fortification, building 11 towers, a gate, digging ditches, erecting walls and defensive military platforms.

Montreuil-Bellay became a nearly impregnable fortress on the front lines of the battles between England and France, eventually falling to the Plantagenet family. King Louis VIII held court there in 1224.

History records that the keep and fief were given not long after by Count Angevin to his vassal, Berlay the First – and for the next two centuries, the Berlays succeeded one another until in the 1400s when the castle passed to the Harcourts, a strong Norman family, then fell to the Orleans-Longueville family. The Bellay part of Montreuil-Bellay originated with Berlay.

The Thouet was once the head of navigation. In 1430, a group of merchants in Saumur suggested creating a navigation over the stretch of river that included Montreuil-Bellay, requiring passages through three mill weirs, which were small dams. King Charles II authorized the project, probably through the construction of flash locks. The project was to be financed by allowing the Lords to impose a tax on wine, an important commodity, that would pass through Montreuil-Bellay.

This 1896 etching by Octave de Rochebrune of 15th century Montreuil-Bellay depicts the castle, church, medieval mill and the lower town gates.

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

In the 1500s, the castle was rebuilt in the Renaissance style and French nobility resided there.

FIRE!

In 1568, which would have been in the lifetime of Nicolas’s parents, and perhaps Nicolas himself as a child, the Huguenots ransacked and burned the old part of the city.

Widespread intense fighting occurred in this region and throughout France during the second French War of Religion. The castle was well fortified and suffered little lasting damage, but the same could not be said for the homes in Montreuil-Bellay. While I can find no record that specifically details the fate of the church, Catholic churches were often targets, even when homes and towns weren’t burned, so assuredly the Saint-Pierre church did not escape without substantial damage.

As the flames consumed their town, the residents lost their livelihood, livestock if they had any, homes, and all of their possessions. We don’t know how many lost their lives. These violent and brutal depredations were often not inflicted by the military, but by fellow citizens, sowing widespread distrust and perpetual fear among once-peaceful neighbors. The result was that many people were displaced and fled the affected areas, disrupting commerce and trade, which in turn led to poverty.

Given the records of Nicolas Trahan and his wife, beginning in 1605 and continuing through the 1614 birth of their child, and the records of Anthoyne Trahan, who also baptized children between 1610 and 1616, it’s reasonable to at least tentatively surmise that they were related, and probably siblings – although no living child of Nicolas is named Anthoyne. Unfortunately, Massignon did not record the names of Anthoyne’s children.

We don’t know if the Trahan family lived in Montreuil-Bellay before or during this time of great upheaval, or if they perhaps relocated here after the town was destroyed, and peace had been secured.

The parish church, Saint-Pierre was assuredly an integral part of life in Montreuil-Bellay, but it also has its own history.

L’Eglise Saint-Pierre 

The parish church, Saint-Pierre, would have been the functional center of the lives of the Catholic families that lived in Montreuil-Bellay, beginning about the year 1100. Let’s take a walk and stroll through the ruins.

By Lestrange, Henry de (comte) – Base Mémoire, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=66151749

The Saint-Pierre church was abandoned in 1850 after the nave was destroyed and the parish was transferred to the castle chapel. This 1905 photo shows sheep grazing among the peaceful ruins.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785029

This church existed in one form or another, and through at least three separate “rebuildings,” if not more, for about 750 years. That’s roughly 25 or 30 generations, give or take.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785091

The first records describe a priory entrusted to the monks of the Saint-Nicolas d’Angers Abbey established between 1097 and 1103, part of which still stands today.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785094

A reconstruction was completed around 1140-1150, although we don’t know why the church needed to be reconstructed.

Perhaps the church was older than we know or had been damaged in local warfare. France was not a peaceful place during this era.  

The ruins of the choir include a group of capitals from this period, which are the beautiful decorative carvings that rest on the top of columns.

When Nicolas was a boy, these would have been intact, and he may have daydreamed during services by staring at these carvings. What was coming out of their mouths, and why?

Was this an angel?

OK, this guy is scary. He looks like he’s wondering what is happening, too. 

Were there long-forgotten Bible stories to go along with these “things” – whatever they are?

During the Hundred Years’ War, the English castle and used as a military stronghold, but that didn’t last long, as the French reclaimed Montreuil-Bellay in 1443.

Were these damaged during that occupation? What happened to the church?

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785030

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

After being rebuilt, the church was reconsecrated on January 31, 1485, as both the parish and priory church – an event that must have been joyfully celebrated by all the townspeople. That’s only about 100 years before Nicolas was born, so maybe his great-grandparents joined the chorus, raising their voices in thanksgiving. 

In 1568, the Huguenots burned the town, and probably the church. It assuredly sustained damage as it was not fortified like the castle.

We know, based on both earlier and later records, that Nicolas Trahan had a son, Guillaume, who was born before records remain for the Saint-Pierre parish. According to the Maine-et-Loire Archives, and thanks to Cousin Mark, we learn that some records for this parish reach back as far as the early 1580s, but there’s a very large gap between October 1588 and 1602, when the size of the record book changes.

Today, the Saint-Pierre church lies in ruins, but was fully active when the Trahan family lived in Montreuil-Bellay.

Based on Nicolas’s son Guillaume’s marriage in 1627, and subsequent baptisms at Saint-Pierre, we know that Guillaume’s baptism took place during those missing years.

We are incredibly fortunate that Guillaume’s marriage record, as well as that of Nicolas’s son, Francois, both provide the names of both parents. Francois’s 1632 parish marriage entry in Bourgueil provides the location of their residence in Montreuil-Bellay, too.

This means that we know positively that Nicolas Trahan and Rene Desloges lived in Montreuil-Bellay from at least 1605 through 1632, and probably until his death. Renee had died sometime between 1627 and 1632.

By Romain Bréget – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16785032

Nicolas Trahan was probably married in this church sometime between 1588 and 1590 based on the birth dates of both his oldest and youngest children.

We can calculate Nicolas’s approximate birth year, roughly, by subtracting about 30 from about 1590, so about 1560. Nicolas could certainly have been born either slightly earlier, or later. It’s possible that this was not his or Renee’s first marriage.

