Susannah Anderson (maybe), (born c 1713), wife of John Vannoy – 52 Ancestors #434

Susannah’s surname may not be Anderson. Her first name might not even be Susannah, but since we do have that name published in family history, Susannah is what I’m calling her unless we discover otherwise.

How I wish we had firm evidence about Susannah, the wife of John Vannoy. Something. Anything. But we don’t.

Of course, we know that she existed, by some name, because John Vannoy had children whose births were recorded in a Bible and he certainly didn’t bring them into this world by himself.

If Susannah’s birth surname might not have been Anderson, or its Dutch version, Andreissen, where did this information come from? In fact, where is her name recorded at all?

Great question.

Earlier Researchers

Thank goodness for earlier researchers. While they may not have gotten everything right, they did us a HUGE favor by recording what they were told, often reaching back two or three generations. This at least gives us something to work with. If the family members who recorded that history lived a century ago, that means their information may reach back two centuries, give or take. Some did us the additional favor of researching local records or writing about letters and documents that have since been lost to time.

James H. Hook, in a book written in 1957, referring to John Vannoy, tells us:

“He married, about 1740, Susannah, who, according to his grandson, Andrew Vannoy, son of Nathaniel, was Susannah Anderson, born in New Jersey. Confirmation of the New Jersey Origin of the Vannoys in North Carolina is given in the Cleveland Genealogy, Vol. III, p. 2086.”

Professional genealogist, Yvette Hoitink, in her summary about Susanah, writes:

The book is well documented and discusses the merits of the evidence, using qualifiers where appropriate. This shows that the compiler was a competent genealogist.

This publication shows that it was grandson Andrew Vannoy, son of Nathaniel who said his grandmother was Susannah Anderson, born in New Jersey. Note that this recorded tradition does not name her parents, and they are not recorded elsewhere in the book. It is likely that later researchers tried to fit her into the known Anderson family of New Jersey by making her a daughter of Cornelius or Andrew.

According to the publication, Andrew Vannoy, son of Nathaniel son of John, was born on 4 November 1783. This means he would not have personally known Susannah’s parents. However, he may have known Susannah herself, if she indeed died in 1816 as her Find-a-Grave memorial indicates.

His identification of her as an Anderson from New Jersey may have been an amalgamation of family stories. After all, he had a great-grandmother who was an Anderson from New Jersey. Without corroboration by independent evidence, this family tradition is not reliable.

The great-grandmother that Yvette is referencing is Rebekah (Rebecca) Anderson/Andriesen (1697-1727), who married John Vannoy’s father, Francis Vannoy (1688-1774), in 1718 in Hunterdon County, New Jersey.

James Hook also wrote about John Vannoy in an earlier 1954 book about the Lt. Samuel Smith family:

“His wife was Susannah, born Susannah Anderson, according to a letter written by her grandson, Andrew Vannoy, son of Nathaniel.” and ” It was Andrew Vannoy, a grandson of John who gave his grandmother Vannoy’s name as Susannah Anderson but did not give his great grandfather Vannoy’s first name.”

It also provides more information about the family Bible:

“The Bible of John and Susannah has been preserved. The family data in it begins with this entry: ‘John Vannoy, son of Jesse, was married to Susannah Vannoy. ‘Apparently, this was a later entry and should not be accepted.”

Jesse? Where the heck did Jesse come from? I’ve worked with the Vannoy records for more than 30 years now, and I’ve never once seen a Jesse this early or attributed as John’s father. I’ve never seen this information anyplace else either.

Also, about that Bible being preserved – I’d love to see it. Where is it? Does someone even have a photocopy? Checking my emails from 25 years ago, people were talking about it then, but in the abstract.

In his later 1957 publication, Hook attributed John as the son of Francis based on Francis’s will, as discussed in the John Vannoy article.

From the book, New Jersey, Abstracts of Wills 1670-1817

August 15, 1768 Francis Vannoy of Hopewell, Hunterdon Co., yeoman, will of.  Personal and real estate to be sold and money given to my 4 children, John Vannoy, Hannah Willson, Cornelius Vannoy and Andrew Vannoy. Eldest son John to have 5 pounds more than the rest.  Exec son Andrew and son-in-law Peter Willson.  Witnesses – Francis Wilson, James Willson, Andrew Wilson, Proved July 21, 1774

On the 1722 Hopewell Township, NJ, tax list, we know that Francis Vannoy was listed with 3 sons and 3 daughters, and that his probable brother, Andrew who is listed on the tax list as Abraham, has 1 son and no daughters.

We know that John Vannoy, and his wife, whoever she was, had left New Jersey and were in Rowan County, NC, in the Jersey Settlement, at least by the fall of 1752.

What Do We Actually Know About Susannah?

We are going to have to take Susannah’s first name on faith that her grandson knew and remembered her name accurately. I think that’s fully reasonable. The grandson, Andrew, was born in 1783. It’s very likely that both John Vannoy and Susannah were deceased by that time, but his father, Nathaniel, very clearly knew his mother’s name.

What do we actually know about Susannah?

The first thing we know, or can at least infer about Susannah is that she grew up in the Presbyterian church.

Let’s look at the pieces of evidence that we have collected.

Cornelius Andreissen and Annetje Opdyke, the grandparents of John Vannoy, Susannah’s future husband, had five of their children baptized in the Presbyterian Church in Churchville, Pennsylvania, on June 6, 1710.

By 1724, when Cornelius Andreissen died, they were living in Hopewell Township, New Jersey. In fact, Cornelius Anderson owned a mill in the southwestern corner of Hopewell Township.

In the book, A History of the Old Presbyterian Congregation of “The People of Maindenhead and Hopewell,” and More Especially of the First Presbyterian Church of Hopewell, we find not only the history of the founding of the church, but also of the settlement of this region, early taxpayers and residents. The land for the original church was purchased in 1697 in what is today the village of Pennington. The village, originally called Queenstown, in honor of Queen Anne, probably began to attract settlers in about 1708. Prior to that, it was wilderness.

The original name of the congregation was “The People of Maidenhead and Hopewell,” and 100 acres of land was conveyed for the purpose of “erecting a meeting-house and for burying-ground, and school-house.” Among others, the land was conveyed to Johannes Lawrenson, Thomas Smith, Jasper Smith, Joshua Andris, Enoch Andris, Cornelius Andris, and Lawrence Updike. Updike is Opdyke, Andris is Andriessen that became Anderson, and Lawrenson is Louwrensen.

John Vannoy’s father, Francis, married the daughter of Cornelius Anderson and his wife Annetje Opdyke, whose father was Johannes Louwrensen Opdyke. Cornelius Anderson’s other daughter married John Smith, so these families were connected as early as 1697 and likely earlier when they were living across the river in New York.

In the church booklet, we note one Frances “Fonnoy” (Vannoy) listed in 1722 with 10 cattle and horses and 150 acres of land. Of course, that was before the infamous 1731 Coxe Affair where the powerful Coxe family claimed that the land purchase had never been sold – attempting to coerce the settlers into paying for their land a second time in order not to lose it entirely.

John Vannoy was probably born in Maidenhead Township, near Hopewell, sometime around 1716, give or take a few years in either direction, not long after his family moved to the frontier.

Susannah, his eventual wife, was born between 1713 and 1720.  If she was an Anderson daughter, her father was most likely on the 1722 tax list, which includes:

  • Abraham Anderson with 1 son and 10 daughters
  • Benjamin Anderson with 2 sons and no daughters (probably eliminates him)
  • Cornelius Anderson with 3 sons and 4 daughters
  • Ellakim Anderson with 1 son and no daughters (probably eliminates him)
  • John Anderson with no sons and 4 daughters
  • Isaac Anderson with 1 son and 2 daughters

It’s worth noting that these names have been Anglicized, and I can’t fit everyone into a known family structure, although Ellakim is clearly the son of Cornelius based on later documents.

Even though the community would probably have been struggling to build a church and school, I hope that the children were being educated which was clearly the intend of the deed conveyance. I believe they were, in part, because John Vannoy or Susannah recorded their children’s names and birth dates in a Bible. You can’t do that if you can’t write.

We know that Susannah was living in the same location as John Vannoy in Hunterdon County, New Jersey, in about 1740 when they married. You have to live close enough to court. Their first child was born on April 12, 1741, just three weeks before her father-in-law pledged money for the Presbyterian parsonage. Baptism records that no longer exist would have reflected the baptisms of their children. It’s interesting that their only child known to have been baptized in North Carolina is Daniel Vannoy who was born on February 22, 1752 which tells us that he was not baptized earlier.

On May 1, 1741, Francis Vannoy is listed as a donor for the parsonage of the church, so we know beyond a doubt that his son John was Presbyterian, and based on the early Andreissen involvement, so were the Anderson and Opdyke families.

While this church isn’t original, it was reconstructed in its original location. The church today looks very much like it did in 1923, above.

According to the plaque on the front of the church, it was built in 1724, rebuilt in 1783 or 1785 (I can’t see the date clearly), enlarged and then rebuilt again in 1847, burned in 1874, and rebuilt a final time then. This also explains why none of the parish records exist.

In the churchyard, or burying-ground as was stated in the deed, several Vannoy burials can be found on FindaGrave. Assuredly, there are many more unmarked graves, very probably including Susannah’s children born about 1744 and 1748. Her children’s grandparents, probably all four of them, would rest here, too – as would Susannah and John’s siblings.

On the June 26, 1753 tax list, Francis Vannoy, with 3 sons and 3 daughters, and Andrew Vannoy with one son, both appear on the list, but John Vannoy does not. That makes perfect sense, because by the third week of September that year, John registered his stock mark in Anson County, North Carolina in the Jersey Settlement – so they had already left.

I had previously surmised that the Vannoys were probably Presbyterian, based on later interactions with Presbyterian circuit riding ministers in North Carolina. Presbyterian minister Hugh McAden stayed with the Vannoy family on September 5, 1755, after having ridden 45 miles that day. He clearly knew where they lived and how to find their cabin. He also stayed with the Anderson and Smith families during that same trip, both of whom were related to John Vannoy through his mother, and to Susannah as well if she was an Anderson.

Susannah would have been about seven months pregnant when the road-weary preacher came to visit. She was looking after a whole passel of young kids and cooking in an outdoor kitchen. She was probably hot, sweaty, and tired. I’m sure she was gracious, but the last thing she really wanted was an unexpected guest. Nevertheless, practicing frontier hospitality, she would have wiped her hands on her apron, handed him a bowl of whatever was in the pot, and made him welcome.

On the other hand, Reverend McAden surely brought news of her family and friends back in New Jersey. She, of course, hadn’t seen them in more than three years, so that probably overshadowed her fatigue. Regardless, he bunked with the family, as was the custom for frontier visitors.

Combined with the 1710 Andreissen Presbyterian baptisms, the early Hopewell Township Presbyterian records including the Vannoy, Andreissen and Opdyke families, and the continued thread into North Carolina, this confirms that Susannah was Presbyterian, at least initially.

The only other choice was Baptist. A Baptist Meeting House was built in Hopewell about 1715. Baptists would clearly influence Susannah’s life and that of her children, but that was years in the future. 

Children

The majority of the information we have about Susannah is through her children, thanks to those Bible records, plus additional research.

