According to the first census taken in Acadia, now Nova Scotia, in 1671, Catherine LeJeune was born about 1633.

While the census doesn’t tell us where Catherine was born, any French Acadian settler born before 1636, when the first Acadian families arrived in La Hève with Isaac Razilly, was assuredly born in France.

Furthermore, Catherine had a sibling, Edmee LeJeune, who also appeared in that census, married to Francois Gautrot. Edmee was born about 1624 and was married about 1644, based on her children’s ages. We know that Francois Gautrot was in Acadia prior to 1650, because he signed an attestation confirming the accomplishments of Charles Menou d’Aulnay, who died in 1650 – so they were clearly living in Port Royal by that time.

We also know that Francois Gautrot was granted land along the waterfront adjacent the fort in Port Royal, so was probably one of the earliest settlers and arrived in Port Royal with d’Aulnay. The land was expropriated from his descendants in 1705 to extend the original fort. Francois and Edmee were married about the time the Acadians would have settled at Port Royal, but Catherine LeJeune, the younger sister, and Francois Savoie didn’t marry until several years later.

We know that Catherine and Edmee were sisters, thanks to both mitochondrial DNA results and later dispensations granted by the priest when their descendants married.

This, of course, strongly suggests that both girls arrived as children with their parents between 1636, when the first French families arrived, and 1644, when Edmee married. Their parents had died before the 1671 census.

Pull up a chair, because this is about to get good!

Parent Confusion

Because absolutely nothing is straightforward about Acadian genealogy…

There is a male LeJeune, Pierre, born about 1656, who married Marie Thibodeau. They first lived in Port Royal in 1678, but by 1693, they lived at or near La Hève, the original seat of Acadia. Pierre’s brother was Martin LeJeune, born about 1661, who married a Native woman.

Their father was reportedly Pierre LeJeune, born about 1627, who reportedly married a Doucet female. He was probably granted land at La Hève because both of his sons, Pierre, born about 1656, and Martin, born about 1661, are found living side-by-side there in the 1686 census.

Notice words like “probably” and “reportedly.”

Pierre, the father of the brothers, Pierre and Martin LeJeune, is only specifically named after the 1755 deportation when their descendants, in a 1764 declaration at Belle-Ile-en-Mer, France stated, “Marguerite LeJeune was born at Port Royal in 1698 of Pierre and Marie Thibodault of Port Royal. Pierre LeJeune was issue of another Pierre who came from France and married at Port Royal, died there.” Please also note that the Belle-Ile-en-Mer declatations, in other cases, have been later proven to be in error. They were given from memory 3 or 4 generations and a century or more after the original Acadians arrived in order to provide the French government information about the origins of the Acadian refugees who found themselves back in France and in dire need.

I’m referring to Pierre, the father, as “the elder” and Pierre, Martin’s brother, as “the younger” for these discussions.

Based on the birth years of Pierre the younger, about 1656, and Martin, about 1661, Pierre the elder would have been born about 1627, or so. French men typically married when they were about 30. This also presumes that Pierre the younger was the oldest child of Pierre the elder, which may not be the case, so Pierre the elder may have been born significantly before 1627, but probably not after.

If, in fact, Pierre the elder, born about 1627, is the father of Pierre and Martin, he cannot be the father of Catherine, born about 1633, and Edmee, born about 1624. Pierre the elder could possibly be their brother, based only on birth years plus the same surname, but no additional information.

Furthermore, given Edmee’s birth about 1624, and Martin’s birth about 1661, a span of 37 years, Catherine and Edmee, and Pierre the younger (born about 1656) and Martin cannot be full siblings. They could potentially be half-siblings.

Due to the same surname, and such a limited number of families, I, along with the rest of Acadian researchers, have been trying to connect the dots.

What’s more logical is that Catherine and Edmee are siblings to Pierre the elder born about or before 1627, but lack of a marriage dispensation granted for their descendants suggests otherwise. Dispensations of consanguity were granted by the church allowing cousins of varying levels to marry with the church’s blessing.

For a long discussion, please refer to the link titled, “A Closer Look at Some of the Records” in the sidebar on Lucie LeBlanc Consentino’s site, here.

I freely admit, I had a difficult time wrapping my head around all of this, so I made a chart.

There were clearly three LeJeune founders in Acadia, one way or another. Yes, I said three. There’s more to the story.

Our Catherine LeJeune is shown at right, highlighted in yellow, with her family line marked in green.

Pierre, the younger, with his father, Pierre the elder, is marked in apricot. His brother, Martin, is not shown but would be apricot too.

A third person, Jeanne LeJeune dit Briard, born about 1659, and who married Francois Joseph about 1684, is another player in this mix as well. She is found in the 1693 census in Port Royal, but not before. They are listed two doors from Germain Savoie, son of Catherine LeJeune and Francois Savoie. In 1698, Jeanne LeJeune has remarried to Jean Gaudet, and had one child, and by 1708 she too was living in La Hève.

Whoever Jeanne LeJeune’s father was, he was clearly an early settler, because he married a Native woman, as reflected in the marriage record of Jeanne’s daughter, Catherine Joseph, in 1720, where her mother is noted as “of the Indian Nation.” This is also confirmed by mitochondrial DNA testing of their matrilineal descendants which produced Native American haplogroup A2f1a.

Our Catherine Lejeune and Jeanne LeJeune dit Briard do not share a mother, as Catherine and Edmee’s mitochondrial DNA is haplogroup U6a7a1a, European, not Native.

Furthermore, by inference, based on the lack of Catholic religious dispensations granted to cousins, Pierre LeJeune the elder is not the father of Jeanne LeJeune dit Briard, even though both she and Pierre LeJeune the younger share the dit name of Briard. That could reflect back to a common French location for both people or a more distant family relationship. Stephen A. White, retired Acadian genealogist at Moncton, has concluded that Pierre LeJeune the elder married an unknown Doucet female, so not Native.

Jeanne’s LeJeune dit Briard’s line is noted in our chart blue, and her great-granddaughter, Martine Roy, bolded in red, married Pierre LeJeune the younger’s grandson, Joseph LeJeune, also bolded in red, in Louisbourg in 1754, with no dispensation recorded by the priest.

• If Jeanne LeJeune and Pierre the younger were siblings, then Joseph and Martine would have been 2C1R, and the priest’s dispensation would have been 3-4.
• If Jeanne LeJeune and Pierre the younger were first cousins, meaning they shared grandparents, then Joseph and Martine would have been 3C1R, and the dispensation would have been a 4-5, so no dispensation was needed at that distance.
• According to White, the priest at Louisbourg knew the families, and other family members were present, so if these people had needed a dispensation, they would have received one. It wasn’t simply overlooked.

Now, moving to Catherine LeJeune whose grandson, Nicolas Prejean married Euphrosine Labauve in 1760 at St. Servan in Saint Malo, France, also with no dispensation.

• If Pierre the elder and Jean LeJeune (yet another player and possible father of Catherine and Edmee) were siblings, then Nicolas and Euphrosine would have been 3C and the dispensation would have been 4-4.
• If Pierre the elder and Jean LeJeune (possible father of Catherine and Edmee) were first cousins, sharing grandparents, then no dispensation would have been necessary for Nicolas and Euphrosine.

Even though these unfortunate people had been expelled from Acadia and wound up in France, there were a significant number of other Acadian families who settled in the same location, creating a community, having suffered the same fate. If the couple had needed a dispensation, they would have received one.

This leads us to the conclusion that:

• Pierre LeJeune the younger is not the sibling of Jeanne LeJeune dit Briard, even though they are both shown with the same dit name and location.
• Pierre LeJeune the elder is not the sibling of Jeane LeJeune dit Briard, because Martine and Joseph would have required a 4-4 dispensation.
• Pierre LeJeune the elder and Jeanne LeJeune dit Briard could have been first cousins, because no dispensation would have been required.
• Pierre LeJeune the elder is not the sibling of Catherine LeJeune’s father, because Euphrosine and Nicolas would have required a 4-4 dispensation.
• Pierre LeJeune the elder could have been the first cousin of Catherine LeJeune’s father, because no dispensation would have been needed.
• Catherine LeJeune (born c 1633), her sister Edmee (born c 1624) and Jeanne LeJeune dit Briard (born c 1659) are not full siblings either, because Jeanne LeJeune dit Briard’s mother was Native American and Catherine and Edmee’s mother was European.

It’s also worth noting that while Jeanne LeJeune and both Pierre the younger and Martin LeJeune are noted in at least one record as “dit Briard,” neither Catherine nor Edmee ever are. Briard means a person who is from Brie, but could also have meant something else.

Who is Jean LeJeune?

On the chart, you might have noticed Jean LeJeune noted with a “?” as the potential father of Catherine LeJeune, which means he would have been Edmee LeJeune’s father as well.

Who is Jean LeJeune and where did he come from? That’s the burning question, of course.

White writes (bolding mine):

Jean Lejeune was one of the early settlers of Acadia. This is known from the fact that his heirs received one of the early land grants at Port-Royal. This grant is mentioned in the “Schedule of the Seigniorial Rents” that was drawn up in 1734, after the British Crown had purchased the seigneurial rights in that area (Public Record Office, Colonial Office records, series 217, Vol. VIL, fol. 90-91). The rents list shows the names of the first grantees of each parcel of land, as well as the names of those who were in possession in 1734. In some cases it is obvious that the latter belonged to the same family as the former, but in the case of the parcel allotted to Jean Lejeune’s heirs it is just as apparent that the tenancy had heen sold. No record of the original grant has survived, but there are indications that it had been made early in the colony’s history. It is enrolled along with grants that were made to Barnabé Martin and Francois Savoie. Both of these men were dead by the time of the 1686 census, so the grants must have been made before then. What’s more, Jean Lejeune had likely been dead for quite some time by 1686, because this grant could have dated back to any time after the retrocession of Acadia to the French in 1670 pursuant to the Treaty of Breda.

One can only speculate about how old Jean Lejeune’s heirs might have been when they received their grant, but it is likely that their forebear was a contemporary of the Pierre Lejeune who is mentioned in Claude Pitre’s deposition at Belle-fle-en-Mer in 1767 as the father of the Pierre Lejeune who married Marie Thibodeau. This deposition, by the way, is the only record that mentions the elder Pierre’s given, name. It also specifies that the elder Pierre came to Acadia from France, which rules out any possibility that he had any Native American blood. But this deposition does not preclude the possibility that the elder Pierre might have arrived from France with one or more siblings, including at least one brother.

For Catherine LeJeune, who married Francois Savoie, this is very nearly a smoking gun.

Very rarely did a single man set up a household.

Not only was a similar grant made to Francois Savoie, at BelleIsle, this suggests that the date of that grant was probably after their marriage around 1651 or 1652.

Furthermore, in the first Acadian census, in 1671, Catherine LeJeune and Francois Savoie are living on the same land with their daughter and son-in-law. Their neighbor is Pierre Martin, age 70, who lives beside three Martin family members, then two doors away we find Edmee LeJeune married to Francois Gautrot.

So, thanks to White, we have a Jean LeJeune who was granted land at BelleIsle along with Francois Savoie, who married Catherine LeJeune. The Savoie land has been located, which I wrote about in Francois Savoie’s Homestead Rediscovered.

Were Catherine and Edmee LeJeune the heirs of Jean LeJeune who were eventually granted the land at BelleIsle? Does that explain why they are living among the BelleIsle families?

Additional documents are unlikely to be found. Alexandre LeBorgne, Sieur de Belle-Isle, who began granting land around 1668 when he became Governor of the colony, destroyed those records to cover his incompetence.

Given that Jean LeJeune was granted land, and he was deceased by 1671, that puts both the grant date and his death sometime between 1668 and 1670 – unless d’Aulnay granted that land before his death in 1650 or before the falling of Acadia to the English in 1654.

It’s also possible that Jean LeJeune has been given posession of the land by d’Aulnay, but the official grant wasn’t made until later, and he was deceased by then, so it went to his heirs.

Christian Boudreau, in his thesis notes, provides additional information found in the “Schedule of the Seignorial Rents for one Whole Year Payable Yearly by the Inhabitants Within the Banlieu of the Fort of Annapolis Royal in His Majesties Province of Nova Scotia on the First Day of January for which they stand annually De to His Majesties Revenue”. Chris notes that the importance of the information enclosed in a letter dated May 10, 1734, is that the original grantees of a plot of land location in the region of “Bellisle” by Annapolis Royal were “the heirs of John Le Jeune” and the men who posessed the land in 1734 were Alexander Hebert and Michel Richards, but they don’t appear to be either descended from or related to Jean LeJeune.

We have a 1733 map of the region, but it only has village names, not individual names. The only Michel Richard of the right age in the right place in 1734 was married to a Marie Madeleine Blanchard and was probably living at BelleIsle where the Blanchards lived. However, the original Richard land, two generations earlier, was across the river from BelleIsle.

Alexandre Hebert was married to Marie Dupuis whose family lived at or near BelleIsle too. The original Hebert land was also across the river, near Bloody Creek. However, by 1734, the original LeJeune land, granted to Jean’s nameless heirs before Jean’s death, prior to the 1671 census, could well have been sold multiple times. I also wonder if the Richard and Hebert men each owned pieces of it, or owned it jointly.

The only things we know for sure about Jean LeJeune are:

• That he or his heirs received land at BelleIsle
• Jean was deceased by 1671
• If Catherine and Edmee were his daughers, they were both born in France
• If he is their father, Jean would have been born about 1595, or possibly earlier
• The family arrived between 1636 and 1644 when Edmee married

It’s also possible that, rather than being Catherine and Edmee’s father, Jean could have been their sibling. If he were unmarried, he would probably not have been granted land.

Regardless, by 1671, there is no trace of Jean LeJeune, or of a widow, or of children other than Catherine and Edmee, assuming they are his daughters.

I believe that’s the most likely explanation, but it’s far from conclusive.

Early Acadia

The first Acadian colonists settled in La Hève, on the southern coast of Acadia, in 1632, with Isaac Razilly leading the expedition that was focused on establishing a trading port. We know families arrived in 1636, and could have been a few in 1632. .

The LeJeune family could have arrived with the first or second group of families. If so, Catherine would have been just a baby. Mathieu Martin was reportedly the first Acadian child born in Acadia, and he was born about 1634.

Razilly died in 1635, and within a couple of years, Charles Menou d’Aulnay was appointed Governor of Acadia. He moved the Acadian colonists to Port Royal from La Hève as a group in the late 1630s and early 1640s.

By 1640, Port Royal was the seat of Acadia, and d’Aulnay set about having the swamps at BelleIsle drained so that the land could become salt-free, productive farmland, which took about 3 years after the land was dyked. BelleIsle, 1500 acres, was a HUGE area to dyke.

BelleIsle is the location where the Martin and Savoie families both settled, and it stands to reason that Jean LeJeune did too.

We don’t know when the LeJeune sisters arrived with their parents, whoever they were, but given that Catherine’s older sister, Edmee, married a local man, Francois Gautrot, either a craftsman or a soldier, around 1644, the family had assuredly arrived in Acadia by that time.

The LeJeune family may have first settled at La Hève, then moved with the rest of the Acadians to Port Royal, or they could have arrived in Port Royal with Charles Menou d’Aulnay around 1642 when he obtained financing and a ship from a La Rochelle financier, transporting additional families.

Based on a journal maintained by Nicolas Denys, we know that by 1654, when Acadia would fall to the English, there were about 270 residents at Port Royal, and that many settlers had moved upriver.

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

This golden nugget of information reveals a great deal about life in Acadia. The Great Meadow is BelleIsle, and Madame de La Tour is d’Aulnay’s widow.

He mentions that the residents have cleared the land below and above the meadow, and that d’Aulnay had the meadow drained. Are the residents clearing land above and below the meadow because the Martin, Savois and LeJeune heirs are already farming there?

Note that Denys said that, “all the inhabitants there are the ones whome…Razilly brought from France to La Hève.”

This tells us that Catherine LeJeune would have arrived as a small child, probably by 1635, and would have retained absolutely no memory of France.

Catherine was first-generation Acadian and lived her life on the shores of the Atlantic, on a new frontier.

She may or may not have remembered La Hève. They would have relocated to Port Royal when she was someplace between 3 and 7, building a new home along the Rivière Dauphin, probably at BelleIsle.

While they may have first settled in Port Royal briefly, while they got their bearings or built a cabin, it’s telling that many of the other early settlers obtained land that was expropriated in 1702-1705 when the fort was expanded. Neither Francois Savoie, Jean LeJeune, nor Barnabas Martin held land by the fort, although Barnabas married into the Pelletret family who did.

I’d wager that these families began draining the swamps immediately, recognizing the value of this prime real estate for farming.

They would have had first choice and were the first families to settle at BelleIsle. They established a village above BelleIsle Marsh.

The Savoie Land at BelleIsle

I wrote about the discovery of the Savoie homesteads and village at BelleIsle in the article titled, Francois Savoie’s Homestead Rediscovered.

I won’t repeat that information here, but I saved one of the goodies for Catherine’s article.

Several years ago, now-deceased Acadian artist Claude Picard created a wonderful print of the Savoie homestead based upon known homestead locations thanks to archaeological discoveries.

You can claim one of these for yourself to support the all-volunteer and labor-of-love BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center.

Additionally, Charlie and Jennifer Thibodeau, who established the Center, commissioned an amazing drone video as a fundraiser.

Ron, another Acadian cousin with a keen historical interest took the results of the drone video and overlaid the Savoie/LeJeune village print onto the land where the archaeology excavations revealed homestead remains and a well.

Courtesy of both the Center, with the Acadian roof, located on Savoie land, and Ron who merged the two, feast your eyes upon this beauty.

This depicts the original Savoie homestead where Catherine would have been tending her garden, milking the cows and baking in the Acadian oven. It’s here that she had her babies and raised her family.

It’s also probably here that Catherine and her sister grew up, with Catherine marrying the neighbor boy.

Life was peaceful, beautiful, and bucolic along the river, a dream come true, right up until it wasn’t.

1654

In Acadia, life unexpectedly changed in 1654.

Catherine LeJeune, 20 or 21, hadn’t been married very long – maybe three years. She had one baby, Francoise, born around 1652, and was pregnant for her second child, Germain, who was born sometime in 1654.

She was either pregnant when the English launched a surprise attack upon Acadia, or she had a newborn baby, plus a toddler who was maybe two. I’m not sure which scenario would have been worse. God-forbid that she was acually giving birth during the attack.

Port Royal and the Annapolis River Valley for a few miles upriver had roughly 270 people in 1754, which consisted of maybe 40 families, assuming each family had approximately seven members. Acadians were living at Port Royal near the fort and also scattered up and down both sides of the river.

We also don’t know for sure if Catherine and Francois were living in Port Royal, along with many of the original families, or if they were living upriver, at BelleIsle, clearing the marshes as originally ordered by d’Aulnay, between 1636 and his death in 1650.

I’d wager that they were at BelleIsle and had been all along, but we will never be positive.

If they were living at BelleIsle, they would have been safer than in Port Royal, even though Port Royal was protected by Fort Anne.

The English were familiar with the fort and the layout of Port Royal, but they would never be able to navigate the mountains behind BelleIsle.

The Acadians, on the other hand, certainly would have been familiar with the woodlands behind their homes. The women and children may have sought safety there.

The English attack on Port Royal wasn’t planned in advance – it was rather spontaneous.

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

Sedgewick commanded 200 of Cromwell’s professional soldiers, plus 100 New England volunteers and found himself in a snit.

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

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

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

On August 16^th, the Acadians surrendered to the English, having negotiated what they felt were reasonable surrender terms. The French settlers were to keep their land and belongings, the French soldiers in the fort were to be paid in pelts and transported back to France, not killed, and the Acadians could worship as they saw fit – meaning as Catholics. The French officials would also be sent back to France, and an Acadian council was put in place to function on behalf of the English during their absences. Acadian Guillaume Trahan was in charge.

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

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

Sedgewick then departed from what was left of Port Royal.

It was later reported that only 34 families chose to remain in Acadia after the 1654 attack. Settlers also had the option to return to France on the ships with the soldiers and officials.

The Acadians who stayed were allowed to retain their lands, goods, livestock, and to continue worshiping as Catholics. However, if your home had been burned, this turn of events could have provided motivation to return to France, to move upriver if you had been living in Port Royal, or to perhaps move a little further upriver. I doubt any Acadian wanted to reside near the English-controlled garrison that had been the Acadian fort, nor in close proximity to the English who would have established themselves in the town, which was the seat of the English governance of Acadia for the next 16 years.

If, in fact, the Catholic church was destroyed, which is quite likely, based on every other time the English took Port Royal, the chapel at St. Laurent at BelleIsle was probably built and came into use about this time.

Church services would have been held in Acadian homes or the St. Laurent Chapel, or both. The devoutly Catholic Acadian people weren’t going to let the little issue of a church building stand between them and their much-loved and comforting religious rituals and their relationship with God.

We don’t know a lot about Acadia during the years before the French regained control in 1667 through the Treaty of Breda. No new French settlers arrived during the years under English domination. In 1668, France physically took possession of Acadia again, although that was contested until 1670 when the new French Governor arrived with 30 soldiers and 60 new settlers. His headquarters, though, was at Fort Pentagouet, the Capital of Acadia, in today’s Castine, Maine, until that Fort’s destruction by the Dutch in 1674.

Thankfully, one of the first things the Governor Grandfontaine did was to order a census to be taken by Father Laurent Molin, a humble Cordelier and parish priest at Port Royal, in the spring of 1671. Ironically, there is no census of Fort Pentagouet.

It’s through the 1671 census that we obtain a glimpse of Catherine’s life between her marriage around 1651, 1654 when Acadia fell into English hands, and 1670 when Port Royal became French again.

The 1671 Census

In the 1671 census, Catherine LeJeune, was married to Francois Savoie, who was born about 1621.

Based on their children’s ages, Catherine and Francois had been married by 1651 or 1652, assuming that their oldest children had not died.

Their family consisted of:

• Francois Scavois (Savoie), farmer, age 50 (so born about 1621), with 4 cattle, cultivating 6 arpents of land
• Catherine LeJeune, his wife, age 38 (so born about 1633)

Children:

• One married daughter, Francoise, 18, is listed next door with her husband Jehan Corporon, farmer, age 25, and a six-week-old daughter not yet named. Additionally, they are listed with “cattle, 1, sheep, 1, and no cultivated land”.

Francois and Catherine’s unmarried children are:

• Germain, 16
• Marie, 14
• Jeanne, 13
• Catherine, 9
• Francois, 8
• Barnabe, 6
• Andree, 4
• Marie, 1 and a half

We can’t tell for sure where they lived, but they are found among other families who, at least eventually, lived on the north side of the river, at or near BelleIsle, including the Dupuis, Blanchard, Terriau, Martin, Brun, and Trahan families.

We also know that Francois is farming 6 arpents of land and has livestock, so living on the main street along the water in Port Royal is very unlikely.

We know that some of these families listed on the census; Martin, Blanchard, Trahan and Gautrot, were early families to settle at Port Royal, because they are among the families with land expropriated in 1703-1705.

A Buried Hint

I think there’s a subtle hint buried in the census.

Catherine’s daughter, Francoise, lives in the adjacent house, and they have no property. This tells us that they are living on the land of Francois Savoie and Catherine LeJeune, probably just feet away, sharing both the communal well and farm chores.

Think about the structure of the Savoie village at BelleIsle.

Francoise and her husband, Jean Corporon, have a daughter that is six weeks old and not yet named. If the baby isn’t named, that also means she’s not baptized, because Catholic children are named at baptism.

If the family was living in Port Royal, which is where the Catholic priest, Father Molin, would have been living, then the baby would assuredly have been baptized within days, if not hours, after birth.

The priest probably didn’t travel upriver often, especially not in the winter when the river was dangerous. If the census was taken in the spring, then the baby would have probably been born in mid to late winter, early 1671.

The fact that the child is not yet baptized suggests VERY STRONGLY that the family is NOT living at Port Royal, and is living at BelleIsle where their family members are found in the future.

There’s something else rather unusual about Francoise Savoie and Jean Corporon that may tie in to the child not yet being baptized. I realize this is heresy, but they might not have been as religious as other Acadians.

Why didn’t they just have the priest baptize the baby when he was there to take the census, then the baby wouldn’t have had to be recorded as unbaptized? The priest was literally standing right there – unless he created the census from memory. But he couldn’t have done that if he had not visited over the winter because both births and deaths would have occurred – including this baby.

Eventually, Francoise’s daughter, Isabelle, had a “natural child,” meaning without being married, about 1707, and daughter Marguerite had four illegitimate children between 1709 and 1715. Marguerite eventually did marry the presumed father of the youngest child a decade later. The Catholic church, plus community sentiment and pressure, served to prevent almost all out-of-wedlock conceptions.

For some reason, this family didn’t exactly fit the mold. Not only that, but Catherine and Francois came and went in the census, as did several of their children – like Acadian fireflies. That too was very uncommon, especially as a pattern.

The next census, 1678, is a mystery on several levels.

Mystery – Missing in 1678 

By 1678, Catherine LeJeune and married daughter, Francoise Savoie, along with most of Catherine’s family, are no longer listed in the census, but three of her children are. Germain, Jeanne, and Catherine Savoie have married and are listed in the census with their spouses and young families.

Where is everyone else?

It’s unclear if Catherine LeJeune and Francois Savoie have died, or if they are simply missing from the census. This situation doesn’t necessarily make sense, but here it is, nonetheless.

• In 1678, Catherine’s eldest daughter Francoise Savoie and husband Jean Corporon, who were present in 1671, aren’t listed either, but they are in 1686.
• Daughter, Marie Savoie, based on the 1686 census, had given birth to a child in 1677 and 1679, so clearly would have been married well before 1678, but neither Marie nor her husband are shown in the 1678 census.
• Sons Francois Savoie and Barnabe Savoie are never found again after 1671, so it’s probably safe to say they died sometime between 1671 and 1686. They may have died before 1678, but since the rest of the family is missing, we don’t know.
• Daughter Andree Savoie married about 1683, but she is not found anyplace living with a family in 1678 either.
• Marie Savoie, the baby in 1671, was missing in both 1678 and 1686, but married Gabriel Chiasson around 1688 according to the 1693 census, when they are living in Minas.

Catherine LeJeune was only 38 years old in 1671, and her youngest child was a year and a half old.

Catherine was probably already pregnant with the next child, who would have been born shortly – except there is no evidence of another child being born.

Catherine could potentially have had at least one more and possibly two additional children, in maybe 1672/73 and 1673/74, but there is no evidence that Catherine had any more children.

This suggests two possibilities.

• Either Catherine died in or shortly after 1671
• Or, Catherine had more children, and Catherine plus the children born in or after 1671 all died before either 1678 or 1686 when other family members are present

There is a document that suggests that sometime either in or before 1679 that land was granted at BelleIsle to Francois Savoie, but by 1686, he’s gone too.

Where were they?

It’s unlikely that they left, because their minor children appear as married adults in Port Royal in subsequent censuses and/or in church records. Their children would have married where they lived.

If Catherine died, and she assuredly had by 1686, someone had obviously taken her orphan children to raise. Perhaps their oldest sister, Francoise, but why don’t those children appear anyplace in the census? I don’t see other orphans in the census either, and the Savoie children can’t be the only orphans in Acadia.

Catherine’s Children

Speaking of Catherine’s children, there’s probably more to that story as well:

By 1671, there’s a conspicuous gap between Jeanne and Catherine where a child should have been born about 1660.

This tells us that Catherine lost her parents, plus one child in about 1660, plus her sister, Edmee, lost children in roughly 1647, 1650, 1656, 1663, and about 1667.

Both Edmee and her husband were living in 1686, but had died by the 1693 census.

Those small bodies were probably buried in what is now called the Garrison Graveyard in Port Royal, adjacent the fort.

At the time, it was a small Catholic cemetery, standing in a small fence behind the Catholic Church as shown in this 1686 map.

Catherine probably walked through this cemetery, speaking quietly to her parents, and stood with her sister as both of them said final goodbyes to their young children.

There’s nothing as “alone” as a mother burying her child.