We’re assuming that their last child born in 1614 was due to Renee reaching the end of her fertility. If that was the case, then 1614-42=1572 for her birth. Often French men were older than their wives – so maybe Nicolas was born between 1560-1570, roughly. That would put their marriage in about 1590 or shortly thereafter, so that makes sense.  Of course, if Nicolas and Renee had additional children after 1614 whose births are not recorded in the church records, they could both have been born later.

Given Guillaume’s birth about 1600, it’s safe to say that Nicolas probably wan’t born much after 1570, and could have been born significantly earlier.

Genevieve Massignon viewed the original records and found another male Trahan, living at the time in Montreuil-Bellay. Anthoyne Trahan and Barbe Barault, with children baptized between 1610 and 1616, is likely related and probably a brother or cousin. .

Both Nicolas and Anthoyne Trahan, were probably born before the records are extant in the early 1580s. Of course, that fire consumed Montreuil-Bellay along with any records in 1568. The Trahan family may not have been living there then, or Nicolas may have remembered the devastation and wild trauma from the perspective of a small child. Whether he was alive or not, he certainly would have heard the stories from his parents who would have been unfortunate witnesses.

Massignon:

Parish records from Montreuil-Bellay reveal more about the family. Nicolas Trahan and Renée Desloges had at least two daughters, Renée (baptized February 25, 1612) and Lucrèce (baptized November 14, 1614). Baptisms for their sons Guillaume and François are missing, but another son, Nicolas, married to Lorraine Belliard, had a daughter baptized in 1633. Another relative, Anne Trahan, married Pierre Molay and baptized four children between 1624 and 1633.

Someplace nearby, probably adjacent the church, Nicolas lies in repose today, but that location is lost to history.

The history of the church does not end here, but it does end. The beloved Saint-Pierre sustained significant damage during the French Revolution in the late 1700s, probably leading to its literall downfall in 1850.

The Trahan Surname

These records mark the beginning of the known, documented Trahan family in Montreaul-Bellay.

Do we have any idea whatsoever where they might have come from?

FamilySearch reports that the surname, Trahan, is an occupational word associated with silkmaking.

French: variant of Trahant or Trahand (and, in North America, an altered form of the former), a metonymic occupational name for a silkworker who drew out the thread from the cocoons, from a derivative of the verb traire ‘to draw or stretch’.

How does this relate to the local or regional history?

Silkmaking was initially established in Lyon in 1466, although the city was hesitant to proceed with establishing the industry because they did not want to interrupt and jeopardize their relationships with Italian merchants who supplied silk.

In 1470, the silkworkers were sent to Tours and to the Château de Plessis-lez-Tours.

Tours was only about 45 miles from Montreuil-Bellay, and we know that in the 1500s, the French nobility was living in the castle at Montreuil-Bellay. This might be a clue.

By 1540, Lyon, 285 miles away, was embracing silk production, but it was interrupted by the Wars of Religion.

Is this at all relevant to the Trahan family? We have no idea, but the genesis of the name itself can’t be entirely disregarded.

Here’s what we do know.

Silkmaking was a complex process requiring a community of workers with multiple specialized skills that included mulberry tree cultivation and maintenance, silkworm keepers, reelers who boiled the silk cocoons and extracted the silk filaments, spinners who made it into thread, weavers, dyers, and of course, merchants. None of this is reported in Montreuil-Bellay, but there was nothing to prevent a man with the Trahan surname, perhaps an itinerant male reeler, from settling in Montreuil-Bellay, especially after one of their depopulating events when workers would have been needed.

I sure wish we had Trahan Y-DNA testers from France so that we could track their locations and tie them to timeframes.

The Trahan Winery

We have good reason to believe that the Trahan family remained in or near Montereuil-Bellay.

Montreuil-Bellay was known for its wines then, and still is today.

The Trahan name lives on just a few miles away at the Trahan Winery.

Today, only 13 miles from Montreuil-Ballay, we find the Domaiin des Trahan.

The drive from Montreuil-Bellay to the winery is simply quintessential French countryside.

It doesn’t look a lot different today than it did when Nicolas lived here. While we think of French peasants as not traveling more than a mile or two in any direction, we know from church records that Nicolas’s sons make those trips regularly, with both sons marrying some 20 miles away in different directions.

It appears from the parish record in Chinon that Nicolas was in attendance in 1627 when Guillaume married Francois Corbineau, so he obviously traveled too.

Travelers along the road would catch glimpses of the castle spires through the trees as they approached.

The walls were built to withstand the onslaught of the enemy army.

Watchtowers still stand and look like they could still fend off an enemy today. Nicolas probably stood watch here at some point, gazing over the countrside.

The castle’s church, which is not the same as the village church for the townspeople, peeks out over the castle wall. This church was not for peasants, but for nobles who lived in the castle.

Arrow slits in the towers were for firing on anyone approaching from the hill leading to the mote below – a foolhardy act that would have led to certain death.

In 1850, after Saint-Pierre was abandoned, and the parish was transferred to the castle chapel, an entrance bridge and opening in the wall was constructed for the parishioners to cross the mote and enter the church for worship.

In 1337, when the Hundred Years War began, the local population was starving and took refuge in the castle moat surrounding the castle, and monastery. No water fills the moat today.

A beautiful view of the castle from the modern bridge crossing just above the river ford.

The mill is visible from this position on the road. Initially, the navigation locks would have been located at the mill dam crossing the river.

The road running parallel across the river affords a distant view of the castle and upper level of the town, high above the river, viewed between sweetly-scented blossoming trees in the orchard.

Springtime in France is glorious! It’s no wonder that Acadians brought seeds for fruit trees with them.

Descendants of the earlier inhabitants of Montreuil-Bellay, including Nicolas Trahan, lovingly care for the fields today, still within the castle’s shadow.

But not with oxen anymore. Modern oxen are green and named Deere.

Fields and old bridges made of stone were probably standing when Nicolas walked here or traveled this road by cart, perhaps, tending to business.

One can always find their way home – just locate the castle or church spires on the horizon.

Another mile or two and the fields give way vineyards.

Modern roads weave their way between ancient farms and terraced villages with grapevines growing wherever they can gain a foothold.

A modern sign points the way to our destination.

We’ve arrived.