  • Rachel Vannoy was born on April 12, 1741, and was reported to have married Neil Patton, I was unable to confirm this, although, the Rev William Hamilton Eller (1842-1922) reported their marriage, here. However, she unquestionably married John Darnell sometime around or before 1771. They had four sons, including twins, before John reportedly died at the Battle of Hanging Rock in the Revolutionary War when the twins were but three months old. In January 1782, Rachel was ordered to deliver “what orphan children she had in possession” to the court, and in April, she was granted administration of John’s Estate. In 1785, with her brother, Andrew Vannoy, she posted a bond to administer another estate, and in October of 1787, apprenticeship records show that the twins, Benjamin and Joseph, born May 6, 1780, were apprenticed to Andrew Vannoy “to learn the occupation of farmer, read, write and cipher.” In 1787, she was shown on the state census with one male child under the age of 21, and in 1795, her land was mentioned in a neighboring deed.
  • Andrew Vannoy was born on August 12, 1742, and died on October 9, 1809, in Wilkes County. His marriage license was issued on October 18, 1779, with Susannah Shepherd, daughter of John and Sarah Shepard. They had ten children.
  • Appears to be a child missing who would have been born in late 1743 or early 1744.
  • Abraham Vannoy was born on January 15, 1745. We have no further information about Abraham, so it’s possible that he died relatively young.
  • Francis Vannoy was born on August 13, 1746, and died near Barbourville, Knox Co., KY, on July 26, 1822. The first record of Francis appeared in the court claims in 1765 in Rowan County, NC. By 1779, he was a juror in Wilkes County, where he received land grants for seven parcels of land between 1779 and 1799 for a total of 710 acres. He moved to Knox County around 1815 based on lawsuits in Wilkes County. Francis had as many as 19 children, not all proven, by at least two wives.
  • Appears to be a child missing who would have been born in 1748.
  • Nathaniel Vannoy was born on February 16, 1749. He died of measles at Greenville, SC, at age 87 at the house of his daughter, Mrs. Sallie Cleveland, on July 26, 1835. “He was a soldier of the Rev. War and served with Col. Benjamin Cleveland at King’s Mountain.” His obituary further stated that he was “half English and half French in stock,” neither of which was accurate, and that he was the first white man to be born in western NC, which is doubtful. His wife was Elizabeth Ray “of Ashe Co., NC,” and they had nine children. Nathaniel was also one of the early Baptist preachers in Wilkes County.
  • Hannah Vannoy, born March 26, 1751, may have married the Reverend Andrew Baker. There’s some question about whether Andrew Baker actually married Hannah, Susannah or any of the Vannoy daughters.
  • Daniel Vannoy was born on February 22, 1752, and married Sarah Hickerson on October 2, 1779. In August of 1774, he was baptized into the Dutchman’s Creek Church that had an arm at Mulberry Fields, and in September 1776, he purchased a scythe at the estate sale of James Burks in Surry County. He died sometime after January 1795 when he sold land and is not found in the 1800 census or later records. The family didn’t leave because his children remained in the area. His son, Joel Vannoy, married Elizabeth Saint Clear in March of 1817 in Wilkes County, and Little Hickerson signed their marriage license as bondsman. Little Hickerson was also known as Samuel Stewart, as discussed in this article, and was a nephew of Daniel’s wife, Sarah Hickerson.
  • Susannah Vannoy was born July 6, 1754, and may have married John Long, Sr., although I cannot confirm that.
  • Katherine Vannoy was born on December 26, 1755.

Baby Math

Given that Susannah’s first child was born on April 12, 1741, she became pregnant in mid-July 1740, suggesting that she was married a few months earlier, probably in early 1740. Of course, this presumes that Rachel was actually her first child.

Given that Susannah’s last child was born the day after Christmas in 1755, and it’s unlikely that she conceived another child after age 42, or so, that suggests she was born about 1713-ish.

This assumes that she lived long enough to have had another child in 1757.

  • So, if she was 42 when Katherine was born, Susannah would have been born around 1713.
  • If Susannah died before 1757, then she could have been born as late as 1723 or so, although 18 was a bit young on the frontier for a marriage.

We’re also presuming that Susannah was John’s only wife. Given that there was a Bible, I would presume that a second wife would have been noted if there was one. Also, a first wife would have been listed as the mother of the earlier children.

It really makes me uneasy that I’ve used the words presume or assume four times in this section alone, but all of this adds up to evidence.

And we’re not done yet.

Cousins

I retained Yvette Hoitink to sift through the various Dutch records both in the Netherlands and the US colonies to see if we could find any hint whatsoever as to the identity of Susannah’s parents.

We do have a significant hint in the fact that Andrew stated that John and Susannah were cousins.

What is a cousin?

The closest cousin one could have would be first cousins, people who shared grandparents.

If John and Susannah were first cousins, and Susannah’s birth surname was Anderson/Andreissen, that means they would have shared grandparents – Cornelius Anderson/Andriessen and Annetje Opdyke.

If they were second cousins, they would have shared great-grandparents, one generation further back in time.

I retained Yvette to thoroughly research all of the children of Cornelius and Annetje to see if there was any hint that Susannah might be related. Yvette did find a significant amount of information, but absolutely nothing connecting anyone with the name of Susannah, which is not a typical Dutch name.

Yvette then researched a generation further back, and in doing so, revealed the parents of Annetje – but nothing to connect Susannah.

It may be worth noting that after Cornelius Anderson died in 1724, his widow, the administrator of his estate, was referenced as “Annah,” which was clearly the name by which she was called. Her son, John Anderson and son-in-law, Francis Vannoy, were co-bondsmen. I only mention this because Annah and Susannah could sound similar, but checking the estates and known children and grandchildren of Annetje Opdyke does not show another Annetje, Annah, or Susannah. Of course, some children could have been omitted, and in at least one will, Andrew Anderson, no children were mentioned at all.

But what if Susannah’s last name wasn’t Anderson? People are more likely to know their grandmother’s first name than her birth surname. I’ve seen a grandmother’s birth surname recorded incorrectly on someone’s death certificate countless times. I’ve chased so many wild geese.  

Maybe Cousins on the Vannoy Side?

What if Susannah and John were cousins on the Vannoy side, and not the Anderson side?

John’s grandparents, John Vannoy (1644-1699) and Rachel, whose surname remains stubbornly elusive (zilch evidence for either Cromwell or Cornwall), had three boys and three girls.

  • Francis (1688-1774) – our John’s father who married Rebecca Anderson, so he’s accounted for.
  • John Vannoy – born about 1686 and alive in 1699 when his father wrote his will, but nothing more is known.
  • Abraham Vannoy – born about 1690, married Susanna Clayton, started having children about 1721, and died in 1774 in Kent County, Delaware.
  • Rachel – born about 1692 and appears to have married John Wells
  • Sarah – born about 1694
  • Catherine – born about 1696

Additional research may reveal more about Rachel’s daughters. I’d love to find someone confirmed to descend through all daughters from Rachel to take a mitochondrial DNA test so that we have something to work with. If that’s you, please reach out – I have a DNA testing scholarship with your name on it!

There’s no mention of a daughter, Susannah, anyplace, but at least we find the first name of Susannah in the family. John Vannoy’s uncle, Abraham, married Susannah Clayton. I was initially excited, but I quickly came to realize when researching this family further that for John Vannoy’s wife, Susannah to have been Abraham’s and Susannah’s daughter, she would have had to have been their firstborn, AND never been mentioned anyplace. It’s not impossible, but it is unlikely.

Furthermore, we have a different problem. Little Creek, Delaware, where Abraham lived and where Susannah Clayton’s parents lived, is about 125 miles from Hopewell, New Jersey, so the children of John’s son Francis and John’s son Abraham probably never met. Francis moved to Hopewell Township at least by 1722, and possibly as early as 1714, before his son John was born.

Conversely, maybe Susannah was a daughter of Francis’s brother, John, about whom we know nothing – including if he survived to adulthood. A John Vannoy is not found in the 1722 tax list, so John likely either died or moved elsewhere.

There are too many Johns in this family! It seems that every child in every generation married and had one. I swear, I need to assign numbers.

Frontiers and Children

Based on John Vannoy’s history, we know that Susannah lived through the Coxe Affair in New Jersey in 1731 as a child, where, if settlers had purchased land, they lost it. The only other alternative was to repurchase their own land, causing many people to leave and start over elsewhere and forcing others into bankruptcy.

When John and Susannah married, owning land probably seemed like nothing more than an unrealistic dream – but crooked politicians could wrest it away from you with the stroke of a pen and a few lies. By the time they had been married more than a decade, they still didn’t own land, and they apparently weren’t taking any chances.

John and Susannah loaded up and made the long journey from New Jersey to the Jersey Settlement in NC, some 600 mountainous miles that probably took two or three months if nothing went awry. Any wagon breaking in the train meant that everyone stopped to repair it, so the journey was likely arduous.

We know they were in Rowan County by the third Tuesday of September 1753 when John registered his stock mark at court.

This journey would have been made with children ages 12, 11, 8, 7, 4, two and a half, and 19 months.

Does this mean that Susannah’s next baby arrived at some unknown place along the road, and didn’t survive?

I fear that it does.

Babies were generally born about 18 months apart, but sometimes in as few as 12 months and as many as 24.

Did Susannah give birth to a baby in a makeshift bed in the back of a wagon, with absolutely no privacy, have to bury her infant someplace alongside the trail, then have to pull away and leave the tiny grave behind?

Oh, my aching mother’s heart. God bless them both.

Susannah’s next child wouldn’t be born until July of 1754, so she would have become pregnant in October 1753, just a month or so after John registered his stock mark.

This tells me that they lost a baby someplace on the way to North Carolina, or perhaps immediately after arriving.

Their last child was born the day after Christmas in 1755, so we know that Susannah was alive at this time.

Then…nothing…radio silence.

Additionally, we don’t know what happened to some of her children:

  • Abraham born in 1745
  • Hannah born in 1751
  • Susannah born in 1754
  • Katherine born in 1755

There’s no record in Nathaniel’s Bible, or from his son Andrew’s letter, or from Nathaniel’s son, Jesse’s Bible. Their births are recorded, but nothing further.

It’s very likely that Susannah buried these children too, including her own namesake child.

We know that five survived, and probably at least that many didn’t.

Susannah’s Death

Our only option for estimating when Susannah died is to bracket those dates with what we know about the history of her family.

We know she was alive the day after Christmas in 1755.

We know, based on multiple historical sources, that it’s very likely that Susannah and John Vannoy’s home was burned in 1771, forcing a hurried evacuation to then Surry, soon to become Wilkes County, probably settling on or near Mulberry Creek. If so, and if John’s Bible “was preserved,” as was reported, then we know either it didn’t burn in the fire, or he or Susannah meticulously wrote their children’s births in a replacement Bible at a later date.

We know that John and four sons were alive in 1772.

The Surry County tax list is missing for 1773, but in 1774, the four sons are present, but John is not.

By this time, the family is living in the part of Surry County that would become Wilkes County a few years later.

We have no idea if Susannah survived this long.

Her name is never mentioned in any legal or tax record anyplace, in any county. John does not have a will or estate record, at least not one that survived. If the family’s farm was burned in Rowan County in 1771 during the Regulator War, John and Susannah may have died with literally no possessions on the very edge of the frontier, having saved only their lives.

Susannah’s death date is not recorded in the family Bible, and neither is John’s, but then again, neither are the death dates or spouses of their children.

Not 1816

What I can tell you with near certainty is that our Susannah did NOT live until 1816, as is shown in many trees and on FindaGrave, where literally not one fact about her is accurate. She would have been approximately 100 years old, possibly more – a very remarkable accomplishment – so we can rest assured that if she was anyplace near 100, that legend would have survived. The Susannah Vannoy of 1816 is misidentified as our Susannah.

Susannah’s son, Andrew Vannoy married Susannah Shepherd in 1779 in Wilkes County. Andrew died in 1809. Susannah is enumerated on the 1810 census and is remembered in her father’s will that same year.

It’s very likely that this is the Susannah who died in 1816. I recall finding something in the court records at some time, but I can’t locate that record again. (This is why you should always write everything down, along with the source, when you find it.)

The identities of these two women, Susannah, the wife of John Vannoy, and Susannah Shepherd, the wife of Andrew Vannoy, have been conflated.

Not Baker

One last item about John’s wife, Susannah “Anderson”. Her middle name is often given as Baker, as in, Susannah Baker Anderson.

For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out when or where that started. It’s not stated in any of the early biographical books or articles about the family, or by Andrew Vannoy in his letter. This could have originated in an early speculative tree that has been copy/pasted hundreds or thousands of times, to the point where everyone assumed someone, someplace has the original information.

The Baker family does live nearby in Wilkes County and a Baker was a chain-carrier for one of Nathaniel Vannoy’s land grants. Andrew Baker witnessed several deeds for Nathaniel and vice versa. The Wilkes marriage records show that Martin Baker married “S… Vannoy” where the page is torn, on August 1, with the page torn again, and the bondsman was Nathaniel Vannoy.

Aha – I think we’ve solved two things. The first being where the name Susannah Baker Anderson came from – an amalgamation. Secondly, this is where the confusion about one of the daughters of John Vannoy marrying the Reverend Andrew Baker originated.

Andrew Baker was in Wilkes County by 1782 and claimed land on the New River, a neighbor of Nathaniel Vannoy. His son, Andrew, claimed his father’s 200 acres in 1779 next to land where “Susanna Baker now lives on.” She released her dower rights on a piece of property on Grassy Bottom Creek in Rowan County, North Carolina, in 1768 when she and Andrew sold it to James Sheppard. We know unquestionably that John Vannoy was still living in 1768, so this Susannah Baker is NOT Susannah, the wife or widow of John Vannoy.