We do know that there was another chapel, St. Laurent, at BelleIsle, and we know it was active by 1702 in the earliest extant records. It’s likely that St. Laurent began to be used at least by 1690 when the English overran Port Royal and took the fort, and possibly as early as 1654 when the earlier English incursion occurred. Nothing remains of St. Laurent today, except a grassy field.

Of course, Catherine was gone before 1690, perhaps buried at St. Laurent or here at Port Royal.

Catherine’s Children and Grandchildren

Catherine’s oldest child, Francoise, already had a daughter by the time Catherine died. Catherine may have had other grandchildren before her death too, but we have no way of knowing. One thing is certain – Catherine’s younger children grew up without their mother.

What happened to her children? Where did they live? Did they have children of their own?

It’s easiest to visualize the family in a chart. The Acadian censuses that extended from 1671 through 1714 paint a picture of family development – marriage, birth, and death. Some of Catherine’s family was missing in various censuses, too.

Child	Spouse – Marriage	Census	Children
Francoise Savoie born circa 1652 died Dec. 27, 1711, Port Royal	Jean Corporon married circa 1670 d 1713	Married circa 1670, 1671, missing 1678, 1686, 1693, 1698, 1700, missing in 1701 & 1703, 1707	15, 3 died young, 1 died on Ile St. Jean circa 1756, the rest died before 1755, 3 at Port Royal, 3 in Pisiguit, 2 in Louisbourg, and 1 in Grand Pre, the fate of 1 is unknown
Germain Savoie born circa 1654, died before Oct 1749	Marie Breau married circa 1678 d 1749	1671, married in 1678, 1678, 1686, 1693, 1698, 1700, 1701, 1703, 1707, 1714	12, 5 spaces for deaths, 3 died young, 1 died at Port Royal 1 died in Duxbury, MA, 1 widowed in 1711 but died in Quebec in 1770, 1 in Quebec, 1 in New Rochelle, NY, 1 in South Carolina, 1 probably at Camp d’Esperance in winter of 1756/57, the fate of 2 are unknown
Space for Child born circa 1656, died before 1671
Marie Savoie born circa 1657 died March 1741, Louisbourg	Jacques Triel married circa 1676, died before 1700	1671, married in 1676, missing in 1678, 1686, 1693, 1698, 1700, 1703, missing in 1707 &  1714, in Louisbourg by 1724	5, last child born in 1690, at least 3 died earlier, and probably 5 more before 1700, 2 died as teens, 1 as young adult, 1 in Louisbourg, and 1 on Isle Royal in Lake Superior
Jeanne Savoie born circa 1658 died Nov 1735, Port Royal	Etienne Pellerin married circa 1675 d 1722	1671, married in 1675, 1678, 1686, 1693. 1698, 1700, 1701, 1703, 1707, missing 1714	10, spaces for 3 deaths, 1 died as a teen, 1 died in Port Royal, 1 in New London, CT, 1 in Quebec, possibly of smallpox, 1 in Chezzetcook after expulsion, fate of 5 unknown
Space for child born circa 1660, died before 1671
Catherine Savoie born circa 1662 died Januart 1725, Port Royal	Francois Levron married circa 1676 died 1714	Married circa 1676, 1678 living with Widow Pesselet, 1693, 1698, 1700, missing in 1701, 1707, 1714	10, space for 6 deaths, 3 died at Port Royal, 1 died in Medfield, MA, 1 was probably at Camp d’Esperance winter of 1756/57, 1 Pisiquit, 1 at Louisbourg, 1 at or near Fort Frontenac, 1 at Grand Pre, fate of 1 unknown
Francois Savoie born circa 1663 died before 1686		Missing 1678 and thereafter	Died between age 8 and 23
Barnabe Savoie born circa 1665 died before 1686		Missing 1678 and thereafter	Died between age 6 and 21
Andree Savoie born circa 1667 died after 1714, probably Port Royal	Jean Prejean married circa 1683 d 1733	Missing 1678, but alive, married in 1683, 1686, 1693, 1698, 1700, 1701, 1703, 1714	12, spaces for 5 deaths, 1 probably died in Bristol, England in 1755/56, 1 at Camp d’Esperance in winter of 1756/57, 1 at Chipoudy and probably at Camp d’Esperance, 1 in 1765 in Landivisiau, near Morlaix, France, 1 possibly in NY before 1763, 1 in Quebec, 1 at sea with entire family of 11, fate of 5 unknown
Space for child born circa 1669, died before 1671
Marie Savoie born circa 1670 died between 1711 and 1714 in Beaubassin	Gabriel Chiasson married circa 1688 died 1741 Beaubassin	Missing in 1678 and 1686 but alive, married in 1688, 1693	11, space for 3 deaths, 3 children died young including her first two, 1 died in 1758 on Ile St. Jean, 1 died at sea in 1759 with husband on way to France during expulsion, 1 in 1759 in St. Malo after arrival in France, along with son 4 days later – wife had died at sea, 1 in SC, 1 in 1759/69 in St. Malo, 1 uncertain, 1 in Quebec, youngest died in 1758 on board the Violet with 4 children when the ship sank en route to France during forced expulsion
Space for child born circa 1671, no record
Space for possible child born circa 1673

Several children are inferred due to spaces that are “too long” between known children. These are the whispered children – those no one talks about because it makes the mother cry.

We do have the names of two sons, Francois and Barnabe who died relatively young, probably as children, but not at birth.

Francois Savoie was 8 years old in the 1671 census, and his little brother Barnabe Savoie was 6. They never appear in any other records of any type, so they assuredly died before adulthood. They don’t appear in any future census, either as children or adults, nor do they have any children in church records, nor is their death recorded in or after 1702 when the existing Port Royal records begin. They aren’t found anyplace else either.

In case you are wondering, yes, Catherine really did have two children named Marie Savoie, and no, I don’t know why. They both lived, so the second Marie wasn’t named in honor of the first one. My guess would be that both had a middle name, but it’s odd that neither are recorded in the census or other records by that name, so I simply don’t know. I would think it would be very confusing for everyone involved, but it’s certainly not unheard of.

Catherine’s youngest two children who were missing in 1678, Andree Savoie and Marie Savoie, and Marie, who is also missing in 1686, were living someplace, with someone, in the Port Royal area because they married there and are found living there later.

The older daughter, Marie, found her way to Louisbourg and died there sometime after she was widowed in 1700 and before 1724.

Only the youngest daughter, Marie Savoie, made her way to the northern settlements shortly after her marriage.

Catherine’s youngest children could potentially have lived long enough to witness and be unwilling participants in the horrific 1755 Expulsion, but they did not.

Catherine’s grandchildren, however, were another matter, and many were ensnared in the Grand Dérangement, also called the expulsion, exile or deportation. By whatever name, it was a horrific, genocidal unfolding tragedy that began in 1755. No Acadian was untouched, and the trajectory of their lives was forever altered, or ended.

Catherine’s Grandchildren

Catherine had 75 known grandchildren. She assuredly had more, but records were spotty and I am only including the people who can be positively associated with Catherine’s children. I’m not counting the “vacant spaces,” of children who died. There are about 30, and I wish we could preserve their memory by saying their names. 30 is a lot, and I’m sure that’s low given that we lose track of some people.

• We know that 13 of Catherine’s grandchildren died young. Given that Catherine died before 1686, she would have missed most of that pain. But she would also have missed the joy of births, baptisms, and birthdays.
• Three more children died as either late teens or young adults in Port Royal.
• Five died as adults in Port Royal.
• Eight of Catherine’s grandchildren died after childhood elsewhere in Acadia before the expulsion began.
• Twenty-nine of her grandchildren died during or after the expulsion. In other words, they did not die before that horror unfolded, and we know something about them at the time of deportation or even just a glimpse where they surfaced after.
• Seventeen of her grandchildren simply disappear from the records, most shortly prior to or during the deportation. Many of these people perished at the hands of the English on those horrid ships.
• Of those who survived the expulsion, few wound up in the same place, so they were ripped from their families, never knowing their fate. “Survived” is a relative term.

The only grandchild Catherine would have known, that we know of for sure, is that sweet little six-week-old baby that was unnamed in the 1671 census. That baby was eventually named Marie and went on to marry around 1687, eventually having a child she named after her grandmother, Catherine. I wonder if Marie remembered her grandmother.

Of course, depending on when our Catherine LeJeune died, there may have been a few more grandchildren that she was able to welcome into the world. Maybe she helped deliver them, witnessing their first cry. Maybe some were born silent, and never cried. Maybe she comforted her children as they stood in the cemetery together.

In total, 24 of her grandchildren were born before 1686, when we know Catherine was gone.

While these are the very abbreviated snippets of Catherine’s grandchildren, their stories and the Acadian history are fairly universal for all Acadians in Nova Scotia, both pre-and post deportation.

Since Catherine never got to meet most of her grandchildren, and certainly never knew what happened to them after her death sometime between 1671 and 1686, let’s introduce them.

Catherine, Meet Your Grandchildren!!

Catherine, since you never had the opportunity to meet most of your grandchildren, let me introduce you! By the way, you’re my 8 times great-grandmother, so pleased to meet you.

Let’s start with your daughter Francoise’s children. I know you got to hold her firstborn child, rocking her by the fireplace the winter she was born! I bet you were pregnant yourself at the time, expecting your next baby.

Since you couldn’t be there to witness your grandchildren’s lives, I’ve traveled in time to locate them and introduce you to their lives. They lived in very “interesting” times, and we have pictures, memories we can look at, today.

I visited many last year, some that I wasn’t even aware of at the time. Somehow, Catherine, I think your spirit might have been involved, and I know you walked with me.

• Francoise Savoie, Catherine’s eldest child, who married Jean Corporon, had six children before 1678, and nine before 1686 according to the 1671 and 1686 censuses. Catherine might have known at least some of them. Of Francoise’s 15 children, 5 died young, and of those who survived, 9 died in Acadia before the expulsion.

Catherine’s first granddaughter, who was eventually named Marie Corporon, died sometime after 1714 when she was 42, probably in Pisiquid. It’s possible that she survived and was embroiled in the horrendous deportations in 1755, but unlikely given that she would have been about 84 by then.

Cecile Corporon, age 37 died about 1721, and Martin Corporon, about 62, died in 1749, also in beautiful Pisiguit, with its own tidal river that would remind you of your own Rivière du Dauphin in Port Royal.

A second daughter, also named Marie Corporon died young, around 8 years old, after 1686, in Port Royal.

Francois Corporon died between the ages of 9 and 11 in Port Royal, between 1698 and 1700.

Charles Corporon died between the ages of 2 and 7, between 1693 and 1698 in Port Royal.

Ambrose Corporon died between the ages of 2 and 4 between 1698 and 1700 in Port Royal.

Marie-Madeleine Corporon, about 41, died in 1735 in Louisbourg and son Jean Corporon, born about 1677, so about 64, died there in 1741. Francoise Savoie had two sons named Jean.

Jacques Corporon died at about age 25, probably in Port Royal. He is not found in any records after 1700.

Madeleine Corporon, about 81, died about 1753 in Grand Pre. This beautiful tree, located in what was the village outside the church may have been standing when she lived.

Son, Jean Corporon, born around 1692, was caught up in the expulsion when he was about 64, and spent the horrific winter of 1756/1757 at Camp d’Esperance. Some refugees escaped into the woods from there, some were later deported, but many died. Nothing more is known about his fate or that of any family, although Stephen White states that he died in September of 1656 at Port LaJoye.

Marguerite Corporon, born about 1685, was the family wild-child or free spirit. She had four illegitimate children between 1709 and about 1715, and married the presumed father of the youngest child, an Englishman, a decade later in 1725. We don’t know Marguerite’s fate, but I surely would love to know more about her and her life.

Isabelle Corporon died at about age 44 in Port Royal, and Jeanne Corporon died at about 62 in 1735 in the same location.

• Son Germain Savoie who married Marie Breau, another BelleIsle family, about 1678, had 3 children before 1686, so Catherine may have known some of them.

Marie Savoie died at around 6 years old between 1700 and 1701 in Port Royal.

Pierre Savoie died at age 20 in 1710 and is buried at St. Laurent at BelleIsle.

Marguerite Savoie died at the age of 20 months in January 1711 and is buried at St. Laurent at BelleIsle.

Claude Savoie died at about age 20 in 1728 in Port Royal.

Germain’s son, Germain Savoie, disappears from the records after 1749 in Port Royal when he is about 67. He may have been exiled.

Francois Savoie is in Restigouche, where he disappears from the record after his youngest son’s birth in 1734 when he is about 50, but his children fled to Camp d’Esperance during the expulsion.

Marie Savoie was deported to South Carolina in 1755. Many Acadian refugees who arrived there were processed through the “pest house” on Sullivan’s Island, outside Charleston, suggesting they had diseases or were ill.

She was listed in SC on the 1763 census when she was about 24, as a widow, with her son. We don’t know what happened to her or her child after that.

Another daughter, also named Marie Savoie died at 95 in Duxbury, Massachusetts in 1767. Duxbury is generally thought of more in the context of the Pilgrims, but the Acadians and Pilgrims were contemporaries of a sort. By the time Marie Savoy lived here, or Marie Savory as she was buried in 1767, the John Alden house, built about 1700, was already 50-60 years old. Marie assuredly would have seen this home and was probably inside it, even if it might have been in the capacity of a servant.

Ironically, the only cemetery that seems to have been in operation at the time in Duxbury was the Standish Cemetery, which is probably where the Acadian unmarked burials lie. The graveyard was beside the original meeting house, and I have to wonder if our displaced Catholic Acadians attended church, even if it wasn’t their own version of Christianity, because the church of opportunity was better than no church at all.

Jean Savoie was in Chipoudy in 1755 when he was about 64, so probably at Camp d’Esperance in 1756/1757, although there was fierce resistance at Chipoudy. We don’t know what happened to Jean. Chipoudy is now Shepody, New Brunswick.

Paul Savoie removed to Chipoudy in the 1720s but his fate after 1745 when he is 49 is also unknown.

Marie-Magdelaine Savoie lived in Port Royal before the expulsion and died at the Hotel (Hospital) Dieu De Quebec in Quebec City in 1770 at age 76. It’s unknown where she was after the deportation, and before making her way to Quebec.

Charles Savoie and his family left Port Royal on the ship, Experiment, and were exiled to New York in 1755. The trip should have taken about 28 days, arriving in early or mid-January. However, the Experiment encountered a dreadful storm, was blown off course, and ended up in Antigua until May of 1756, when it finally sailed for New York.

After arrival, when Charles was about 56, the family was sent to New Rochelle on the Long Island Sound. At least 30% of the passengers had died during the months-long ordeal.

Marie-Josephe Savoie lived in Beaubassin, seen here in the distance, and died at about 51 in 1757 in Quebec City.

• Marie Savoie who married Jacques Triel about 1676 had 4 children before 1686, so Catherine may have known them.

Marie’s son, Pierre Triel was living on Isle a Descoust on the Isle Royale in 1752, which is in Lake Superior. The Isle a Descoust history tells us that: “The Isle a Descoust is a land area that was chosen for settlement by Monsieur Triel, and was situated on the Isle Royale. Isle Royale, a park in the U.S., is a remote location in Lake Superior, reachable by ferry, private boat, or seaplane. The park is known for its wilderness, with over 99% of the land designated as such.”

Pierre was one hearty man, especially at age 75, given that there are no full-time residents today due to the harsh winter conditions. I have so many questions about this!

Marie-Madelaine Triel died in Louisbourg in 1733 at about age 54. There were several smallpox deaths that year.

Nicolas Triel and Alexis Triel died as late teens or young adults, and Marie Triel died at age 21 in Port Royal after marrying, leaving one child.

• Jeanne Savoie who married Etienne (Estienne) Pellerin about 1675 had two children before 1678 and 5 before 1686. Catherine may have known some of them.

Of Jeanne’s 10 children, one died young, some died in Acadia, and some were caught up in the expulsion.

Pierre Pellerin died after the 1701 census in Port Royal where he is 19.

Madeleine Pellerin married twice, but disappeared after the 1707 census in Port Royal when she was about 41.

Marguerite Pellerin died at about 24 in 1724 in Port Royal, just 8 days after giving birth to a child who survived.

Marie Pellerin disappeared in the records after 1751 when she was about 73, Bernard Pellerin after 1730 when he was about 39, and Jean-Baptiste Pellerin disappeared after 1749 when he was about 64, all in Port Royal, so they may have disappeared during the expulsion.

Anne Pellerin is believed to have been exiled to Connecticut where the ship arrived in January 1756 in the New London harbour. Anne lived with her son and may have died about 1789 in New London at the advanced age of 103.

Jeanne Pellerin died in 1758 in Quebec City and was buried at Notre Dame De Quebec Basilica-Cathedral, but there’s far more to her story. Jeanne was a 67-year-old widow, when, according to Stephen White, she was swept up into an act of resistance:

On 8 December 1755, Jeanne Pellerin, widow of Pierre Surette, and 3 of their daughters were very likely among the people who left Port-Royal aboard the Pembroke, destined for exile in North Carolina. The Acadians on board seized the ship and headed towards the St-John River in New Brunswick. They later moved upriver to Ste-Anne-du-Pays-Bas where they settled for the winter. Afterwards, Jeanne Pellerin and her daughters sought refuge in the city of Québec where Jeanne died during the smallpox epidemic that had developed between November 1757 and February 1758.

Charles Pellerin’s youngest child was born when he was about 56, in 1746 in Port Royal. We don’t find Charles in records thereafter, but all of his children wind up in Quebec and are buried where his sister, Jeanne, is interred. I wonder if they were on the same ship. If Charles survived the deportation, he is most likely there too, but there are no records for him. His wife died in Quebec in 1789 and was buried in the cemetery for Smallpox victims.

Alexandre Pellerin died in Chezzetcook, Nova Scotia in April of 1770, a location where Acadians who eventually returned could provide newly-formed Halifax with lumber and other supplies. Of course, their land had been redistributed, so there was no “returning” to the homes or even the locations they had left.

• Catherine Savoie who married Francois Levron about 1676 had 4 children before 1686. Perhaps her mother, Catherine LeJeune was able to attend her 1676 wedding and was there to welcome at least some of her grandchildren.

Pierre Levron died in January 1725 in Port Royal at about the age of 30, unmarried and working as a domestic for Pierre Godet – a very unusual situation.

Madeleine Levron died at about age 80 in 1752 in Pisiquid.

Marie Levron died in 1727 in Port Royal.

Anne Levron died in 1733 in Louisbourg.

Elizabeth Levron was found on the 1757 census at Medfield, Massachusetts, about 17 miles outside of Boston, and died after August of 1763 when she was about 73. The Vine Lake Cemetery is the old town burying ground, and is where Elizabeth is assuredly buried in an unmarked grave.

Joseph Levron married when he was about 59 in January 1750 in or near Fort Frontenac, Pays d’en Haut, Nouvelle-France, a fur-trading outpost on the St. Lawrence River. Today, the location is Kingston, upriver from Montreal at the mouth of Lake Ontario. We don’t know much about him after that, except that the expulsion did not affect him.

Jean Baptiste Levron was living in Grand Pre by 1737 where his youngest child was born in 1741. Jean-Baptiste was about 49. In March 1756 when his son married at Port LaJoie, Prince Edward Island, Jean Baptiste is noted as deceased.

Jacques Levron died sometime after his youngest child’s birth in 1736, when he was 59, but before February 1746, probably in Port Royal, but we don’t have his death record.

Jeanne Levron, a 57-year-old widow, died in January of 1751 in Port Royal.

Madeleine Levron, born about 1700, was in Chipoudy in 1752 and 1755, so was likely at Camp d’Esperance during the winter of 1756/1757. Nothing more is known.

• Andree Savoie who married Jean Prejean in about 1683 had one child before 1686 that Catherine might have been able to welcome into the world.

Of Andree’s 12 children, other than children who are only represented by spaces between other children, none are known to have died and been buried at Port Royal, although her eldest child, Marie, may be.

Marie Prejean died sometime between November 1753, where she is last mentioned in Port Royal, and November 1758 when her daughter remarried in Quebec and she is noted as deceased. Marie was about 49 in 1753. She was probably lost in the expulsion.

Anne Prejean was married to Michel Boudrot and living in Grand Pre when the men were rounded up in the St. Charles des Mines church.

On 27 October 1755, Michel (about age 70) and Anne (about age 68) were deported to Virginia, but the colony was not accepting Acadians who were considered a financial burden. The governor of Virginia refused to accept ships full of foreign, impoverished prisoners, which is what they were considered.

After allowing the refugees to winter over in port, they were deported again in May 1756 to England, aboard the Virginia Packet carrying 289 Acadians.

They disembarked in Bristol, England in June of 1756 where they were neglected and subjected to poor conditions, causing many deaths from smallpox as a result. They both died between September 1755 and the Smallpox epidemic at the end of September 1756 in Bristol, England. If she was not buried at sea, she was likely buried in a mass grave for Smallpox victims.

Pierre Prejean disappears in the records after 1749 when his wife died in Port Royal. He was about 59.

Jean-Baptiste Prejean was at Chipoudy at 1752 and recorded at Camp d’Esperance in the winter of 1756/1757 when he was about 64, but nothing is known of him after except that he is dead by June 1760 when his daughter married in Ristigouche, New Brunswick.

Francois Prejean married at Port Toulouse on Isle Royal in 1722, Cape Breton Island, when he is about 27, and had several children. He is not well-researched, is also reported on Prince Edward Island, and disappears from the records.

Madeleine Prejean is found in her daughter’s marriage record in 1752 in Port Royal, when she is about 55, but there is no record thereafter. Two of her married daughters were sent to Maryland and Connecticut, respectively, but neither Madeleine nor her husband, Charles Doucet are found.

Joseph Christome Prejean was at Chipoudy in 1755 when he is about 55, so his family was probably at Camp d’Esperance in 1756/1757. Stephen White claims that he died in August of 1756.

Marie Josephe Prejean married Joseph Mius and they had returned to his home region of Pobomcoup by 1735. She was alive in 1747 when her daughter was born, but we don’t know much after that, at least until her husband remarried in Philadelphia on October 10, 1760, after being exiled. She died between the ages of 45 and 58, either in Acadia or possibly Pennsylvania.

Nicolas Prejean was in Port-Toulouse in 1752, and was deported in 1758 on the ship, Queen of Spain, arriving at St. Malo on November 17, 1758.

He lived in St. Malo for some time, remarrying there in January of 1760 in Saint-Servan. I’m not sure if the marriage record refers to the church by that name in Saint Malo, or the village just outside of, and now a part of, St. Malo.

Nicolas Prejean is reported to have died at about age 61 in 1765 in Landivisiau, near Morlaix, Finistere, France, although I surely wonder at the back story because this is more than 175 km from St. Malo, and no place that the Acadians settled.

Charles Prejean was in Port Royal in 1743 when his youngest child was born and probably in 1752 when his eldest was married. The family was exiled to New York 1755, when he was 49, where his widow was found with their 5 children in August of 1763. We don’t know if he died before, during or after the expulsion. However, his widow, Marguerite may have been exiled to Philadelphia by the British in 1756, although she is not on the list. However, she journeyed to the West Indies and settled in Port-au-Prince where she lost three of her sons shortly after their arrival and did not survive long thereafter.

Pierre Prejean died in 1768 at about age 60 and was buried at Notre-Dame-de-Québec.

Today, the remains of the early burials at Notre Dame are held together in the Ossuary.

Honore Prejean and his family was recorded at La Briquerie, on Ile Royale (now Cape Breton) in 1752, listed with his wife and children, including a set of two and a half month old twins, not yet named. He had arrived in 1732, according to the census. The family of twelve was deported in 1758, when he was about 47, aboard the Queen of Spain.

Honoré, his wife, and all ten children died at sea during the crossing to France.

The Roll of the Queen of Spain, which disembarked at Saint-Malo on November 17, 1758, a list created by Louis-Xavier Perez, documents that of the 105 passengers, 66 died at sea and another 9 died shortly after docking. Only 28 survived.

Pregeant, Honoré, died at sea

Brossard, Marie, wife, died at sea

Pregeant, Félicité, daughter, died at sea

Pregeant, Paul, son, died at sea

Pregeant, Madeleine, daughter, died at sea

Pregeant, Cyprien, son, died at sea

Pregeant, Pierre, son, died at sea

Pregeant, Marie Anne, daughter, died at sea

Pregeant, Julien, daughter, died at sea

Pregeant, Félix, son, died at sea

Pregeant, Marguerite, daughter, died at sea

There just aren’t enough crosses for this.

• Marie Savoie who married Gabriel Chiasson about 1688 was living in Minas by 1693 with her husband and two children.

Of Marie’s 11 children, three died young, including her first two children, Michel and Pierre.

Michel Chiasson died when he was about 11 at Minas, a group of Acadian settlements in the Minas Basin.

Pierre Chiasson died when he was between 2 and 8 in Minas.

Another son, also named Pierre, died in 1712 when he was about 11 in Grand Pre.

Jean Baptiste Chiasson died in February 1758, about age 66, on Ile St. Jean, just a few months before the expulsion began from that location. He was one of the lucky ones.

Marie-Josephe Chiasson married in Beaubassin in 1715 and was living with her family on St. Pierre du Nord, Ile St. Jean, Acadia, to the east of the pond of Saint-Pierre, in the 1752 census. She, along with her husband Jacques Quimine and their children were forced aboard one of the infamous “Five English ships” which set sail for France. The ship arrived at Saint Malo on January 23, 1759. Marie, Jacques, and one married child had died during the crossing, in addition to several grandchildren.

Quimine Jacques, 60, died at sea

Chiasson Marie, his wife, died at sea

Quimine Françoise, 23, daughter

More family members died in the days and weeks after arrival.

Some of their children remained in France, some eventually left for Louisiana, and some for French Guiana.

Francois Chiasson was born in Beaubassin and was living with his family at Anse-aux-Sauvages, Isle-Saint-Jean in 1752 when he was about 55. They, too, were deported upon one of the five ships, arriving on January 23, 1759 in Saint Malo.

Francois’s wife died during the passage, but he survived, barely. Francois’s son died just four days after arrival, and Francois died just a few weeks later.

The old hospital, where the critically ill Acadians were taken, and its attached chapel were located just inside the city gates and were demolished long ago.

However, they stood when Francois arrived and would have been where Francois and his son would have been taken as they were carried off the ship and through the St. Thomas or Saint Vincent Gate and around the tower in the walled city.

The hospital stood between the towers, with the adjacent St. Thomas Chapel.

Once inside the city walls, the hospital was attached to the wall between the towers, with the chapel adjacent. That space is a parking lot today that also functions as a communal market.

Today, the Brasserie of the Hotel Chateaubriand stands where Saint-Thomas Chapel once did. The St. Thomas Gate tower can be seen at right, with the Brasserie straight ahead. It was here, as in exactly here, that Francois and his son were taken, and last rites provided for his son.

After passing from this mortal life, the child would have been taken to Saint Saveur, a few blocks away, to be buried, probably in what is this courtyard today.

Normally, about a 10-minute walk, Francois was probably too sick, with whatever the Acadians were dying of on that ship, to attend his son’s burial service.

A few weeks after his son died, Francois would make this final journey himself, hopefully laid to rest beside his child and the rest of his family members, but that wasn’t the end of the trauma and heartache.

Additionally, Francois’s daughter, Anne, and her family were deported as well, losing their youngest child on the ship, and the next youngest about three weeks after arrival.

Francois’s son, Guillaume, who had his 30^th birthday on the death ship, died four months after arrival in Saint Malo.

Francois’s daughter, Francoise was on the death ship too. She had lost two of her three young children at sea, and the third just three weeks after arrival. She joined them in the cemetery shortly thereafter.

Francois’s son, Francois, 19, survived the deportation voyage, but disappears from the records thereafter.

Francois’s son, Georges, 17, survived, as did daughter, Angelique, and son, Paul, as children. I can’t even begin to imagine the grief suffered by these young people, not just for the deaths of their parents and siblings, but also for the destruction of their homes, homelands and other family and community members on those five English death ships. Who would have been left to raise them?

Oh, Catherine, the mortal remains of so many of your family members lie here.

There’s far more history in Saint Malo than one might imagine. It’s not a well-known Acadian location, and I had absolutely no idea of my connection here when I visited. It was just a beautiful French walled city. Not anymore.