In the nearly 400 years since the church records at Saint-Pierre, the Trahan family has only migrated a few miles down the road. The Trahans have been vintners for at least four generations.

The Trahan winery is still a family affair. The entire family turned out to greet us. I think you’re looking at generation 5 and 6, if I’m not mistaken.

I desperately want to know how many generations distant I am from them. I’m guessing about a dozen or perhaps slightly more.

Of course, we don’t know positively that this Trahan lineage is the same as the Trahans up the road a few miles in Montreuil-Bellay 400 years ago – but I’m willing to bet that it’s the same family. They could be Nicolas’s descendants through either Francois or Nicolas, or the descendants of Anthoyne, or maybe unknown brothers or uncles of those men, or even further back in time.

A Y-DNA test would answer that question.

The award winning winery blends both the old and new.

The inside is beautiful. I would have brought that carved wooden platter home with me in a heartbeat – but it’s a family heirloom. I’m grateful for their hospitality and sharing their history, and wine, with us.

Casks with stainless steel in the background and a message for the ages. “I prefer the wine from here to the water from there.” Almost every French person would enthusiastically agree.

You can like their Facebook page, here.

Beautiful hand-painted labels. I want quilt fabric like this. I think they could sell those as prints or even as cards. Maybe wine-label cards!

It’s not just the labels that win awards!

The Trahans were kind enough to give us a tour and educate our Acadian group about winemaking.

While the public-facing areas are quaint and beautiful, the Trahan winery employs science and technology to produce the best wines possible. Each wine has its own “recipe,” for lack of a better description, so you’ll see huge stainless steel vats beside traditional casks. Every wine receives what it needs.

I love the oak casks, because they remind me of life in Nicolas’s time.

Each type of wine ages differently.

After the tour, they kindly provided samples with cheese, of course. It’s France!

Even the glasses are beautiful, and the wine was exquisite.

I’m not a huge wine drinker, although I must say that this wine experience was exciting, in part, because it was “family” wine.

I chose to take a walk outside while everyone else tried each kind of wine. Besides that, Jim was more than happy to drink mine! I was so grateful for his magnanimous sacrifice.

This is the production work area out back – the “farming” area.

I immediately noticed the age of the building, at right.

The X-shaped iron crossbars give it away. You see these all over Europe, and they are hallmarks of medieval buildings.

These are tie rods or anchor plates that, in essence, hold the building together and provide structural integrity. Throughout Europe, many medieval structures with these irons in towns and across the countryside have a carved façade with a date, some dating to the 14th century which tells us when the structure was built.

The French are masters of blending the old with the new, incorporating history and heritage into their everyday lives.

Standing here, I wondered how long ago one of Nicolas’s descendants or relatives made the trip down that road and became the steward of the vineyards – and if that barn was already old even then.

Or, maybe it worked the other way around, and the Trahans were winemakers long before Nicolas lived in Montreuil-Bellay.

_____________________________________________________________

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Francoise Corbineau (c1609-c1665), Bride in Chinon, Founder of Acadia – 52 Ancestors #453

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Francoise Corbineau was probably born between 1607 and 1611, given her marriage in 1627. It’s likely that she was born in Chinon, the same town where she was married, based on typical French family birth and marriage patterns.

One thing we know for sure is that the couple would have been married in the bride’s church, St. Etienne, on that mid-July day in the summer of 1627.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170463493

The average temperature in July lingers in the mid to high 70s. Chinon is built on the side of a hill that rises above the Vienne River, so there was probably a breeze.

Furthermore, the thick stone walls of the Saint-Etienne church would have held the cooler nighttime temperatures, ranging from 55-60.

Hot or chilled, sunny or raining, as a radiant bride looking forward to life as a wife and mother, Francoise wouldn’t have cared one bit.

On their way to the church, Francoise and her family would have made their way through the cobblestone streets, walking together, probably passing La Maison Rouge, the “Red House,” and other medieval buildings located in the center of Chinon. Today, the Red House is a Vrbo and you can stay there, or just look at the pictures, imagining what it was like to peer out these same windows four hundred years ago.

These ancient streets, alleys, byways, and walled gardens echo yet today with their voices, harkening to times gone by.

Now, residents, some of whom may well be descendants of Francoise’s family, visit the library and bookstore, and eat at “La Maison Rouge” across the street.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170611525

The heart of Chinon remains medieval, with buildings that stood when Francoise’s footsteps echoed there as she walked to the church that July day, if her parents were living.

Francoise’s siblings and extended family would have joined them on their procession to church. Francoise might even have had grandparents still living to bless her union with Guillaume Trahan.

Had Francoise and Guillaume been legally betrothed, a contract between families, when they were children, or did they meet and fall in love? Guillaume’s brother had been betrothed some 11 years before he wed, so Guillaume and Francoise may have been too.

Perhaps Francoise’s family lived in a medieval home like one of these. Many remain standing and in use today.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170613813

The wedding party would have probably walked along the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, one of the main streets through Chinon, greeting other villagers as they approached the church. Or maybe all of the parishoners attended the nuptials and walked with them. 

How I long to visit and traverse these streets, sit in the outside cafés, sipping on something decadent in the French sunshine. Soaking up the ambiance, thinking about Francoise walking past with her family, chattering excitedly on her wedding day, 398 years ago. Such is life in France.

Perhaps if I squint a bit, I can see her.

What would the lovely Francoise have been wearing?

Unlike the white dresses of contemporary brides, French medieval brides wore their finest colorful tapestry gowns reflective of their family’s social status – often decorated with needlework and lace, and accented with lavish headpieces.

Famous painter Peter Paul Rubens painted a portrait of his bride, Helena Fourment, in her wedding dress in 1630.

Regardless of what Francoise wore, I’m sure she was radiant and Guillaume thought she was the most beautiful bride ever!

At St. Etienne, Francoise, Guillaume, and their families would have entered the church through the beautiful wooden doors, beneath the ornate stone carvings that had welcomed countless brides.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170699771

After entering, their voices would have dropped respectfully.

The solemn nave awaited, the priest prepared to marry the joyful couple who likely exchanged nervous, expectant glances.

Family members assembled in the pews, jostling for the “good seats.”