Whew!!!

When I first started assembling information about this woman, now at least 20 years ago, our Susannah was listed as Susannah Baker Anderson. This phenomenon used to occur when there was uncertainty so someone connected both surnames, “just in case”, “because one of them has to be right.”

We were all novices at one time, so I recorded it the same way.

Today, with more information available, we can now determine why that assumption might be made, and also why it was wrong.

What About Mitochondrial DNA?

Thankfully, a descendant of Susannah Anderson has taken a mitochondrial DNA test at FamilyTreeDNA.

She has 1130 matches in total, of which 363 are exact full-sequence matches. Unfortunately, only about one-third of those matches, 130, have entered either their Earliest Known Ancestor (EKA) or the geographic location of that ancestor so that Susannah’s mitochondrial matches show on the tester’s matches map.

Of course, I first checked for matches in the same part of the world – looking specifically for the Netherlands. Red pins indicate exact matches, and the majority look to be in Scandinavia and Finland. But not all of them.

Expanding the map is somewhat helpful, but shows her exact matches widely scattered, which likely reflects the fact that haplogroup H1a is a relatively old haplogroup and had the opportunity to spread widely.

Taking a look at the US matches map doesn’t show any names that I recognize in the regions I had hoped. Of course, from these locations in the 1600s and early 1700s, her descendants are scattered everywhere now, and not everyone can trace their ancestors that far back in time. Or, they can, but didn’t list an EKA or location.

I was very much hoping for matches to another Andreissen woman, or another name I recognize from the congregation or tax list in New Jersey.

One of the challenges we have is that females’ surnames change every generation, and when people don’t include their EKA information, it means that genealogists have to click to view every person who has provided a tree.

Unfortunately, usually fewer than half of the matches have uploaded or connected to a tree, and without either an EKA, or a tree, or hopefully both, complete with a location, it’s VERY difficult to establish a genealogical connection.

Anyone who connects with people in Scandinavia is fortunate because, as a group, they are very involved with genetic genealogy and far more likely than average provide EKA, tree, and geographic location information. That can also make maps skew towards that region.

The great news is that the new Mitotree and MitoDiscover, to be released in early 2025, will provide Susannah with a more refined haplogroup or branch, a Time Tree, and a Match Time Tree showing her matches on that tree, WITH their EKA ancestors. (Yes, I’ve seen it – no I can’t share it yet.)

If you descend from any of the Hunterdon County families we’ve discussed through all females, or any other Hunterdon families for that matter, please test your mitochondrial DNA. With changing surnames in each generation, sometimes it’s all we have to make that elusive connection.

The best thing you can do to help yourself and your matches is to provide a tree, enter your EKA information (which is not extracted from your tree), and provide the best location possible for your most distant direct matrilineal ancestor. I wrote about how to do that, here.

Susannah’s Legacy

There are no deeds or other records that give us even the slightest hint about John Vannoy’s wife by any name, when she was born or died, so we’ll go with Susannah Anderson, which was recorded by her grandson.

We know that Susannah grew up in Hopewell Township, New Jersey, born just a few years after the first settlers began making inroads into the wilderness. The first church she attended would have been a log cabin and probably unheated.

As a teen, she flirted with the handsome John Vannoy, whose parents also attended the same church. In about 1740, they married, either in that same humble church, or perhaps one of their parents’ homes.

In 1741, their first baby arrived, founding the next generation.

A dozen years later, seeking to own land, John and Susannah set out for the next frontier with like-minded neighbors and family members – North Carolina.

Based on gaps between children, we know it’s very likely that Susannah buried at least two babies and likely three – one probably on that journey between New Jersey and Rowan County, North Carolina, in 1753.

The Vannoy Bible recorded the birth dates of the Vannoy children, but since there were no death dates, and no spouses listed for several children, it strongly suggests that Susannah may have buried someplace between two and four additional children before they reached adulthood.

If the family oral history and history of Rowan County are to be believed, and there’s no reason to doubt their accuracy, especially since one corroborates the other, Susannah’s home was burned in 1771 during or as a result of the Regulator War. It’s very likely that her husband and sons participated, and their home and farm were torched by Governor Tryon’s militia as an act of retribution for their uprising.

The Baptist Church in Rowan County backed the Regulators, while the Presbyterian ministers backed the governor and his troops.

The Vannoy family would have converted to being Baptists at this point, if they hadn’t already. Susannah was about 50 years old or maybe slightly older in 1771 when her home was torched, if she was still living by then.

We don’t know anything about Susannah for sure beyond the day after Christmas in 1755, when the birth of her youngest child, Catherine, was recorded in the family Bible. Given that there was a family Bible, this suggests strongly that John could write. It would have been unusual if Susannah had been taught to write – women learned “useful” tasks like cooking, cleaning, and household chores. Writing and cyphering were activities men needed to do.

That said, I really, really hope it was her handwriting in that Bible – although if it were, I suspect we’d have additional information.

If Susannah lived to 1771, she would have gathered what she could, as the family hastily departed to what was then Surry County, the portion that would have become Wilkes in 1778. None of her children had yet married by this time, unless Rachel had married Niel Patton, so they would all have lived at home as they attempted to escape the fire, save their livestock, each other, and any shreds of their lives.

I hate to think of the possibility that she perished in that fire. I would think if that had happened, it would have been added to the family story, given that the fact of the arson was passed down to her grandchildren.

As horrible as this scenario is in its own right, I’d much prefer to think that the soldiers at least gave the family the opportunity to leave before torching their homes. Yes, watching your home burn would be horrific, but the terror of being trapped and trying to find everyone and escape the flames is the stuff of nightmares.

If Susannah did not live to 1771, and died between 1755 and 1771, she would have been laid to rest in the churchyard beside the Jersey Baptist Church on Jersey Church Road in Rowan County, or perhaps in a private cemetery on the land where she and John lived on Lick Creek, at the mouth of the Yadkin River.

Susannah’s grave is unmarked, and she probably rests beside some of her children in the silent spaces between gravestones.

If Susannah did make it to Surry or Wilkes County in 1771, she is probably buried with John someplace near their log home that they carved out of the wilderness where they sought shelter after escaping Governor Tryon’s marauding troops. Resting in a quaint and now overgrown cemetery where prayers were offered as family members were buried in wooden caskets made from trees in their forest home, some 250 years ago.

Susannah faced at least two, if not three, increasingly difficult unbroken frontiers, gave birth to at least nine and probably 11 children, and buried at least three or four of them, if not more.

I still try to fathom what Susannah’s life must have been like and have come to the conclusion that she must have been incredibly brave and hearty – but then again, what else could she be? She had little choice but to greet whatever challenges life rolled her way – any one of which would do us in today.

But not Susannah.

She survived long enough to shepherd in the next generation and plant the seeds of the Vannoy family in Wilkes County, North Carolina. Some family members still reside there and have flourished, while others, like seeds scattered in the wind, have established the family elsewhere.

To Susanah, every challenge was just one more obstacle to overcome, which she did handily. She just kept putting one foot in front of the other, walking down life’s rocky road.

Hand in hand with her family.

And here we are today.

_____________________________________________________________

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John Vannoy (c1716-c1774), Hornet’s Nest of Rebellion – 52 Ancestors #433

John Vannoy is often referenced as John Francis Vannoy, but I have been unable to find an actual record referencing him as such, so we will just call him John.

Once I started focusing on John, he wouldn’t leave me alone and just kept leading me (pushing me?) to more and more. What’s been uncovered is utterly amazing, including the 700-mile path of his life – from bucolic, quaint New Jersey when it was the frontier to literally the mountaintops. What an incredible life, and there’s still so much we don’t know.

Here’s what we know for a fact about John Vannoy’s lineage. The early portion is based on original documents in my possession, sourced by Yvette Hoitink, a professional genealogist based in the Netherlands. The later research on John Vannoy in New Jersey and North Carolina is primarily mine, with a lot of references to previous work of others.

  • John Vannoy was born sometime probably between 1716 and 1719 in Hopewell Township, Hunterdon County, New Jersey, and died sometime between 1772 and 1778 in Surry or Wilkes County, NC. The birth date of November 25, 1716, is given, as is the same date with the year of 1719, but I have never seen an actual source for this information other than other people’s trees. If anyone has a source, I’d be incredibly grateful if you’d pass it on.
  • John Vannoy was the son of Francis Vannoy, who was born in 1688 in New York. He moved to Hunterdon County, NJ, around 1714 and died there between September 1768, when his will was written, and July 1774, when it was probated. John’s mother, Francis’s wife, was Rebecca Anderson/Andriesen, the daughter of the Dutch couple Kornelis Andriesen and Annetje Opdyke.
  • Francis Vannoy was the son of John Francis Vannoy (Joannes Franciscus van Oijen), who was born in 1654 in Venlo, the Netherlands. He died between May 13, 1699, when he wrote his will, and March 17, 1700, in New York, when his wife/widow received a land grant. The surname in New York is also spelled Van Oy.
  • John Francis Vannoy was the son of Govert Vannoy (van Oij or Oeij or Oeijen) born in 1620 in the Netherlands and died in 1664, probably on the island of Texel in the Netherlands.
  • Govert was the son of Jan Hendricks van Oij born about 1575 in Buren near Zaltbommel in the Netherlands, near the small village of Oijen.

The phrase “van Oijen” would mean “of” or “from Oijen.”

This lineage is important because of what later generations said, and wrote, about John and his family.

Now that we know who John’s parents were, and where the family was from, the next logical question is the identity of his wife. That’s where we run into challenges.

John reportedly married Susanna (possibly middle name Baker) Anderson, born about 1720 in Hopewell, NJ. She reportedly died in 1816 in Wilkes County, NC. There was family oral history, provided by Andrew Vannoy, John’s grandson, that Susannah and John were cousins, although Andrew didn’t provide any names. There appears to be an assumption, or maybe family knowledge not recorded, that the “cousin” connection was from the Andreissen side

Other oral history stated that Susanna was the daughter of Andrew Anderson (Andreisen), the son of Cornelius Andriesen. Andrew is indeed the son of Cornelius, which would make Andrew the uncle of John Vannoy. Andrew’s daughter, if he had one, would be John’s first cousin. First-cousin marriages were not unusual in colonial America. Unfortunately, the extracted will of Andrew Vannoy didn’t mention any daughter, Susannah, or other children. He left everything to his wife, suggesting he may not have had children.

Rev. William Hamilton Eller (1842-1922), John’s great-grandson, copied the Vannoy family Bible records from the Bible of his grandfather, Jesse Vannoy, of Wilkes County, NC. Jesse was born in 1781 and died in 1875. Jesse was the son of Nathaniel Vannoy, the son of John Vannoy.

The information was then rewritten by Rev. Eller into one of the Eller family Bibles and eventually published in the New England Historical and Genealogical Register – Boston, Mass. In an article titled “John Vannoy Bible 1741-1904 NC, TN, OK (or OR) from Jan 1955, Vol 109 issue 1.”

Eller described the emigrants as French Huguenots who were driven to England, then to Holland, and then back to England, from where they came to America. He said one branch settled first in South Carolina and later on the Yadkin River in Davidson County, NC. Eller repeated the tradition that they were descended from the Cromwell family in England and from the Royal House of Hanover. He transcribed records, adding notes of his own.

You can read what James W. Hook (1884-1957) and Eller had to say about John Vannoy, here.

I’m sure Rev. Eller believed what he recorded to be absolutely true, and thank goodness he recorded what he did, but much of the early oral history has been disproven since that time. There is nothing to indicate that the Vannoy family was descended from French Huguenots, and the trips to England, Holland, and England seem to be somewhat fanciful. It’s not entirely impossible, but I suspect that the French connection came from the way the surname sounds, in part because that’s exactly what I thought when I first heard the name. The Dutch portion is accurate, so there was a thread of truth, which is often true with stories long passed down through generations of the family game of “telephone.” The question is, of course, which thread and in what context?