I serendipitously stayed here in the Chateaubriand hotel, attached to the restaurant, part of the building where the chapel stood, during my 2024 visit. And no, I have no way of explaining this incredibly providential coincidence. I didn’t put any of these pieces together until after I came home.

Jim is peeking out of the window on our second-floor balcony room.

Jim was ill when we visited St. Malo and ventured out only to eat and do what was necessary. I didn’t feel great, but felt better than he did.

Here, I’ve arrived back with lunch for Jim. I had been walking on the same cobblestones they had trod.

We had a picnic in the room overlooking the courtyard so Jim could rest, having no idea that my family had been very ill in this exact same place 268 years ago.

We discovered that you can call doctors in France and they make “house calls,” or in this case “hotel calls”, but not quickly.

I’m still just aghast that we were literally where Catherine’s grandchildren were hospitalized and died, my first cousins 8 times removed (1C8R). If there was a cemetery adjacent to the chapel, they may have been buried here as well, but Saint Saveur is the only one mentioned today.

Maybe they were trying to get our attention since, after almost 270 years, they finally had a visitor. They weren’t lost after all, if we could just HEAR THEM!!

I hear them now, loud and clear.

Here, I’m standing across from the entrance between St. Thomas Gate and St. Vincent Gate, looking down the street at the white building that was at one point the Saint Thomas Chapel. The hospital either stood to my right, or maybe even where I’m standing.

The white and blue building straight ahead is the restaurant where the priest in the Saint Thomas Chapel would have given last rites to the people in the hospital and carried the children away to be buried. The hotel is the slightly shorted attached building of the same style to the left.

From a different perspective, the city wall and towers at left, with St. Thomas Gate on my immediate left and St. Vincent’s Gate in the distance. The defunct hospital would be where the cars are parked today. The Chateaubriand restaurant and hotel is the white building at right, which was the chapel.

According to FindaGrave, the Acadians who perished after arrival were buried in the now defunct Saint-Saveur de Saint-Malo/Hotel-Dieu Cemetery. FindaGrave shows 208 memorials and states:

Chapelle Saint-Sauveur de Saint-Malo was built on the site of the former chapel of the Hôtel-Dieu. It was built between 1738 and 1744. The Hôtel-Dieu was a medieval hospital, founded in 1253, which was rebuilt in 1674. The Hôtel-Dieu had been on the same spot for hundreds of years but was destroyed by bombs in World War II. Nothing remains of the Hôtel-Dieu or the cemetery today other than the church, which was burned down in 1944 and restored in 1974. The church is now a museum and is located within the ancient city walls, of the original part of the city.

This horrific rolling tragedy of compounded grief took a toll on the living, the survivors, as well as those who perished during the forced crossing of the “5 English ships.”

Let’s take a deep breath and get back to the rest of Catherine’s grandchildren.

Abraham Chiasson was living at Menoudie when his farm was burned in 1750.

He sought protection at Fort Beausejour, above, and is found in Aulac in both 1752 and 1755.

His family records are held in Fort Beausejour’s church record books.

In 1755 after the seizure of the isthmus of Chignecto by Monckton, Abraham is among the Acadian men lured to Fort Beauséjour and imprisoned. He was deported with his family to South Carolina.

The Acadians were forced aboard the Cornwallis on August 11^th, but didn’t sail until October 13th, with 417 passengers, or maybe hostages is a better word. The ship arrived about 5 weeks later, mid-November, with only 207 survivors. We find no records for Abraham, and he is not in the August 1763 Acadian census in South Carolina, so he is assuredly deceased by then, but some of his children eventually made it to Louisiana and Quebec.

Francoise Chiasson was born in Beaubassin and lived on Ile St. Jean, now Prince Edward Island, before being herded onto one of the five English death ships.

Francoise and her family arrived in St. Malo on January 23, 1759, surviving a brutal winter crossing, but many of her children and grandchildren did not, perishing either during the crossing or soon after arrival.

They must have dug graves every day at Saint Servan, and the cemetery was very clearly quite large.

She died in St. Malo sometime after her arrival and before October 1769. She walked these cobblestones by the walled city’s St. Thomas Gate throughout the remainder of her life.

She may have worshipped at St. Vincent’s Cathedral or at Saint-Servan where her family members were buried. The two churches were only three or four blocks apart.

Anne-Marie Chiasson married at Beaubassin and lived at St-Pierre du Nord.

Details are very sketchy, but Anne-Marie was likely transported to France, arriving at St. Malo like the rest of her siblings that lived in the same location. One record shows her son in St. Malo and one record places her burial at L’Assomption in Canada. Records conflict, and she needs more research.

Marguerite Chiasson and her family had already removed to Quebec between 1734 and 1737, which saved them from the deportation.

Marguerite died in the village of Montmagny, Quebec, on the St. Lawrence River, in 1780. She would have worshiped at Saint-Thomas-de-la-Pointe-à-la-Caille and been buried in the adjacent cemetery.

Judith Chiasson was living at Havre La Fortune, now Fortune Bay, Isle St. Jean, Acadia in 1752.

Late in 1758, Judith and her family were deported from Ile Saint-Jean aboard the ship,  Violet. She, along with her husband, Pierre Le Prieur and her four youngest children died on December 13, 1758 when the horribly overcrowded Violet sank in the icy Atlantic during the crossing to France.

I can’t even begin to imagine their terror. I pray it was quick and while they were sleeping.

God rest their souls.

Catherine, I’m sorry, but know that your grandchildren may have been dispersed, but they also seeded thousands of descendants across the world today.

Let’s look at where they landed, were planted and took root. Many thrived and Catherine, in the next four generations, you have more than 16,115 descendants.

Your children and grandchildren would have made you proud. They were tenacious and look at us now – all thanks to you back in Acadia!!

Seeds Across the World

Strap yourself in, because we’re going on a quick flight around the world of Catherine’s 75 grandchildren in the places where I could find them. This “should be” a complete list – but we know it’s not because in each generatoin, we lost track of some people. I tried to find at least one photo for each location.

Let’s start in Port Royal which is beautiful no matter where you are along the meandering river. .

Catherine’s grandchildren were scattered widely. The ones who remained at Port Royal, which was renamed Annapolis Royal in 1710, would have been buried at either the Garrison Cemetery in Port Royal, or at the Mass House, St. Laurent, at BelleIsle, much closer to where they lived.

At least 21 of Catherine’s grandchildren rest in a cemetrey at Port Royal or along the river.

At least three of Catherine’s grandchildren are buried at St. Laurent, or where St. Laurent used to be before it was destroyed. St. Laurent was clearly the home church and cemetery of the Savoie/LeJeune family.

I suspect the majority of family members who died in the area and whose deaths are recorded in the Port Royal church’s parish records are buried at St. Laurent, especially after the cemetery at Port Royal came under English control. The Catholic church in Port Royal was burned multiple times by the English.

Of the rest of Catherine’s grandchildren, we know that at least 29 were caught up in the Expulsion, because we have at least some information about them afterwards, noted in the records above, as slim as it might be.

We find them planted in both North America and Europe once again.

In 1754, the Acadian peninsula was unquestionably held by England, and the English wanted the Acadians, who still refused to pledge allegiance to the British Crown, removed so that the much more manageable English settlers from New England could take their places and farm the fertile land.

Four years later, when the English settlers arrived, they reporting finding piles of the unfortunate Acadian’s belongings stacked on and along the wharf where they were forced to abandon them before boarding the death ships.

It’s was incredibly painful to walk here last year and realize I was standing and walking where the lives of my Ancadian ancestors were destroyed. In this very place. So deceptively beautiful if you don’t know what happened here.

Today’s beauty belies the trauma that remains on this land. If you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear the soldiers boots and prodding, the shoes on the wooden planks, and the tears, screams, and begging of the captives as they walked this wharf.

My heart ached as I absorbed what that actually meant to them, to their lives, an unknown future over which they had no control or imput, to their descendants, and ultimately, to me.

On July 28, 1755, the decision was made and removal orders were issued. The English began to round the Acadians up, strip them of anything valuable, and force them onto cruelly and dangerously overcrowded ships.

In Port Royal, the dreaded English ships arrived in the frigid middle of winter. Winter crossings were horribly brutal and not normally attempted due to the high risk and rough seas involved. The English certainly didn’t care about any of that.

On December 7, 1755, 1664 Acadians who lived at and above Annapolis Royal along the river were herded onto seven ships from Queen’s Wharf.

As the sun set, the Acadians would never set eyes on their beloved Acadia again.

Those human cargo ships set sail at 5 AM the following morning, hours before dawn, for different destinations, far from home, purposely separating families forever.

The “point” wasn’t just to take their land, but to destroy them so that the few who escaped or survived would be so scattered, weakened and beaten that they could never resist or fight again. This was fully intended to the a one-way trip of no return – one way or another.

At Port Royal, this wharf is where the Acadians brought what they could carry, only to be told to leave everything on the dock, as they were forced beneath the decks into squalid quarters. Many would never emerge on the other side – wherever that happened to be.

Thousands of Acadians were buried at sea, including at least three of Catherine’s grandchildren and their families. There were probably several more, but we have no records. Many simply disappear about this time.

The Acadians were intentionally separated and sent to different colonies and locations.

Acadians had been populating the various parts of Acadia, now Nova Scotia, and the neighboring French regions for more than a century. Some lived their entire lives and died in Acadia, some perished during the deportation, many in locations far from their homes and homeland that had been destroyed. Their farms were often burned in front of them so they knew there was nothing to return to – should they decide to try.

Some locations where Catherine’s grandchildren died are known, both before and after the Grand Derangement, the Expulsion of the Acadians.

Let’s take a look at the known locations where several of Catherine’s grandchildren lived to catch a glimpse of their lives.

• Grand Pre, an offshoot settlement from Port Royal, was a thriving Acadian village and settlement area for 75 years before the deportation began. Prior to the expulsion, burials took place in this cemetery. All graves are unmarked now.

At least four of Catherine’s grandchildren lived and were deported from here.

Nearly one-third of the Acadian deportations took place in Grand Pre where the men were lured to the church and held captive in order to control and ensure compliance of the families.

The deportation orders were read to the unsuspecting men.

The families gathered outside the church with their few belongings, while their homesteads and farms were burned.

During the expulsion at Grand Pre, the Acadians boarded ships at Horton Landing, now marked with a cross honoring their sacrifices.

Then the English moved on with more empty ships to each Acadian community, subjecting the residents to the same.

• The English found two of Catherine’s grandchildren at the Minas settlements, also known as Les Mines, based on the mines found there.

• Beaubassin sheltered many Acadian families. Catherine’s granchildren found there, but with no further records, are presumed to have been forced to board ships for Saint Malo. Their fate is unknown. .

• Fort Beausejour, across the river from Beaubassin, is the same. Many Acadians sheltered there, hoping for safety that was not to be found.

• Many Acadian families settled on Ile St. Jean, present-day Prince Edward Island. Several of Catherine’s grandchildren lived and were exiled from here.

• Catherine’s grandchildren were living in Pointe du Nord, Havre La Fortune and Pointe La Joye on Ile St. Jean.

• Pisiquit, now Truro, was the home to a settlement of Acadian families before deportation. At least four of Catherine’s grandchildren were deported from here. The tidal river at Pisiquid was similar to the one at Port Royal, so the Acadians were very familiar with the necessary farming techniques.

• Camp d’Esperance – Esperance is French for hope, but I have to tell you, Camp d’Esperance was a pretty hopeless place. The camp on an island near the Mirimichi River was established as a refuge for Acadians during the winter of 1756/1757, now Beaubears island, by Charles Deschamps de Boishébert et de Raffetot, a resistance leader attempting to provide shelter for Acadians trying to escape the expulsion. At its height, the camp sheltered 900+ refugees, more than 200 of whom died there.

Two of Catherine’s grandchildren are on the list of residents during the winter of 1756/1757, and at least three more are presumed to have been here based on their residence in Chipoudy and settlements where people who made it safely to Camp d’Esperance came from.

One grandson is presumed to have been at Camp d’Esperance, but may have escaped because his daughter married at Restigouche a few years later. Arriving safely at Camp d’Esperance might have been a relief, but it was deceptive because great suffering awaited those who took shelter there.

Thousands of desperate Acadians starved and died of Smallpox here and at a companion camp a few miles upriver.

• Duxbury and other towns in Massachusetts housed some family members
• Several descendants made it to Quebec City. The death of one of Catherine’s grandchildren is recorded in the Hospital Hotel-Dieu de Quebec register in 1770.

• Another at Notre-Dame-de-Quebec in 1757. The death may have been due to the smallpox epidemic. Burial of smallpox victims might have been in the nearby “cimetière des picotés” instead of the parish cemetery, which would have been by the church. Another grandchild died here the following year, in 1758, and was buried in the Small Pox cemetery.

• Quebec – at least four grandchildren either sought refuge in Quebec City or found their way back to French Canada after 1763.

The sight of Quebec, a French City on the hill would have been a welcome sight for sore eyes. Some Acadians escaped directly to Quebec, and others followed from their deportation location in the colonies after the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1763.

A fifth grandchild died at Montmagny, Quebec, along the St. Lawrence River.

Additionally, one grandson married at Fort Frontenac, at the mouth of Lake Ontario, and another in the far reaches of Lake Superior, on Isle Royal. We know very little about the men who lived and died in these locations.

• New Rochelle, New York, on Long Island Sound, was home to some of Catherine’s grandchildren. Ironically, New Rochelle was established in 1755 by French Huguenots, who were Protestant, not Catholic, from La Rochelle in France, home to so many of the original Acadians. Still, even though the two factions had fought over religion in the past, the French language or vibe must have felt good to these poor Acadian refugees. The bay probably felt familiar and fueled their desire to escape and make their way back to their beloved Acadia.

• Louisbourg – three grandchildren lived in this busy, fortified port town before the deportation.

The establishment of Louisbourg in 1713 as a French “town” fueled French settlement and trade, and invited Acadians to move there after the English took Acadia in 1710. Fort Louisbourg fell to the English in 1758.

Catherine’s grandchildren are buried here, in the Louisbourg town cemetery, in unmarked graves. Some probably died in the Smallpox epidemic.

• New London, Connecticut gave refuge to at least one of Catherine’s grandchildren.
• One grandchild returned to Chezzetcook, near Halifax, Nova Scotia, after the Treaty of Paris in 1763, joining several Acadian families in a settlement there.
• One grandchild lived in Medfield, Massachusetts, possibly as an indentured servant.

• At least one fmily found themselves deported for a second time, in 1756, from Virginia to Bristol, England, where many died of Smallpox before being deported a third time to France in 1763.

• Several families lived in Chipoudy, now Hopewell Hill, in New Brunswick on the Bay of Fundy, known for its shoreline rock formations. Many families fought and escaped from this location. Many also disappeared from there.
• Ile Royal – many families settled in numerous locations here, now Cape Breton Island. The mountains here strongly resemble Scotland and the shores are rocky.

• One man is reported to have died in Landivisiau, near Morlaix, France. While this drawing is from 70 years or so after he lived there, the local markets probably weren’t a lot different.

• Port-au-Prince, West Indies – the location of immense suffering and death. One grandson’s wife and children perished here.

• Philadelphia or NY. This New York harbor scene would have greeted Catherine’s grandchildren whose destiny awaited them there after a horrific nine-month journey. They were blown off course by a hurricane and arrived after having been stranded in the Caribbean. More than half the passengers perished.
• Death and burial at sea for an entire family of 12, including their 10 children

• Many Acadians were found at Port La Joye, Ile St. Jean in 1756 during the expulsion
• One of Catherine’s granddaughters died at sea in 1759 with her husband, child, and relatives, on the way to France during the expulsion

• One grandson died in Saint Malo after arrival in France, along with his son, 4 days later, and other family members in the next few weeks. His wife had died and was buried at sea.

• Two more of Catherine’s grandchildren died in St. Malo.
• Two died someplace in South Carolina.

• In 1758, every soul on board the Violet perished when the ship sank with Catherine’s granddaughter and her husband and 4 children.

And, then there are the grandchildren who we know lived to adulthood and had children – but simply disappear with no death or other records. Those 13 or 14 people likely perished during the genocidal deportation – buried who knows where – if they were buried at all. Many would have had family members who perished with them.

Many simply disappeared from the records. No burials, which means they died in unknown circumstances, in an unknown location, either during or after the deportation. Some succumbed to illness aboard terribly overcrowded ships. Some died when ships sank. Others suffered terribly and died after being blown off course, winding up in distant locations in the Caribbean, consumed by disease and sickness. Some ships carried so many sick people that they were banished from unloading their human cargo, or their few belongings. Everything was burned on the shoreline to prevent contagion, even if the disease they were dying from was due to lack of clean water or starvation.

I see and feel their terror in my nightmares.

A heart on the beach at Saint Malo speaks to the loss both before and after arriving on these shores.

They remain in our hearts, and we carry part of them in us, today.

Their DNA.

Their resilance.

Their courage.

There just aren’t enough crosses for this generational trauma.

Bless them all.

They were not silenced. Their powerful legacy of bravery is still here. Their voices, across time, spill rise up, ring out, and speak the message that history tried to silence.

They did not destroy us.

We are here.

May their souls rest in peace, and may humans never be so hate-filled, greedy and cruel again.

Indeed, some did give all.

Memorial Day, according to the US Department of Defense, honors those who gave the ultimate sacrifice – that of their lives.

It’s a day of mourning, and also a day of honoring those who have fallen. Some in battle, and some as a result of their service.

Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell

Jim and I took an unplanned trip to the Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell to visit the grave of his uncle. I didn’t realize this National Cemetery even existed, and Jim didn’t realize that’s where his uncle was buried.

We shed a lot of tears. To be clear, Uncle Joe served twice, but did not die in the line of duty. However, others in the family have. We celebrate them, today, too, even though we can’t visit their graves.

The Bushnell National Cemetery is beautiful and wonderfully maintained, laid out in military precision, with identical markers for everyone.

I didn’t expect the cemetery to be so large. There are more than 204,000 burials, arranged in sections, and space is still available.

I’m very grateful for whoever posted the GPS coordinates for Jim’s uncle, Joseph Bister, on FindaGrave, or we would never have found him.

The cemetery is a sea of markers. Each one honoring a veteran or their spouse who is eligible for burial.

Where is Uncle Joe?

We found the section and started our search.

Jim located the marker about half way back.

Jim placed his penny, signifying that someone has visited.

Uncle Joe’s marker. He served his country in two wars.

Plastic tubs holding small flags were being strategically placed in front of each section. Before Monday, each grave will receive a flag to honor their service and sacrifice. Every soldier sacrifices.

We decided to go ahead and place Uncle Joe’s flag.

A kind visitor took a photo of us, then I left Jim to have a few private minutes with his uncle. I suspect they had some catching up to do.

Gold Star Memorial

As we were driving through the beautiful, peaceful cemetery, observing several families visiting their loved ones, I noticed something near the exit. Of course, I had to pull over and take a look.

I was not expecting a Gold Star Memorial, although I’m incredibly glad to see it.

As you probably recall, I’m the representative family member for Robert Vernon Estes, a POW who died a torturous death in a horrific POW camp in North Korea. I’m also his namesake.

Robbie is my uncle’s son, and I still pray that one day his remains will be repatriated, identified through DNA, and that I can lay him to rest at Arlington where he deserves to be.

There’s so much raw emotion for me here. Especially combined with the knowledge of my father’s service, and that my mother’s fiancé, Frank Sadowski, was killed in Okinawa on Tombstone Ridge.

“…and those they left behind…”

My God, I’m sobbing.

The back is beautifully carved as well.

Words fail me.

In our culture, the eagle is a majestic bird that signifies strength, power, courage, wisdom, and yes, freedom.

The eagle reaches between the worlds, a soaring messenger between the earthly and the spiritual. The eagle comes to get you and transports you to the next world when your time here is finished.

I’m not leaving you, Robbie. Not until you come home or I join you, rising on the eagle’s back.

Vietnam Memorial

Nearby stood another monument, honoring those who served in Vietnam.

I thought I was out of tears, but clearly, I wasn’t.

“…wounds, seen and unseen…”

No truer words could be spoken. Or in this case, carved in granite, and in the hearts of those who suffered along with those whose lives were destroyed.

Perhaps one day I will be able to write and share with you about the husband I lost to Vietnam, and his incredibly torturous journey – but today is not that day.

Today, I will simply leave you with a final photo of Jim, a small spec behind the flag, kneeling at Uncle Joe’s marker.

Francois Savoie (c1621-1679/1686) (Scavois, Savoye, Savois) was born about 1621, someplace in France. The location is uncertain, but if he lived in the area where other Acadians lived, he would have been found in the Martaize region, near Loudon in the Seigneury d’Aulnay. Charles Menou d’Aulnay, whom we’ll meet in a little bit, recruited many of the Acadian settlers from his mother’s seigneury. His mother was Nicole Jousserand. She married René Menou who signed an agreement wherein he relinquished any interest in her holdings.

There have been and continue to be unsubstantiated rumors about Francois Savoie being the illegitimate son of Prince Tomaso Francesco di Saviua-Carignano who was born in 1596 in Torino, Italy. Supposedly, Francois Savoie, an Acadian living in Nova Scotia, in a death-bed confession, named Prince Tomaso as his father.

Evidence, You Say? You Want Evidence?

Ok, let’s look at what evidence we have.

My friend, Maree, located one baptism for a Francois Savoie in the parish of St. Remi in Troyes, Aube, France on March 28, 1620. That’s the right timeframe. Other records from this parish for Savoye and Savois are reported between 1610 and 1620 in this parish register. In later years, there is nothing else for Francois.

While, at first glance, this is exciting, there’s a very large fly in the ointment.

Troyes is about 400 km or 250 miles away from the regions in which the Acadian families are known to have originated. Specifically, d’Aulnay’s mother’s seigneury was at Loudun, and most of the Acadian families were from someplace in the red oval. Martaize, La Chaussee, someplace in the Poitou, or from near La Rochelle. Furthermore, Troyes is not located near the coast, so certainly not convenient or attractive for a young man to set sail for New France.

I shared my exasperation with Cousin Mark, who is a prodigious researcher and can ferret out incredibly obscure records.

From Cousin Mark:

One note about François Savoie: there is considerable garbage on Ancestry and elsewhere about his supposed illegitimate birth to a prince of the House of Savoy. Some have portrayed François as the son of Thomas François de Savoie, or more properly Tommaso Francesco di Savoia, as he was in truth Italian, not French, born 1596 in Turin which is in the Piedmont region of Italy. He married into the French Bourbon family in 1625 and later moved to Paris, but not until after fighting France in several wars. No one has yet explained how this Italian prince could be sowing his wild oats in Martaizé or somewhere nearby in the Loudunais in about 1621 and yet not hang around for the child to be given his noble name.

Expanding on what Mark said, we know that Tommaso Francesco of Savoy-Carignano was known as such because in 1620, he was officially granted the newly created title Prince of Carignano, establishing the House of Savoy-Carignano, a cadet branch of the ruling House of Savoy.

Tommaso Francesco di Savoia was born in Turin, Italy, which was part of the Duché de Savoie at that point in time. The terriroty extended into Switzerland and the far eastern portion of France. Today, the mountainous southeastern French Department of Savoie, which borders Italy, remains, and so does a Swiss county by that name.

It’s about 500 miles through mountainous terrain from Savoie, outlined with the red dashes, to the Poitou region of France. I found no historical record of any connection between Tommaso Francesco di Savoia and western France. His family’s holdings were in the Turin region.

It’s natural for Savoie researchers to connect the dots because of the name – but that doesn’t mean that connection is accurate. Even if there is a connection, it would more likely be due to the region of Savoy rather than to Tommaso Francesco di Savoia himself. However, based on the distance and terrain involved, even that is unlikely. Peasants didn’t have the resources to just pick up, leave, and move to another area.

Back to Mark:

Indeed, Savoie is a common toponymic name in France. I found over 40 François Savoies listed in the 1610-1630 time period at Filae.com, and that’s just from the records that exist and have been located by the various genealogical societies in several regions that do not include Paris as those records went up in flames during one of their periodic revolutions. There must be hundreds more births by that name in that period of time. Our François Savoie was a peasant, “laboureur”, not a nobleman. I wish I could find his baptismal record; I’ve looked, but 1621 is a problematic year for Loudunais records.

Some people show Martaizé or La Chaussée, but no one knows where either François or the Lejeune sisters were born, and White does not hazard a guess.

White, referenced by Mark, is Stephen A. White, retired Acadian historian and researcher.

In 1634, Nicole Jousserand drew up a tax list of the families who lived in her seigneury.

The original document is held at the French Archives:

AVEU AU ROI de NICOLE DE JOUSSERAND, DAME D’AULNAY de ses terres affermées à Martaizé – 1634 – aux Archives Départementales d’Indre et Loire (Série C, Liasse 601)

If someone can actually retrieve this document, the original may be clearer than the decades-old old poor, partial copy that I found.

Nicole began the document with:

To the King, my Sovereign Lord,

I, Nicole de Jousserand, wife and spouse of Messire René de Menou, Knight, Seigneur of Charnizé, having no community of property with him, authorized by justice to pursue my rights, daughter and heir of the late Messire René de Jousserand, during his life Seigneur of Londigny, Angliers, Aulnay, Triou, and the fief of Beaulieu (also called Rallette) previously held by the Arnaudeaux in the parish of Martaizé and surrounding areas, and of Dame Renée Robin, my father and mother, residing in the town of Loudun, declare I hold and claim to hold from your castle of Loudun, when applicable, the following items in grain and monetary rents with the inheritances listed below.

Nicole then listed, by small areas, probably farms, the residents and how much wheat and rent they owed. I will publish this entire document separately, but the interesting aspect for the Savoie research is one name in a specific entry, which might or might not be relevant.

d’Aulnay Basserue in Martaize taxes:
1.5 boisseaux of wheat, 2 deniers rent due by:

• • Guy Barrault
  • Jean Savarri on behalf of his wife Michelle Baraut

Owed for a house, courtyard, and garden—all held together as one property—situated in the village of Martaizé, in the area known as la Basserue.

Bounded by:

• • One part: the holdings of Louis Guerin and the heirs of Jean Godet
  • Another: the widow of Izaac Bricault
  • Another: land of Gaspar Montiller
  • Another: land of Gaspard Constance and René Fouscher
  • One end: the land of René Girard
  • Another end: the land of René Theuilleau

As you know, spellings were not standardized in early records, but it appears that perhaps Guy Barrault and Michelle Baraut could be siblings, with interest in land farmed by their parents. Bricault could also be a derivative of that surname.

Remember, Nicole owned the land – the people who lived there could never own the land. It was a feudal system, and while the farm families lived on the same land for generations, they always paid rent.

If you’re excited because you recognize other familiar Acadian names as neighbors, such as Guerin, Godet, and Girard (Girouard), I am too.

Unfortunately, I only have part of the actual original document, plus a document, in French that was transcribed from the presumably complete original a long time ago. The page with Jean Savarri on it is not included in the copy of the original that I have.

Could this be our Savoie family, living among the rest of the Acadians? It’s certainly possible. It’s unfortunate that there is so much record loss in France.

I will discuss the Y-DNA results of Francois Savoie later in a separate article, but suffice it to say that there is no evidence, not one shred, that the death-bed confession ever happened, or that Francois Savoie is the offspring of the House of Savoia, or that there is any surname connection to Italy.

And trust me, I will be the absolute first to write about it when and if there’s even a hint that this might be true.

For now, the origin of our Francois Savoie or Savoye remain unknown.

History

Let’s look at the historical events that led up to Francois’s arrival in Acadia. There’s a lot to unpack here!

Let’s start with my visit to the Fort Point Museum in present-day Nova Scotia.

The museum is located on the site of the original Fort Sainte-Marie-de-Grâce, where the first Acadian settlement was established.

In 1632, France received Acadia in the Treaty Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and Isaac de Razilly, a Knight of Malta, brought 300 elite men and three monks to establish a trading outpost at La Hève, now LaHave, in present-day Nova Scotia, along with maybe 12 or 15 families.

We don’t have the names of those men, but Francoise Savoie, at 11, was a mere boy and would not have been traveling alone.