Guillaume was probably about 30 when they married, and we know that he was described as a Marshall in records just a few years later.

He may well have been a military man and also a tradesman. Francoise would be marrying well – although she could have never dreamed where her life with Guillaume would take her.

To an entirely new world.

Thankfully, the priest scribed their marriage entry into the parish register for posterity.

The 13th day of July 1627 were married Guillaume Trahan, son of Master Nicolas Trahan and of Renée Desloges, and Françoise Corbineau, daughter of the late Corbineau and of Françoise Poret, the said Trahan and Corbineau assisted by Pierre Ligné, Pierre Aubry, Suzanne Ligné, daughter of Master Guillaume Ligné, and other witnesses, this I have signed.

Piget, priest

Well, that was one interpretation of this document, but there’s also another, posted by Karen Theriot Reader, that Cousin Mark reviewed painstakingly, and seems to be more likely the case.

I am leaving this original version here, just in case – in part because some people may have used it and I don’t believe in just “disappearing” something without stating why it was changed.

The 13th of July 1627 was married Guillaume Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and Renée Deslonges with Françoise Corbineau, of this parish St. Etienne. Present Nicolas Trahan, father of G. Trahan, Pierre Ligier, Pierre Baudry, dame Anne Ligier, wife of M. Gilloire, attest, and declare they do not sign.

ChatGPT and Transcribus gave me multiple different translations of the names involved, which made the situation even more confusing. Hint – don’t use AI for documents you can’t verify.

Acadian researcher and now-deceased historian Stephen White stated that her parents were not named, so I weigh that heavily as well.

The sad news is that while we thought we knew her father was deceased, and her mother’s name, we don’t unless an analysis by a French paleographer tells us otherwise. 

We don’t know if or how the witnesses were related to the bride and groom, but it’s likely that they were. Families had lived in these towns for hundreds to thousands of years.

By Benjamin Smith – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=170463474

While Chinon was popular with nobles in the 15th and 16th centuries, the town, located on the Vienne River just upriver from the Loire, dates from prehistoric times when rivers served as highways and connected the fertile plains of the Poitou to the rest of France.

A thousand years before Francoise and her family lived here, a Gallo-Roman fort stood, followed by a hermitage and monastery.

A thousand years before that, the Celtic tribe known as the Turones inhabited this region, backing the Gallic coalition against Rome in 52 BCE, some 2000 years ago.

Far from being primitive, the Turones were organized and minted coins, such as these from the 5th through 1st century BCE, or between 2000 and 2500 years ago.

After their wedding, the newlyweds probably lived in one of the timeworn quarters that lined the quaint streets in Chinon, at least initially. Chinon was not large, and these narrow lanes were already ancient by the 1600s, the houses having already witnessed hundreds of years of history.

Early records are spotty, and unfortunately, no further records for the couple have surfaced in Chinon churches.

Guillaume grew up in Montreuil-Bellay, but the couple is not found there either.

An exhaustive, indexed search might reveal more, but these records have not been transcribed and they are not indexed. .

Where Did Francoise and Guillaume Live?

Truth be told, we don’t know exactly where Francoise and Guillaume lived for the next 9 years, but we do have hints.

Based on later records, we know that Guillaume was married to Francoise during the remainder of the time they lived in France, so we can presume that wherever we find Guillaume, Francoise isn’t far away.

In January of 1629, less than two years after their marriage, Guillaume witnessed the marriage of fellow Acadians Pierre Martin and Catherine Vigneau in the town of Bourgueil, a medieval crossroads village in the wine region.

In addition to the Saint-Germain church where the couple was married, Bourgueil had a significant Abbey, monastery, gardens and vineyards, and oversaw several nearby priories. Five hundred years before Francoise and Guillaume lived in the area, the Abbot had introduced vineyards and winegrowing into the region.

Saint-Germain, the local church attended by the townspeople is located on the market square, in the center of the town.

In the fall of 1632, Guillaume once again witnessed a wedding at the Saint-Germaine church in Bourgueil for his own brother, Nicolas Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and Renee Desloges of Montreuil-Bellay, to Renée Pineau of Bourgueil.

Montreuil-Bellay, Chinon, and Bourgueil are not far apart, but they also aren’t exactly close, either. It’s about 10 miles from Chinon to Bourgueil, about 21 miles from Bourgueil to Montreuil-Bellay, and about the same distance from Chinon to Montreuil-Bellay.

Were Guillaume and Francoise members of the parish at Bourgueil after their marriage?

If so, then where are their children’s baptisms?

A Rough Patch

I don’t want to project stereotypes onto Guillaume and Francoise, but they may have encountered a “rough patch” in 1634, or maybe one that began in 1634.

Put bluntly, Guillaume got himself into trouble, and worse yet, in trouble with the Cardinal, the Abbey, and most likely, his wife.

Acadian researcher, Genevieve Massignon located the following records:

While leafing through the Report of the Departmental Archives of Indre-et-Loire, in the name of the parish of Bourgueil, I found a record reporting in 1634 “a certain number of inhabitants of Bourgueil.” The list of their names includes those of François Dubreil (another witness to the marriage of Pierre Martin) and of Guillaume Trahan.

Now François Dubreil already appears in the List of Fines for feudal dues made by Messire Léonard d’Estampes de Valençay, commendatory abbot of the royal abbey of Saint Pierre de Bourgueil, for a piece of land adjoining that of Nicolas Simon, in October 1618.

The sentence, rendered by the court of Chinon in 1634, cites as plaintiffs “the inhabitants of the parishes of Saint Germain and Saint Nicolas of Bourgueil [church within the Abbey], the joined prosecutor” and “further Messire Leonor d’Estampes,” [Abbott of the Royal Abbey of St. Pierre of Bourgueil], and as defendants, three religious, two squires, a “warden of the forest of Bourgueil,” François Dubreil, Guillaume Trahan, and a few other persons. This sentence orders that “everything which has been undertaken usurped and cleared by the said defendants from the appurtenances and dependencies of the said forest of Bourgueil during forty years in the said conserved land by the proceedings of visitation and surveying and alleged leases for rent, which we declare null and of no effect — shall in the future belong to the body of the said forest of Bourgueil… making express prohibition to the said defendants and all others to in future cut or fell any wood in the said forest, nor change the nature of it on pain of a fine of five hundred livres.”