John’s children were documented from various sources, including the Bible record, as follows:

  • Rachel Vannoy was born on April 12, 1741, and was reported to have married Neil Patton, but I was unable to confirm this. However, she also married John Darnell sometime around or before 1771. They had four sons, including twins, before John reportedly died at the Battle of Hanging Rock in the Revolutionary War when the twins were but three months old. In January 1782, Rachel was ordered to deliver “what orphan children she had in possession” to the court, and in April she was granted administration of John’s Estate. In 1785, with Andrew Vannoy, she posts a bond to administer another estate, and in October of 1787, apprenticeship records show that the twins, Benjamin and Joseph, born May 6, 1780, were apprenticed to Andrew Vannoy “to learn the occupation of farmer, read, write and cipher.” In 1787, she was shown on the state census with one male child under the age of 21, and in 1795, her land was mentioned in a neighboring deed.
  • Andrew Vannoy was born on August 12, 1742, and died on October 9, 1809, in Wilkes County. His marriage license was issued on October 18, 1779, with Susannah Shepherd, daughter of John and Sarah Shepard.
  • Abraham Vannoy was born on January 15, 1745. We have no further information about Abraham, so it’s also possible that he died relatively young.
  • Francis Vannoy was born on August 13, 1746, and died near Barbourville, Knox Co., KY, on July 26, 1822. The first record of Francis appeared in the court claims in 1765 in Rowan County, NC. By 1779, he was a juror in Wilkes County, where he received land grants for seven parcels of land between 1779 and 1799 for a total of 710 acres. He moved to Knox County around 1815 based on lawsuits in Wilkes County. Francis had as many as 19 children, not all proven, by at least two wives.
  • Nathaniel Vannoy was born on February 16, 1749. He died at Greenville, SC, at age 87 of measles at the house of his daughter, Mrs. Sallie Cleveland, on July 26, 1835. “He was a soldier of the Rev. War and served with Col. Benjamin Cleveland at King’s Mountain.” His obituary further stated that he was “half English and half French in stock,” neither of which was accurate, and that he was the first white man to be born in western NC, which is doubtful. His wife was Elizabeth Ray “of Ashe Co., NC.” Nathaniel was also one of the early Baptist preachers in Wilkes County.
  • Hannah Vannoy, born March 26, 1751, married the Reverend Andrew Baker. There’s some question about whether her name was actually Susannah or Katherine, as noted below.
  • Daniel Vannoy was born on February 22, 1752, and married Sarah Hickerson on October 2, 1779. He died sometime after January 1795 and is not found in the 1800 census or later records. The family didn’t leave because his children remained in the area. His son, Joel Vannoy, married Elizabeth Saint Clear in March of 1817 in Wilkes County, and Little Hickerson signed their marriage license as bondsman. Little Hickerson was also known as Samuel Stewart, as discussed in this article, and was a nephew of Sarah Hickerson.
  • Susannah Vannoy was born July 6, 1754, and may have married John Long, Sr.
  • Katherine Vannoy was born on December 26, 1755.

Eller and others mention a man by the name of John Francis Vanay who settled in South Carolina by 1736 when he received a land grant, followed by another grant to a town lot in Purrysburgh the next year. Eller speculated that this is our John, who then moved to the Jersey Settlement at the mouth of Potts Creek in Rowan County, NC, near present-day Linwood.

I have verified the South Carolina records, and the spelling of the surname as well. I cannot make any connection between John Francis Vanay in SC and the John Vannoy known to have settled in the Jersey Settlement. I was not able to find any disposition of the John Francis Vanay land in South Carolina nor any other records. I suspect that this is where the middle name of “Francis” attributed to our John originated. The John Francis Vanay of SC could be (and probably was) a descendant of the original Long Island settler, John Vannoy, born in 1644.

The Jersey Settlement

John Vannoy married Susannah (supposedly Anderson), probably about 1740, based on the April 1741 birth of their oldest known child. They migrated to North Carolina with other NJ folks who established a community known as the Jersey Settlement on the Yadkin River in what is now Davidson Co., some 40 miles southwest of present-day Greensboro.

The Jersey Settlement of North Carolina had its roots in New Jersey.

Origins of the Jersey Settlement

From Morgan Edwards, A.M., Baptist Minister; fellow of Rhode Island College 1770-1792, “Materials Toward a History of the Baptists;” first pub. 1790, we discover:

The February 1699 Burlington County, (NJ Court) received a “Petition of some inhabitants above the falls for a new township to be called Hopewell, as also a new road and boundaries of Said town…”

The Township’s location was described c1770:

Hopewell is situated 40 miles S.W. of Philadelphia, bounded on the East by the Province line, West by the Delaware River, on the North by Amwell Twp., and on the South by Assunpink Creek, and included the Indian village of Wissamensen at the head of Stony Brook, some miles north of the falls of the Delaware.

You can see a John Van Noy on an 1875 map, here. There’s another Vannoy as well and at least one Updyke. Lots of people from this cluster of families stayed when others left for the next frontier.

In her book First Families of Jersey Settlement, published in 1996, Ethel Stroup describes the origins of the Jersey Settlement in North Carolina, which, of course, originated in New Jersey.

Its first settlers were Hopewell citizens who migrated after being swindled by Proprietors and royal Governors, especially Dr. Daniel Coxe and his son Col. Daniel Coxe, two powerful and greedily villainous Proprietors, in “The Coxe Affair.”  What these Jersey men endured in Hopewell directly affected the Yadkin’s Revolutionary generation, explaining why Jersey Settlement had reacted so violently against N.C.’s corrupt Gov. William Tryon’s sticky-fingered royal officials, John Frohock, Rowan Court Clerk, and Edmund Fanning, King’s Attorney, whose thievery and injustices caused the 1771 Regulator War (considered by historians the first true battle of the American Revolution), and caused Charles Lord Cornwallis to call central North Carolina “a hornet’s nest of rebellion.”

The earliest families of Jersey Settlement came from Hopewell Township, Hunterdon County, New Jersey, about 1745, where some had been members of Pennington’s Presbyterian Church, and others were Quakers and Baptists who baptized their children in St. Mary’s Episcopal church for practical, political reasons.

They were founding this settlement so that they (and groups that followed) could recoup losses suffered when New Jersey’s Supreme Court invalidated deeds to thousands of acres in Hopewell, land their fathers had purchased as wilderness.

The first NC settlers list did not include John Vannoy or his father, but did include Cornelius Anderson, nephew of John’s mother, Susannah Anderson Vannoy, through her brother, Bartholomew Anderson/Andriesen. Cornelius would also have been related to John Vannoy’s wife, assuming that the family history that they were first cousins was true.

By the time John Vannoy became an adult, the ongoing land conflict in Hopewell made it obvious that there was likely no future of land ownership there.

In 1731, calamity befell these honest and hard working settlers when “Col. Coxe and other heirs of the late Dr. Coxe” declared that most of Hopewell belonged to them, a claim without an honest basis, e.g., improper surveys or failure to pay — but the West Jersey Society lacked a court record proving Dr. Coxe’s transfer to them. His heir, Col. Coxe, had enough political clout to induce Hunterdon’s Supreme Court to order High Sheriff Bennett Bard to serve perhaps a hundred or more Hopewell residents with Writs ordering them to “Pay” for their land a second time or “Quit.” Those who failed to repurchase their own farms then received “Writs of Ejectment” which called them “Tenants” and “Tresspassers” on Coxe’s land! On April 22, 1731, in an impressive show of unity, fifty of the earliest settlers of Hopewell entered into a written agreement and solemn compact to stand by each other and test the validity of Col. Coxe’s claim. They hired an attorney, Mr. Kinsey, and filed a counter suit naming Col. Daniel Coxe as sole defendant. The Township had more people, but some were not affected, having purchased [directly] from Coxe. Others considered it useless to fight a man as powerful as Col. Coxe, so did not join in the law suit. The August 1732 term of the New Jersey Supreme Court issued Writs of Trespass & Ejectment against each settler who had not repurchased. The fifty men who sued were identified from their individual records.

Bartholomew Anderson was noted on the list, as were Francis and Daniel Gano, and one John Hendrickson, which I only note here due to the similarity to the name Hickerson and Y-DNA matches to Henderson men whose ancestor is from Hunterdon County.

Long story short, after numerous appeals in courts beset by crooked politicians, the final appeal was exhausted in 1734, and the settlers had but three choices: pay, remove, or revolt.

Historian Ralph Ege (born in Hopewell in 1837) wrote about the great dilemma:

This verdict caused the most distressing state of affairs in this township that was ever experienced in any community. Some moved away immediately, but the majority stayed, at least initially, and assumed the financial burden. Cattle and personal possessions were sold, and a great struggle began which impoverished many families for years to come. Then came the great excitement incident to ejecting the settlers from the farms which they, or their fathers had purchased, and on which they had built dwellings, barns and fences. Their lands had cost them only fifty cents per acre, it is true, but they had purchased them in good faith and spent the best years of their lives in clearing them. Many had mortgaged them to pay for the expense of improvement consequently not being able to incur the additional expense, they were compelled to leave their homes and seek new homes elsewhere, risking for the second, and for some of them the third time, the perils of the wilderness.

In 1734, John Vannoy would have been 15 and 18 years old, a very impressionable young man. He would have watched his father agonize over what to do and listened as the other men discussed their horrible dilemma.

John’s father, Francis Vannoy:

  • Was not on the list of “50 men”
  • Was not evicted or escaped the state in subsequent years “for debt,” which was charged to men who refused to repay to purchase their land and were therefore charged “rent,” which they also refused to pay
  • According to his 1768 will, Francis owned land at his death

Given this, we can presume that Francis did indeed repurchase his land from the swindling Coxe family.

About half of the families on the infamous “50 men” list left in the next few years to areas where they felt there was less corruption, available land, and honest people.

A popular destination was the upper Shenandoah Valley where the first settlement was started in 1730 when guide Morgan Bryan led a group of Quakers walking from Pennsylvania to the upper Potomac. He settled his own family on Opequon Creek, an area that in 1738 became Frederick County, Virginia.

About 1732, another guide, Jost Hite, opened the first wagon road as far as Winchester, settling his group of Pennsylvania Germans on a different stretch of Opequon Creek.

Comparison of records for early settlers in the upper Valley shows many with surnames identical to those in New Jersey’s “Coxe Affair.”

The greatest concentration of New Jersey migrants was along Back Creek (the next creek west of Opequon) in a small, mountain community where a peak was fortuitously named by its early settlers “Jersey Mountain.”

This information is important because it weaves people from these places together in unexpected ways.

However, things weren’t always peaceful on the frontier, either. Farming was difficult, Indian raids necessitated building forts and required a conscripted militia, and many of the original New Jersey settlers were now either middle-aged or elderly. Given what had happened in New Jersey, they didn’t want to be squatters, either, and they hoped for a better environment.

North Carolina beckoned.

By May 1741, Bladen County issued deeds on the Great Peedee (Yadkin). It was no accident that the Hopewell group chose its north bank to found their “Jersey Settlement,” an area described as: “Ten square miles of the best wheat land in the south, located in (modern) Davidson County, near Linwood. The exact year in which the Jersey Settlement was made on the Yadkin is not known. It is probable that this settlement left New Jersey and arrived on the Yadkin between 1747 and 1755. It was composed of many people from New Jersey who had sent an agent there to locate and enter the best land still open to settlement.” [John Preston Arthur, A History of Watauga County, N. C., (1915) p.88].

A great attraction for these victims of political corruption was that in 1745 North Carolina was exceptionally well governed. Gov. Gabriel Johnston was an honest, capable Scottish physician and professor who on arrival found the colony in pitiable condition, and tried earnestly to better its welfare. “Under (Johnston’s) prudent administration, the province increased in population, wealth and happiness.”  [C. L. Hunter, Sketches of Western North Carolina, (1877), p. 7].

About 1745, the New Jersey group (perhaps a dozen or more families) left Back Creek in a wagon train bound for the Yadkin. Based on events after arrival, their leaders were probably Jonathan Hunt and Thomas Smith, but they were almost surely guided by the famous “Waggoneer” and explorer, Morgan Bryan who guided other groups to this general area, and in 1748 brought his own family from the Opequon to form Morgan’s Settlement on the south bank of Deep Creek, four miles above the “Shallow Ford” of the Yadkin. [Robert W. Ramsey, Carolina Cradle, Settlement of the Northwest Carolina Frontier, 1747-1762; (U.N.C. Press, 1964; 4th printing 1987), p. 31].

So began the River Settlements, best reached from the north via an old Indian warpath, widened and renamed The Yading Path. About 1745/6 Thomas Smith received land on Swearing Creek, but his Bladen deed is missing (as are many others.)