Razilly died in 1635 and was buried at La Have. The location of his grave is unknown, but a marker honors his remains in the fort graveyard where he was assuredly buried.

The King appointed Razilly’s brother, Claude, as the new governor of Acadia, who appointed his cousin, Charles Menou d’Aulnay as his lieutenant to actually run Acadia. D’Aulnay had been actively working in Acadia with Isaac de Razilly since 1632 and was familiar with the culture, terrain and what needed to be done to accomplish the settlement and trade goals.

D’Aulnay moved the existing colonists to Port Royal around 1636 and built a new fort in what is now Port Royal by 1643. He also sent for another 20 additional families, although we don’t know who they were.

Now we’re up to maybe 32-35 families.

By 1636, Francois Savoie would have been 15, still far too young to marry. Unless Francois arrived as an orphan laborer, or with his family, he probably didn’t leave France until he was at least 20 or 21, or older, and then likely with a contract, as most of the men who sailed from La Rochelle had.

Francoise wouldn’t have been 21 until 1642ish.

Acadian Civil War

Two opposing forces were dueling for control of Acadia, Razilly with Charles Menou d’Aulnay on one side, and Charles La Tour on the other. Both men held a similar commission for different portions of Acadia.

In 1640, La Tour attacked Port Royal, followed by d’Aulnay blockading La Tour’s fort at the mouth of the St. John River for five months.

Their arguments and naval battles escalated in 1641 and 1642, and the English, seeing an opportunity as well, became involved.

In 1642, Razilly’s brother, by then the owner of Port Royal, La Heve and Ile de Sable, sold his interest in the fledgling Acadia to Charles Menou d’Aulnay.

In May of 1642, d’Aulnay signed agreements with La Rochelle merchant-banker, Emmanuel Le Borgne to supply him with a ship and to finance the colony. He promptly moved the seat of Acadia from La Hève, now LaHave, to Port Royal.

In 1645, La Tour was absent from his fort, located across the bay at the mouth of the St. John River, and d’Aulnay attacked. La Tour’s young wife, Françoise Marie Jacquelin, only 23, directed the defense of the fort. Realizing it was a lost cause, she accepted terms of surrender that promised life and liberty to La Tour’s garrison. She agreed, but d’Aulnay immediately broke his promise and hanged every soldier of the garrison, forcing Madame La Tour to witness their executions with a rope tied around her own neck. She died three weeks later of unknown causes, with Charles La Tour having taken refuge in Quebec.

If anyone was a heroine in this tale, it’s Françoise Marie Jacquelin aka Madame La Tour.

With La Tour out of the way, having been defeated and now in Quebec, d’Aulnay received a commission in 1647 and was appointed both Governor and Lieutenant-General of Acadia.

By now, Francois Savoie would have been about 25 or 26, and was likely in Acadia. It’s probable that he arrived with d’Aulnay in 1642 with his new ship and a crew of workers.

In 1650, d’Aulnay drowned in a boating accident, falling into the frigid waters of Port Royal basin, and La Tour immediately leaped at this opportunity to seize control of Acadia.

Are you sitting down?

In 1653, Charles La Tour married d’Aulnay’s widow, Jeanne Motin, in order to bring peace to Acadia and end the years of warfare.

I bet both Madame La Tour, who had died defending her husband’s fort from d’Aulnay, and d’Aulnay who drowned hating La Tour, rolled over in their respective graves! Yet, for Acadia, this is probably exactly what was needed. The infighting between warring French factions was not sustainable and threatened the very existence of Acadia.

The Acadian families had to be very relieved to finally have peace and not be constantly on edge, expecting an attack at any moment.

The Early Years

For Francois Savoie, the years before his marriage are murky.

• In 1636, when the Acadia families were moved from La Have to Port Royal, Francois would have been about 15.
• In 1642, when d’Aulnay was known to bring many settlers, families and workers, and moved the seat of Acadia to Port Royal, Francois would have been about 21.
• In 1645, when La Tour fled to Quebec, Francois would have been about 24.
• In 1650, when d’Aulnay died, Francois would have been about 29.

Based upon the 1671 census, we know that Francois was married to Catherine LeJeune by 1651 or 1652, given that they had a daughter born in 1653. Of course, it’s possible that they were married earlier, and any children born before 1653 perished.

Catherine was born about 1633, so marriage about 1650 or 1651 is reasonable. Acadian brides often married early, so she could have married as early as 1648 or 1649.

The couple likely married in Port Royal, although it’s remotely possible that they married in France. That’s improbable, though, because Catherine LeJeune had a sister in Acadia and possibly a brother who had definitive ties to La Heve. The most likely scenario is that both LeJeune sisters arrived with their parents in Acadia before 1636 when the Acadian families were moved to Port Royal, and married French men who arrived either as craftsmen, laborers, or soldiers.

The original employment contracts, typically signed in La Rochelle before embarking, lasted for three years, and the man could not marry until his contractual obligation was fulfilled. If Francois arrived in 1646 or 1647, and completed his contract, he would have been free to marry in 1649 or 1650.

These puzzle pieces fit.

Windows of Opportunity

This brings us to windows of opportunity.

French families didn’t have the opportunity to settle in Acadia for the entire time between 1632, when the first French families arrived, and 1755, when the Grande Derangement, the horrible expulsion, occurred.

For the first few years, from 1632 to about 1635, the seat of Acadia was at La Heve. In 1635 or 1636, d’Aulnay moved it to Port Royal where the settlers began building their signature dykes to reclaim the salt marshes along the Riviere Dauphin.

For the next few years, d’Aulnay and Charles de la Tour battled for control of Acadia.

We get a small hint at the size of Port Royal based on La Tour’s 1643 attack wherein he chased d’Aulnay back to Port Royal. Three of d’Aulnay’s men were killed and seven injured. The fort was defended by 20 soldiers. La Tour burned the mill, killed the settlers’ livestock, stole furs, gunpowder, and other supplies.

This may have been before Francois arrived, but we don’t really know.

From 1636 to 1654, French families arrived in Port Royal, as did laborers and soldiers from time to time.

Francois’s wife, Catherine LeJeune, who was born about 1633 was assuredly born in France, so it stands to reason that her parents brought her and her sister, but died before the 1671 census. Catherine’s older sister, Edmee LeJeune, was born about 1624 and married an Acadian man, Francois Gautrot, about 1644. Catherine LeJeune married Francois Savoie before 1650. They were assuredly in Port Royal before 1650, because Gautrot later signed a document attesting to d’Aulnay’s achievements before his death.

By 1650, Francois Savoie was about 30 years old – a traditional marriage age for French males.

We know unquestionably that Francois and Catherine were in Acadia before July of 1654, when the English attacked and retook Acadia.

The English captured both the fort and the town, and the window of opportunity for French settlement closed for the next 16 years.

In 1654, Francois and Catherine had at least one and possibly two children, assuming older children hadn’t died prior to the 1671 census.

Francois, then about 33, would have been defending the fort in Port Royal that fateful day in 1654. While he probably wasn’t a soldier, an attack would have been an “all hands on deck” event.

According to Robert Sedgwick, who led the English soldiers, there were about 130 Frenchmen who put up resistance, as best they could. There were more than twice as many English soldiers, all of whom had more experience.

The French soldiers reportedly “took their heels to ye Fort” where they surrendered on August 16^th. Sedgewick treated the soldiers decently and with honor – paying their wages in pelts, a surprisingly generous gesture, and transported them back to France.

Francois was a married settler with a family, not a soldier, so he stayed in Acadia.

Port Royal was still small with about 270 residents as estimated by Nicolas Denys, a prisoner held at Port Royal who did us the favor of penning this description in 1653:

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

Please note the critically important comment about “All the inhabitants there” having arrived with Razilly. This probably includes the LeJeune sisters’ parents and possibly even Francois Savoie’s parents. If Francois Savoie arrived with his parents and any siblings, there is no record of them having survived.

A league is about 3 nautical miles, which is equivalent to about 3.4 miles. So 3 or 4 leagues would be 10 to 13 miles, but I’m not clear exactly what “ascending” means in this context. Based on what I know about the settlers, I’d guess that it means upstream or above the fort, but some families settled below the fort

There’s a LOT of information packed in here.

Denys also recorded that Robert Sedgewick of Boston had been ordered by Robert Cromwell to attack New Holland (New York). As he got ready, a peace treaty was signed between the English and the Dutch. Since he was “all dressed up with nowhere to go,” he attacked Acadia in August 1654 and destroyed most of the settlements (even though it was peacetime)…including Port Royal, La Have, and the Saint John River.

The Acadian settlers were allowed to remain, retain their land and belongings, and could worship as they saw fit. Sedgwick left the area, but appointed an Acadian council with Guillaume Trahan in charge.

Acadia was now back under English rule and would remain so until being returned, again, to the French in 1667. In 1668, Marillon du Bourg arrived from France, and took physical possession of Acadia.

Bourg’s son became provisional Governor and Lieutenant-General of Acadia, and married the eldest daughter of La Tour and d’Aulnay’s widow. Are you keeping all this straight?

From 1654 until 1670, there was no additional French settlement, and, according to Denys in 1653:

• All the inhabitants…are the ones whome Razille had brought from France to La Have; since that time they have multiplied much at Port Royal
• The residents who were lodged near the fort have, for the most part, abandoned their houses and have gone to settle on the upper part of the river.
• They have made their clearings below and above this great meadow, which belongs at present to Madame de La Tour. (The great meadow is BelleIsle. When Denys wrote this, Madame de La Tour is Jeanne Motin, d’Aulnay’s widow.)
• If Denys was right, and the population was about 270 in 1653, and each family had 5 children, or 7 people total, that would be 38 or 39 families. Fewer children, on average would mean more families, and more children would mean less families.

Founder Families

It was reported that there were 34 families that chose to remain in Acadie after the destruction and capitulation of Port-Royal in 1654. That equals about 8 people per family, which sounds about right based on a relatively low infant mortality rate compared with Europe.

After France regained control of Acadia, another 30 soldiers and 60 settlers arrived between 1668 and 1670. Their orders were to restore French authority and keep the English out.

In 1670, a new governor finally arrived and ordered a census, thankfully! Otherwise, we would have no idea who lived in Acadia. Fortunately, the wives were recorded using their birth surnames, which allows us to begin piecing the families together.

While 1670 seems early, keep in mind that the first families has arrived nearly 40 years earlier, and between 1654 and 1670, there was no new French settlement.

In 1671, Acadia had roughly 67 families and about 400 French/French Acadian people, not counting Native people or French men living among the Native people or the people who refused to answer. By comparison, Massachusetts had about 40,000 residents.

Compared to 1654, Acadia hadn’t grown much. 34 families in 1654 and 67 in 1671 means that the number of families had nearly doubled. If you subtract out the 60 new settlers, assuming that was 30 couples, you have just about the same number of founder families that were there in 1654, which makes perfect sense. Of course, some had died, but others had married and set up housekeeping. Apparently only about one new couple married and was recorded in the census for each household that was “gone” since 1654. I would have expected more.

Francois Savoie and Catherine LeJeune were one of the founder families, living in Port Royal and, as a young married couple, were eyewitnesses to the 1654 depredations.

One way we can identify a founder family is if they:

1. Had married an Acadian surname spouse
2. Who had married siblings or parents who were also in the census
3. Indicating that they had already been living there before 1667/1671

That’s certainly the case with Francois Savoie and Catherine LeJeune.

The first person reported to have been born in Acadia, Mathieu Martin, was born about 1635 or 1636, so anyone born before that was unquestionably born in France. Mathieu was 35 in the 1671 census, although ages in censuses aren’t always accurate.

• Anyone born after 1635 and before 1654 may have been born in Acadia.
• Anyone born between 1654 and 1668 was assuredly born in Acadia…
• Unless their family arrived between 1668 and the 1671 census.

When the residence consists of multiple people from the same family, often we can infer when couples married.

In the spring of 1671, more than 50 new colonists left La Rochelle aboard the ship, l’Oranger, bound for Port Royal. Some French soldiers stayed in Acadia and became settlers, and some settlers arrived from other places in New France (Canada). These new arrivals are found on later censuses.

Caught in the middle between two powers, England and France, the Acadians were often subject to attack. It may be important to note that they maintained trading relations with people in New England, even though it was forbidden. Eighty-five years later, in 1755, long-established family and trade relationships may have helped save some of them.

The 1671 Census

Thankfully, the new French governor requested a census which provides us with the first even somewhat comprehensive view of Acadia, although some areas were missed.

The official census of 1671 recorded 392 people, mostly in and near Port Royal. Scholars estimate the real count was probably someplace around 500. These were divided into 68 households, of which 33 were founder families. I did not include second-generation children who have married in that number, if the parents are living.

In order to do this comparison, I created a spreadsheet that lists, in census order:

• Both spouses
• Their ages in the 1671 census
• Their birth location if it can be determined based on when they were born or what is known about them. For example, anyone born before 1635 or 1636 was unquestionably born in France.
• The number of children
• The calculated marriage year
• Arpents of land under cultivation
• Occupation
• Living location in 1671 if I can figure it out based on many other documents and sources.
• Other commentary
• Founder status – meaning the first families who arrived before 1654
• English/Irish – not French
• 1667-1670 arrivals

This is an example snapshot of the first three families in the 1671 census spreadsheet to give you an idea of what I’m doing.

The neighbors in a census tell us essentially where people live. Of course, the census taker may not have traveled in a “straight line,” and in Acadia was as likely as not to canoe back and forth across the river. I plan to publish this spreadsheet soon, but that’s a challenge because it’s not small and it’s color-coded.

If you just rolled your eyes in exasperation, I FULLY understand.

In 1671, we find the following families listed in this order on either side of Francois Savoie:

• Jehan Blanchard, 60, wife Radegonde Lambert, 42, and family with 5 arpents of land. (Possibly lived in Port Royal beside the Fort in 1671 – land expropriated in 1703-1705 when the new fort was built.)
• Widow of Francois Guerin, 26, and family with 6 arpents of land. (The widow was Anne Blanchard.)
• Michel Dupont (Dupuis), 37, wife Marie Gautrot, 24, and family with 6 arpents of land. (The father of the Gautrot sisters, Francois, had owned a lot beside the fort in Port Royal.)
• Claude Terriau, 34, wife Marie Gautrot, 24, and family with 6 arpents of land (Lives at BelleIsle eventually.)
• Germain Terriau, 25, wife Andree Brun, 25, and child, with 2 arpents of land
• Jehan Terriau, 70, wife Perrine Rau, 60, and family, with 5 arpents of land. (Original founder family at Port Royal, may have still lived there or at BelleIsle.)
• Francois Savoie is listed as Francois Scavois, a farmer (plowman), age 50, with his wife, Catherine LeJeune, age 38. Their children are listed as one married daughter, Francoise, 18, and then unmarried children; Germain, 16, Marie, 14, Jeanne, 13, Catherine, 9, Francois, 8, Barnabe, 5, Andree, 4, and Marie, one and a half. They have 4 cattle and are farming 6 arpents of land. (Son Germain is living in the BelleIsle Marsh by 1707. White says that Francois received land at BelleIsle by 1679. That brackets Francois Savoie’s death between 1679-1686.)
• Jehan Corporon, a farmer, age 25, his wife Francoise Scavois, 18, and one child, a daughter, 6 weeks of age and not yet named. They have one “cattle,” which is probably a cow, 1 sheep, and have no cultivated land. The livestock is probably her dowry. Livestock, location and no land strongly suggests they are living in a separate house on her father’s land, which means it’s probably not in Port Royal where the English have inhabited since 1654.
• Pierre Martin, 70, wife Catherine Vigneau, 68, and family on 2 arpents of land. (An original family, probably living in Port Royal because on August 9, 1679, Alexandre Le Borgne de Bélisle (after whom BelleIsle was named) in the name of Emmanuel Le Borgne Du Coudray, seigneur, for part of Acadia, granted to Pierre Martin and his son Mathieu “a parcel of land and a meadow, near Port-Royal, bounded to the east by the great meadow, to the west by the Dormanchin Brook, to the south by the Dauphin River, and to the north by the mountain”. In 1707, Renee Martin is living near BelleIsle.)
• Francois Pelerin, 35, wife Andree Martin, 30, and family on 1 arpent of land. (The Pellerin family lived at Port Royal near the fort and Hogg Island. Etienne Pellerin owned Hogg Island in Port Royal, having purchased it from Jacques Bourgeois at some point, got swindled out of it by Brouillan in the early 1700s, but eventually got it back.)
• Pierre Morin, 37, wife Marie Martin, 35, and family on 1 arpent of land (Moved to Beaubassin before 1682, possibly as early as 1672 with Jacques Bourgeois.)
• Matthieu Martin, 35, weaver, unmarried with livestock but no land (Reportedly the first child of French parents born in Acadia. His father, Pierre Martin received land in 1679, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t already living on that land in 1671. D’Aulnay had reportedly had BelleIsle dyked.)
• Vincent Brun, 60, wife Renee Brode, and family on 5 arpents of land (Brun family eventually lived on the north side of the River between Port Royal and BelleIsle.)
• Francois Gautrot, 58, wife Edmee LeJeune, 47, and family on 6 arpents of land. (Owned a lot adjoining the side of the fort in Port Royal – expropriated in 1703-1705 for new fort)
• Guillaume Trahan, 60, Madelaine Brun, 25, and family on 5 arpents of land. (Owned a lot adjoining the fort in Port Royal – expropriated in 1703-1705 for new fort)

Where was Francois Savoie Living in 1671?

Cousin Mark directed me to see White’s, “A Closer Look at Some of the Records“, on Lucie LeBlanc Consentino’s site, where White says:

Jean Lejeune was one of the early settlers of Acadia. This is known from the fact that his heirs received one of the early land grants at Port-Royal. This grant is mentioned in the “Schedule of the Seigniorial Rents” that was drawn up in 1734, after the British Crown had purchased the seigneurial rights in that area (Public Record Office, Colonial Office records, series 217, Vol. VII, fol. 90-91). The rents list shows the names of the first grantees of each parcel of land, as well as the names of those who were in possession in 1734. In some cases it is obvious that the latter belonged to the same family as the former, but in the case of the parcel allotted to Jean Lejeune’s heirs it is just as apparent that the tenancy had been sold. No record of the original grant has survived, but there are indications that it had been made early in the colony’s history. It is enrolled along with grants that were made to Barnabé Martin and François Savoie. Both of these men were dead by the time of the 1686 census, so the grants must have been made before then. What’s more, Jean Lejeune had likely been dead for quite some time by 1686, because this grant could have dated back to any time after the retrocession of Acadia to the French in 1670 pursuant to the Treaty of Breda.

Clearly Jean LeJeune was deceased before the 1671 census and this document places both Francois Savoie and Jean LeJeune, probably his father-in-law or maybe brother-in-law together.

We know, beyond a doubt that Francois Savoie’s son, Germain Savoie, born about 1654, lived at BelleIsle because his name appears on multiple censuses and maps between other residents who lived in the village at BelleIsle. We don’t know whether he was born there or later moved there. Germain’s wife was a daughter of Vincent Breau (Brun, Brot, Breaux, Brault, Beraud) whose family also lived along the river and was a near neighbor to Francois Savoie in 1671.

BelleIsle, according to MapAnnapolis, took its name from Alexandre LeBorgne, Sieur de Belle-Isle. He was born at La Rochelle in France in 1643.

Emmanuel LeBorgne, his father, took possession of the estates of Governer d’Aulnay after his death in 1650. This included a large marsh containing more than 1500 acres which then took his name. D’Aulnay had already dyked the marsh. Emmanuel entrusted this land to his son, Alexandre in 1668, when Alexander became governor of the colony.

We don’t know a lot about what happened between 1670 and 1693, although we do know BelleIsle granted some land in 1679 through a deed of concession.

Given that we know that d’Aulnay had the land dyked, it’s inconceivable that it was simply sitting there, going to waste, uncultivated.

How I wish we had a 1671 map!

The 1686 Map

We do have a 1686 map, but its purpose was to show Port Royal in a positive light, where houses are located and “Where a considerabley town can be built.” Homes near Port Royal and on the road south headed out of Port Royal, are included (marked 17 houses, below) in the detailed drawing. I’ve used the legend to label landmarks.

There are 2 houses on Hogg Island, Le Bourg and the Governor’s house, plus 14 or 15 buildings in Port Royal along the waterfront. Some of these structures are assuredly stables and some may be warehouses. The house by the church may well be the Priest’s rectory.

On the 1686 census, taken the year this may was drawn, there are three more men listed with Le Bourg at the beginning on the census that were officers and would have lived in Port Royal.

• Michel Boudro – Lieutenant General of Port Royal
• Philip Mius – Royal Prosecutor
• Claude Petitpas – Clerk of Court

These men would have lived very close to the fort, the center of business.

Based on the seven expropriations in 1701-1705, we know that the lots closest to the fort were where the following families lived or had lived:

• Jehan Blanchard
• Francois Gautrot (husband of Edmee LeJeune)
• Guillaume Trahan
• Michel Boudrot – above
• Jehan LaBat
• Antoine Bellevieu
• Abraham Dugas – armoreur

Additionally, two younger families, based on their occupations and no arpents fo land, would probably have been living very near the fort

• Jean Pitre – edge tool maker
• Pierre Sire (Cyr) – gunmaker

That accounts for almost all of the houses, if not all of them, located along the waterfront.

Other families in 1686 would have lived in the 17 houses that are located up Allain’s Creek, noted as the Cape on the map. You can also see the fields sketched along the Cape Road.

Based on this 1686 map, photographed at the O’Dell House Museum, we know families were living across the Riviere Dauphin from the Fort, and further east on both sides of the river as well.

Based on the 1671 census, there aren’t have enough houses to accommodate all of the families in or near Port Royal, so we know unquestionably that some people were living along the river, even without Denys’s 1653 journal entry saying many families had moved upriver.

The 1686 census shows 95 families, and only a total of 29 or 30 structures in Port Royal, and several of those aren’t for Acadian families. The Governor isn’t included in the census. Therefore, we know that the majority of the Acadian families are living along the river, on the reclaimed marshes. Many had moved there prior to 1654.

It’s not surprising that we’re confused today, trying to figure out who lived where – at BelleIsle or anyplace along the river, and when. Let’s just say that, complicating things further, Alexandre LeBorgne, Sieur de Belle-Isle, wasn’t of the highest repute.

The Dictionary of Canadian Biography tells us that:

A number of reports from governors of Acadia allow us to infer a good deal about Belle-Isle’s conduct and character. Grandfontaine had tried to limit his powers. According to Perrot, Belle-Isle was addicted to wine. When drunk he was capable of granting the same piece of land to several settlers at once, which could not but cause the farmers considerable vexation. Des Friches* de Meneval had gone so far as to put him in prison for a few days in November 1689, because of irregularities of this nature. Joseph Robinau de Villebon wrote in 1699 that former settlers had told him that Belle-Isle had withdrawn from the records all documents which might incriminate him. Finally Villebon was also convinced that Belle-Isle had not fulfilled his seigneurial duty, which was to see to the development of his lands.

Wonderful! Just peachy! Who doesn’t need a scoundrel plot twist!

The Village of BelleIsle

Over time, the village of BelleIsle grew to have around 30 families with a population of around 165 people. The parish of Saint-Laurent was founded here as a chapel of the parish at Port Royal.

Oral history tells us that Pierre Martin planted the first apples in Nova Scotia at BelleIsle.

Mapannapolis, one of my favorite resources, reconstructs the original homes and villages from compiling various documents and records.

 

The village of BelleIsle is shown on early maps, like this one in 1710. We know that BelleIsle is the location of d’Aulnay’s 1500 acre drained swamp. In fact, BelleIsle is one of the area’s most productive farm areas.

Francois Savoie’s Location

So, after all this, you’re probably wondering where Francois Savois was living in 1671.

First, we’ll probably never know for sure, but based on his neighbors, the fact that we know he had land at BelleIsle by 1679, and so did his elderly neighbor, Pierre Martin, I think he was living at BelleIsle and had been since before 1654. Since d’Aulnay originally had it drained, I’m guessing that Francoise may well have been one of those doing the draining, as was Pierre Martin and his sons. Jean LeJeune lived there too, and may have been the father of the LeJeune girls. They probably lived there too.

It’s also worth noting that neither Francois Savoie nor Pierre Martin had land expropriated near the fort, so they probably never settled in Port Royal proper, which makes me suspect that they started out upriver, or settled there very shortly thereafter. Other known BelleIsle families, such as Brun and Godet (Gaudet) also don’t have land near the fort, so the story of these BelleIsle families tracks similarly.

This brings me to the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center and the next chapter in our journey. Visiting the Savoie land.

The BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center

Jennifer and Charlie Thibodeau have breathed life into the Acadian culture and the lives of Acadian ancestors. Our Savoie ancestors, in particular, because the Center sits on Savoie land.

Behind the Center, with its colorful Acadian-theme roof, lies the lush Savoie land, along with the rest of BelleIsle village, between the Center and the Annapolis River.

A few years ago, Charlie and Jennifer Thibodeau purchased a run-down but much-loved “Hall,” which means a small community center, located on Little Brook Lane, just off of Evangeline Trail, the road running east from Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, along the North side of the River.

The Hall had been purchased by a Savoie family member many years earlier to save it, but it needed a LOT of work.

Enter Charlie and Jennifer.

Seriously, this is where they started 5 years ago. Today, their dream, created with their own two hands, is beautiful, homey and welcoming to everyone.

You can see the sweat equity that Charlie and Jennifer have invested to restore the building so they can host and welcome returning Acadian descendants, and steward the Acadian culture and lands. More specifically, and magically, the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center stands on Savoie land and in many ways, is a living history museum.

In August of 2024, I met up with my wonderful cousins Mark and Manny in Annapolis Royal, and we just kind of wandered into the Hall.

When I first pulled up, I didn’t know what to expect.

They were obviously quite busy at the Hall.

Even though they were getting ready to host the Broussard Family Reunion, Charlie and Jennifer immediately made us feel welcome.

I had emailed Charlie, who goes by the Acadian Peasant, and I knew they were going to be busy because the Acadian World Congress, an every-five-year event, was taking place across Nova Scotia while we were visiting. I just didn’t realize HOW busy!

Several families were hosting family reunions for all returning members, even those they had never met before, at the Center.

I saw what I learned was an Acadian oven beside the building, and Charlie was sweating, cooking something in the oven and trying to fix something else at the same time. Seriously!

I later discovered that Charlie had constructed this oven in true Acadian fashion, with his own hands.

I got out of the car and was pretty hesitant, because people were milling around outside.

I wasn’t sure who he was, but Charlie introduced himself and said, “Hi, come on in.” I didn’t want to be a pain, so I asked about the event taking place – which looked kind of like a picnic.

He told me it was the Broussard family reunion. I apologized and told him I have Broussard ancestors, but didn’t realize they were having a reunion, and  I’d gladly come back another time.

He said, “That’s fine – you’re family – come on in.” I didn’t have to be asked a third time.

I wasn’t sure exactly what the Center was. Let me try to describe it. It’s one large room, a small hall, full of love, good cheer, artifacts, history, and more. It’s sort of an Acadian welcome center. You can sit at the table or the couch and there’s a quilt or afghan, just like there used to be at home.

I stopped by on several days while I was in the area, including for Charlie’s birthday party, and met long-lost cousins every day that I was there. It’s like the family I never had – or never knew I had.

We had all gravitated back “home” and found our way here.

I knew I had found my way “home” when I saw their tray of rocks that had been collected in the area.

I looked around for a few minutes, then offered to return when they weren’t so busy, especially since Charlie was talking to another couple. When Cousin Mark and I overheard the discussion about the Savoie family, our ears perked up.

We didn’t mean to butt in, but joined in the conversation peripherally. Charlie offered to take the other people to “see the Savoie homestead.” I’m often rather shy, believe it or not, but this time, I just blurted right out, “We’re Savoies too. Would you mind if we tagged along?” I actually couldn’t believe I did that. Then I roped Mark and my other cousin in too – “you want to go too, don’t you?” Of COURSE they did!

Both Charlie and the couples were very gracious and allowed us to join the merry band. Poor Cousin Mark had on shorts and sandals, but he wasn’t missing it for the world either.

So, off we went. On a spontaneous great adventure.