The sentence then lists the fines incurred by the defendants: “The said Dubreil, in fifty livres of fine for having had the said pieces containing twelve arpents cleared to go there to take the wood which was there in the last forty-eight years and a half, in two hundred livres for half the damages and interest and restitution of the fruits…”

“The said Trahan, in twenty livres of fine and in sixty livres for the value and estimation of a young ox and for the expenses of two arpents which he had torn from the forest and which were found at his house and in forty livres for damages and interest…”

Whoo boy.

I bet Francoise was furious. French wives of that era were either pregnant or nursing a newborn and gave birth every year or two.

So, when this took place, let’s say that they had children, as follows:

  • Their first baby born in the summer of 1628, a year after their wedding
  • The second child born around Christmas of 1629
  • The third child born in the summer of 1631
  • The fourth child born near Christmas of 1632
  • The fifth child born in the summer of 1634
  • The sixth child born around Christmas of 1635.

Clearly, if babies died at birth, some would be born more closely together, and if every child lived, they could be born more than 18 months apart, but generally not more than 24 months apart.

Given this estimated timeline, in 1634, Francoise was probably pregnant for and gave birth to their fifth child. So picture Guillaume having to come home and tell his wife, either cooking, gardening or cleaning something, surrounded by 4 or 5 young children, possibly pregnant again, how much trouble he was in.

I can hear her asking, and probably not in a pleasant voice, “À quoi pensais-tu?” What were you thinking???

French wives worked every day from sunup to sundown, but they weren’t paid, so they were entirely dependent on their husbands’ income.

Based on known wages for various trades and occupations of the time, it appears that not only was Guillaume prosecuted, made an example of, and heavily fined, but Francoise was in essence tarred with the same brush. Punished equally by the fines, even though she had nothing to do with the infraction.

If I have to guess, and I do, I’d say she was utterly furious with Guillaume and was trying to figure out how to retain some shred of dignity, not to mention figuring out how she was going to feed her family. Maybe they didn’t have a baby the next year and he got to sleep in the barn for a while.

If Francoise’s parents were still living, or her siblings, she could probably have obtained food from them, but no adult wants to be reduced to begging – not to mention WHY.

The good news, if there is any, is that this map shows the Bourgueil Forest, which provides a clue as to where they might have lived. Guillaume’s fine was probably so severe because forests were essential to the climate required for winemaking.

Guillaume wasn’t completely ostracized because he once again witnessed a marriage in Bourgueil on October 29, 1635.

Given Guillaume’s continued appearances in the church records, it makes sense that Francoise and Guillaume lived near Bourgueil, someplace along the roads where a type of oilseed, now known as canola, was sewn and harvested for oil lamps and lubrication.

Five months after Guillaume witnessed that final wedding, the couple was no place near Bourgueil.

Francoise bid her family, her parents, her siblings, everyone she loved goodbye for the very last time.

If she was already angry with Guillaume for the 1634 “incident”, being ripped away from her family certainly didn’t make the situation any better.

I can feel her crying so hard she couldn’t even breathe.

Sailing for Acadia

On April 1st, 1636, the ship Saint-Jehan set sail from La Rochelle for Acadia, transporting the first families to settle in the fledgling colony. Guillaume, Francoise and their two children were on board.

To say this was a high-stakes risky move is an understatement.

Why did Guillaume decide to do this?

Notice, I didn’t say Guillaume and Francoise, because at that time, women were expected to simply comply with and obey their husbands’ decisions.

That does NOT mean they didn’t have opinions, though. They just didn’t have many options and no agency.

So, if Guillaume was going to Acadia, Francoise and their children were going too.

They sailed from the beautiful harbour in La Rochelle on April 1st, arriving at Fort Sainte Marie de Grace in La Hève on May 6th, 35 days later. For that time, it was a quick trip.

Isaac de Razilly and then Charles d’Aulnay, after Razilly’s untimely death in 1635, had likely been recruiting in the Bourgueil region. Several families from both Chinon and Bourgueil were listed on the ship’s roster, including Guillaume.

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

If you’re wondering how they managed to afford a servant following that hefty fine, I wonder too. It doesn’t make sense, unless one or the other of their families were at least minor nobility – but there’s no evidence of that. Was declaring someone as a servant a way to take a family member along? Or, maybe one of the other people who were fined in 1634?

We’ll never know.

Passengers

Who else was aboard the Saint-Jehan?

If there were families, there would be babies arriving soon. Was there even a midwife?

The list of passengers included four women in the Motin family, a family of lesser nobility. Anne and Jehanne Motin were siblings. In Acadian, Jehanne, also called Jeanne, married Charles d’Aulnay, the Lieutenant in charge of Acadia and who owned the Saint-Jehan ship. A female cousin and one female servant accompanied the Motin family.

The rest of the roster consisted of crew members or passengers headed to Acadia to establish a settlement in the remote outpost.

There were some young couples. One laborer and his wife, with no children, plus a saltmaker and his wife.

From Bourgueil, there were 4 wives and 7 children, plus Guillaume, Francoise and their two children.

There was also a widow and her two children, one male and one female, all designated as laborers.

In total, there were 12 other females, counting the widow’s daughter who may have been a young adult.

There were 7 children in addition to Francoise’s children, excluding the widow’s children.

That’s it. That’s the entire female and family support system that these women would have in Acadia. And trust me when I say that men did not deliver babies, and childbirth was dangerous. Every married female could be expected to deliver a child within the following 18 months, so surely SOMEONE had experience delivering babies. Perhaps the widow.

Culture Shock

This map shows three homes in the habitation at La Hève. These families had gone from multi-storied half-timbered homes snugged up side by side in cozy medieval towns to a few isolated buildings with the Atlantic wind whistling between them. The freshwater pond by the fort may have been their only nearby watersource.

There were no other French women or families within thousands of miles, not to mention across an ocean.

The laborers and single men would have lived in the garrison inside the fort, but the families built tiny one-room houses and planted gardens as best they could with seeds they had brought along.

Not houses like in France, but small cabins that shared a single outdoor oven, and eventually, a common well. There was no boulangerie in the market square, no baker, no butcher – the settlers and soldiers had to do it all. I’m sure they quickly learned to fish.