At the time of the formation of Rowan County in 1753, two of the Yadkin settlers, Col. George Smith and Jonathan Hunt, were important enough that the Assembly would not approve the bill for the formation of Rowan County until the names of Col. George Smith, and Capt. Jonathan Hunt, were re-inserted. Their names had been in the original bill for formation, but had been deleted and other names substituted by his Majesty’s Council. Early Jersey Church served Episcopalians, Baptists and Presbyterians, with later sermons, marriages and baptisms performed by visiting preachers, including Moravians, and catechism lessons by Lutheran Rev. David Henkel. [George Smith (1713-c1799) s/o Andrew, Jr., brother-in-law to Jonathan Hunt; Smith Bible; Rep. James Whitaker (1779-1871) of Cherokee Co., N.C., My Memoirs, private publication].

While one might presume that the earliest settlers in the Jersey Settlement did not maintain contact with their family members either in Virginia or New Jersey, we know that’s not true based on a number of factors, including deaths that occurred in North Carolina that were recorded in Bibles in Hopewell, New Jersey.

Furthermore, Morgan and others traveled back and forth, guiding new families to various locations in Virginia and North Carolina. Morgan would have carried news and possibly letters with him, too.

The first settlers would have invited others to join them in the beautiful valley of the Yadkin River. Even if Hopewell residents didn’t have immediate family there, they often had more distant family, as did John Vannoy and Susannah Anderson. Furthermore, they knew the families from church, and they knew they had a support structure before they packed up their possessions, loaded them into a wagon, hitched up the horses or oxen, and set off on the Great Wagon Road from the Yadkin River to Philadelphia for the new frontier, as seen on this 1749 map. New settlers swelled the ranks of the North Carolina Counties.

History of the Jersey Settlement from the History of Watauga County. Chapter VIII:

First Light on the Jersey Settlement.- From a sketch of the Greene Family of Watauga, by the late Rev. G. W. Greene, Baptist missionary to China, we learn that “about the middle of the eighteenth century a colony moved from New Jersey and settled in Rowan County, North Carolina.”

Bishop Spangenberg mentioned the 400 families from the North had just arrived in 1752 and the fact that most of the land east of Rowan County had already been taken up at that time. (Id. Vol. IV, p. 1312.)

Anson County was formed from Bladen County in 1748. Rowan County was formed from the northern part of Anson County and was intended to incorporate all of the lands within the Granville District that had previously been in Anson County.

Rowan County

John Vannoy is not found in the records of Frederick County, Virginia, or elsewhere using the FamilySearch AI Search for all of Virginia. He is not found in either Bladen or Anson Counties, but he was in Rowan County by September of 1753 when he registered his stock mark.

John was in his mid-30s, had been married for 13 or 14 years, had seven children, and most certainly wanted to own his own land that he could one day bequeath to his children. He yearned to escape the constant drama and trauma associated with the “Coxe Affair.” No one wants to live in a cesspool of corruption.

One day, something served as the final straw, and they decided to go.

The Vannoy family, with children ranging in age from newborn to 11 or 12, piled into the back of their wagon. They would have been very hopeful as the wagon creaked over the dirt road and mountains, lumbering toward this new chapter of their lives, perhaps singing as they went.

Leaving the known for the unknown is every bit as much an act of faith as religious beliefs and rituals.

Rowan County Courthouse, September 3, 1753:

3rd Tues September 1753 – John Vanoy prays his mark and brand to be recorded granted his mark a swallowfork in the near ear and a half crop in the right, brand J V

A swallowfork looks like this, and a half-crop means cutting half the ear off. Yea, pretty offputting, but that was the way of life for a very long time. Livestock was corralled in barns and fed during the winter but set loose to graze in the woodlands, mingling with the animals of other settlers during the rest of the year. Stock marks were the only means of identifying your animals.

Note that Squire Boon, Daniel Boone’s father, was one of the esquires present in the court that day.

Given that John registered his stock mark at this point in time, it’s probably when he arrived in Rowan County from the Jersey settlement. Finding a place to live before winter and registering your stock mark would have been the first things he did.

The pioneer Presbyterian Reverend Hugh McAden recorded in his journal that he spent the night of September 5, 1755, at the home of John Vannoy after having ridden 45 miles that day. The fact that he was Presbyterian and stayed with John probably indicates that John was Presbyterian, too, at least at this point in his life.

McAden goes on to say:

Next morning, came to Henry Sloan’s, at the Yadkin Ford, where I was kindly entertained till Sabbath day; rode to the meeting-house and preached to a small congregation.” Here there appears to have been a congregation of some strength that had a meeting-house, but had become divided,—“Many adhere to the Baptists that were before wavering, and several that professed themselves to be Presbyterians; so that very few at present join heartily for our ministers, and will in a little time, if God prevent not, be too weak either to call or supplicate for a faithful minister. O may the good Lord, who can bring order out of confusion, and call things that are not as though they were, visit this people!” One cause of the divisions in this congregation arose from the labors of a Baptist minister among them by the name of Miller.

After preaching, he visited some sick people, and went home with James Smith, about four miles. On Tuesday, he “preached again at the meeting-house, and went home with Cornelius Anderson, about six miles – a judicious, honest man, I hope, who seems to be much concerned for the state of the church and perishing souls.”

It’s worth noting that Cornelius Anderson was John Vannoy’s relative, as was the Smith family. Rebecka Andriesen (Anderson) married John Smith. She died in North Carolina in 1785. Her brother was Bartholomew Anderson, father of Cornelius Anderson. Her sister married Francis Vannoy, father of John Vannoy.

These people were clearly Presbyterian, too. However, during the Regulator Movement, McAden and three other Presbyterian ministers supported the colonial government, calling upon their brethren who signed the Regulator oath to repent. That’s very likely when John Vannoy converted to the Baptist faith.

Rowan (County) Deed abstracts (1753-1785 by Linn) tell us who John’s neighbors were.

March 8, 1758 – McCulloh to David Jones 40 pounds 545 ac adj Robert Gamble, John Vanoy and Jeremiah Green, John, Willis Ellis, John McGuire (deed badly damaged)

David Jones and wife Hannah to Thomas Parker Esq. for 51 pounds VA money land adj Robert Gamble, John Vanoy and Jeremiah Green, no witnesses (deed badly damaged)

Next 2 pages of the deed book are missing

This “Jersey Settlement” is now a part of Davidson County, and lies near the Yadkin River, opposite Salisbury. H. E. McCullough of England had secured grants to large tracts in North Carolina, tract No. 9 containing 12,500 acres, including much of the land of the Jersey Settlement.

From a sketch of the Greene Family of Watauga by the late Rev. G. W. Greene, Baptist missionary to China, we learn that Jeremiah Greene bought a 541-acre tract described as lying “on the waters of Atkin or Pee Dee” on Pott’s Creek. This creek passes near the village of Linwood, within a mile of the Jersey church, and empties into the Yadkin, not far away. This land was bought in 1762.

Note that today part of the Yadkin and Potts Creek have been flooded by the High Rock Damn and are now High Rock Lake.

John Vannoy is found on a 1759 tax list as well.

John is listed as a juror several times over the next several years, which tells us that he owned land, even if we don’t know exactly where it was located.

  • October 21, 1757
  • October 17, 1759
  • January 23 and 24, 1761
  • April 24, 1761

Eller said that John is “said to have lived” in the Jersey Settlement until about 1772 and sympathized with the Regulators in their opposition to the unjust tax and service fee policy of the British Government under Governor William Tryon.

After their rebellion was crushed at Alamance in May of 1771, many of the settler’s homes along the Yadkin River were pillaged and destroyed and the home of John Vannoy is said to have been one of them. He, therefore, disposed of his farm and moved westward to a safer place in the mountains of Wilkes Co., NC. See chapter VI in “The Rowan Story” by James S. Brawley, 1953 and the book “Some Neglected History of NC” by William E. Fitch, for more about the “Regulator” movement which some historians say was the first battle of the Revolution.”

The Wilkes Co. Reddies River book states:

Apparently John lived in or near the Jersey settlement in Rowan Co prior to his coming to Wilkes. He was a staunch Baptist in his religious beliefs and sympathized with the “Regulators” in their opposition to the unjust and oppressive policies of the British Government under Governor Wiliam Tryon.  Consequently, his home was one of those pillaged and destroyed by the troops of Gov. Tryon in the early summer of 1771, and Mr. Vannoy and his family were forced to flee for their lives.

The remoteness of Reddies River about 75 miles upstream beckoned unto these persecuted people and it is here that they found their new homes. The 1771 tax list of Surry Co. shows John and his sons, Andrew and Francis, as being taxable.

Eller states that John and Susannah Vannoy were staunch Baptists in their religious beliefs and also says that John and Susannah “identified with the great religious revival that the Baptist church, through George McNiel and John Gano, were introducing throughout southern Virginia and the Yadkin Valley in NC.”

If John had not already become Baptist, the Regulator Movement did it. John Vannoy was reported by some to have been a minister, but I have found no evidence for that. Maybe he preached in his zeal to whomever would listen. How could one NOT have strong feelings about what was going on?

We find John appearing in the Surry County Court notes three times in 1757 and then in 1760 as John Venoy, a juror.

Also, in 1757, John Venoy and Frederick Michael were securities for Hance Licans (probably Hans Laicans/Lycans) as administrators in the estate of Daniel Halsey.

A lull in activity between 1762 and 1764 may have resulted from the Cherokee’s displeasure with the uninvited settlers. The Creeks had joined the Cherokees in warfare against the settlers, forcing many to flee and the ones remaining to huddle in their fortified homes.

The conflict began in Virginia with settlers killing Cherokee warriors returning from fighting the French, causing the Cherokee to attack white settlements in North Carolina in the spring of 1759.

A peace treaty was reached in 1761, but settlers continued to ignore British promises not to settle on Cherokee land and continued to do so after the Proclamation Act of 1763.

Settlers began to flow back to Yadkin Valley from wherever they had sought refuge and attention was refocused on the tax controversy. Baptists and other dissenters were frustrating Gov. William Tryon’s plan for the Established Church.

In 1764, John Venoy (and others, including Morgan Bryant) were ordered to lay out a road from White’s ford on Yadkin to the Shallow ford on said river:

January 10, 1765 – Ordered that a road be laid out leading from Whites ford on the Yadkin River to the Shallow ford on said rover and that the following persons lay out the same to wit Morgan Bryant, Abraham Creson, John Howard, Silis Enyard, Henry Shedmore, Francis Reynolds, Edmund Denny, John Vannoy, Thomas Barton, Luke Lee, Samuel Hays, Samuel Bryan, Henry Shedmor (Skidmore?) overseer from Millers to the Shallow ford. Edmund Denny from Christion Millers to the White’s ford

John was a juror when the following action took place in court the following day.

January 11, 1765 – John Bridges Jr., Richard Perkins Jr., and Robert Biggam Perkins have feloniously taken and lead away 2 stone horses and one gelding of the price of 5 pounds each the property of persons unknown supposed to belong the some of our Indian Allies the Cherokees and herby ordered a warrant be issued…

Attending court was akin to attending the movies, watching a thriller on TV, or social media today. Everyone retired to the tavern afterward to discuss what had happened and to eat and imbibe, of course. Men rented a room as well, sleeping multiple men to a bed so they could be present for court the following day.

Also, in 1765, John’s son, Francis, was paid for a wolf scalp.

In the Rowan Court Notes book from 1753-1772, John Vannoy was a juror in the case of Thomas Foster vs George Smith. It’s likely that he was related to George Smith, given that Rebecka Andriesen, sister of John’s mother, married John Smith. The couple and their children came to Rowan County.

John Vannoy and son were listed in 1768 on a tax list with two polls, meaning two men in the household were of age. This causes me to wonder where his other sons were, because three of them were of age too.

Rowan Court Minutes 1768-1772

February 15, 1770 – road order including Daniel Boone to lay off a road from the Shallow ford to Millers about 2 miles below said Millers the nearest and best way through the Great Gap of said Brushey Mountain the best way to George Boons at the mouth of Bever Creek to strike Mr. Montgomery’s road near the main Yadkin River.

This road order is incredibly important.

This is the first entry that connects John Vannoy with the Wilkes County area. Note that Shallow Ford is about halfway between the Jersey Settlement and Wilkesboro, noted here with Miller’s Creek. Brushey Mountain is just south of Wilkesboro.