When we left, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. In more ways than one.

Come on – you’re going with me!

BelleIsle Marsh and the Savoie Land

We formed a small parade. Three or four vehicles driving down a little dirt road that turned into a two-track between walls of swamp grass so high we couldn’t see over it.

On both sides.

It was bright and sunny, not to mention beastly hot – and I marveled at how anyone could live in this kind of terrain.

We drove as far as we could, then simply stopped, although the little path we were driving on continued, but was increasingly overgrown. We were near what was clearly the end of the “road.” We got out of the vehicles and began to walk, near the red arrow.

Of course, that day, I had no idea where we were – at all. No map and probably no cell coverage. I was just following Charlie.

A sign warned us about ticks and snakes and such. Snakes and other wildlife don’t bother me one bit, but ticks are another matter altogether.

Mark is one brave man, heading into the swamp in shorts, but that just goes to show the dedication of a genealogist. We didn’t come this far to not visit their land. We had stumbled upon a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity – and we were going.

First, we saw some apple trees. Acadians are famous for their apples and orchards. The original Acadians may have been displaced, but their apple and other fruit trees remain yet today.

I didn’t yet know that Mathieu Martin was supposed to have planted the first apple trees. The Martins and Savoies were neighbors at BelleIsle.

I could see the green apples bobbing from the tree branches, sunning themselves. It’s too bad they weren’t ripe. I would love to have tasted one. These trees are abandoned, reclaimed by Mother Nature, today.

If you look closely, you can see little rivulets running through the marsh towards the river that you can’t see in the distance.

The marsh is truly lush, green and beautiful.

I could feel them there.

It’s almost like I could touch them.

As we continued to walk, we caught a glimpse of a working field. Their field.

The foliage was a lot like it was where I grew up. Ferns, ragweed, scrub trees giving way to larger trees. It felt familiar.

We pressed deeper into the marsh, following what was probably a small animal trail beside the cane. Yes, the insects were beastly.

As if to remind us that we really weren’t the only humans ever to set foot here, a small makeshift bridge appeared. It’s a good thing too, because we were sinking more with every step.

Francois Savoie and his family probably had bridges like this, but hewn from trees, or maybe just felled trees. The kids probably ran across and jumped off.

We tread carefully.

I can’t even begin to imagine how miserably hot they would have been clearing this land with nothing but hand tools, and if they were lucky, maybe an ox.

While these trees are much too young to be “their” trees, it probably looked much like what Francois Savoie cleared at BelleIsle.

We had walked quite a way when the terrain began to get a little more difficult. How difficult can flat swampland get, you ask?

It wasn’t flat.

I didn’t realize that we had begun to climb the dykes that kept the saltwater out to protect their fields.

Acadian earthen dykes with sluices, called aboiteau, reclaimed the marshland. They allowed the fresh water to escape through drains into the river, but sealed with a type of hinged door clapper valve to prevent the salt water from backflowing and entering at high tide.

We were walking on Savoie dykes, but all the Acadian families would have helped everyone maintain their dykes. Many hands make light work.

Marshland was giving way to bushes and woodlands.

You can see that these dykes are the height of small houses. Amazingly, they still work, which speaks to the qualify of the Acadian workmanship.

Thankfully, Charlie knew exactly what he was doing and helped us along.

We had climbed the dyke, and now we were walking on top of it, looking down into the swamp. Just like Francois would have done as he kept his eye on things.

I was beginning to wonder how much further to get to their homestead. Or, at least, where it had been. How on earth had they ever gotten here?

The people in the front of the group stepped into a small clearing, and Charlie announced, “We’re here.”

Charlie explained that back in the 1980s there had been an archaeological dig, followed by another one 20 years ago, or so, and that this, as in right here where we were standing, was the first homestead site.

This is sacred land to me.

This is the second homestead foundation, beneath the overgrowth now.

There were actually three homesteads excavated, which isn’t surprising in the least.

We know a small village formed here, because it’s shown on the 1710 contemporaneous map – exactly where we were standing. There were also clearly more than three homesteads.

As your children married, they just built a small home a few feet away and everyone simply continued doing what needed to be done.

We can see that pattern in the census.

I asked Charlie how he knew EXACTLY where these homesteads were located, and he explained that about 20 years ago, during the second dig, three homesteads had been located. This plaque was nailed to the tree to mark the location.

Of COURSE I needed a picture.

But then, I returned to the mesmerizing fascination of the homesites. My family had stood in this very same place, for decades, beginning about least 375 years ago and continuing for the next century – another 4 or 5 generations.

They stood here, lived here, loved here, were born here, and yes, died here.

Tears of joy and grief. Lives filled with love and sunshine, but also fear, disaster, and finally, removal.

Blessed life given here, but also stolen away.

Charlie located the third homesite. The poison ivy and other vegetation takes over quickly, so he had marked the location previously with orange tape.

He mentioned that he had never been able to find the well, though.

You may or may not remember that I was very active some years back with many Lost Colony archaeology digs.

I know that in situations where homes are clustered together, there is one well, and it’s generally located in the center of the houses – for both convenience, safety, and the ability to protect your water source. That’s the same pattern in every European village too, both before the Acadians immigrated, and after their descendants found themselves back in France in the 1760s.

Voila! Here it is. Here’s the Savoie village well.

I was using my foot to dig into the vegetation, looking for telltale rocks. Foundations sometimes tend to sink, or be scattered, but wells don’t as much because the hand-placed rock casing often reaches many feet beneath the ground, giving support and structure to the rocks above the ground level of the well.

Normally, those casings stand about 3 or 4 feet off the ground and protect the well from runoff and contamination. Usually there is a flat surface on the top to sit buckets and such, like this Acadian well at Grand Pre.

When well casings fall, after abandonment, they tend to fall either into the well, or around the well in a circle, or both. The scatter is generally between 3 and 5 feet across, unless it’s a VERY large well. Of course, wells can vary widely by size.

The collapsed well, above, is the Lore well just down the road, which collapsed into itself. Charlie found this well and was kind enough to show me.

Charlie was surprised that I had located the Savoie well again, took a look, and said, “Yep, sure is. How’d you find it?” I explained that I looked for rocks in a circular pattern, just beneath the soil, in the middle of the three homestead locations. I knew they had originally found the well, and we knew where they dug. Several wells had been found on earlier digs that I had participated in elsewhere, too. So I knew it had to be close by.

But there’s more to wells than meets the eye.

Wells are the life-givers.

I have always felt that wells and springs have to do with the sacred. You can’t live without water. You can live a lot longer without food than water.

In ancient times, wells and springs were considered to have spirits, and were blessed. People have dowsed for water for time immemorial and still do today. I grew up doing that. Humans are more tied to water than anything else in nature.

Maybe finding the well again was a wink and a nod from my ancestors. After all, were it not for this well, these Acadian wells, I wouldn’t be here today. This well nourished my ancestors for generations. Part of them remains in me today – and wouldn’t be without this well.

I realized that while I was communing with my ancestors, everyone else was just being very patient and waiting over by the trees.

I couldn’t help it – I can’t even begin to explain the energy and etherial connection I feel on their lands.

It’s like they are welcoming me home in a very real, absolutely timeless, way.

Had several people not been patiently waiting for me, I would have talked to the ancestors. I might or might not have whispered.😊

Sadly, it was time to go.

We left by walking on the top of the Savoie dyke again. I realized I was literally walking on their handiwork – and that it had survived for about 375 years, given that d’Aulnay had this land dyked before his death in 1650.

The Acadian founders, elderly, or many deceased by the 1671 census, would have worked together and then settled on this sundrenched plateau, smelling of sun, water, and wheat. They built their homes, dug their wells, and raised their children here. Clustered together for safety. My ancestors – several of them.

Planting the seeds of our family.

Perhaps Francois Savoie and Catherine LeJeune courted under the subshine here, holding hands as they walked along the dykes. Young love wouldn’t even notice the mosquitoes or oppressive heat!

It looked much the same walking out, but it felt different. So very different.

I had been transported into the past. My ancestors had welcomed us, spoken, and shared with us the sacred.

I needed to bring myself back to the present.

We reached the road, such as it was, once again, checked outselves for ticks, and headed for the cars. Mark probably thought I was awfully quiet on our drive back to the Center.

And Charlie – poor Charlie. Between the reunion, baking something in the hot oven, fixing whatever had been broken that caused him to crawl around on the ground, the unexpected Savoie visitors, me, Mark and Manny crashing the party, and the unplanned hike back to the Savoie homesteads – Charlie looked like like he desperately needed a VERY large, icy cold drink and some rest.

You will not find a more dedicated man – absolutely committed to our Acadian history and ancestors. Finding their homes and what physically remains of the original culture and their lives. Trying to stitch it all together to preserve for future generations – before it disappears beyond recovery.

That’s Charlie.

Rappie Pie!

Back at the Center, Jennifer had Rappie Pie waiting for us.

Rappie Pie isn’t a dessert and isn’t sweet. It’s a main dish made with shredded or grated potatoes, chicken, onions, and a few other ingredients. It takes all day, or maybe even two days, to make.

Rappie Pie is a traditional, or maybe THE traditional, Acadian dish. I can’t even begin to explain it, so I’m just linking here. I will also say that Rappie Pie can vary widely, and Jennifer’s was just HEAVEN. Other Rappie Pie, not so much after feasting on hers. I would have asked for the recipe, but I truly know that I would never take the full day to make a pan – and you can’t make just a little bit.

Although maybe I should try.

There are only two places you can get Rappie Pie now. In Nova Scotia and in Louisiana – Cajun country.

I’m so homesick for Nova Scotia. I feel them calling again.

Artifacts

You’re probably asking yourself about artifacts from the digs.

Back at the Hall, one of the things that Charlie and Jennifer do is to preserve history.

I’m sure I don’t need to explain the use of a copper pot for boiling outside. You can see a butter churn here too. Obviously, the churn did not come out of the dig but was donated by a local family.

Many of the tools that were used by the Acadians were the same tools used by the English, who were given the Acadian lands around 1759 after the English forcibly removed and exiled the Acadians in 1755.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but Charlie and Jennifer had arranged with a museum curator to display some of the smaller artifacts from the Savoie homesteads at the reunions.

These photos are courtesy of Jennifer and Charlie.

The pottery pieces were reproduced so that the originals weren’t in jeopardy.

Inside the Hall, a few more items were on display and welcomed visitors.

These scissors from the dig stole my heart and took my breath away. I know that my ancestors made their clothes, the clothes for their children, who were also my ancestors, and probably bedclothes too. If they made them out of scraps, I’m calling them quilts!

The day was coming to a close. I knew it was time to leave, but I wanted to linger on the bridge between then and now, between them and me. I wasn’t ready to let go.

I had to pass by the Hall on my way to and from the places I was going, so I stopped every couple of days.

My Last Visit

Eventually, I knew it was my last visit.

I wanted to say goodbye to the land of my ancestors, so I slipped out behind the Hall alone.

While the Hall is relatively far from the river, at least as compared to other Acadian homesteads, there’s still a small stream draining the land. Hence the road name, Little Brook Lane.

It’s still sacred Savoie land. Land of so many ancestral families who formed one large family – the BelleIsle Community. Within a generation or two, everyone was related.

Charlie saw me and motioned for me to follow him. “I have something to show you,” he said.

Off we went.

There was yet one more adventure waiting for me.

We walked beside the brook.

I stood, staring into the water, pondering the past, and my umbilical connection to those who lived here, on this very brook. They stood here too.

Charlie had constructed a little bridge..

We crossed the gurgling creek and walked through the woods. I remember thinking that I’d never find my way in, or out, by myself.

I wondered what Charlie had to show me.

Then, the woods opened up into a beautiful, golden field, bathed in the warm sunshine.

“What’s this?” I asked, stunned that this breathtaking gem was hiding behind the Hall all along.

I thought there was only the type of terrain that led to the homesteads.

Charlie paused, gathering himself for a moment.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, lifting his face to the sky.

“It’s an unmarked cemetery.”

“What???,” I whispered. “You’re kidding?!”

Charlie looked off into the distance, and shook his head.

I stood, rooted in place, utterly speechless.

If you’ve ever heard someone say they could feel their ancestor’s presence – that’s exactly what happened.

Time was meaningless, and the veil was thin. I both was and wasn’t there at the same time.

I could feel their smiles that I had come back. Had found them.

Perhaps I was led back.

Perhaps Charlie has been called here, too.

Charlie had erected a cross in the field, an Acadian cross, to mark and honor where they rest.

Charlie clearly heard our ancestors voices.

Thank you, dearest Cousin Charlie, from both me and the ancestors, for everything you and Jennifer do. And for heeding that call.

You are one of a kind. A true unicorn.

To Support the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center

The Center receives no funding other than donations and revenue from small items they sell. Their work is critically important. You can find and follow them here on Facebook.

Charlie retrieves wood from fallen trees or branches on the original Acadian homesite land, with the property owners’ permission of course, and crafts crosses to honor our Acadian families. Their religion was an incredibly important part of their lives, even on the literal frontier in the New France – and they were willing to die for the right to worship as Catholics.

I purchased several crosses – one for each of my Acadian families. Ironically, they were out of Savoie, but they have then back in stock now and l need to order one of those.

Here’s my Hebert family cross. It is about 2 inches tall and could be worn as a necklace, but I have mine hanging on a bookcase and on picture frames.

I ordered this stunning print of the Savoie village by Claude Picard, too.

Claude is deceased, but his family donated several prints to the Center (in 3 sizes), along with greeting cards. They depict the Savoie homesites excavated at BelleIsle, but it could just as easily represent any of the Acadian homes along the river.

Charlie and Jennifer had this absolutely AMAZING drone video made to sell as a fundraiser, but as Charlie graciously put it, “it escaped to the internet,” which essentially killed it as a fundraiser for them, before they even had the drone flight paid for.

Now, Charlie and Jennifer have posted it officially on Youtube for all to enjoy. They will still send you a thumb drive with a better quality video for $25. I’m just donating the $25, personally. So many of my family lands are shown here.

Right now, the Center is also having a quilt raffle fundraiser. This quilt was donated by the Savoie family to honor Wilbert Savoie who located the Savoie land decades ago. Wilbert’s daughter bought the original hall, even in its poor condition, in order to preserve it. Charlie and Jennifer purchased the Hall from them and operate on a shoestring.

Tickets for the quilt raffle are $5 each or 3 for $12, and the drawing for the quilt takes place on Acadian Day, August 15^th. I’m going to be sitting here with my fingers crossed.

For tickets or to donate or purchase something, you can contact Jennifer by phone or text at (902) 247-2019, or e-mail at charlieandjennifer@hotmail.com for more information and payment details.

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I wasn’t going to write about Mother’s Day this year, because some Mother’s Days are harder for me than others. And no, I don’t exactly know why.

Grief, even decades later, is still some flavor of grief. Grief ebbs and flows. However, it’s also possible to smile into the face of grief – and that’s where legacies, plural, enter the picture.

Legacies

Everyone has a legacy. Not just one legacy, but a separate legacy in the mind of everyone who knows, or knew, them. We tend to think about legacies in the context of someone who has passed, but in reality, legacies are living, dynamic definitions, and they aren’t just in the past.

The most common time to think about legacies is when we need to write an obituary or prepare for the funeral of someone we love. And it’s also the most difficult time.

I can give you two examples of exactly what I DON’T want for my legacy.

1. I attended a funeral where the best the family could come up with was that the deceased had graduated from high school and had two children. That was literally it. I knew this person well, and let’s just say he struggled. He also had an unspoken legacy that needed to remain unspoken in that setting. Still, I could have contributed something that sounded like I at least tried.
2. An obituary written by the husband of a friend proclaimed that her legacy was that she had once colored the mashed potatoes green for St. Patrick’s Day. That saddened me immensely, because while that may have been true, and funny, I could have provided several examples her kindness and charity work. How she had founded and then became president of a local nonprofit – and how long-suffering and brave she had been in the face of adversity.

Was that REALLY all there was to say about either of those people? Couldn’t someone have come up with something that was both true and more profound? Was there absolutely nothing else about my friend, other than green potatoes, that could be said “in polite company”?

What would these people have said about their own legacy? How would they want to be remembered?

If you had asked them, without pondering or overthinking, to quickly list the three most important things about themselves, their life and their own legacy – what would they have said?

I absolutely guarantee you that it would NOT have been about green potatoes – although if you added another question about something funny, humorous, or that would make people smile – green potatoes might have been included.

A green potatoes equivalent is just not “the thing” I want to be remembered for.

Mom’s Legacy

Mother’s Day caused me to think about my mother’s legacy.

I participated in writing Mom’s obituary (which was finally correct with the THIRD printing) and provided the minister with fodder for Mom’s funeral service, but both of those things are focused on a specific audience. That’s a nice way of saying the information wasn’t “all-inclusive.”

Not to mention, the cumulative memory of others may not be either complete or entirely accurate. Everyone remembers a person within the context of how they knew them. Your family and colleagues will remember your legacy differently.

Obituaries are very limited and generally fit a specific pattern, with little opportunity for customization. Fit your life, as others remember it, into a paragraph. Here’s your template.

Today, many people have no obituary or a funeral as we used to know them.

What is said in obituaries or at funeral services may not be the way the person would have expressed their own legacy, if they had that opportunity.

Get out a piece of paper.

Whether your mother, or the person or people who function in that capacity in your life are living or not, write down the first three things that come to mind when you think of them. No editing. You can add or edit later – right now, just get your first thoughts onto paper.

If you can’t narrow it to just three, that’s fine. Just start the list without thinking – write what pops into your mind.

Mom’s Legacy

Here’s my non-obituary, non-funeral version of Mom’s legacy based on the exercise above.

• Mom survived the Great Depression as a child in the 1930s by cleaning chickens in Silver Lake, Indiana for a nickel each. She hated cleaning chickens for the rest of her life. Her father lost his hardware store. Her mother’s income from working for the Welfare Department, plus the money earned by raising chickens, growing berries, and a small truck patch is what saved the family.

• Mom survived rheumatic fever as a child, which left her with a lifelong heart murmur. She learned resiliency the hard way, and experienced crushing heartbreak a few years later when her fiancé was killed in WWII.

• Mom became a successful tap and ballet dancer, in spite of growing up in a strict, extremely conservative region of northern Indiana. Her father’s family was Brethren. Mom overcame discrimination and pushback at every turn, studying with the world-renowned Philadelphia Ballet Company and then dancing professionally in Chicago with the Dorothy Hild Company during and after WWII.

• My entry into the world ended that career, enabling Mother to finally become a bookkeeper, something she had always wanted to do.

• Mom was an accidental pioneer in women’s equality and rights, even though she never meant to be. Abandoned by undeserving men for other women or a liquor bottle, she persevered as a single mother and raised two children in a day and age when women were not afforded equal pay for equal work, many jobs or careers simply weren’t available to women, and a woman couldn’t even get a credit card or buy a car or home in her own name. Mom did it anyway, being the first single woman in Kokomo, Indiana to purchase a home with a mortgage in her own name.

• Mom moved to the farm a dozen years later when she married my wonderful step-father. She began her third career when the company she had worked for as a bookkeeper for years shut its doors.

• Mom became an Avon Lady for the next quarter century, more as her own personal mission to check on her neighbors than to earn money. She spent far more than she ever made – although she denied that till her dying day – but I saw the books after her death. She would take food to people, listen to their problems, check on anyone who was sick, take people to town to do errands or for appointments, deliver “sermons on tape” to shut-ins, and so forth. Every single day for more than a quarter century, she quietly solved every problem that she could, until she had to retire at 82 due to her own health issues. The photo, above, was taken by one of her favorite customers on her last “Avon” day.

I can’t even begin to count how many humans and animals Mom rescued or saved in one way or another as “just an Avon Lady.” Unfortunately, from time to time, people took advantage of her big heart and generosity.

Mom would never, in a hundred years, have said any of these things about herself. She was far too humble, and even in later years, having been a dancer carried a certain stigma in rural Indiana – land of the Baptist Church, in which she was a Deacon.

I don’t know what Mom’s personal legacy list about herself would have been. Of course, she loved her family. She even saved Dad’s life – not once – but twice.

I know she was proud of her Avon awards, and she received several. It wasn’t until years later that I realized how much of what she purchased was given away to people who couldn’t afford it. Mom would tell them it was “extra” or “overstock” or “on sale” for a pittance. She also preserved their dignity by approaching her missionary work that way – and no one ever knew until after she was gone.

The example she set by her silent actions, not her words, was absolutely incredible.

Mom received the Spriit of Avon Award in 1989 and several other years. But I only have these few photos.

The “Spirit of Avon” award, specifically the Spirit of Albee award, is given to Avon representatives who embody the entrepreneurial spirit of Mrs. P.F.E. Albee, the first Avon Lady. This award recognizes individuals who strive to build better lives for themselves and others.

Mom tended to downplay her own achievements.

She loved the Albee awards, what they meant and why they were awarded.

This is the 1992 Albee. Several more of hers sit on my shelf.

I’m still so proud of Mom for so many reasons. Yet, I’m sitting here crying because I couldn’t, or didn’t, go with her to the banquet(s) to receive those awards. Yes, I lived in a different state and was busy with my family and career, but now I greatly regret that choice. Of course, she understood. She didn’t even ask because she wouldn’t have wanted to impose. On the other hand, I know full well she would have been utterly thrilled if I had asked to go with her.

I didn’t, and I get to live with that now.

Smile Memories

There are several “Mom memories” that make me smile.

• Everyone received Avon products for Christmas, birthday, and any other “gift event.” Even the Easter Bunny was hooked up with the Avon Lady. We enjoyed those thoughtful gifts, and Mom knew everyone’s favorites – bath oil, bubble bath, makeup and lip balm. I remember Mom walking around my car with a rag and a bottle of Skin-So-Soft, scrubbing the bugs off my windshield and tar off my fenders.

Swear to God – I still have a bottle of Skin-So-Soft and half a bottle of bubble bath from Mom. I tried to help boost her sales, especially in the last year or so when she knew she was going to have to retire and she wanted to leave on a high note.

Mom was widely loved in the community, and we had to reserve an entire restaurant for her retirement party.

She was so surprised and honored that so many people came and many brought gifts for her.

• Avon lip balm was always in the toe of every Christmas stocking (that she crocheted for every family member) and taped to each package. When Mom died, after the funeral, as we were saying our final goodbyes, my sister-in-law and I decided we were going to be sure Mom had a lip balm with her in the hereafter – so I dug one out of my purse and we tucked it in her hand, in the casket. On the way to the cemetery, the hearse had to brake unexpectedly, and I vividly remember thinking, “I hope the lip gloss didn’t fall out of Mom’s hand.”
• Mom also loved her “pretty shoes,” as she called them, but the funeral director couldn’t get her favorite pair of high heels on her feet. We knew she absolutely wouldn’t want to leave them behind – so they were tucked in the bottom of her casket too.

• When I was a teenager, I got caught up in an altercation after a football game at a rival school. Not knowing what else to do, I headed for the police station where I knew I’d be safe and could call Mom to pick me up. When I told Mom I was at the police station, she was rattled and hung up before I had a chance to explain, jumped in the car, and hurried right down to the station. She ran into the lobby where I was waiting with a friend, saw that we were alright, and suddenly realized that she had put her hair up in those pink foam rollers – and there was a handsome officer on duty who was trying not to laugh. Mom turned beet red. She was mad at us, not for calling her – that was the absolute right thing to do – but because she came to the police station with her hair in rollers, and without a scarf. Go figure:)
• We always feasted on corn on the cob in the summer. Mom had a partial set of false teeth. We had company over for Sunday dinner, and Mom took a bite of corn on the cob, only to realize her top teeth were embedded in the cob. The teeth had broken off from the rest of the dentures. The look on Mom’s face was priceless. She didn’t exactly know what to do – and the rest of us couldn’t help but laugh. We tried to stifle our laughter though, which made the entire episode funnier and funnier until everyone, including Mom, was laughing so hard we were crying. “Mom, you have teeth in your corn. Most of us just get corn in our teeth!”
• Some years later, a grandchild had made their way to the state track finals and was “up at the university” for the events. Mom was proud as punch, and wild horses couldn’t have kept her away. She was leaning over the railing waving and cheering the grandchild on as they circled the inside track – only for those pesky false teeth to fall out of her mouth – straight down onto the track. She had a horrified look on her face as she tried to tell me, “my teef” and pointed at the track below. Thankfully, that race was over, and no one had stepped on them. I had to make my way down, out of the bleachers, and find someone to explain why I needed to go onto the track – all quickly – before the next event. The grandchild saw me, was very confused, looked quite irritated, was assuredly embarrassed, and came over to see what I was doing. Fortunately, the grandchild, as a contestant, had permission to be on the track. They found and recovered Mom’s “teef,” ran them over to us, waving them over their head in a victory lap of sorts. We laughed about this forever – just not at the time.

• At a family celebration some years later at an event center, my daughter, Mom and I were hamming it up outside and took this photo. I think we were comparing ourselves to Mom’s dancing photos from decades earlier and trying not to fall over. We were having so much fun together.

• At my wedding, I have no idea what Mom and I were laughing at, but we were. What a joyful day, just a couple years before she passed.

That was after she walked me down the aisle. Well, truth be told, I walked her up the aisle to her seat in order to steady her – but that’s not the story we told.

What I remember best are the times with smiles and laughter.

It’s those smiles and laughter that soothe the grief of her passing. The grief of Mother’s Day without her. We buried Mom 19 years ago this week, and I cleaned out her apartment on Mother’s Day.

Yep, I need those smiles and to remember Mom’s wonderful legacy.

Your Legacy

Now, it’s your turn.

What is your legacy?

What three things, off the top of your head, have you done that made the biggest difference, or maybe were the most important to you?

What do you want your legacy to be? Accomplishments? Achievements? Family? Service work? Hobbies? Career? Personality traits?

How do you want your life to be remembered?

Does that align with the legacy that those you care about would pen for you?

Is there something you need to do?

Is some aspiration unfulfilled? Can you do something about that?

Are there amends that you’d like to make? If so, do them now, because amends don’t make themselves.

Don’t wait. Do something a little crazy with someone you love.

You truly never know when you’re going to take that last photo, or smile that last smile, together.

Like mother, like daughter – my beautiful daughter has my mother’s beautiful smile.

Take that trip, wear the funky ill-fitting hats, laugh at yourselves out loud, make those memories, and watch that sunset while you can.

Say “I love you,” and create your legacy.

“Sir,” you ask?

Francois was a “Sir”?

Yes, indeed, yes, he was. You never know what secrets are tucked away in old, musty records.

Francois Levron was born around 1651 in France. His dit name, Nantois, seems to suggest he may have originated in or near Nantes.

Francois is absent in the first Acadian census of Port Royal taken in 1671.

André-Carl Vachon, Acadian historian, believes Francois Levron was a soldier who originally settled in Pentagouet, at the fort, shown on the map, above.

The remains of Fort Pentagouet have been located near present-day Castine, Maine, which is only about 110 nautical miles from Port Royal.

The Fort, or where it used to stand, has been excavated and marked with a cross, today.

Vachon reports that in 1672, a famine struck Fort Pentagouet, causing several men to be relocated to Port Royal for the winter.

As a soldier, after arriving in Port Royal, Francois would have lived in the barracks within Fort Anne.

If Francois was, indeed, at Pentagouet, that means he served alongside the man who would one day become his neighbor along the Riviere Dauphin at Port Royal – Pierre Doucet. Half a century later, their grandchildren would marry.

Based on the birth dates of their children, Francois Levron married Catherine Savoye/Savoie around 1676.

Port Royal was a sleepy little town, referred to by the priest, Louis Petit as “a mere depot for pelts.” Only 68 families lived in Port Royal and scattered up and down the river valley. It may have been a depot for pelts, but surprisingly, Petit requested a Nun be dispatched to open and run a boarding school for girls. It’s unclear whether that ever happened.

In the 1678 Port Royal census, Francois and his wife are living with the Widow Pesselet, along with one child, a boy, age 1. They have no livestock and no land, so it’s entirely possible he was still a soldier and the young family was living with the widow as a mutually beneficial arrangement. Based on the neighbors, I can’t tell exactly where they are living, but it seems to be quite close to Port Royal which would make perfect sense if he was or had been a soldier. The census may not have been taken or recorded in house-to-house order.