Talk about culture shock!

Standing on the beach where the fort once stood, the habitation was built on the outcropping at far right in the distance.

The settlers planted apple trees with seeds brought from France. A winemaker was on board, too, so they probably transplanted vines, cuttings or planted seeds as well.

By the end of the year, d’Aulnay had moved the seat of Acadia to Port Royal, a much less harsh environment, not exposed directly to the Atlantic Ocean.

While we know the names of the Saint-Jehan passengers, we have mostly blank pages about what happened to them.

  • Pierre Martin and his wife survived. He is credited with planting apple orchards in the Annapolis Valley near Port Royal. Their child, Mathieu was reportedly the first French child born in Acadia.
  • Jeanne Motin survived, but her story is long and difficult. She first married d’Aulnay not long after arrival, followed a few years later by his arch-rival, Charles La Tour in 1653, eventually moving south to Cape Sable with La Tour and dying there around 1663 with a newborn.
  • Of course, Guillaume Trahan, Francoise, and at least one daughter survived.

Otherwise, every single person on the Saint-Jehan either perished with no record and no descendants surviving to 1671 when the first census was taken, or returned to France at some point.

Perhaps Acadia was too different from France and not what the passengers had hoped or expected. Or, perhaps they died in the intervening years. Acadia was a harsh mistress.

What About Francoise in Port Royal?

We know that Francoise was alive in 1639, because her daughter, Jeanne Trahan was the godmother for Jeanne Motin and Charles D’Aulnay’s infant daughter, and Francoise is mentioned, but not noted as deceased.

Francoise is also mentioned in 1649 in d’Aulnay’s first will, although not by name, where he mentions that his wife, Jeanne Motin, who he had described as a “devout and modest little servant of God”, “Will not forget the wife of Guillaume Trahan.”

Guillaume Trahan became an influential leader in Port Royal. He, and other early settlers were given land along the river beside the fort and garrison where ships docked, trading transpired, and the moving and shaking occurred.

In addition to being the heart of commerce, Port Royal endured multiple attacks, some quite severe, from d’Aulnay’s arch-rival, Charles La Tour, in the 1640s. Port Royal subsequently fell to the English in 1654, then was ransacked and pillaged.

Unfortunately, there are few records during this timeframe.

Port Royal, the river and countryside were post-card beautiful, and when not under attack, exquisitely peaceful.

Francoise witnessed and survived those terrifying episodes and also basked in the beauty of Acadia. The photo above was taken on Hogg Island, where her daughter and son-in-law lived – so she surely enjoyed this scene often.

Death and Grief

The next indirect evidence we have of Francoise is when Guillaume remarries.

According to the 1671 census, Guillaume has remarried and has a family with his second wife. Their oldest child is Guillaume, age 4. So, if Guillaume remarried five years earlier, about 1666, then we can estimate Francoise’s death occurred in or about 1665 in Port Royal, nearly 30 years after she and Guillaume settled there.

Francoise would have been buried in the churchyard, beside the fort, and within sight of their home.

The Acadian’s Catholic cemetery was destroyed in 1755 when the Acadians were expelled by the English, and it has always been believed that the graves were marked with white wooden crosses that deteriorated with time.

The one and only stone recovered just happens to be for Joseph de Menou, apparently a son of Jeanne Motin and Charles Menou d’Aulnay, with a clearly inscribed date of 1651.

The Canadian National Park Service states that:

During the summer of 1989, archaeologists working at Fort Anne uncovered a stone bearing the name, Joseph de Menov Sievr Dones and the date of 1651. The eldest son of Charles de Menou d’Aulnay Sieur de Charnisay, Joseph had inherited his father’s titles after Charles’ death the previous year. The purpose of the stone is not known.

Please note that at that time, V is equivalent to U in script.

This relic is confusing, because Joseph, born about 1640 is supposed to be the eldest son of Joanne Motin and d’Aulnay, who, along with their other children, was sent back to France to be raised by their grandparents after d’Aulnay’s 1650 death left his wife riddled with debt.

If that’s the case, then either this is not a gravestone, or they had a second child by that same name that died in 1651. If they had a second child, he would not have the title “Sieur”, but other than a gravestone, what else could this possibly be?

Either way, this stone assuredly speaks silently of grief and tragedy within the close-knit Acadian community. Jeanne Motin was Francoise’s close friend, as attested in d’Aulnay’s will, and Jeanne’s husband had died tragically in 1650.

Then Jeanne had to send her eight children back to France, where she would never see them again. Oh, my aching mother’s heart. Jeanne also married La Tour, a man she probably secretly despised and whose wife her husband had murdered, as a matter of survival and expediency. It’s unclear whether her children were shipped back to France before or after this 1653 marriage.

Jeanne’s heart must have been broken, over and over, and the heart of Francoise, as one of her closest friends, would have ached right along with Jeanne.

The two best friends and sisters-of-heart probably stood together on the shoreline, watching the ship with all eight of Jeanne’s children pull away from the dock, and sail away. Grief times 8.

Perhaps the two women stood here, Francoise holding Jeanne as she sobbed, until either the ship was entirely out of sight, or the daylight sank beyond the horizon and night overtook them. Jeanne would never see her children again, including the baby. How the children must have wept and cried for theri mother, too. They had already lost their father.

The two close friends eventually died about the same time, although after Jeanne Motin remarried in 1653, she lived across the bay in Saint-Jean for three years, then retired to Cape Sable in 1656 until her death in 1663. When Jeanne died, she had five children by LaTour, aged from about 9 to a newborn

I’m sure the two women missed each other terribly, and their reunion, on the other side, was glorious.

Francoise’s Children

We have a few facts about Francoise’s children.

In 1636, on the Saint-Jehan, Francoise and Guillaume had two children. One of those children was Jeanne Trahan, born about 1629.

Francoise would have witnessed Jeanne’s marriage in about 1643 to Jacques Bourgeois. Jacques was a surgeon and the most prosperous settler in Port Royal, so that marriage would have been considered a very good match. Jacques worked for d’Aulnay, who probably arranged the marriage. It’s evident that those couples were close.