Beaver Creek, where the Boone cabin was located, is found about 10 miles further west, and dumps into the Yadkin near present-day Ferguson.

This road would eventually be extended to Kentucky and become known as the “Daniel Boone Trail.” It was likely the same route that Francis Vannoy, who knew Boone, would follow through the Cumberland Gap some 40+ years later.

In the next entry, Page 3:172:

Henry Skidmore appointed overseer of the road from the Shallowford road to Hunting Creek and inhabitants of Deep Creek to work thereon. Edmond Dinney overseer from Hunting Creek to Fishers Creek with inhabitants from Little Elkin on both sides of the Yadkin up to Mulberry Creek to work thereon. John Vanoy from Fisher’s Creek to the upper end with the inhabitants from Mulberry Creek on both sides of the Yadkin to the head of the river to work thereon.

The head of the Yadkin is near Blowing Rock, in the mountains a few miles south of Boone, NC.

According to a note from Jason Duncan, Wilkes County historian, in 2019 on the Daniel Vannoy article, this is probably Fishing Creek which seems to be appropriate when looking at his database.

This is not a trivial distance for John to manage, and he tells us that he was a fit mountaineer at 50-55 years of age. I’ve approximated the route along the Yadkin from Fishing Creek to the head of the Yadkin, which is around 90 miles through challenging and difficult terrain.

Here’s a picture of the stunning Yadkin Valley from the Thunder Hill Overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway. In reality, this landscape is often enveloped in fog, and the road is high and treacherous. I’ve driven it, never realizing its significance. This was the termination point of John’s road crew – the end of the line – but the beginning of the next chapter for John and his sons.

This one photo, alone, caused me to look upon John with immense respect. This rugged terrain tells us about his character and bravery – that he was tenacious. He appeared to fear nothing.

This is truly God’s country where every person succeeds or dies by their wits and survival skills. There’s no help here.

This land, these mountains, they challenge and change you.

John returned, at least briefly, but his life was never the same.

He was forever changed.

Mulberry Creek

Mulberry Creek dumps into the Yadkin at Wilkesboro, which was originally called Mulberry Fields.

We’ve now connected the dots for John Vannoy from the Jersey Settlement to not only Wilkesboro, but Mulberry Creek where his son Andrew Vannoy obtained a land grant for 50 acres in 1789 and 600 acres in 1790, adjoining the Hall family.

Today, Andrew’s land is dissected by Highway 18, just beneath McGrady.

But before we visit Wilkes County, let’s visit the Jersey Settlement and follow John’s life path.

Visit to the Jersey Settlement

In May of 2012, I visited the area of the Jersey Settlement in former Rowan, now Davidson County, NC, and, thankfully, wrote an account of my visit. You always think you’ll remember, but reading something you wrote years ago makes you realize just how much you forget.

While this is but one part of the early Vannoy family history, it is one of the most relevant chapters of John Vannoy’s life – and critically important to the lives of his children – some of whom were born in the Jersey Settlement. His eldest children probably had faint memories of New Jersey and the long wagon ride. Perhaps they shared these stories with their grandchildren half a century later – around the fireplace on crisp winter evenings as the winds howled in the mountains.

The Jersey Settlement formed who this family was and informed how they got to both North Carolina and Wilkes County. Taken as a whole, it was quite a journey, fit for a made-for-TV documentary, complete with power brokers and rife with danger, conflict, and betrayals. And just think – we only know tidbits!

John Vannoy would have been about 36 years old, give or take, if he arrived in the Jersey Settlement in 1752. He lived there for just shy of two decades, along the Yadkin River in Rowan Co, NC, near the mouth of Lick Creek at a spot long remembered as the old Vannoy Fish Dam. In 1771, when the area was terrorized by Gov. Tryon’s troops who pillaged and destroyed the Yadkin settlements after Alamance, John and his family reportedly fled to the mountains in what later became Wilkes County.

Did they? Is there evidence?

John clearly knew this land better than any other living white man, perhaps with the exception of Daniel Boone and his father.

The Jersey Settlement, Then and Now

Now that we know the settlement story, let’s try to locate the Jersey Settlement today. That was my 2012 challenge.

This 1775 map of North Carolina shows the few roads of the time, including the Trading Road into Salisbury and Potts Creek. I’ve marked the location of the Jersey Settlement.

A larger view shows the Jersey Settlement near Salisbury, along with the Mulberry Fields near the top left. This shows us the path that John Vannoy would have taken as the family migrated from his land in the Jersey Settlement to where he settled north of Mulberry Fields. Mulberry Fields is now the area where Wilkesboro is found, but at that time, “Mulberry” followed Mulberry Creek and its branches from the Yadkin River north to the ridge of the mountains.

John knew this. He laid out that road in the wilderness, and along with his road hands, made it so.

I used contemporary Google maps to trace the route John Vannoy would have taken, along with his family.

John’s son, Nathaniel, settled at or near what is now Wilkesboro. Daniel tried unsuccessfully to settle there. Andrew settled at McGrady. Daniel, Nathaniel, and Francis also obtained land grants further west in the mountains.

The road between Wilkesboro and Laurel Springs appears to be the old road North through the Valley, but not the one John laid out. That road continued west from the mouth of Mulberry Creek and the Yadkin.

At best, this is rough terrain. At worst, impenetrable. Maybe that dissuaded Governor Tryon’s troops from pursuing the fleeing families. Maybe simply chasing them away was enough.

John Vannoy would have sought shelter overnight, and possibly longer, at Fort Dobbs both when laying out the road and later. The horses could have rested and been fed, and the humans too. The fort as a soldier’s garrison was abandoned in 1761, but the structure was certainly still standing in 1770 or 1771 when John would have been traveling northwestward. It was shown on the 1775 map.

Today, from an aerial view, we can still see the outline of Fort Dobbs itself, which was a blockhouse, along with the palisade and moat.

Today, a blockhouse is being reconstructed.

John Vannoy, just past half a century, and his sons, ranging in age from about 20 to 28, would have seen something similar as they approached the abandoned Fort Dobbs on horseback.

The Jersey Settlement

In an online article, which I believe was written by Teddy Barclay Pope in 2000, subsequently posted on a Rootsweb list, and is today preserved on the North Carolina GenWeb project, we find additional information, which I’ve both quoted and summarized where appropriate.

Beginning around 1740, some people from New Jersey, and the congregation of the Baptist Church now known as Old School Baptist Church of Hopewell, New Jersey (above), began to migrate to North Carolina to an area called Jersey Settlement. Eventually, they built a church called Jersey Church.

The original church in New Jersey, now a museum, was simply called the Hopewell Meeting House and was a one-story stone structure constituted about 1747.

In North Carolina today, the Jersey Baptist Church is the largest church in the area, located on Jersey Church Road in present-day Davidson County.

The museum representative at Hopewell told the writer that their records name some people who were in a suit about land that was in North Carolina as their money had been taken in a scam. They had to pay twice. She called some of the names out over the telephone, but the writer did not hear the name of Barkley and did not write down the other names. She said that this suit was why they had any record of the names of people from Hopewell New Jersey going to North Carolina.

It’s a good thing the mention of this lawsuit still exists, because without it, there would be no direct evidence that the NJ group was the same group in the Rowan County Jersey Settlement. Obtaining those lawsuit records, if they still exist, would be very enlightening.

The Early Jersey Church and the Regulators War

The church secretary at Jersey Baptist Church read to the writer from the church history book, which is a bounded published book in its second printing and now has an index. The book tells of about 125 young people who migrated from the congregation of Old School Baptist Church in 1756 to Rowan County North Carolina and formed a settlement called Jersey Settlement. They had a grant of 100,000 acres of land, within the Granville grant, for settling. Their preacher was John Gano. John Gano was not at the time an ordained minister, because the Hopewell Church thought he was too young and too inexperienced to be ordained by them.

On Nov. 15, 1757, Gano and his family, a handful of possessions and a heart full of faith, arrived in the valley. He built a log dwelling for his family on the banks of Swearing Creek.

By the first of July, the settlers had completed their meeting house on a gentle hilltop overlooking the rich valley.

In another document, the Rev. George McNiel is noted in conjunction with the early Jersey Church and the Regulators Movement, although I have found no evidence of that. He certainly would have known Gano as a fellow backwoods preacher.

Born about 1720, McNiel was one of the earliest Baptist preachers in this region and eventually settled in Wilkes County. His descendants, as well as those of the Sheppard family, intermarried heavily with the Vannoys in Wilkes County and lived in close proximity.

It was not John Gano’s intent to stay permanently in the Jersey settlement.

He went back to Hopewell, NJ, but came to visit the Jersey Settlement several times. He also asked for a missionary to go to Jersey settlement to work with the people there.

The minutes of Jersey Baptist Church began in 1784. Earlier minutes were lost, but by then, the church had been meeting for thirty years.

The following information about the Baptists in Rowan County was found in James Ervin’s book “A Colonial History of Rowan County, North Carolina,” published by the University of North Carolina in 1917.

Information as to the Baptists in early Rowan is very meager. When the Rev. Hugh McAden passed through this section in 1755, he found a meeting house in the Jersey Settlement. There was much confusion in the congregation, many of whom were Baptists and several professing to be Presbyterians. One cause of the trouble arose from the labors of a Mr. Miller, a Baptist minister. With the aid of a Rev. Mr., Gano, Miller established a Baptist Church in the Jersey Settlement.

Benjamin Miller preached there as early as 1755, and the facts indicate that there were already Baptists on the Yadkin when Benjamin Miller visited the settlement. The Philadelphia Association has in its records of 1755 the following reference: “Appointed that one minister from the Jerseys and one from Pennsylvania visit North Carolina.” But Miller appears to have gone to the “Jersey Settlement still earlier than 1755.” (p.17).

Another preacher who visited the Jersey Settlement was John Gano. He had been converted just before this time, and was directed by Benjamin Miller, pastor of Scotch Plains Church, New Jersey, to take the New Testament as his guide on baptism. He became a Baptist, and, learning of Carolina from Miller, decided to visit the Jersey Settlement on his way to South Carolina. This he seems to have done in 1756. During his stay at the settlement, he tells us in his autobiography that “a Baptist Church was constituted and additions made to it.” He left the colony early in the year 1759, and so the church must have been organized between 1756 and 1758.

There’s more to this story, though.

The predominant church in the British Colonies was the Church of England. Its ministers, educated in England, did not appeal to the residents and “dissenting ministers” soon had the ear of the people. The Jersey Settlers, as a result, were soon swept up in the heat of political controversy.

During the next decade, the settlers in North Carolina were to engage in a struggle that would have a resounding effect across the colonies – the struggle between the “Regulators” and the imposition of taxation and the Established Church.

Upon the formation of Rowan County in 1753, a courthouse was built, and Governor Dobbs sent officers, attorneys, and tax collectors to be supported by the settlers’ taxes – the same as any other county in any other colony.

County taxes, poll taxes, and a vestry tax were imposed with the Vestry Act, providing “that the clergy may have a decent and comfortable maintenance and support.” The clergy, of course, meant Church of England ministers who were provided with a home to live in and a salary.

Baptists did not believe in paying taxes to support a minister of the Church of England, especially ones who wanted to tell them how to worship.

At the same time, the local agricultural community was suffering from a deep economic depression due to severe droughts throughout the preceding decade. Crop loss caused farmers to lose not only their direct food source, but their primary means of income as well, which led many to rely on the goods being brought in by newly arrived merchants.

Since income was greatly reduced or nonexistent, the local planters often fell into debt, which could not be paid off immediately. In turn, the merchants would rely on lawyers and the court to settle unpaid accounts. Debts were not uncommon at the time, but from 1755 to 1765, the number of cases brought to the docket increased 15-fold, from 7 annually to 111 in Orange County alone. Court cases could often lead to planters losing their homes and property, so they grew to resent the presence of the new merchants and the lawyers – in addition to the taxing authorities, politicians, and Church of England ministers.

The shift in population and politics eventually led to an imbalance within the colony’s power structure. The newly arrived and well-educated lawyers used their superior knowledge of the law to their sometimes unjust advantage. A small clique of wealthy officials formed and became an exclusive inner circle in charge of the area’s legal affairs. The group was seen as a ‘courthouse ring,’ or a small group of officials who obtained most of the political power for themselves.

John Gano was a natural leader and formed a protest group of some 700 people who met in 1758 to formulate a set of articles, one calling for an end of the vestries. This event began a long, bitter struggle between religious settlers who were not members of the Church of England, pitted against the forces of the early colonial government.