The widow Pesselet is Barbe Bajolet (1608-c1678), who was married to Isaac Pesselet before being widowed by Saviniue de Courpon. She was one of the few people to make the trek back to La Rochelle, remarry in 1654, then return to Acadia. The 1671 census shows that she had eight children living in France, with two married daughters in Acadia; Marianne Lefebvre, 21, who married Etienne Comeau, and Marie Peselet, 26, married to Jean Pitre. They lived 3 and 4 houses from their mother, respectively. Barbe had 1 cow and 5 sheep, but no land under cultivation.

Was there some relationship with Barbe Bajolet other than a young couple living with an elderly widow? Why was Barbe living with Francois Levron instead of living with her children?

By 1686, when the next census occurred, we find Francois Levron, age 33, living with his wife Catherine Savoye, age 20, which is clearly in error, with children Jacques, 9, Magdelaine, 5, Anne, 2, Marie 1, 8 cattle, and 7 sheep. They have no land under cultivation, once again, and notably, no gun.

They are living between Vincent Brun and Charles Melanson, which tells me which side of the river and corresponds to later mapped locations, showing their land directly across the river from Port Royal.

Fortunately, we have a map of Port Royal drawn in 1686. Based on later maps and the census, Francois Levron and family lived across from Hogg Island, the easternmost area of Port Royal, shown above.

We can easily see the location of the fort, which included barracks, and the Catholic church, then located outside the fort, where Francois would have worshipped, both as a soldier, and later, with his family. Nearby, a cross marks the cemetery where he may well be buried.

Today, the Acadian graves are unmarked, but landmarks such as the officer quarters, fort ramparts, church remains, later English burials and LIDAR data identify the location of the Acadian cemetery.

A New Governor

In 1687, a new Governor, Louis-Alexandre des Friches de Meneval was appointed in the ever-turning revolving door of Acadian governors. His orders were to encourage colonization and agriculture and prevent the English from trading and fishing in Acadia. Meneval brought 30 additional soldiers with him, raising the strength of the garrison to 90, but found the fort in significant disrepair.

His engineer, Pasquine, had suggested a complete rebuild of the fort, but Meneval hesitated and then denied the request to save money – a decision that changed history. Sometimes not to decide is to decide.

Ultimately, the cost was much, much greater.

By 1688, Acadia was having challenges. The younger people began moving to Beaubassin and points north in 1682, causing a labor shortage. Additionally, the Acadians were experiencing a shortage of manure, necessary for fertilizing fields. Who knew a manure shortage was even a thing?

Meneval’s report written in the fall of 1688 stated that:

The cost of living was high; there was a shortage of flour and of workers; some of the soldiers were old and disabled and had ceased to be of any use; the contingent of the preceding year had received bad muskets and that of 1688 had only 19 muskets between 30 soldiers, so that half of them were without arms; the surgeon was a drunkard, and the court had neglected to supply funds with which to pay him; a hospital and medical supplies were needed; his own gratuity had not been renewed, and he sought permission to go to France to report to the minister and settle some personal affairs.

I surely wish we knew who those old and disabled soldiers were. Were they married to local women?

Was the drunkard surgeon Jacques Bourgeois who founded Beaubassin in 1682, but continued to live at Port Royal? Did an area this small, and from France’s perspective, insignificant and “back-woodsy,” have more than one surgeon? It’s doubtful.

Meneval’s report went on to say that he, like his predecessor, Denonville:

Recommended that soldiers be allowed to marry and to become settlers; he also recommended that fishing, the country’s best resource, be developed by advancing loans to the settlers and protecting the coasts with armed barks; the settlement at Les Mines (Grand Pré, N.S.) was developing, and he had issued a few ordinances.

Does this mean that no soldiers had married local women, or simply that it was discouraged? We know that by the time Francois Levron’s daughter, Marie, married Jean Garceau in 1703, her husband was a soldier at the fort because the priest recorded that tidbit in the parish register, and the Governor signed as a witness.

Meneval closed his report by saying that the English “very much wanted Acadia.”

As his report was being written, English pirates were attacking and pillaging other French forts and seizing French ships as prizes, many of which had been destined for Port Royal carrying badly needed supplies.

In 1689, William of Orange, the new King of England declared war on France, which reverberated through the colonial holdings of both countries.

Acadia was the weakest, most exposed, and most poorly defended of the French colonies.

The situation in Acadia continued to deteriorate, with political infighting. In 1689, Meneval requested to be recalled to France, and said he would go even without permission, “preferring 100 times to remain three years in the Bastille rather than one single week here.”

That’s ugly, and I’m sure that attitude did not go unnoticed by either the soldiers or the Acadians.

In October of 1689, French ships did eventually arrive. On board was another new engineer, Vincent Saccardy, carrying court orders that instructed him to build a fort at Port-Royal forthwith, and sent a further sum of 5,000 livres. Saccardy had the old fort razed completely and drew up a plan for a vast enceinte, or wall enclosing the fort, with four bastions that would strengthen security by enclosing the governor’s house, the church, a mill, and the guard-houses. Importantly, it would also be able to hold barracks and receive the settlers in case of attack.

Saccardy set to work immediately, and in 16 days, with the help of the soldiers, settlers, and 40 sailors, succeeded in building half of the enceinte before it was time for the ship to leave again. Saccardy received an order to re-embark from from the Governor General of New France, Buade de Frontenac, leaving the fort unfinished. Robinau de Villebon, Meneval’s lieutenant, was also ordered to go to France, thus leaving the unhappy governor without an officer and a half-finished fort. I can only imagine his complete exasperation.

Meneval did not leave, but all things considered, he probably lived to wish he had.

Tensions were rising in the region and would soon boil over.

Battle of Port Royal

1690 was a horrible year.

Acadia needed an exceptional, courageous leader. They only had a reluctant one who wished nothing more than to go home to France, regardless of the repercussions.

Acadia had become increasingly enmeshed in the escalations between England and France, and specifically New England. In early 1690, two Indian raids in New England, one in New York and one in New Hampshire, spurred colonial governors to combine forces and launch a retaliatory attack on the French Acadians, whom they blamed for riling up the Indians and encouraging the attacks.

Prior to this time, Acadia and the New England colonies had a trading partnership. This alliance caused at least one of the logical picks for the retaliatory expedition’s commander to be rejected in favor of Sir William Phipps, a man with no military experience but who had found a treasure ship in the West Indies.

Lest we dismiss his prowess, Phipps sailed on April 28^th from Boston with five ships, 446 men, and 58 mounted guns.

On the way, he rendezvoused with additional ships, and by the time Phipps approached Acadia, he had seven ships, 78 cannon, and 736 men, 446 of whom were militiamen. That was a force to be reckoned with.

On May 9^th, Phipps sailed into the harbour, making contact with Pierre Melanson dit Laverdure, a bilingual French Huguenot who lived closest to the mouth of the river, near Goat Island.

It’s unclear whether or not Melanson knew Phipps was gathering intelligence information, but regardless, after discerning the state of the town of Port Royal with Melanson, Phipps proceeded to sail further up the river, to Port Royal. It was about 20 miles from the sea to Port Royal, with Melanson residing roughly half-way inbetween.

Alerted by sentries, Meneval had a gun fired to warn settlers of the approaching English ships, but only three men came to the fort. I wonder why. Did they not hear the gun? Did they think it wasn’t serious? Were they that angry with Meneval? Were they “too busy” planting?

Acadia was entirely unprepared for the coming onslaught.

The garrison itself only had about 70 soldiers. A few Acadian men in the area were available to help, eventually bringing the total available fighting men to somewhere between 85 and 90, according to different sources. Forty-two Acadian men were absent from the area.

Worse yet, thanks to years of neglect, deterioration, and being half-rebuilt, Fort Anne was in a terrible state of disrepair. Governor Meneval objected when the engineer was sent elsewhere, but to no avail. His protests went unheeded, the engineer did not return, and the fort remained incomplete.

The worst part was that the protective wall surrounding the fort was unfinished, none of the fort’s 18 cannons were mounted, and the entire fort only possessed 19 muskets. Of the Acadian households, which were scattered for another 20+ miles up the river, just over half, 53, had a gun of any kind. Of those, 14 households, mostly those with older sons, had more than one gun. To say the Acadians and French soldiers, together, were unprepared and unable to defend Port Royal was an understatement. Sitting ducks was more like it.

Whatever information Melanson had shared with Phipps, it may not have been everything.

Phipps did not go ashore at Port Royal, at least not initially. The following day, May 10^th, Phipps sent an emissary to demand the fort’s surrender. Governor Meneval had little choice, given that they couldn’t defend themselves, not even in the slightest, not to mention they were outnumbered about 10 to 1. Having said that, Meneval was strongly criticized for putting up no resistance at all and simply capitulating.

Meneval dispatched the local priest, Father Louis Petit, to the English ships to negotiate the terms of surrender with Phipps.

• Phipps agreed not to harm the Acadian settlers or their personal property, and to continue to allow unrestricted Catholic worship.
• Meneval agreed that the fort, cannon, and merchandise belonging to the king and the company would be handed over to the English.
• The officers and French soldiers would retain their liberty and be transported to Quebec.

However, Phipps refused to sign a document stating such, even when Meneval arrived onboard the ship on May 12th to seal the deal.

Several eyewitnesses confirmed the verbal agreement.

Never fail to obtain a signed document, although it’s unclear if that would actually have made any difference. However, it is probably the reason that the 1690 oath signature document survives today. The Priest took it with him because he didn’t trust Phipps – with good reason – as we’ll soon see.

Furthermore, the fact that Phipps refused to sign gives credence to the Acadian version of what happened after their surrender.

Surrender

What occurred next is without dispute. Why it happened remains debated.

When Phipps came ashore and saw how weak the fort and garrison were, he regretted the surrender terms he had agreed to – or he had planned this all along.

He immediately imprisoned the soldiers in the church and confined the governor to his home, under guard. Then, Phipps unleashed his men. All of which was counter to the agreement.

Despite the surrender agreement, the English soldiers completely destroyed both the fort and the town, running amok for the next 10 days and looting everything, including the property of the Acadians. Nothing was spared – not their clothes, not their gardens, not their livestock – nothing. The English then burned what was left, including homes, the stockade, and barns. At least 28 residences were torched. Some reports said 35, which assuredly included every home in Port Royal and probably every other home within visual sight of the fort, including the Levron homestead across the river.

Additionally, the English plundered and desecrated the church. Then, for spite, they killed the livestock.

Per the agreement, only the fort and the king’s property was to be surrendered to English control, not the residents’ personal property.

Instead, Acadia was essentially destroyed during planting season.

In a strange twist of fate, the English did not burn the mills, and didn’t bother to travel further upriver to the farms there. That’s probably what saved the Acadians and prevented them from starving.

The English claimed that while Meneval was meeting with Phipps, French soldiers and Acadians were seen carrying items away from the fort – booty which should have been included in the spoils for the English captors after the French surrender.

If Phipps couldn’t see the condition of the fort prior to signing, how, then, did English sailors see men INSIDE the fort carrying things away while Meneval was meeting with Phipps?

When Phipps learned of this “breach of trust,” he reportedly flew into a rage and declared the agreement void – turning the English soldiers loose to do whatever they wished.

The French said that Meneval hadn’t left detailed orders when he departed to meet with Phipps, so the French soldiers began drinking, then broke into a store belonging to one of Meneval’s political opponents. If those goods were privately owned, which it seems they would have been, they would not have been included in the surrender agreement, so while the soldiers were clearly up to mischief, it did not breach the agreement since the goods were private property.

Had it breached the agreement, it could have been easily remedied. Meneval didn’t seem inclined to quibble about anything and would probably have given Phipps anything he asked for. Phipps simply used this as an excuse to destroy Acadia.

Regardless, Meneval must have been furious with the men, but it no longer mattered.

Meneval and his second-in-command reported that when Phipps came ashore, he was extremely unhappy with the condition of the fort and the size of the garrison that he had obtained, suggesting that he had been taken advantage of.

However, given that Phipps spoke with Melanson before arriving at Port Royal, it’s unlikely that Phipps was unaware – not to mention that he could clearly see that the fort had no walls and no cannons were in view. The fort is within full sight from the river.

Phipps’ lament did, however, make a good excuse for what followed.

Biographers later suggested that Phipps needed the plunder to pay for the expedition, and he simply sought, and found, a “reason” to dispose of the verbal agreement. Given that he refused to sign the terms of surrender document, this may have become part of his plan as soon as he found out from Melanson that the fort was in horrible repair.

However, that still does not explain away the choice to destroy everything in sight. Burning the homes, destroying the Acadian farms, and killing their livestock was nothing short of cruel sport.

The English weren’t done yet. After forcing the Acadians to sign a loyalty oath, Phipps put an Acadian council in place to conduct business after the English left.

Then, Phipps kidnapped Governor Meneval, Father Abbe Trouve (of Beaubassin) and Father Louis Petit, holding them hostage along with between 50 and 58 of the French soldiers from the Fort Anne garrison. Sources differ on the number of soldiers that were transported with Phipps and the others back to Boston on the English ships. The soldiers at the garrison who were not transported had managed to escape to Les Mines.

Later in 1690, at least some of the men were exchanged for English hostages in Quebec.

One Acadian man, Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, known often as just “Baptiste,” who would go on to become a notorious privateer, escaped his captors in Boston and made his way back to Acadia.

The destruction of Port Royal and the annihilation of Acadian homes and property, acts of intentional and explicit betrayal, not the actual act of warfare, destroyed any goodwill or trust between the two peoples. Up until that point in time, they had enjoyed at least a halting trade relationship – overtly, covertly, or both.

The 1690 Loyalty Oath

The English required that all of the Acadian men sign a loyalty oath which I transcribed here.

Wee do swear and sincerely promise that wee will be faithfull and bear true allegiance to his Majesty King William King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland.

So helpe us God.

This document was important, because unlike the verbal surrender agreement, no one could dispute that the Acadian men had signed. This signed oath was a critical protective piece, because the English could not claim that the Acadians had never sworn loyalty. Given the breach of trust between the English and French, the priest secreted this document beneath his garb when they were kidnapped and taken to Boston – protecting his parish flock.

We know the Acadian men were required to sign. What we don’t know is what happened to the French soldiers inhabiting the fort who were married to Acadian women, assuming that there were some.

Were they allowed to stay in Acadia? If they stayed, they assuredly would have been required to sign the oath.

What we do know is that Francois Levron did NOT sign the required oath in 1690, but we don’t know why.

Was he still a soldier in 1690?

Regardless of whether he was still a soldier or had previously retired, all available men were called to defend the fort, and Port Royal, so he assuredly would have been involved.

Was he one of the three men who showed up to help the soldiers?

Did he not sign the oath because he was one of the soldiers who escaped?

History tells us that 42 Acadian men were absent from the area.

Was he one of those men?

Where were they?

The 1686 census holds clues:

• The 1686 census tells us that there were 104 households at Port Royal. Of those, almost half, 51, had no gun. Not for hunting, and not for defense.
• Eight 1686 households were widows, none of whom signed in 1690. Apparently, the English weren’t worried about women swearing loyalty, only the heads of household – which I presume means the people most likely to rebel. They clearly didn’t know the women in my family😊
• Nine 1686 households were males 70 or older who did not sign the 1690 oath, and who were not recorded in the 1693 census, so I presume they probably died before 1690. The English clearly weren’t concerned with these men either.
• Of the 1686 households, another 16 are accounted for in 1690 by being known to have relocated to the northern Bay of Fundy colonies, such as Beaubasin, Pisiquid or Les Mines.

That reduces the number of 1686 heads of households that were eligible to sign the 1690 oath to 71.

• Of those, a total of 36 signed in 1690, leaving a balance of 35 heads of household in the 1686 census who are unaccounted for, and not known to have died, who did not sign.
• Of those, two were elderly and living with their children, but were alive in 1690 because they are recorded in the 1693 census.
• In two more families, the men died and the widows had remarried by 1693, so it’s likely that their first husbands had died by the time the 1690 petition was signed.

After eliminating the people who were in the 1686 census, and who signed in 1690, there are still 13 men who did not sign, who were still living in 1693. So, why didn’t they sign?

Recall that 42 men were reported to have been away. Some probably returned during the 12 days that Phipps was anchored in the harbour, and they would have been forced to sign.

• Are these 13 men ones who might have been away, perhaps in the northern settlements, scoping out their options and debating whether to move there or stay at Port Royal? Genealogy research shows that many families had moved north between 1686 and 1690, which is why they didn’t sign the loyalty oath.
• Were those 13 men soldiers who escaped, then made their way back to their families after the British left in 1690? One would think the English would have made them sign when they were discovered back in Port Royal, although that didn’t happen with privateer Pierre Baptiste, who we know unquestionably escaped and is found in the 1693 Port Royal census.

Conversely, a few people had certainly been old enough to be recorded in the 1686 census, and had families, but were apparently missed in the Port Royal enumeration. They signed the 1690 oath and were recorded in the 1693 census.

All of that said, what this tells us is that there was a lot of upheaval and churn occurring in Acadia, and the 1690 attack certainly made things worse.

Imagine being away and returning to find your home gone, everything burned, and your family traumatized, if not worse.

Francois Levron did not sign, but the oath was required. No one was allowed to refuse, so he was clearly one of the men who was absent for some reason.

We can only speculate as to why, but given that they had no land in 1686, they would have been prime candidates to move North to where land was more plentiful and easier to acquire. If he had still been a soldier, he would not have been allowed to leave – at least not until French surrendered to the English in 1690. I can’t imagine that the English would have been receptive to any able-bodied French soldiers remaining – viewing them as potential sparks of dissent.

For whatever reason, Francois Levron and his family stayed at Port Royal.

By 1693, they have 15 arpents of land under cultivation, which perhaps explains why they did not move to Beaubassin or points north. It would be interesting to know how they obtained this land, and if it was before or after 1690.

Had they relocated, their children would have married different spouses, and history would have been completely different for their 15,000+ descendants.

They dug in and stayed, perhaps making the more difficult decision. Life was anything but easy.

After the Oath

Not long after Phipps left, two English pirate ships arrived and burned the rest of what had been spared. More livestock was killed, and more theft and plundering took place, including the desecration of the church.

Indeed, 1690 was just a horrible year.

I can only imagine how discouraged Francois must have been. He had four children under 13 and a new baby. How would he provide for them if his home burned, his land was ruined, and his livestock killed? How could he protect them?

What followed was an anxious, uneasy “peace” in Acadia, with frayed nerves and absolutely everyone constantly on edge. A smoldering quiet hung uneasily in the air, like the smoking embers of their homes.

Life was difficult at best. Homes had to be rebuilt, fields repaired as best they could, somehow crops had to be planted, assuming they could be given the salinity of the seawater if their dykes had been broken. Food was in short supply, and the people were emotionally and spiritually wounded.

English vessels from New England arrived to trade and check on the inhabitants, and of course, to take French prizes if they could find French ships lurking nearby.

When the English were gone, French privateers operated out of Port Royal, boosting the beleaguered economy by outfitting their ships from local merchants and tradesmen. The privateers also attracted local young men as crew with the promise of prizes and plunder and a way to exact revenge upon the despised English who had caused, and continued to cause, such pain.

In fact, the Acadians had their own privateer who didn’t even bother to hide.

Meet Pierre Baptiste!

Pierre Baptiste – Acadia’s Legendary Pirate

Pierre Maisonnat dit Baptiste, or simply Baptiste as he was commonly called, was a famous or maybe infamous pirate whose crew was primarily Acadian.

Baptiste had defended Acadia, standing with the brave Acadian men at Fort Anne in 1690. He was taken prisoner, along with other unnamed Acadians, and transported to Boston, but escaped.

Bravo Baptiste! I hope you took other Acadian men with you!

Now hot under the collar, he renewed his efforts against the English, and committed to protect Acadia. It’s unclear, but this may have been when Baptiste actually turned to privateering, commissioned by the French who governed the rest of New France.

Baptiste was quite successful, taking eight ships in 1691 on his first mission, one within sight of Boston Harbour.

Brave, intelligent and incredibly confident, there was nothing Baptiste wouldn’t try. On the flip side, he was also wiley, scheming and willing to do whatever was necessary to accomplish a goal. I’m not sure if those were good qualities or bad, considering. He was both renowned as a celebrated hero and a brazen, rascally scoundrel, depending on who was doing the telling. One thing was certain, he was a colorful character and one you assuredly wanted on your side.

France praised Baptiste and celebrated his successes. England detested him.

The English retaliated. Again. In 1693, they attacked Port Royal, burning a dozen houses and three barns that were full of grain.

Pierre, our privateer friend, is actually recorded on the 1693 Port Royal census, married to Magdelaine Bourg, with 30 arpents of land and, wait for it…15 guns. In that census, three men had four guns, and five had three. No one else even came close to Pierre’s arsenal.

I can hear the census taker now:

“How many guns to you have?”

Baptiste: “Guns…hmm…let me see. Do you mean here in the house?”

“No, altogether.”

Baptiste: “Altogether meaning here in Port Royal or everyplace?”

You can see where this is going, right?

Whatever the “real” answer, the recorded answer was 15, which dwarfed everyone else’s count.

Francois Levron would have known Baptiste well. In 1690 at the fort, a brother-at-arms, and at church, of course. Every time an English scare materialized, the men would have rushed to the fort together. Sometimes, it wasn’t just a scare. All too often, the alarm was the real deal. The Redcoats were coming!

The town of Port Royal was actually quite small, with most of the population scattered between Port Royal and and the upriver communities – sprinkled over the next 15 or 20 river miles. Everyone pretty much knew everything about everyone.

If you’re a privateer, you’re going to anchor your ship right in front of the fort, which is also adjacent to the Port Royal “business district,” such as it was. It would be where the blacksmith shop was located, the armorer, the tavern, merchants, and so forth.

The local merchants would have loved Baptiste, because he came with money or goods to trade. They all needed to rebuild.

It was also where all the local people congregated to attend to business, attend church services, or bury the dead – so a pirate sure to make contact with the local boys who were your next starry-eyed recruits.

Large ocean-going ships couldn’t travel further upriver due to the shape of the land, river, rocks, and tidal flow.

Know who lived right across the river from the fort? Francois Levron.

In 1693, Francois Levron, age 42, is living with Catherine Savoye, age 34, and their children, Jacques 14, Madeleine 11, Anne, 9, Marie, 7, Elisabeth, 3, Joseph, 2, and Jean Baptiste, 1. They have 10 cattle, 12 sheep, 6 pigs, and are living on 15 arpents of land. The family has one gun.

Interesting, isn’t it, that his child born between 1691 and 1692 was named Jean Baptiste. That could be entirely unrelated to Baptiste, or maybe not.

Francois Levron is still living in the same area, very near Pierre Doucet and Laurens Grange(r), across from the fort, just to the right of the white church. .

In 1686, Francois Levron had no land and no gun, but in 1693, the family had both.

In 1686, only 53 of the 104 households had guns.

In 1693, almost all families owned at least one gun, but some, especially with older sons, had more. Every family, with only three exceptions, is armed – and that probably just means that Pierre Baptiste hadn’t gotten those three men a gun yet.

Never again would Acadia be vulnerable and unarmed. Never again would they be left unable to defend themselves – at least not if Baptiste had anything to do with it. He probably had spare guns from the English prizes he took.

After what happened in 1690, these guns would have been as much for defense as hunting. You can fish without a gun, but you can’t fight off the British without one.

Baptiste armed the Acadians right under the noses of the British – who were in essence absentee landlords. Not only that, Baptiste lived at Port Royal, married a local woman (apparently among other wives elsewhere, but that’s a whole other story), and was recorded in the census – in plain sight. It looks like he lived right in Port Royal, probably in the house closest to his ship.

Talk about thumbing your nose at the English. I love this guy, regardless of his personal issues.

Not everyone in Acadia was happy with that arrangement, though. Some felt that Baptiste’s presence focused the wrath of the English upon Acadia.

Who’s to say if they were better or worse off for his presence?

Get the Popcorn!

Baptiste was entertaining, to say the least, and assuredly kept every tongue anywhere near Port Royal wagging.

In 1693, the census shows Baptiste, age 30, with his wife, Madeleine Bourg, age 16. He was actually about 34.

Madeleine Bourg, after having Baptiste’s child about 1695, wound up going back home to live with her parents when it was discovered that he already had at least one wife in France, Isabeau (Judith) Subiran – who he eventually brought to Acadia to live with him.

I kid you not!

Madeleine’s marriage to Baptiste was annulled for bigamy.

Lord have mercy on this rascally man.

Baptiste’s luck changed a bit in 1695, with his vessel running ashore. He escaped with his crew, as always. Escaping was his forte, and he seemed to be the luckiest man ever.

By 1697 he had been outfitted with a new ship and been sent raiding along the New England coast. He spent the rest of his life vacillating between being imprisoned in Boston, and escaping to return to someplace in Acadia – often Port Royal. His nickname should have been Houdini, or maybe Houdini should have been named Baptiste..

Baptiste was living in Port Royal in 1703, or at least his French wife was. She died on October 19^th, 1703, and is noted as the wife of “Sieur Captain Baptiste” by Father Felix Pain, and was “buried in the presence of relatives” which would have been either her daughter(s) or Baptiste himself. Pirate or not, bigamist or not, he is addressed as “Sir” by the priest who was clearly aware of the situation. Everyone was “aware” of the situation, and I can’t imagine that there was any love lost between Baptiste and Madeleine Bourg’s family. After all, that marriage anullment made the child illegitimate and brought shame onto Madeleine – whether it should have or not. Fortunately, she remarried about 1697 and seemed to have a “normal” marriage the second time around.

Baptiste, it appears, was none the worse for that indiscretion.

In 1706, Baptiste became the port Captain of Beaubassin.

In January 1707, in Port Royal, Baptiste married yet another wife, Marguerite Bourgeois, after her second husband died. She was the daughter of the founder of Beaubassin. This marriage, frankly, shocks me given that Baptiste was a known bigamist. However, Marguerite’s father was the surgeon, Jacques Bourgeois, who was probably the man referred to as a drunkard in 1690 – so he probably had a few skeletons in his closet too. Baptiste and Bourgeois probably tipped a few together.

Maybe Baptiste was also an expert at “explaining” his behavior, too. Plus, he seemed to be something of a legandary “favorite son.” In all fairness, he defended Acadia when Acadia couldn’t really defend itself, and may have saved Acadia multiple times. Obviously his playboy ways were overlooked – although I doubt strongly if his first Acadian wife’s family forgave him.

Once again, in 1707, Baptiste came to the aid of Port Royal, serving with distinction when the British launched another brutal attack. Francois Levron was probably very glad to see his old friend once again.

Baptiste presumably died in Beaubassin, sometime after the 1714 census where he is listed as Sr. (Sieur) Maisonnat, along with Marguerite Bourgeois.

Regardless of his spicy personal life, especially in Catholic Acadia, he was always treated with respect in any written document. I’m guessing that everyone knew that without him, there might not have been an Acadia – and if so, their lives would have been much more difficult.

Everyone needs a folk hero, and perhaps better even yet, if they provide popcorn-grade entertainment. An Acadian soap-opera. I mean, who WASN’T interested in the latest chapter of “Baptiste – Acadia’s Beloved Bad-Boy Pirate”?

“Have you heard about Baptiste?”

“No, tell me, what did he do NOW?”

I’m still left wondering if Francois Levron was one of those unnamed Acadian men who escaped in 1690, and if he was in the company of Baptiste. Does our family owe the life of our ancestor to our unconquerable Acadian privateer?

Orchards

In the 1698 census, Francois Leveron, now age 50, is living with Catherine Savoye, age 38, along with children Jacque, 23, Anne, 14, Marie, 12, Elizabeth 10, Jeanne, 4, Jean-Baptiste, 7, and Pierre, 2. They have 10 cattle, 13 sheep, and two hogs on 15 arpents of land, along with 20 fruit trees.

Ah yes, Acadian orchards are, yet today, known for their wonderful fruit – especially apples. Many of the old apple trees remain on land that was once Acadian farms. On the census, almost every family had fruit trees.