We know that Francoise had a second living child when they sailed in 1636, but we don’t know if that child was male or female. If male, he died before 1671 and before having children who survived to 1671 when the first census was taken.

If that child was a female, she would have been between newborn and 8 years old. If she was the first child born after their marriage, in 1628, she would have been marriage age about the same time as her sister. If she was between that age and newborn, so born between about 1630 and 1636, she would have been eligible to marry between 1644 and about 1651.

A Trahan daughter married Germain Doucet sometime before 1650 when Germain Doucet and his wife were mentioned in d’Aulnay’s will, although Doucet’s wife is not mentioned by name.

The reason that Germain Doucet’s wife is believed to be Francoise and Guillaume Trahan’s daughter is because in 1654, Jacques Bourgeois, who we know was married to Jeanne Trahan, is described as Germain Doucet’s brother-in-law in the Articles of Capitulation.

That can only mean one of two things. Germain Doucet was either married to:

  • Jacques’s sister, but Jacques came alone in 1642, and there is no known sister
  • The sister of Jeanne Trahan, Jacques’ wife. Jeanne arrived with her parents and with another known sibling. Francoise would also have had time to have another daughter after their 1636 arrival who would have been marriage age before 1654.

Of those two options, it’s MUCH more likely that Germain Doucet married a daughter of Francoise Corbineau and Guillaume Trahan.

Germain Doucet was also a powerful man in Port Royal, so he, too, would have been considered a good marriage partner by Guillaume Trahan for his daughter.

Unfortunately, as Commander of the Fort when Port Royal fell in 1654, Germain Doucet was shipped back to France iwith his wife and children, if they had any. No records of Germain or his family after the fall of Port Royal are known.

In 1654, Francoise would have said goodbye to one of her only two children, much as she had said a painful goodbye back in 1636 to her own family in France. This turn of events must have seemed horrifically unfair.

To the best of our knowledge, Francoise only had two children who survived to adulthood, or more specifically, to adulthood and to the 1671 census, or who had descendants who survived to the 1671 census with the Trahan surname. No unknown Trahans are recorded or noted in parish records after 1702, no dispensations that would suggest that Francoise had another surviving child, and no Belle-Ile-en-Mer declarations after the deportation.

Francoise would have brought several more children into this world. She would have spent most of her adult life pregnant, praying for children destined not to survive.

Unfortunately, infant mortality was high, and less than half of the children born made it to adulthood. In her case, it was far more than half.

If Francoise married at 16, and had children through age 42:

  • She would have had 12 children if she gave birth to a child every 24 months and that child lived long enough to be weaned.
  • We know that often babies were born 18 months after the prior birth, so if she had a baby every 18 months, she would have borne 16 children.
  • If every other child died at or shortly after birth, meaning that she had every other child 12 months after the previous birth, she would have had around 20 children.

This means that Francoise buried at least 10 children, probably more like 15 or 16, and possibly as many as 18. I can’t even begin to imagine her pain. She must have both looked forward to each birth with hope, but also with a sense of dread.

Additionally, she had to say a forced goodbye to her adult daughter in 1654, never knowing what happened to her.

Francoise suffered an immense amount of grief.

Some of those tiny bodies would have rested in graves in the parish churchyard in France, beside whatever parish church they attended. Possibly Chinon or Bourgueil or perhaps someplace inbetween.

One might have been a burial at sea, or in an unmarked grave in the cemetery at Le Have.

The rest would have perished in Port Royal and been buried beside the church, within sight of where Francoise lived. Perhaps that’s how she held them close, even in death.

Francoise’s Grandchildren

The ray of sunshine in all of this is that Francoise DID have grandchildren that she knew and could enjoy. Jeanne Trahan, who married Jacques Bourgeois, had eight living children before Francoise’s death.

Jeanne also had at least five children who died during that timeframe.

If Francoise Corbineau was born in 1607, she would have had her last child sometime about 1649 or 1650.

Her daughter, Jeanne gave birth to her first child about 1644, so for the next six years or so, both mother and daughter would have been bringing children into the world together. The difference is that most of Jeanne’s children born during that timeframe lived, and none of Francoise’s did. While pregnant herself, Jeanne would have stood beside yet another tiny grave, holding her mother as she grieved each baby’s passing, – probably at least four times. We don’t know how many times Jeanne, as a child, stood beside her mother at the cemetrey before that.

I’m sure Francoise never lost track of each child, or their names, or when they were born and died. Their tiny images would have been permanently seared in her mind, and on her heart. She probably thought of them often, wondering what they would have been like as they grew up, married, and had children of their own.

Her daughter, Jeanne lost a child born in about 1650. We don’t know if that child died as an infant or older, but we do know the child died before 1671. Francoise likely stood graveside with her daughter, burying grandchildren born about 1648, 1650, 1654, 1656, and 1663. She may also have stood with her daughter whose name we don’t know, who married Germain Doucet, in a similar capacity – and that daughter assuredly stood with Francoise and her sister, Jeanne, too.

How did Francoise bear that level of grief? Perhaps this small cross, excavated on the fort grounds, provides a clue. Part of the land where the fort is located belonged to Guillaume and Francoise during their lifetime.

This tiny cross that speaks so profoundly of faith could have been part of Francoise’s rosary. Maybe her well-worn rosary was placed in her hands in her coffin.

In 1665 or so, Francoise’s daughter, Jeanne, and her 8 living children, along with Guillaume, all stood around another grave, saying their final goodbyes, as they buried Francoise, who would have been in her 50s. Not at all old by today’s standards.

Both of the other original female Acadian settlers who sailed aboard the Saint-Jehan in 1636 and remained in Acadia were still living. Along with Francoise’s family and the other residents of Port Royal, Marie Catherine Vigneau, who had married Pierre Martin would have been standing graveside, but Jeanne Motin was living in Cape Sable and would have been unaware of her old friend’s passing until long after she was buried.

Such was life in Port Royal.

Francoise’s Legacy

What an incredible life Francoise lived and legacy she left.

Francoise was probably born in Chinon, lived someplace between there and Bourgueil, then sailed for Acadia in her mid-twenties with her husband and two small children. She settled in the remote outpost of Le Have for several months, and then became one of the founding Acadian mothers in Port Royal.