In 1759, political disputes waned slightly as an all-out effort was waged to conquer the warring Cherokees – a result of the French and Indian War.

The Creeks had joined the Cherokees in warfare against settlers, forcing many to flee and the remaining families to huddle in their fortified homes, hoping for the best.

Gano decided that his obligation to protect his family was as great as his duty to the settlement. He returned to New Jersey and later became a chaplain in Gen. George Washington’s Revolutionary War forces.

After peace was reached with the Indians in 1763, settlers began to flow back into the Yadkin Valley, and attention was refocused on the tax controversy. Baptists and other dissenters resumed attempting to frustrate Gov. William Tryon’s plan for the Established Church, which ultimately led to the Battle of Alamance in 1771.

Small acts of resistance and petty violence continued during that time, and the Regulator sympathizers increased.

The most heavily affected areas were said to be Rowan, Anson, Orange, Granville, and Cumberland counties. It was a struggle between the majority of North Carolina’s population—mostly lower-class citizens, farmers, and tradesmen—and the wealthy ruling class, which comprised about 5% of the population who maintained almost complete control of the government. Needless to say, their interests were not necessarily those of the common man.

North Carolina’s colonial court met in Hillsborough. In September 1770, the Regulators entered Hillsborough, broke up the court, and dragged those they saw as corrupt officials through the streets. The mob attempted to have the judge try the cases pending against several Regulator leaders.

The presiding judge, Richard Henderson, who became a land speculator, quickly adjourned the court until the next morning to avoid being forced to make a ruling in the presence of an angry mob of Regulators. He escaped during the night.

Infuriated and robbed of justice, the Regulators rioted the next day, destroying public and private property alike. The courthouse was systematically and symbolically vandalized, and the King’s lawyer, Edmund Fanning, was severely beaten. Human waste was placed on the judge’s seat, and the body of a long-deceased slave was placed upon the lawyer’s bar. (I’m horrified on several levels!)

The mob continued to destroy shops and property in the town, and ultimately brought their destructive band to Fanning’s personal residence. After destroying all of the furniture and drinking all of his alcohol, the entire house was picked apart. Henderson’s barn, along with his stables and home, were burned to the ground. They cracked the church bell of the Church of England, but stopped short of looting the church further due to their “religious beliefs.”

At that time, disrupting court and hanging officials in effigy was an accepted practice to draw attention to one’s cause, especially as a protest. This time, though, things clearly got out of hand, although the Regulators did not destroy the courthouse. They called for a resumption of order and just rule.

From the government perspective, this was clearly an escalation from earlier protests, could not be ignored, and set off a chain of events that led directly to the Battle of Alamance eight months later, in May of 1771.

While there were someplace beween 2000 and 6000 men involved at the Battle of Alamance, only nine men on each side were killed, and other than the seven Regulators executed, everyone else who was captured in battle was fully pardoned in exchange for pledging allegiance to the crown..

Following the battle, Tryon’s militia army traveled through Regulator territory, where he forced Regulators and Regulator sympathizers to sign loyalty oaths and destroyed the properties of the most fervent Regulators. He also raised taxes to pay for his militia’s defeat of the Regulators.

Many of the Regulator leaders remained in hiding until 1772, when they were no longer considered outlaws with the expiration of Johnson’s Riot Act, and others moved westward.

This clearly affected the parishioners of the Jersey Church, most of whom were Regulators, and was a turning point in the Jersey Settlement.

The next frontier beckoned.

Jersey Church Cemetery and Records

By 1771, the Jersey Church had been in use in some capacity for at least two decades.

But where?

The graveyard of the Jersey Baptist Church contains many very old graves and markers. Some of these stones have inscriptions that can be read, but others, not so much. The Jersey Baptist Church had a section of land they thought was for expansion of their graveyard. When they began to attempt to use it, they found that it was already full, containing even older unmarked graves. At that time, they didn’t know why the graves were unmarked. It might have been that the graves had markers earlier that had deteriorated and were removed. It might have been that the graves were not marked to conceal the number of dead from the Indians, who would have been better able to determine the number of living by knowing the number who had died. Whenever a new grave was to be dug, and it was found that it had already been used, by a bone or a button or a piece of cloth coming up, the object was replaced and left further undisturbed.

Various books have made several mentions of Jersey Settlement and the church.

Land was deeded for a church in the area, but it was for a Presbyterian Church. Researchers were cautioned not to discount this as being the Jersey Church because it could very well have been and probably was. The church was “started” more than once. Although the present Jersey Church personnel were not aware of it, other family records and other types of records make mention of three distinct groups using the same building. It is not understood if the three groups formed one congregation, or if there were three distinct congregations using the same building. I’d guess that when it was “started” depended on which religious group you were a member of.

In early Virginia, it was common for multiple congregations, particularly Baptists and Methodists, to use the same building. Both were considered dissenting religions. Prior to that, meetings were held in members’ homes.

One Barclay family paper, written by Margaret Barkley of Waco, Texas, who visited Rowan County to research, mentions a Quaker meeting from Manalapan, New Jersey, that turned their meeting in New Jersey into a Baptist congregation and migrated with their religious leader John Gano to Rowan County NC. Margaret’s report, complete with a bibliography, stated that they met with the Jersey Church congregation. The Jersey Baptist church personnel said that they knew nothing about any Quakers whatsoever in connection with their church. Margaret said that contact with the Quakers produced no information of a Quaker Meeting there. We do know that Squire Boone is mentioned in various records, and the Boone family was Quaker.

We also know that Morgan Bryan, one of the leaders who let wagon trains to the Jersey Settlement, also founded the Hopewell Friends Meeting, originally called “Opeckan,” in Frederick County, VA, on Opequon Creek. His granddaughter, whom he raised, married Daniel Boone.

Margaret writes:

Robert Barclay of Rowan was born 1-9-1717/18 in Dublin Ireland. He came to America and settled sometime before 1755, as in that year the Baptist congregation of Manalapan, New Jersey, which had formerly been members of the Quaker sect, went to North Carolina under the guidance of Rev. John Gregory, and, with two other denominations, built a church which they called the Jersey Church. The other denominations fell by the wayside and the church became, and is today, Baptist. The American Revolution, two earthquakes, and time have destroyed many of the graves there.

Deed book 23, page 14, 1-29-1814, states that Joseph Haden of Rowan County let John Darr of Rowan have 183 acres on Richard’s Creek adjoining Benjamin Todd, Thomas Adams, Caleb Campbell and George Fezor, being part of a track originally owned by the deceased Robert Barclay, which Walter and Robert Barclay let Thomas Durham have 5-18-1789. Vol. 17, Deed Book, page 327, dated 10-2-1797, shows that Robert and Walter Barclay sold by deed made in Kentucky two tracts of land in Rowan County.

In Conclusion

The Jersey Baptist Church is located on Jersey Church Road, a two-mile road just off the main NC highway. It is at one end of the road and the school is at the other end. Jersey settlement was between Salisbury and the later Lexington. Salisbury became the county seat of Old Rowan County.

Finding the Jersey Settlement

The Barclay deed gives us one landmark, Lick Creek gives us another and the Jersey Church itself gives us a third. I was not able to find Richard’s Creek or any other mention of it, but I was able to find both the Jersey Church and Lick Creek, where it empties into the Yadkin River.

On the map below, Jersey Church is location B and the place where Lick Creek Church Road crosses Lick Creek is location A.

In the bigger picture, the Jersey Settlement was located between Charlotte and the Greensboro/Winston-Salem area in NC.  It is an area of pleasant, relatively flat, very fertile farmland bordering on the Yadkin River.

It’s about 19 miles from Jersey Church to the location on Lick Creek, but today, you have to go around the area where High Rock Lake has now flooded the lowlands. You can see on the map below that this area forms a semi-circle. The railroad bridge was in place before the Yadkin was flooded to form that lake and you can see it still runs along the Yadkin, crossing Lick Creek at the mouth, the stated location of John Vannoy’s fish dam. If the old road paralleled the railroad bridge, and it probably did, then it would have been about 10 miles, not 19, from the Jersey Church to the Lick Creek location.

The landowner on the North side of Lick Creek in 2012 was Mr. Robby Cole, now deceased. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude for information, access and permission to publish.

Mr. Cole was very accommodating when I knocked on his door and provided lots of information, including the fact that a fish dam had been discovered right at the mouth of Lick Creek years earlier. I asked him which side, and he couldn’t remember outright but said it might have been on the other side of the river. Regardless, it was at the mouth of Lick Creek.

I’ve never been so excited about a fish dam.

Cole Road is the blue line on the map connecting with Lick Creek Church Road.

The railroad marks the old edge of the river, so that’s a great landmark to follow. Today, some of the creeks feeding into the Yadkin River, now High Rock Lake, are also swollen near the edge of the river/lake. However, using the railroad as a guideline gives us information as to the path of the former river.

The map below shows the elevated area of the river. Robby said the authorities had purchased about 40 acres to flood.

Mr. Cole’s family obtained the original land patent for the land on the north side of Lick Creek. Robby believes John Vannoy lived on the south side of Lick Creek.

Today, that land is owned by a timber company, but Mr. Cole said that he remembers a very old homestead on that hill in the 1950s. The only part of that property not owned by the lumber company is a small tract along the road owned by a local businessman who is also a history and genealogy buff. I stopped, but he wasn’t at home.

The older aerial map above shows a silver train on the track near the mouth of Lick Creek, and a more recent map below shows a closer view of both the fish damn area, the mouth of Lick Creek, and the hill that held the old homestead.

The map above shows the alluvial deposits in the river at the mouth of Lick Creek, while the map below shows the terrain much more clearly. The area circled in red is a hill.

This is the area where the old homestead stood, where John Vannoy lived, and where his fish dam was located. Ironically, there is no land grant or other direct evidence that he lived here other than the history stating that the Vannoy Fish Dam was on the East side of the Yadkin at the mouth of Lick Creek.

I found John associated with four land grants in 1761, but none as a grantee, only in a supportive capacity.

I have not been able to check the Rowan County deed records in person. He may have owned land that might be more specific as to location. Hopefully, the old Rowan County deeds will soon be included in the FamilySearch AI tool.

My visit to the Jersey Church area began at the church itself. It has had additions over the years, but the original part of the church built in the 1840s is shown below.

Behind the church is the large cemetery with even more unmarked graves. Older graves were marked by wooden markers or fieldstones on the frontier, not by inscribed tombstones as we know them today.

Several of these trees look old enough to have been here when church members were first being buried. Perhaps these trees were left to shelter the graves. One tree has literally grown around an early tombstone.

While our John Vannoy and his wife did not die in Rowan County, it’s unlikely that they lost no children while living there. While we don’t know where, our flesh and blood is likely buried here. It’s certain that John attended numerous funerals in this cemetery, some 270 years ago.

I wish this tree could talk.

While John isn’t buried here, it’s likely that at least some family members are.

We know nothing about his son Abraham, other than his birth date and that he didn’t show up in the records for Rowan, Surry, or Wilkes County. The fate of John’s daughters, except for Rachel, is also uncertain, as is that of his wife. We know with certainty that John and his wife both had cousins among the Jersey Church congregation members.

This photo of the Jersey Church sign shows the kind of farmland that surrounds the church. After clearing, this land would have been flat and easy to plow. Church members would have worked as a community to help one another.

In 1771, Benjamin Merrill, one of the church’s most prominent members and a leader of the Regulator movement, raised 300 men, mostly from this congregation, to rebel against the governor for what they perceived as unfair taxation and corruption. The governor was also raising troops, and the Regulators marched as a show of force, hoping to intimidate the government forces into withdrawal. They camped along Alamance Creek.

Unfortunately for the Regulators, what they had in passion, they lacked in leadership. They were sorely unprepared for what followed.

On May 9th, the Regulators intercepted General Waddell and his 100 men, causing them to fall back to the Salisbury District, where he was reinforced by Tryon and his 1100 men. They marched against the Jersey Settlement Regulators and their comrades-in-arms at Alamance, defeated them, scattering their forces, and captured 12 men, including three officers of the colonial militia – Benjamin Merrill, Capt. Robert Messer and Capt. Robert Matear. Six men were tried, convicted, and hung on June 19th, 1771, by Governor Tryon in Hillsboro.

Fortunately, it was “only” a defeat, not the bloodbath it could have easily been.