These trees remain in the marsh where Catherine Savoye’s parents lived. Perhaps Francois and Catherine planted seeds from Catherine’s parents’ trees.

Next door to Francois in 1698, we find Clement Vincent, 22, married to Magdelaine Leveron, age 16, with 5 cattle and 8 sheep.

Francois’s oldest daughter has wed, although no church records from this time remain. The church had been burned, so she likely married in the rectory or perhaps in the little Chapel at BelleIsle.

MapAnnapolis shows both the Levron and Vincent properties.

On the Google Maps image, below, the left red arrow near the bottom, beside the creek, is the Clement Vincent land, whose wife was the daughter of Francois Levron.

On the map above, using the creek as an anchor point, and Hogg Island across the River, the Levron land was between the rightmost red arrow below Granville Road at the Public Works building, and the red arrow on the map below, where MapAnnapolis places their marker.

You can’t see these yards from the road, but I wonder what that circle in the back yard is.

However, the 1698 census itself is somewhat confusing, because both Francois Levron and Clement Vincent are reported smack dab in the middle of the group of families on the south side of the river, a dozen miles upriver, including the Girouard family near Tupperville whose land today still sports a large apple orchard.

Rene Forest is the household just before Francois, and Emanual Hebert is the household on the other side of Vincent. Are Francois Levron and his son-in-law actually living upriver, or is their census report stuck in the middle of those families, out of order? It seems unlikely that they are living upriver, especially since the 1700 census shows him among the same families across the river from Fort Anne at Port Royal

But then, 1714 shows the family upriver again.

Port Royal Becomes French Again

In 1697, Acadia was returned to French control by the Treaty of Ryswick which ended the King William’s War.

However, the transfer wasn’t effectuated until 1699 when Joseph Villebon, the new Acadian Governor, wrote:

It is more than 60 years since Port Royal was founded and the work of clearing the land and the marshes began. The latter have, up to the present time, been very productive, yielding each year a quantity of grain, such as corn, wheat, rye, peas and oats, not only for the maintenance of families living there but for sale and transportation to other parts of the country.

Flax and hemp, also, grow extremely well, and some of the settlers of that region use only the linen, made by themselves, for domestic purposes. The wool of the sheep they raise is very good and the clothing worn by the majority of the men and women is made of it.

Port Royal is a little Normandy for apples… [Several] varieties of apple tree are found at Port Royal, and russet pears. There are other varieties of pears, and cherries… There is an abundance of vegetables for food… cabbage, beets, onions, carrots, chives, shallots, turnips, parsnip, and all sorts of salads; they grow perfectly and are not expensive. Fine green peas… Beef…The sheep are very large… suckling pig… Hens, cocks, capons, pullets, tame geese… Eggs, butter… These are the things which can be obtained from them for food. They are hunters… hare and partridge are very numerous …there are also wild fowl.

In the 1700 census, Francois is listed as Leuron. This wasn’t the most accurate census ever taken. His age has decreased, which is a neat trick if you know how to do it. Catherine is 41, son Jacques’ age has also decreased and he is now 21, Madelaine is recorded as living at home again and is 18, and her husband is missing, Marie is 14, Elizabeth is the same age as two years earlier, 10, Joseph who was missing in 1695 is 9, Jean-Baptiste is 8 and the baby Marie Jeanne, is not shown at all. They still have 15 arpents of land, 12 cattle, 18 sheep and one gun.

There is a 1701 Acadian census, but the entire family is missing, with the exception of Marie who is now age 15 and working as a servant upriver in the home of Emanual Hebert. This is quite confusing.

By 1702, the fort had fallen into disrepair again – which seems like a constant refrain. Perhaps a more accurate telling of the saga is that France continually neglected Acadia, sometimes going 4 or 5 years without resupplying the soldiers, or bringing new recruits.

Is it any wonder things fell into disrepair and morale plummeted?

Once again, a new, expanded fort was planned, but progress was halting.

With only about 100 men, the new fort was estimated to be completed in 1703 or 1704. Not wanting to take that risk, Port Royal residents contributed as much as they possibly could. A new church and hospital was added inside the fort.

The governor in charge at the time, Jacques-Francois de Brouillan, was incompetent at best, and criminal at worst.

In the 1703 census, Francois Leuron is listed with his wife, unnamed, with 2 boys and 4 girls. Two are arms-bearers. Clement Vincent lives two houses away with his wife and one female child.

1704

Sure enough, the Acadian’s worst fears came to pass once again.

Angry again about Indian attacks in New England, the English sought revenge by attacking Acadia again in 1704. They burned homes, destroyed crops, killed cattle, tore down dykes and laid both the Fort and the town of Port Royal under siege.

For 17 days, the soldiers and possibly the townspeople holed up in the fort. The English attacked during that time, but there was no devastation like there had been in 1690. This seemed to be more spur-of-the-moment and focused on retaliation than a planned assault focused on capitulation. After 17 days, the English, apparently satisfied with their revenge, simply left.

The next year, in 1705, the English returned with 550 men in two gunboats, 14 transports, 36 whaleboats, and a shallop. They killed people and captured prisoners along the way as they sailed around Acadia – leaving destruction in their wake everyplace they went.

De Brouillan was replaced in 1705 with an acting governor, thankfully, and not long thereafter, 600 feet of the unfinished fort’s ramparts washed away into the river, caused by torrential spring rains.

I can only imagine the horror as the Acadians witnesses the devastation and wondered why God was betraying them.

Many of the 185 soldiers at the fort were young and inexperienced, and frankly, didn’t want to be there.

Governor Daniel Subercase arrived in 1706. A competent leader, Subercase realized the massive task that he faced. The fort remained unfinished, no supply ship from France had arrived for some time, and morale was at an all-time low.

Port Royal had come to depend heavily on privateers for protection. They kept the English ships at bay and transported supplies. They also brought captured English sailors to Port Royal to be used for exchange barter in the future. Because that inevitable “future” always came with the English.

The first thing Subercase did was to take 35 English prisoners to Boston to exchange for Acadian men being held. I’d surely love to know who those Acadian men were.

Subercase knew the fort needed to be completed quickly, and even sold his own belongings, including his clothes, to raise the funds to do so.

The problem was, he just couldn’t do it fast enough. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was Fort Anne.

1707

The 1707 Acadian census lists Francois Levron using his more familiar name. “Le bonhomme Nantois,” which means “the good man Nantois,” with his wife, 2 boys 14 or older, 2 younger boys, 2 girls 12 or older and 1 younger girl. They are living on half an arpent of land with 2 cattle, 2 hogs and one gun.

What happened to his land?

That’s a lot less than the 15 arpents of land under cultivation in 1700, before the depradations of 1707 – so the census may have been taken after the English “visited” again. He may have still had the land, but it wasn’t under cultivation because – well, the English had destroyed everything again. Dykes kept seawater out and you can’t farm salty soil. Using the Acadian dyking system, it takes about 3 years for the salt to wash out of the soil and for it to become productive again.

Clement Vincent lives next door with his wife and 2 children, also with half an arpent of land under cultivation.

It’s not uncommon for military men to have a “dit” name, such as Nantois, which might reflect a location, something about them, or even a humorous nickname – long after they were no longer soldiers.

Nantois suggests someone from Nantes, a beautiful medieval town with a complex history that includes Romans, Protestants, and Catholics.

Was this castle in Nantes part of Francois’s life before Acadia?

Did he sail from Saint-Nazaire, a seaport on the Loire River, in Nantes, which is located about 30 miles upriver from the Atlantic Coast, one of the largest ports in the 17^th century?

How I wish I could ask him.

In the 1707 census, Francois Levron’s neighbor is his son-in-law, Clement Vincent. Beside him is Pierre Doucet, and on the other side Julien Lore/Lord who is recorded using only his dit name, LaMontagne. This places Francois Leveron unquestionably on the north side of the river, which is documented in a 1708 map.

This close-up image of the river was drawn by Labat in 1708, reflecting the depredations of 1707. You can see the word, “nantois” written along the road. You can see 5 structures. Two or three are probably homes, given that at least one son-in-law is living right beside him. His other son-in-law, Jean Garceau is probably living there too. The other structures are probably barns. We can also see that most of the area is treed. No fields are evident, but the small area around the buildings looks like it’s marsh when compared with other known marshy areas.

Francois’s 1707 reduction in land on the census may very well reflect what occurred in 1707, depending on when the census was taken.

Yes, the English attacked – again.

The 1707 Attack

Assuming that Francois arrived in colonial France as a soldier, we don’t know how long that lasted. He could potentially have served until 1690 when the French surrendered Fort Anne to the English, and then became an Acadian resident with his wife and children. In 1690, he would have been about 40.

In 1693, Francois was assuredly NOT a French soldier, so he would have been earning a living from his 15 arpents of land.

In 1697, when France recovered Acadia, it’s unlikely that Francois would have begun serving again, although once a military man, always a military man.

Those skills never leave you and would have served to protect his family in 1704 and again, in 1707.

Acadia, for the beautiful bucolic river valley that it is, was not necessarily a peaceful place.

I suspect that some periods calmed down and lulled the residents into complacency, right up until something happened. Then, the old ever-present anxiety returned with a vengeance. Always living on the edge, and half expecting an attack any minute became a way of life all over again.

The fort was dilapidated. The old powder magazine was leaky and wet. You can’t fire cannons without dry powder. The fort was in terrible condition, and morale was at an all-time low. The Acadians at Port Royal were, once again, sitting ducks, but Subercase heroically attempted to rectify the situation as best he could – going so far as to sell his clothes to do so.

The next attack came in March of 1707, the governor only had 160 soldiers to defend not only the fort, but the town as well. Many of his soldiers were inexperienced and had no desire to fight. Essentially, they had been recruited from the “quays of Paris” and likely had no choice in the matter. Some had run away and defected to the other side.

Now, all Acadian men who could carry a gun were soldiers defending their homes, families, and homeland. No question remained about what happened when the fort could not be defended. Everyone remembered 1690 and their homes having burned multiple times by now.

They knew it would happen again – and it did.

Governor Subercase managed to hold the fort, somehow, against more than 1000 men from New England, but the sheer imbalance foreshadowed the future.

Having no other choice, the governor recruited pirates who were more than happy to assist the Acadians by taking English ships as “prizes.” While France ignored Subercases’s pleas for help, the Acadians lived off the booty of the corsairs for the next three years.

This did help, but it also enraged New England, whose ships were being lost and who could no longer easily access the fishing grounds on the Grand Banks.

They would steam and their anger would fester for three years. The attack in 1710 was unlike any other.

1710

Captured English sailors had been warning the Acadians for three years. 1708, 1709, and then 1710 that an attack was coming.

When the promised attack didn’t happen, perhaps the Acadians became a little complacent. What they did accomplish was to finish the fort. Almost.

On a crisp October day, Armageddon arrived in the form of 3400 English soldiers on 43 ships, with more firepower than existed in all of Acadia. Their sheer number of soldiers was three times the number of entire people, including women and children, in all of Acadia – not just Port Royal.

Can you imagine the shocked looks on Acadian faces as they realized the magnitude of the invasion and what was about to unfold – as the ships just kept coming and coming – one after another until they could no longer see the end of the ships in the river.

The Acadians stood no chance – yet – unlike 1690, they were not about to give up without at least some sort of resistance.

These people were incredibly brave!

Imagine how they felt seeing their former French comrades with the English – soldiers who had once served with them in the garrison – but had deserted and betrayed them.

The river began to look like a parking lot. There were so many ships that it took several days for them to all sail into position in the river.

Their only prayer now was for the long-absent French fleet to show up and barricade the English fleet into the river where they could be dealt with accordingly.

While that was a nice fantasy, maybe a dream, and assuredly a prayer, it didn’t happen.

No, the Acadians were entirely alone.

The sentry near Goat Island had sounded the alarm, so there was at least a little time to gather the women and children in the fort. The soldiers and Acadians rushed around inside the fort to finish as much as possible. They had received no supplies, pay or rations from France in four years – so they had been “making do” a lot – with whatever they had.

Francois’s wife and children, and his daughters and their children, who lived right across the river, were probably sheltered inside the fort. The upriver homesteads likely had a different safe plan.

The most secure location in the fort, by far, was the “Black Hole,” formerly the old powder magazine.

It was also the most terrifying – a subterranean chamber. Only one way in and the same way out.

I hyperventilate even looking at this, yet I forced myself to stand there last summer – to experience what my ancestors had.

What would happen if no one ever came and opened the door? There was only one answer.

By 1710, Francois was no spring children. He was 60ish, but I’m sure as long as he had a breath in his body, he was going to fight.

Francois’s oldest son, Jacques was 31, had just married Marie Doucet that January, and she was three months pregnant. Francois’s second son, Joseph, 19, and Jean-Baptiste, 18 would certainly have been standing beside their father, facing down the English. Pierre would have been 15, so I’m not sure where he would have been. My guess would be standing right beside his father and brothers.

Daughter Madeleine’s husband, Clement Vincent would have been fighting, and she and their four children would probably have been sheltering with her mother, Catherine Savoye, wherever she was. Catherine could have gone upriver to BelleIsle where she grew up, and hid in the hills behind the river. The English would never find them there.

Daughter Anne wasn’t married, but Marie had married Jean Garceau and probably lived in the third house on the Levron homeplace. Their third child was just a few months old. Jean Garceau would have been fighting with his father-in-law, and Marie was probably in the Black Hole with her mother. (I’m not even Catholic and I’m crossing myself.)

Daughter Elizabeth had married Michel Picot and had one child. Daughter Jeanne was 16 and Madeleine was 10.

If the fort fell and everyone inside died, literally the entire Levron family – three generations – would be wiped out in one fell swoop. Eight men fighting, and 16 women and children in the black hole. Nothing will motivate a man to fight more than that. Francois must have felt an incredible weight and desperation on his shoulders that day – far greater than any earlier battle – because his family was larger and he was responsible for every soul, including his unborn grandchild.

Maybe what he felt was unflinching determination.

And so, they stood firm, the Acadian men, French soldiers, a few Mi’kmaq, their brethren who had come to stand and die with them, and about 20 men from Quebec who had the bad luck to be there when the English arrived. Incredibly outnumbered, they held off the invading English as long as humanly possible.

I’m sure they prayed to all that is holy.

The English landed and advanced on both sides of the river, eventually surrounding the fort so closely that the people inside the fort could hear their mocking voices.

TheEnglish 1710 siege map shows their landing locations, along with the Acadian homesteads, and, of course, the fort.

The English had done their homework well and knew a great deal about the fortifications.

Hell’s Fire rained down on the Acadians for days. Gunfire and grenades were lobbed over the fort walls.

The French were being squeezed from all sides.

I wonder if Francois Levron could glimpse his home across the water. Was it standing? Was it burning? Had he let his livestock loose in the hills, hoping they would survive?

The Acadian men turned to guerrilla-style resistance – a fighting style they had learned from the Mi’kmaq, and one the English were unfamiliar with.

Still, they were vastly outnumbered, and the English had been able to mount their cannon on the dykes behind and across Alain’s Creek from the fort.

Armageddon! Hell’s utter fury!

And then…

Silence.

Uncanny, eerie silence.

The French were quite confused, but soon saw two English officers approaching the fort waving flags of truce. Truce, not surrender.

The English had to know that the Acadians really didn’t want to commit suicide, and after the beating they had been taking, were probably ready to surrender. The Acadians clearly saw the handwriting on the wall.

The English demanded a surrender. Subercase negotiated. Everyone’s future rested on him and his skill. What a heavy weight to hear.

Given his circumstances, Subercase did a fine job.

The Acadians would not be massacred, and neither would their families. The English prisoners were released from the fort, and the English boats headed upriver to fetch the Acadian women and children who had sheltered there. The absolute worst thing that the English could have done was to harm the Acadian families. However, the Acadians could do nothing except trust them.

The Acadians were allowed to keep six cannons and two mortars, although I have no idea why. Maybe as salve to their dignity. The English received the rest of what was inside the fort as spoils of war.

The men could not hold the fort, although they did their best in the face of insurmountable odds, and managed to last for 19 days. They also managed, thanks to Subercase, not to be slaughtered. They would live to raise their families, and perhaps, to fight another day.

The French soldiers were provided passage back to France on the English ships, and once again, England controlled Acadia and renamed Port Royal, Annapolis Royal.

On October 16^th, the key to the fort was ceremonially passed from Subercase to Nicholson, the English commander, and the Acadians were allowed to march out of the fort with full honors, carrying the French flag, “arms and baggage, drums beating and colors flying,” even in defeat.

I can see Francois Levron marching through this archway, probably staring straight ahead, defeated, but head unbowed.

Labat drew another map in 1710.

This map shows the Nantois land once again, with four divisions of some type, but unlike the other homesteads that depict fields. There’s a 5^th square to the right of the other four, too. That could have been the son who had just married.

To the left, around the bend in the river, Labat also drew the English camp of 1707. With the English camped right there, you know for sure that Francois Levron’s homesteads were burned.

On both the 1707 and the 1710 maps, you can see other settlers’ fields that were under cultivation. How did Francois Levron survive with no fields? Did he have another skill or trade? And what are those little Xs along the shore? Perhaps markers to keep ships from running ashore or encountering rocks?

Today, you can’t see much of anything from the road, unfortunately.

Based on the shape of the road, the shore and the river, it looks like the Levron home was located down this driveway, behind the houses.

I sure would like to know what those rough areas are in the back of the houses. I wonder if the homeowners have found anything resembling homestead remains. Generally rocks formed the foundation and make mowing or plowing impossible.

This 1753 map drawn and enhanced from a 1733 house map of Acadia shows the “Nantois” Levron property.

1714

There was only one more Acadian census, taken in 1714. But Francois had aleady died earlier in the year.

ChatGPT translated his death record thus:

On the twenty-third of June in the year 1714, I,
the undersigned, serving as parish priest at Port Royal in Acadia,
have solemnly buried François Levron, a resident of Port Royal,
about sixty years of age, who died of illness
after receiving the sacraments. In witness of which
I have signed the present register on the same day and year as above.
Fr. Justinen Durand, Recollect missionary

It looks like Francois died and was buried the same day. Perhaps he died early, and it was hot.

The Nova Scotia Archives translates his age as about 70 years old. I see soixante, not soixante-dix, and although I struggle with this old handwriting, I do think they are wrong this time. I’m very grateful for these indexed records, but I’ve learned always to retranslate.

How old was Francois when he died? What evidence do we have.

Using the various censuses that provide ages, we have the following:

	1678	1686	1693	1698	1700	1707
Francois		33 (1653)	42 (1651)	50 (1648)	49 (1651)	Listed
Catherine		20	34	38	41	Yes
Jacques	1	9	14	23	21	Yes
Madeleine		5	11	M Clement Vincent	18
Anne		2	9	14	16	Yes
Marie		1	7	12	14	M 1703 Jean Garceau
Elisabeth			3	10	10	M 1705 Michel Picot
Joseph			2		9	Yes
Jean-Baptiste			1	7	8
Jeanne				4
Marie Jeanne				2		Yes
Pierre
Madeleine

Based on the various census documents, his birth year averages 1650. It looks like Francois was born about 1651, which means he was about 63 when he died. In any case, he was closer to 60 than 70.

Francois Levron may rest someplace in the garrison cemetery, in the fort where he probably lived at one time as a soldier, and where he so bravely fought against the English at least half a dozen times. Where he stood with Baptiste. Just a few feet from where Acadian history had been made over and over.

Francois still stands guard, someplace.

It’s possible that Francois was buried in the St. Laurent’s Chapel cemetery at BelleIsle, where many of the upriver Acadians are buried – most church records don’t specifiy which cemetery – only that they were buried and when.

We know that several residents were buried at St. Laurents after 1710 when the English controlled Annapolis Royal and the church there, such as it was.

The 1714 census reflects Francois’s death, showing only the “widow Nantois”, with 2 sons, and 1 daughter. However, they are living smack dab in the middle of seven Girouard families, clearly upriver. Other families, including his son-in-law Clement Vincent are listed “near the fort.”

This is the third time that we find the Levron family among the upriver families, so there’s some connection there, but we may never know what it is.

One Final Respect Paid

It’s a huge pain, but often viewing and translating every record of someone’s children and, minimally, the births of their grandchildren yields unexpected nuggets worth their weight in gold. Baptismal records, witnesses, and more.

Generally, those ancillary people aren’t indexed, but, honestly, they should be because, among other reasons, they document relationships and serve as a different kind of census. Specifically, who is still alive. Sometimes relationships are provided as well.

Francois’s unmarried son died in 1725 and was buried in the cemetery at St. Laurents. His death record is somewhat unusual in both it’s length and phrasing – not to mention that he is working as a domestic.

The Nova Scotia Archives extracted what they considered to be the important parts of the record, but it’s the first part of Pierre’s burial record that reveals more about Francois, even 11 years after his death in 1714.

On the twenty-first of the month of January, 1725, was buried in the cemetery of Haut-de-Rivière, in my absence, the body of Pierre Levron, about thirty years old, son of Sieur François Levron, resident of Port Royal in Acadia, and of Catherine Savoye, his father and mother (both) deceased, (he died) the previous day after having confessed, in the house of Pierre Giraud as well.

This record was recorded by Father de Breslay who had only just arrived in  Annapolis Royal that year. The Priest did not know Francois Levron personally, so his reference to him using the honorific of Sir, especially when he did not use that for everyone else, has to reflect how Sieur Francois Levron was remembered in the Acadian community more than a decade after his death.

A good man, “bonnehomme Nantois,” and a brethren at arms with Acadia’s privateer, Baptiste, both known as Sieur.

Origins

Who were Francois’s parents? Is he related to Levron family members in France? Is there any possibility of tracking Francois to parish records in France?

Francois’s nickname, “Nantois” provides us with a potential clue about his origins, but his Y-DNA might give us answers – if a male Levron who descends from Francois were to take the Y-DNA test.

Y-DNA tracks a male’s direct paternal line both recently, to men with a common or similar surname, and also back in time beyond the advent of surnames.

If Francois originated in Nantes, whose residents are known as Nantais, he might match another male from that region. He might have an ancient connection to the Namnetes, a tribe of Gaul who inhabited what is now Nantes during the Iron Age, or perhaps to the Romans who followed.

If you are a Levron male who descends directly through your paternal line from Francois, I have a DNA testing scholarship for you. Let’s learn together. Please reach out.

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René Doucet was born about 1680 in Port Royal, Acadia, to Pierre Doucet and Henriette Pelletret.

René is often referred to with the dit name of dit Laverdure, but this appears to be incorrect. LaVerdure was initially assigned to him based on the belief that he was the grandson of Germain Doucet, Sieur de La Verdure, but he is not. Menou d’Aulnay states in his will that the Doucet children, including Pierre, René’s father, were Germain Doucet’s nieces and nephews, not his children. He was the child of Germain’s unknown brother.

The designation of “Sieur” typically was associated with a landowner or feudal lord. Sometimes it indicated minor nobility, or that he was the holder of a seigneurie, or feudal estate in France. In Acadia, Sieur de La Verdure probably means that Germain was a landholder someplace that resembled the word Verdure or the location of La Verdure in France, and others paid him rent to farm his land. The designation was probably not hereditary.

Therefore, I am not referring to René as “dit Laverdure,” although old habits die hard, and you may see him referred to as such in other places.

First Sightings in Acadia

René is not shown in the Port Royal 1678 census, but the names of children were not recorded – only their sex. Tim Hebert reconstructed the children in families based on future censuses and other records, except for the three-month-old male child.

Father Clarence D’Entremont (1909-1998) later correlated the 3-month-old male in the household with René. That child might be René or may well have been another child who died. We can’t simply assume it’s René, especially since we have multiple sources of evidence that conflict, indicating his birth year as 1680.

However, censuses have always been subject to error, and multiple censuses, in this case, clearly have issues. Still, it’s all we have before 1702 when the first surviving parish records begin.

In 1686, René’s place in the family is shown by the name Pierre who is 8 years old, which would suggest he’s that 3-year-old in 1678. This is confusing, given that another male, age 18, is also shown by the name of Pierre. No other male child in this family can be René. Other children’s names are also misspelled in this census.

René’s mother died sometime between 1686 and 1693, as his father is listed as a widower in 1693, leaving his father with children to raise. She could have died during the attacks of 1690. If so, that would probably have scarred René deeply.

In 1693, René is shown with his father and recorded as age 13, which means he was born about 1680.

He would have been someplace between about 8 and 13 when his mother passed away, and he wept at her graveside as she was buried. The church stood on this knoll before it was burned in 1690. The old Acadian graves are unmarked today.

In 1698, René is listed as age 18, again pointing to his birth in 1680.

In the 1700 census, he is shown as 20, and age 21 the following year, also suggesting his birth in 1680.

Married Life

René was married about 1701 or 1702 to Marie Broussard. The Port Royal parish registers still exist beginning in May of 1702. English incursions destroyed earlier records.

In the 1703 census, René is shown with his wife and one girl, although their oldest child was a boy, Pierre, not a girl. No ages are given. He’s noted as an arms bearer. I can’t tell exactly, based on the census order, where they lived, although they are listed between Abraham Dugast and Abraham Comeau, both of whom lived near Port Royal.

In 1707, René is shown with his wife, 1 boy less than 14, 1 girl less than 12, 4 arpents of land, 19 cattle, 17 sheep, 8 hogs and 1 gun. Note that the 1703 census erroneously recorded his first child, a son, who was Pierre, as a daughter.

In this census, René is living among a group of families who reside on the north side of the river, directly across from the fort. Some neighbor families lived across the river and slightly west of Port Royal. They include Abraham Bourg, three Granger families, René Doucet, Clement Vincent, Le bonhomme Nantois, which is the Levron family, then the Montagne (Lord/Lore) families begin who live on the north side of the river, a few miles east of Port Royal.

Their view of Port Royal probably looked much like it does today, with the fort ramparts visible at far right, and the houses and a dock in the center and at left. René’s mother’s family lived in one of those houses along the waterfront. His grandfather died long before he was born, but his grandmother, Perrine Bourg lived until between 1693 and 1698, so he would have known her well.

In 1710, René and his wife have 1 boy and 2 girls and are listed beside his father, Pierre Doucet. They are living beside neighbors Bourg, Grange(r), Pierre Broussar(d), Clement Vincent, and the Leveron family.

In 1714 they have 1 son and 3 daughters. They are on the list titled “Near the Fort,” and are still living in the same location, beside Laurent Grange or Granger, Pierre Broussard and Clement Vincent.

The Land

After René’s father, Pierre Doucet, died in 1713 at an advanced age, probably around 92, René would have taken over farming his father’s land. In actuality, he would have taken over the labor years before, probably in his teens. No man in his 80s can withstand the physical rigors of farming, especially not the dyke maintenance.

The dykes had to be shored up and maintained so that they drained the water outwards to drain the marshes and let no salty or brackish water backflow into the reclaimed land.

Most of René’s siblings made their way to Beaubassin and the Minas Basin area, which required the same type of farming, so they weren’t around to help Pierre as he aged.

This 1686 map shows the location of the original fort on the spit of land on the right between the “Ro” and “yal.”. The placard mounted below this map in the museum in Port Royal says, “Very exact plan of the land where the houses of Port Royal are located and where a considerable town can be made, Franquelin, Jean-Baptiste, 1686.” The legend says that the fort is in ruins. “Un fort ruiné.”

Behind the fort, you can see the church that was burned four years later, in 1690, and the neatly fenced cemetery. The main road is still the main road, today.

Cleared areas and fields are visible directly across the river. Residents would have taken canoes and small boats back and forth regularly. You can see a man standing in the smaller boat and three other boats “parked” along the shoreline between the fort and the Allain River or Creek. Three sailing ships that would have entered the river from the sea are shown mid-river, where the channel was deep.

Pierre Doucet’s land was conveniently located across the river from Port Royal (red arrow), probably about where that ship was located, but that also meant the farm was exposed to the incursions of the English, which, unfortunately, occurred regularly. In other words, it wasn’t particularly safe.

Maybe I should restate. It not only wasn’t safe, it was probably an attractive target, unprotected by the fort and within easy sight of the ocean-going English warships.

This 1707 map reflects the locations of the homesteads across the river from star-shaped Fort Anne shown at center left. Pierre Doucet’s land is labeled and shown at the arrow, and the names of the neighbors noted in the census are shown in close proximity as well.