She must have been an extraordinarily strong woman.

Francoise probably never dreamed of, desired, or wanted a life of adventure – but the dice rolled differently and fate had other plans. Francoise sailed thousands of miles across that Atlantic, becoming an original French settler in Acadia. She helped to forge a new “Acadian” culture in a foreign land that her descendants would always think of as home.

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Guillaume Trahan (c1601-c1684), More Than Meets the Eye – 52 Ancestor #452

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

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

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

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

But where was Guilluame Trahan from?

It Takes a Village or Maybe a Small Army

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Acadian Players Map

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

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

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

Loudun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Secrets still carved into knowing stones that witnessed it all.

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

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

Who carved them?

When?

And why?

Was it simply medieval graffiti, or something more?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Montreuil-Bellay

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

From Cousin Mark:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Montreuil-Bellay began as a Gallo-Roman fortified town built on the hill beside the Thouet River. Around the year 1000, Foulques Nerra, Count of Anjou, known as the Black Falcon, built a citadel on the foundation of the Roman village. What would become Montreuil-Bellay was an impregnable fortress on the front lines of the battles between England and France, eventually falling to the Plantagenet family. King Louis VIII held court there in 1224.

Were our ancestors there too?

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

The Camino de Santiago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The remains of L’Église Saint-Pierre are located beneath the castle on the river, accessible by descending the Saint-Pierre staircase from the Place du Marché, and was known to exist here in the 10th 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 14th century, when the Hundred Years’ War began (1337), the population was starving and took refuge in the castle mote and the neighboring monastery.

The Castle on the Hill

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

The castle dominated the landscape from near and far.

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

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

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

Let’s take a walk through the village.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chinon

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

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

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

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

The 13th day of July 1627 were married Guillaume Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and of Renée Desloges (or Deslonges), and Françoise Corbineau, daughter of the late Corbineau and of Françoise Poret, the said Trahan and Corbineau assisted by Pierre Ligné, Pierre Aubry, Suzanne Ligné, daughter of Master Guillaume Ligné, and other witnesses, this I have signed.

Piget, priest

Well, that was one interpretation of this document, but there’s also another, posted by Karen Theriot Reader, that Cousin Mark reviewed painstakingly, and seems to be more likely the case.

I am leaving this original version here, just in case – in part because some people may have used it, and I don’t believe in just “disappearing” something without stating why it was changed.

The 13th of July 1627 was married Guillaume Trahan, son of Nicolas Trahan and Renée Deslonges with Françoise Corbineau, of this parish St. Etienne. Present Nicolas Trahan, father of G. Trahan, Pierre Ligier, Pierre Baudry, dame Anne Ligier, wife of M. Gilloire, attest, and declare they do not sign.

ChatGPT and Transcribus gave me multiple different translations of the names involved, which made the situation even more confusing. Hint – don’t use AI for documents you can’t verify.

Acadian researcher and now-deceased historian Stephen White stated that Francoise’s parents were not named, so I weigh that heavily as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bourgueil, It Appears

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

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

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

I was dead wrong.

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

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

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

Let’s get some help from a historian

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

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

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

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

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

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

They would have been here when Guillaume graced these doors.

Life-sustaining water for both man and beast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The nearby countryside blossoms with vineyards and farms.

Scattered farmhouses dot the landscape.

Some more prosperous than others.

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

This medieval barn is still in fine shape.

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

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

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

Services Inside Saint-Germain Church

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

Text from Massignon, image from Mark:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What else happened here, in this ancient church?

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

What about his children who didn’t survive?

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

Are those children buried here?

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

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

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

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

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

Did he ask himself those questions here?

Did he pray for guidance in this holy building?

Perhaps in the chapel where we lit those candles?

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

Maybe he needed a pebble too.

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

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

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

The front of the Abbey today.

The Abbey is quite large and includes several buildings.

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

This beautiful wall encloses something, but what?

I desperately wanted to open this door and find out.

And this one too.

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

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

Trouble in the Forest

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

Massignon reveals a crucial secret:

While leafing through the Report of the Departmental Archives of Indre-et-Loire, in the name of the parish of Bourgueil, I found a record reporting in 1634 “a certain number of inhabitants of Bourgueil.” The list of their names includes those of François Dubreil (friend, as we have seen above, of Pierre Martin) and of Guillaume Trahan.

Now François Dubreil already appears in the List of Fines for feudal dues made by Messire Léonard d’Estampes de Valençay, commendatory abbot of the royal abbey of Saint Pierre de Bourgueil, for a piece of land adjoining that of Nicolas Simon, in October 1618.

The sentence, rendered by the court of Chinon in 1634, cites as plaintiffs “the inhabitants of the parishes of Saint Germain and Saint Nicolas of Bourgueil [church within the Abbey], the joined prosecutor” and “further Messire Leonor d’Estampes,” [Abbott of the Royal Abbey of St. Pierre of Bourgueil], and as defendants, three religious, two squires, a “warden of the forest of Bourgueil,” François Dubreil, Guillaume Trahan, and a few other persons. This sentence orders that “everything which has been undertaken usurped and cleared by the said defendants from the appurtenances and dependencies of the said forest of Bourgueil during forty years in the said conserved land by the proceedings of visitation and surveying and alleged leases for rent, which we declare null and of no effect — shall in the future belong to the body of the said forest of Bourgueil… making express prohibition to the said defendants and all others to in future cut or fell any wood in the said forest, nor change the nature of it on pain of a fine of five hundred livres.”

The sentence then lists the fines incurred by the defendants: “The said Dubreil, in fifty livres of fine for having had the said pieces containing twelve arpents cleared to go there to take the wood which was there in the last forty-eight years and a half, in two hundred livres for half the damages and interest and restitution of the fruits…”

“The said Trahan, in twenty livres of fine and in sixty livres for the value and estimation of a young ox and for the expenses of two arpents which he had torn from the forest and which were found at his house and in forty livres for damages and interest…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How would he feed his family?

Where would they live?

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

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

Recruitment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La Rochelle

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

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

Wait?

What?

Servant?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La Rochelle

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

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

To pray for safe passage?

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

Whose idea was this journey to a new land?

It would still have been chilly on April 1st 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 13th 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 8th 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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