Today, you can see Fort Anne, a National Historic Site, at left beside the river, and the Doucet home across the river.

In addition to 1707, 1708, and 1710 original maps, MapAnnapolis has mapped the location of several Acadian homesites, overlaid onto contemporary maps, here.

You can see their placement of the Doucet homesite on an overlay of Google Maps today.

These are the same neighbors mentioned in the census.

What looks like a “rough patch” is visible in the yard indicated by MapAnnapolis. This is often what areas that are too rough to farm or mow look like from above. In other locations, patches like this are sometimes the remains of an Acadian homestead. I wonder if that’s the case here.

I’d surely love to know if anyone has investigated this property for historical relevance and the remains of an Acadian farm – perhaps the foundation of a building.

Incessant Warfare

“Acadia” in what is today Nova Scotia only lasted from the 1630s until 1755. René was probably the first generation born on Acadian soil. He had never and never would see the shores of France. His father, Pierre, was born in France about 1621.

If we accept 1680 as René’s birth year, he was only 10 when a devastating attack took place, nearly ending Acadia right then and there in 1690.

General William Phips, commander of the English fleet out of Boston set out with 7 ships and 700 men to capture Port Royal. They ransacked the town and fort, stole anything of value, and burned at least 28 homes and the church before returning to Boston. While they didn’t burn the mills and farms upriver, the Doucet farm wasn’t upriver – it was within immediate sight right across the river from the fort and assuredly would not have been spared.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, English pirates followed, doing even more damage. They burned more homes, killed people, and gleefully slaughtered livestock. The people in the 1686 census who are missing in 1693 would include those who died in these predatory raids – including René’s mother.

René’s father and the other Acadian men, his father among them, signed a loyalty oath to the English monarchy because they had no other choice. After they signed, the English departed for Boston, leaving an Acadian council in charge.

René, an impressionable boy of 10 or 12, witnessed this, and it would have impressed him deeply. It was probably a life-altering event, shaping his perspective forever.

This incursion, along with others, encouraged several Acadian families to move on to Les Mines and settlements along the Bay of Fundy.

The English continued to attack Port Royal, attempting to wrest control of Acadia from the Acadians due to their perceived allegiance to France, and force the Acadians from their land. I have never been clear if the English end goal was total control, or annihilation of the Acadians themselves in order to take their land for English settlement. Maybe the answer to that question depended on when, and who, was asked. Unfortunately, if the English had made the Acadians fair resettlement offers, instead of “just leave with nothing,” they would probably have left together.

Unfortunately, that never happened.

As René came of age, the raids and warfare were ramping up again. It’s likely that the family homestead was burned in 1690, 1696, 1703, 1707, 1708, and assuredly in 1710 when Port Royal fell.

That’s growing up and living in a war zone.

How does one actually recover from devastation like that? What bravery and perseverance were on display.

While Fort Anne did have a few soldiers, the fort had fallen into significant disrepair, forcing a wholesale replacement beginning around 1700.

Unfortunately, a series of events, including mismanagement, delayed the rebuilding of the fort. Even though the Acadians had been repeatedly warned that the English were planning to return, destroying and pillaging once again, they were not able to complete the fort in time. They didn’t have adequate and competent management. They didn’t have enough soldiers, or even Acadian men combined with soldiers, nor enough supplies or construction materials.

Of course, each subsequent attack increased the damage that had to be rebuilt. Not just the fort, but homes, farms, dykes, barns – the necessities of everyday life.

Throughout this, life continued. Marriages, births, deaths, church attendance, planting, and harvesting – whatever could be construed as normal during that time.

Wedded Bliss

When René Doucet married Marie Broussard in 1701 or early 1702, the community had suffered through several years of either being under attack, or expecting to be under attack. They knew it was coming; they just didn’t know when or how bad it would be. What a way to live. Continual dread.

For families whose farms were along the waterfront facing the fort, this must have been an incredibly stressful time because the British war machine sailed right up the river, laid anchor between the fort and the opposite bank, and began firing upon the fort and attacking the citizens.

Everything within sight was laid to the torch.

In some cases, the women and children were taken into the fort, into the powder magazine known as the “black hole,” but we don’t know if that happened in just 1710 or was standard practice earlier.

For René as a child, it might have been more dangerous to shelter in the fort than on the other side of the river. By the time they saw the ships arriving, they wouldn’t have been able to row across the river to the fort.

As an adult, he would have been worried about protecting his family and fighting.

It’s also possible that families on the north shore escaped into the North Hills behind their homes and made their way upriver to family members at BelleIsle.

The English soldiers would not have dared to follow through the dense woodland hills where both Acadians and Indians would be hiding in ambush, especially after night fell.

René Doucet married Marie Broussard, whose parents lived several miles upstream at Belle Isle, which was further from the fort and in a better defensive position. Perhaps when British sails appeared, Marie quickly gathered the children and headed for her parent’s home.

René and Marie had their first child, Pierre, the day before Christmas in 1703, which is how we established that they probably married in 1701 or 1702. Since records prior to May of 1702 didn’t survive, we don’t have a marriage date, nor do we know that they didn’t have an earlier child that died. Marie was born in January 1786, so she was young when she married – not unusual among Acadian girls.

Warfare can be all-consuming, but not even that could prevent love from blossoming. I hope their wedding day was warm, carefree, and joyful.

The Attacks Resume

In preparation for the expected conflict, in 1701, the Governor of Acadia began construction of a stone and earthen fort which was still incomplete by 1704, leaving the residents vulnerable. They scrambled, trying to complete the fort, but unsuccessfully.

The English attacks upon Acadia resumed about the same time that René and Marie were starting their family.

By June of 1704, when their baby boy was just 5 months old, Acadia was under attack again by the English in revenge for a French and Indian raid on Deerfield, Massachusetts in February of that year. It’s unclear whether the Acadians had anything to do with that raid, but nonetheless, they were the representative French people in the region and paid the price, bearing the wrath of the English.

Settlements and one of their two churches were looted. The dams and dikes were “dug down,” meaning their fields were flooded with seawater. Since you could see the Doucet farm from the river, we must assume theirs was one that suffered these depredations.

In later drawings, you can see ships docked in the Annapolis River, then called the Rivière Dauphin, between the fort and the Doucet land across the river. Given that the ships wanted to stay out of cannon range, they were probably anchored closer to the Doucet homestead than the fort. This may have been drawn from the Doucet land and shows us exactly what they saw.

When Daniel d’Auger de Subercase became governor of Acadia in April 1706, he had years of mismanagement and neglect to overcome with only 160 soldiers, many of whom were “fresh from the quays of Paris.” In other words, they were inexperienced or worse. Subercase knew he had to act instead of simply remaining a sitting duck, waiting for English predators to kill his men and end Acadia. He assumed an offensive position and, among other things, encouraged Native raids against English targets in New England.

He also encouraged the corsairs of Port-Royal to act against the English colonial ships. Privateers, another term for sanctioned pirates, were very effective, and the English fishing fleet on the Grand Banks was reduced by 80% between 1702 and 1707. As a bonus, certain English coastal communities were attacked.

In New England, public outrage simmered, at first, then those flames were fanned into rage.

René and Marie’s second (known) child, Anne Marie, arrived in November of 1706, three years after their first child, and just four months before the English attack on Acadia in March of 1707. The attack was comprised of 1000 men led by Massachusetts and joined by men from Rhode Island and New Hampshire. It ultimately failed but foreshadowed things to come.

Attacks occurred again in 1707 and 1708, some quite severe. The soldiers certainly couldn’t hold the fort alone, so all men who could carry a gun were members of the militia. There was no choice. Their lives hung in the balance.

In 1708, Queen Anne’s war began, and the hostilities ramped up again between the English and French.

In 1708, the fort’s store was built, and the Acadians were shoring up their defenses.

A new powder magazine and bombproof barracks were constructed and the riverbanks were cleared to remove cover for attackers. An additional ship was built, and relationships were established with privateers who welcomed the opportunity to take English ships. If France wouldn’t protect Acadia, the privateers would!

Prisoners taken from English corsairs reported that the English were planning attacks in 1708 and 1709.

René was just under 30 years old and probably physically in his prime.

Their third child, Agathe, arrived three years after the second child, on January 19, 1710. One of the godparents was the Lieutenant of the company at the fort. René was probably coordinating closely with the soldiers.

Nothing motivates a man like his family being in jeopardy, and their very existence depending on his skills as a soldier.

1710

On September 24, 1710, Port Royal was attacked again. The English were intent on completely overwhelming the Acadians with 5 warships and 3400 troops. This time, the English were well prepared. 400 marines from England were joined by 900 soldiers from Massachusetts, 300 from Connecticut, and 100 from New Hampshire. Iroquois were recruited as scouts.

There were more English and colonial soldiers than the Acadians had total residents in both Port Royal and the Acadian settlements further north.

The Acadians, with their 300 soldiers, a number which would have included all able-bodied men, stood absolutely no chance, although they did manage to hold the fort for an amazing 19 days. The episode became known as the Siege of Port Royal, or the Conquest of Acadia.

This hand-drawn English map shows the landmarks of the Siege of 1710. Looking at the map location across from the fort, it’s possible that the English came ashore at the Doucet homestead.

Another map shows the homesteads on the far side of the river across from the fort.

Based on the other maps, it appears to me that the Doucet home was actually the residence closest to the location, labeled with a “4,” which, according to the legend, is “where our whole body of men landed.”

I’m nauseous just thinking about what that family endured. Their abject terror. Perhaps this is why some of their children are 3 years apart instead of 18 months.

Did René have to witness his home burn? Did he know his family had sheltered elsewhere, or did he have to watch the flames, maybe from across the river, fearing the worst? What about his barn and livestock?

Would anyone or anything be left?

Without fields to plant and livestock, rebuilding would be impossible or, at best, exceedingly difficult. Without his wife and children, he wouldn’t care about rebuilding.

Here is what we know about the 1710 battle:

As the fleet sails north, it is joined by a dispatch ship sent by Thomas Matthews, captain of the Chester; it was carrying deserters from the French garrison, who reported that the morale of the French troops was extremely low. Nicholson (British commander) sends the ship ahead with one of the transports. As they entered Digby Gully, they received fire from groups of Micmacs on the coast. The ships retaliate with their guns, with neither side taking any casualties.

On October 5, the main British fleet arrived at Goat Island, about 10 kilometers (6.2 mi) south of Port-Royal. That afternoon, the Caesar transport runs aground while attempting to enter Annapolis, and is eventually swept away by the rocks. Her captain, part of her crew, and 23 soldiers died, while a company commander and some 25 other people fought ashore.

The following day, October 6, British marines began landing north and south of the fortress and town. The northern force was joined by four New England regiments under the command of Colonel Vetch, while Nicholson led the remaining New England troops as part of the southern force. The landings were uneventful, with fire from the fort being countered by one of Fleet’s long-range bombers. Although later accounts of the siege state that Vetch’s detachment was part of a strategic plan to encircle the fort, contemporary accounts report that Vetch wanted to have command somewhat independent of Nicholson. These same accounts state that Vetch never came within range of the fort’s guns before the end of the siege; his attempts to erect a battery of mortars in a muddy area opposite the fort, across Allain Creek, were repulsed by the fire of cannon. The southern force encountered guerrilla-type resistance outside the fort, with Acadian and native defenders firing small arms from houses and wooded areas, in addition to taking fire from the fort. This fire caused three deaths among the British, but the defenders could not prevent the British on the south side from establishing a camp about 400 meters from the fort.

Over the next four days the British landed their guns and brought them to camp. Fire from the fort and its supporters outside continued, and British bombers wreaked havoc inside the fort with their fire each night. With the imminent opening of new British batteries, Subercase sent an officer with a flag of parliament on 10 October. The negotiations started badly, because the officer was not announced correctly by a beater (drummer). Each side ended up taking an officer from the other, mainly for reasons of military etiquette, and the British continued their siege work.

On October 12, the forward siege trenches and guns within 91 m (300 ft) of the fort opened fire. Nicholson sends Subercase a demand for surrender, and negotiations resume. At the end of the day, the parties reach an agreement on the terms of surrender, which is formally signed the next day. The garrison is permitted to leave the fort with all the honors of war, “their arms and baggage, drums beating and flags flying.”

The British must transport the garrison to France, and the capitulation carries specific protections to protect the inhabitants. These conditions provide that “inhabitants of the cannon firing range of the fort” may remain on their properties for up to two years if they wish, provided they are prepared to take the oath to the British Crown.

Ironically, one of the terms of surrender stated that inhabitants within cannon-shot, 3 English miles, could stay for 2 years, meaning they had two years to move their “moveable items” to a French territory, which was any of the rest of Acadia, at least until the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713.

René’s home had probably already burned, but his land was unquestionably within cannon-shot.

481 Acadians pledged allegiance to the Queen of England, and the French troops left Port Royal, renamed by the English to Annapolis Royal, on a British warship. They were taken back to France.

450 English soldiers remained at the fort, but they clearly didn’t want to be there. By June of 1711, only 100 were left – the rest having either deserted or died.

The Native Americans were involved on both sides.

Everything was in upheaval.

In Grand Pre, the English arrived under the premise of peace but were actually there to take the property of the Acadians. Peter Melanson, Alexander Bourg, Anthony LeBlanc, John & Peter Landry were chosen to be deputies to bring the word to the Acadians who hadn’t heard that their property was now the government’s.

They were asked to pay 6000 livres (about $1200) in money or in poultry; plus, 20 pistoles ($80) every month to maintain the English governor’s table. This, in addition to a tax to pay the troops, would allow them to travel to and trade with Port Royal. Otherwise, they were captive.

No one counted on the stubborn dispositions of the Acadians.

A document was composed on November 16 saying that the deputies were granted the power to collect the money. English commander Samuel Vetch wanted to get as much money from the Acadians as possible, but 6 months of sickness had reduced his forces to 100 men, and he couldn’t impose the tax.

The Acadians weren’t used to being taxed and found every excuse possible not to pay, or to pay as little as possible. When the Acadians were asked to help by working on fortifications, a number of excuses were offered up…their horses were too thin, the Indians might attack, there was ice on the river, etc. This uncooperative attitude was effective and would remain with the Acadians through the years.

The Massacre at Bloody Creek

In June of 1711, a detachment of English soldiers from Fort Anne traveled upriver in a whaleboat and two flatboats and was ambushed by a band of Indians, although some reports indicated that there were also Acadians involved. The boats did not stay together and had not accounted for the tide, allowing the Indians to rally and set up an ambush. The Native people, who often intermarried with the Acadians, were closely allied.

Thirty English soldiers, a major, and the fort engineer were killed at what came to be known as “Bloody Creek,” 12 miles east of Annapolis Royal. The event was named the Battle of Bloody Creek or the Bloody Creek Massacre. Some evidence suggests there were more deaths than were reported.

Buoyed by their victory, approximately 600 Acadian, Abenaki, and Mi’kmaq men blockaded Fort Anne. Unfortunately, the blockade was unsuccessful because they had no artillery, and the fort was still accessible by water.

We can rest assured that René was involved in the blockade.

The English and the Oath

On March 23, 1713, René and Marie had their fourth child, Anne, three years after the third child was born.

On April 13, 1713, Acadia passed to England, with France ceding all of Nova Scotia or Acadia with its 2000 residents. One author reported that in the past century, France had sent less than 200 colonists to Acadia and, at that point, was focused on Louisiana. In other words, Acadia was left to fend for herself, whither, and die.

By 1713, the roles had reversed. The Acadian residents stated that they were ready to leave, but the English tried to prevent their departure because they realized that they needed their crops and labor to feed the English soldiers. The French at Ile Royal offered the Acadians safe harbor, but the Acadians refused, feeling that there wasn’t enough land, the ground was rocky, and they would starve. They knew how to farm salt marshes. They had no idea how to farm rocky soil.

For the Acadians, this was something of a lose-lose situation. Yet, the Acadians were known for their resolute persistence, and they continued to do so.

The English pressured the Acadians from 1713-1730 to take an oath of allegiance and become British subjects. The Acadians continually refused, expressing three points of concern: that they be able to continue their Catholic faith, the Indians (allies of the French) might attack an Acadian who fought against the French, and that the English take the Acadians’ history into account.

Both sides were entrenched, and the standoff continued.

The only census under the English was taken in 1714, where René was listed with his wife, son, and three daughters living among the same neighbors.

In a twist of irony, the Acadians tried to leave and join the other French families elsewhere, but Vetch, the English governor had reversed his position when he realized how strong that French settlement would be, and that he would have no farmers to govern and no one to feed the English soldiers. Now, instead of insisting they leave, he forbade them to leave and prevented their exodus.

Vetch wrote a letter on Nov. 24, 1714, to London, showing why he hadn’t let the Acadians go. Evidently, he had received six questions, which he answered thus:

          1) He calls the area “L’Accady and Nova Scotia” and says there are about 500 families (2500 people) there.

          2) He notes that all (except for 2 families from New England … the ALLENs and the GOURDAYs) wanted to move.

          3) He also estimates that there are 500 families at Louisbourg, plus 7 companies (of soldiers). The French king gave them 18 months provisions and helped them out with ships and salt (for the fishery) to encourage them to settle there.

          4) As to the movement of Acadians from Nova Scotia to Isle Royale, he notes that it would empty the area of inhabitants. Even the Indians (with whom the French intermarried and shared their religion) would take their trade to Isle Royale to follow the Acadians. This would make Isle Royale a much larger colony.

Vetch said that 100 Acadians (who knew the woods, could use snowshoes, and knew how to use birch canoes) were more valuable than 5 times as many soldiers fresh from Europe. They were also excellent in fishery. Such a move would create the largest and most powerful French colony in the New World.

          5) He notes that some of them (“without much belongings”) have already moved, but the rest plan on moving the next summer (1715) when the harvest is over and the grain is in. They had about 5000 black cattle, plus many sheep and hogs, that they would take with them if permitted. So if they move, the colony will be reverted to a primitive state and be devoid of cattle. It would require a long time and 40,000 pounds to obtain that much livestock from New England.

          6) He also wrote that having them sell the land wouldn’t be good; the treaty doesn’t even give them that right. He states that they wouldn’t have wanted to go if the French officers (speaking for the French king) hadn’t threatened that they’d be treated as rebels if they didn’t move.

The Acadians, always determined, tried any number of avenues to leave, including clandestinely making boats, which were seized. The Acadians essentially became hostages on their own lands – land that they hadn’t planted because they thought they were leaving.

So, in November of 1714, in addition to the other issues, they had no food. That meant that the winter of 1714 was a very lean time. Marie was pregnant.

On May 1, 1715, René and Marie had their fifth child, Francois.

The Acadians remained completely committed to their position. They were pleasant and polite but staunchly refused to take that cursed oath.

The English were in control and they were stubborn too. Things got worse.

In 1715, the gates of Fort Anne were shut, and the Acadians were prevented from trading with the fort and also with the Indians. The Acadians now desperately wanted to leave, but they couldn’t. The English tried to starve them into submission.

I hope that the sea and maybe their Indian allies sustained the Acadians during these starving times. Something must have worked, because that baby born in May didn’t die.

In 1717, Captain Doucette, reportedly an Englishman of no relation (but I’d like to see a Y-DNA test) became the Lieutenant Governor of Acadia. By this time some Acadians relented and decided to stay on peaceful terms. Perhaps the devil you know versus the devil you don’t. When the Indians learned about this, they threatened the Acadians.

Though they had always been friends and allies, and in some cases, relatives, the Indians were worried about the Acadians defecting to the English side if they agreed to the English terms and stayed put.

Captain Doucette demanded that the Acadians take the oath, but the Acadians thought that doing so would tie them down … and most of the families still wanted to move. They said if they were to stay, they wanted protection from the Indians, and the oath should be stated so that they would not have to fight their own countrymen. But Doucette wanted an unconditional oath.

Wills clashed, and neither side made headway. The stalemate continued.

On April 19, 1718, René and Marie had their 6^th child, Catherine, three years after their fifth child was born.

Sadly, on October 4, 1719, Catherine died and was buried, probably in the garrison cemetery. I do question this, though, because the garrison would have been under English control, and there was a Mass House where the Acadians worshipped at BelleIsle, so their child might have been buried in that now-lost cemetery there.

1720 – To Leave or Not to Leave

By this time, Port Royal had been renamed to Annapolis Royal.

On May 9, 1720, those who had become British subjects were offered free exercise of their religion, a guarantee to their property, and their civil rights. Official notices were translated into French to be distributed, a policy that continued from 1720 to 1755. An offer was made that they could depart but not take any of their possessions with them.

The Acadians answered that they feared the Indians if they took the oath. They promised to be faithful and peaceful but would not sign the requested oath and agreement. They explained that they couldn’t leave in the year allotted by the treaty because no one would buy their land.

The French government wanted them to move, but the land the French offered was poor, and the English government was underhandedly making them stay by refusing to allow them to take anything. The English didn’t want to lose their source of supplies. The Acadians were hard to control…the Minas Acadians even more so than the Port Royal Acadians.

Everyone was exasperated, and the Acadians were probably angry.

Those poor Acadians. This is the drama that never ends.

General Phillips arrived later in 1720 and issued a proclamation that they must take the oath unconditionally or leave the country within 3 months. He also said they couldn’t sell or take with them any of their property, thinking that would force the Acadians to take the oath. But the Acadians still refused, saying that the Indians were threatening them. When they proposed, “Let us harvest our crops and use vehicles to carry it,” Philipps figured that the Acadians were planning on taking their possessions with them and denied their request.

This had truly become a no-win situation.

The Acadians felt that their only route of “escape” was by land, so they began to make a road from Minas to Port Royal, about 70 miles.

The governor issued an order that no one should move without his permission, and he even sent an order to Minas to stop work on the road.

The English stated that the Acadians desired to take the Port Royal cattle to Beaubassin, about 300 miles today by road but not nearly as far by water. Beaubassin was a fortified French possession and some Acadian families had already lived there for decades.

Philipps, reaching the end of his patience, pronounced the Acadians ungovernable and stubborn, and stated that they were directed by bigoted priests. He went on to say that the Acadians couldn’t be allowed to go because it would strengthen the population of their French neighbors. The Acadians were also needed to build fortifications and to produce supplies for the fort. Philipps stated that they couldn’t leave until there “are enough British subjects to be settled in their place.” He hoped that there were plans being made to bring in British families and expected problems from the Indians, who didn’t want the Acadians to move.

Instead, France started sending people to Ile Royal. The fort at Louisbourg, destroyed in 1758, was begun in 1720. Other settlements in the region included St. Pierre near the Straight of Canso, which had slate mines, and Niganiche, further north on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, a fishing port.

On February 5, 1721, René and Marie had their 7^th child, Marguerite, three years after their 6^th child.

Roughly two years later, in 1723, Charles, their 8^th child, joined the family.

On August 20, 1725, they welcomed their 9^th child, Jean, into the world.

By now, René was 45 years old and probably quite tired of the constant upheaval and uncertainty. He had lived his entire life like this.

1725 – An Oath, But Wait…

In 1725, Governor Armstrong, a violent man with a bad temper and a reputation that preceded him, arrived. However, he realized he needed the Acadians and convinced the Port Royal Acadians, representing about one-fourth of the Acadian population, to take the oath by reminding them that England would not allow Catholics to serve in the Army. Their concern was having to fight against their countrymen and family members, and he had addressed that. Encouraged by his success, he tried the same thing in Minas, but it didn’t work.

Then, he offered to allow the Acadians to take the following oath: “I do sincerely promise and swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King George the Second, so help me God.” This meant that they wouldn’t have to “take up arms” against the French or Indians, they could leave whenever they wanted, and they had the freedom to have priests and to practice the Catholic religion.

Beginning then, they were often known as the “Neutral French” or French Neutrals.

The Acadians breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the decades-long issues that rubbed constantly like a burr in underwear were finally over.

Maybe they could finally live in peace and raise their children with some level of security.

On July 20^th, 1728, René and Marie welcomed their 10^th child, Cecile.

In 1729, that oath they had taken was considered too lenient and declared null and void. Everyone was unhappy, but the Acadians were unwavering in their insistence on a conditional oath.

This is where it gets interesting.

Governor Phillips Saves the Day!

Phillips, the old commander who was sent to replace Armstrong, reported that the Acadians took this oath:

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

That’s what Phillips reported, but the actual oath continued on a second page, as follows:

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

The priest and a notary signed as witnesses, but Phillips only sent the first part back to England. The Royals didn’t know about the second part, and the Acadians believed they were protected. In essence, both sides got their way, even though it wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up.

However, it worked, and peace was finally upon Acadia.

For the next 15 or 20 years, the Acadians were left alone, and their population grew rapidly. However, those additional people strained the seams of the Acadian settlements at Port Royal.

But for René, that didn’t matter.

A Baptism 

On September 10^th, 1731, René Doucet and Anne Granger witnessed the baptism of René’s granddaughter, Marguerite Garceau, born to Jeanne, also known as Anne Doucet and Daniel Garceau. René’s daughter would have been ecstatic about the birth of her first baby and was probably thrilled for her father to stand as godfather. I can only imagine her joy that fall day, standing beside the baptismal font.

The inclusion of Anne Granger, who would have been a neighbor, suggests strongly that they were still living on the same land where René had been born, probably in the house that had been rebuilt several times, overlooking the beautiful dyked marshes and the Annapolis River.

While this wasn’t René’s first grandchild, it was the second grandchild born in Port Royal and the only one he had stood with at their baptism. The rest of his grandchildren were born to children who had married and migrated to Chipoudy or Beaubassin – not places nearby. He probably seldom, if ever, saw his children who moved away and their children.

Tragedy

Sometime after September 10, 1731, tragedy struck. René died, but we don’t know when, or how, or where. We just know that there are no further records that include René. No baptisms that I’ve found – nothing.

What we do know is that there was no death or burial entry in the Port Royal parish records, nor the records in the Minas basin. In other words, had René been visiting his children elsewhere and perished, he would have been buried there, and the priest would have made an entry in the church books, which do exist.

Instead, we are met with stony silence.

Was he out on the water and died?

Was he traveling by boat or canoe to visit his children when a storm came up and swamped his boat?

Was he fishing?

Did a bore tide sweep him away?

Did he drown, his body not recovered?

Did he disappear hunting in the winter?

What happened, and why is there no record?

He wasn’t an old man, only just over 50, someplace between 51 and 53.

We will never know, but I surely hope his family knew and were able to have some type of closure.

I hope he didn’t simply disappear.

Assuming René died about 1731, his wife, Marie Broussard who was about 45, was left with children at home to raise.

I believe, based on what we have been able to discern, that René’s son-in-law, Daniel Garceau, stepped in and helped his wife’s family, essentially running the farm for all of them to survive. They would all have lived communally.

Even with help, Marie assuredly had her hands full.

• Son, Pierre had married in 1725 and was living in Chipoudy.
• Daughter Anne Marie was married and living in Pisiquit.
• Daughter Agathe was married and living in Chipoudy.
• Daughter Anne or Jeanne had married Daniel Garceau and stayed in Annapolis Royal, probably working the farm with Marie. Marie must have thanked God daily for this couple.
• Son Francois was about 16 when René died and didn’t marry until 1742, staying in Annapolis Royal. He probably helped Daniel and his mother with the farm.
• Daughter Marguerite was about 10 years old when René died.
• Son Charles was about 8 when René died.
• Son Jean was about 6 when René died.
• Daughter Cecile was about 3 when René died.

René’s widow, Marie, never remarried, although her life would have been much easier with a husband. She reportedly died sometime after the marriage of her youngest child, Cecile, who was the last to marry on January 22, 1752. Both parents are mentioned in this record, and neither is mentioned as deceased. We are left to wonder.

The other possibility for René is that the reason there is no death record for him is because he lived beyond the deportation in 1755, and died elsewhere. That’s not impossible, but absolutely no record in 24+ years makes that rather improbable. The Annapolis Royal parish records are not indexed by every name – only indexing the primary person, parents and spouse. Parents are provided, but if they are deceased, those records don’t always say so. Witnesses and godparents are also not indexed. I surely wish they were.

So, if anyone finds René Doucet in any parish record in Acadia after September of 1731, please let me know.

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