The Regulator movement and defeat at Alamance would have had a deeply chilling effect on the balance of the congregation, causing many of the 300 men to depart before retribution could be exacted on them and their families.

The Regulator uprising is the stated reason for John Vannoy’s departure to Wilkes County. The 1770 road order shows that he had clearly been there and knew the way, having literally carved that road out of the primeval forest with his own hands.

The first deed for the Jersey Church property was recorded in 1775. William Frohock sold about 3 acres “including the Meeting House & Burying Ground near Swearing Creek” to the “trustees of the United Congregation, consisting of the “Professors of the Church of England, the Church of Scotland, and the Baptists in the Jersey Settlement.” Clearly, the church was already in use, as was the burying ground.

The Jersey Church standing today was built in 1842, probably either replacing or built beside the original church. Regardless, the original church that John attended for at least two decades stood on this land, adjacent to the cemetery. At least two of his children would have been baptized here.

Even though a newer building exists today at Jersey Church, I knew my ancestors stood on that land, cleared the trees, built the church, baptized their babies, buried their relatives, maintained the cemetery, and then, in 1771, moved on, leaving everything behind, perhaps having been burned out.

How difficult this must have been for them just 20 years or so after having left everything behind once before, when leaving New Jersey.

Lick Creek

From the church, I drove to Lick Creek Church Road, knowing that John himself followed this path to and from church and saw this very land more than a quarter of a millennium ago. Of course, it would have looked very different then, but it was still the same land.

This photo is Lick Creek from the bridge of Lick Creek Church Road that crosses Lick Creek. Due to the flooding of the Yadkin when the dam was built, this creek may be slightly wider than it was before, but probably not much, especially away from the lake.

This field rises gently to the northeast of the bridge and creek. This may not have been John’s field, but he surely saw it every day.

An old lane borders the creek but appears to be muddy, and a “no trespassing” sign is clearly posted. The creek itself seems to be rather slow-moving and has some backwater tendencies. It’s hard to say how much of this is from the flooding or if the creek was always sluggish.

I love my Jeep when I’m traveling. I always feel safe. It will pretty much go anyplace and do anything I ask of it, and I asked a lot of her in North Carolina. Sometimes, she (ahem) gets me into trouble:)

Lick Creek standing on the bank.

Before meeting Mr. Cole, I thought this old house might have been connected to John Vannoy, but he says this is not the original house and it was a Cole property. It has a very similar feel to the old Joel Vannoy home in Claiborne County, TN, built in the mid-1800s. The fireplaces at each end were used to heat the home. I wondered at that time if John Vannoy’s house was like this or if it was a simpler log cabin type of structure, but I have a much better idea now.

John’s home would have been much smaller and a small one-story log home, especially given that the homes owned by his sons on the next frontier, Wilkes County, in 1798 were only 16×18, 17×21, 13×15 and 12×14, except for John’s son Nathaniel who was wealthier. Sometimes, the outbuildings, such as external kitchens, barns, and stables, were larger than the log cabins they lived in.

For comparison purposes, this is what was left of the Daniel Boone cabin in the late 1800s, built in 1799 in what would become Missouri. His cabin would have been very similar to those built along the Yadkin.

Here, looking back towards Lick Creek, the tree line, and the bridge.

The property to the north of Lick Creek has been owned by the Cole family since the original land grant. That makes it easy to eliminate this property, unless John Vannoy rented or leased his land. The original Cole homestead stood on the hillside of the Cole property on the Yadkin River side.

Robby was very, very generous and allowed me to photograph the countryside from the hilltop.

This series of photos forms a panorama of the mouth of Lick Creek, from the Cole hilltop, followed by a series of photos that include the hilltop where Mr. Cole says the original (Vannoy?) homestead on the property across Lick Creek was located.

I am turning slowly from the top of the hill on the Cole property, drinking in the landscape.

Lick Creek is just this side of the tree line. The Vannoy land is across the creek in the trees.

In the distance, you can see the creek pass beneath a railroad bridge, where it empties into the Yadkin.

Mr. Cole remembers the remnants of a very old homestead on the replanted portion of this hill across Lick Creek. The hill borders the mouth of Lick Creek, across from the Cole property, and would be the only reasonable location for the Vannoy fish weir at the mouth of Lick Creek.

Robby said the homestead was on the replanted portion of this hill. Are we looking at the hill where John Vannoy lived while tending his fish dam on the river?

Viewing John’s land. I can see him clearing and working the land with his sons.

Thank goodness for that fish wier and the description on the East side of the Yadkin at the mouth of Lick Creek. Otherwise, we would have never been able to discover where John Vannoy lived.

It was here that John’s sons grew to manhood. It was here that his youngest two children were born. It may be here that his eldest children lived as newlyweds. It might be here that family members are buried, too.

This is the land that John so hurriedly left behind when Governor Tryon destroyed and pillaged the farms of the Regulator families.

Did they watch their farm burn?

By 1771, John was over 50 years old and had five strapping adult sons. Andrew was 29, Abraham 26, Francis, 24, Nathaniel, 21 and Daniel, 19.

They probably felt they had far more to lose by staying than going while they could – especially since they were fresh off of the expedition to lay out the road from here to the head of the Yadkin River.

They might well have felt that God had provided, or that God had at least given them a sign.

This photo is taken on the far edge of the Cole property. It shows the view back up the hill, with Lick Creek to the right.

If John Vannoy was on his land down at the creek, working with his fish weir, this is the hill he would have seen. It may or may not have been cleared, although farmland along the river was flatter and more fertile than steeper, rockier lands, so the Cole men had likely cleared this field.

This is the closest point to the mouth of Lick Creek that you can access today without a boat. In the 1700s, the water level would have been lower before the Yadkin was flooded.

If I turn around, you’ll see that I’m at the end of the land that’s not swampy.

The mouth of the Creek is just over the railroad trestle. Because of the height from which these photos were taken, the creek shows better in these photos than in the photos where I was at eye level with it.

This next series is another panorama of Lick Creek at eye level from the furthest solid point on the Cole property, closest to the creek. I had to be careful not to get my Jeep stuck. I don’t think even Mr. Cole’s farm equipment would have been able to pull me out from there.

Unfortunately, you can’t really see the mouth of the creek because the railroad bridge obstructs the view somewhat. The Yadkin is running parallel with the railroad bridge on the other side of it.

I was standing at the red star, photographing towards the bridge.

I needed a canoe!

Walking on the Cole land, looking at John Vannoy’s land.

I must admit, right about this time, I began to wonder if they had alligators here like they do in eastern NC.

Lick Creek was probably smaller and shallower when John lived here.

Fish weirs were created to trap fish, usually by stones, baskets, sticks or fences today, or some combination thereof, and channel fish into a trap from which they can’t escape.

By MarmadukePercy – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10432768

The Martinville Fish Dam in Virginia is a historic Native American fish weir that was probably similar to the Vannoy fish weir.

I sure wish we had some, any, documentation of the remnants of the weir that was found and when. Given that the Yadkin was dammed nearly a century ago, I’m not surprised that this information was lost. When the weir was discovered, it was probably either thought to be interesting or, in the way, or both.

This last picture of the creek shows as I looked back upstream towards the road. The Cole property is on the left and in front of me, and the Vannoy land is across the creek where the trees are today.

Mr. Cole also told me that he believes there are graves – perhaps Indian (he thinks), slaves, or early settlers, supposed to be buried in the field near where the tree overhangs on the left in front of the white trailer. He has never planted there and neither did his father or grandfather.

I’ve always wondered…

Westward Ho

This land along the Yadkin in the Jersey Settlement is both incredibly beautiful as well as fertile and relatively easy to farm, especially in comparison to Wilkes County which is mountainous – the land of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The key here is the Blue Ridge range of the Appalachian Mountains. A Wilkes County photo is shown here. It’s difficult to believe that 70 miles makes this much difference, but it does. Land in Wilkes County can only be farmed in patches. It’s not gently sloping with rolling hills, but a landscape of rugged mountains.

Surry County, which eventually became Wilkes and Ashe, was, of course, the next frontier.

John Vannoy’s son, Nathaniel, went even slightly further west and owned land on Mt. Jefferson, in today’s Ashe County, NC, at about 4,600 feet, part of the Mount Jefferson State Natural Area. He had several other land grants in this area too, most unable to be plotted today. He also had land on Lewis Fork adjoining Robert Cleveland.

John Vannoy’s son, Daniel, also obtained land near his brother Nathaniel’s land on Beaver Creek in what would become Ashe County. John Vannoy, likely with his sons assisting, laid out roads to that area in 1770, just before they needed this dense, mountainous escape.

Francis Vannoy obtained land near or adjacent his brothers, Nathaniel and Daniel, in Ashe County as well as on Reddies River, just north of Wilkesboro. His land is also not placed on a map today.

The Vannoy land all had one thing in common. It was not in the Yadkin Valley on the lower elevations by the River, and it was high enough that shelter and cover were readily available. No one who didn’t know the land would ever find you.

The Vannoy men had a leg up on everyone else, because they had laid that road out in 1770. Perhaps fate had smiled on them.

Perhaps they led the way for others. While they had been guided in 1752 from New Jersey to the Jersey Settlement, perhaps two decades later, they were the guides.

Vannoy Road in Wilkes County

Today, in Wilkes County, Vannoy Road runs from Buckwheat Road down to old NC 16, just north of Andrew Vannoy’s land grant.

I drove part, but not all of this road when visiting Wilkes County in the 1990s and early 2000s.

At that time, Vannoy Road was, at least in part, a two-track road where two cars could not pass. It snaked around the mountain, hanging precipitously on the edge, at least on a good day.

On hairpin turns, you have to honk before completing the turn, and listen for an oncoming car to honk as well to prevent a head-on collision. Geoge McNiel, my now-deceased cousin who rode with me the day I took these photos, says that, at higher elevations, Vannoy Road is nearly impassible in some places.

This is the man who drove the entire county, including its most remote places, with his wife for decades to document cemeteries.

Normally, I would view an unpaved two-track as somewhat of an invitation and a welcome challenge, but when the locals tell you no, it’s no. I decided to content myself with the photo, above.

Fortunately, in the 20+ years or so since I’ve been there, the road has been at least partially paved.

OK, let’s take a ride using Google Street View!

Here’s a lovely view from the paved portion of Vannoy Road.

The scenery is spectacular.

This land was not originally granted to anyone, which, I’m guessing, meant that everyone hunted here and used it more or less as community property.

Vannoy Road runs alongside Reddies River, probably following exactly where the old animal path and horse trail originally were.

In some places, the road had slid down the embankment and had been reconstructed and repaved.

Cabins were built along waterways. The higher, the better because the water was clean and had not been contaminated by people or animals. The Reddies River, which is more of a stream at this elevation, runs right behind this ancient cabin.

Be still my heart!! Is it possible?

Could this possibly be one of the Vannoy cabins?

Indeed, according to Jason’s land grant map, here, this cabin is on Vannoy land. Note that this land, none of it, appears to have been granted until beginning in the 1850s. However, many grants remain unplaced on the map and we do have multiple land grants to Francis Vannoy on the Reddies River. He filed for 150 acres in 1779, two grants in 1782 for 100 acres each, and another for 100 acres in 1783. All four grants, totalling 450 acres, are located someplace on Reddies River, which could clearly have been in this area – near his brother Andrew.

Some of this land was even too high, inhospitable, and remote for the early settlers. The higher and more remote the land, apparently, the later the land was granted to anyone.

That doesn’t mean people weren’t living there, though. This is maybe three miles from Andrew Vannoy’s land grants, and maybe not even that far.

Driving on down the road, there’s a one-lane bridge, even today, at the intersection of Vannoy Road and Sheets Gap Road.

Vannoy Road turns to dirt above the intersection with Buckwheat, which is where I took that photo of the Vannoy Road sign many years ago.

I’m very surprised the Google car drove on this dirt road, at all. Lots of one-lane bridges on the dirt part.

This is the area that cousin George described as dangerous, one lane and in some places, “nearly impassible, especially as you come ‘round the mountain.”

We continue to climb in elevation. Not much land has been cleared here, and the road snakes across many streams, now corralled in culverts under the road. There are also lots of S curves.

George told me it was one lane. He said it was treacherous if it was wet or, “God-forbid, snowy.” I asked him what would happen if you met another vehicle, and he said, “Well, someone gets to back up.”

I couldn’t help but cringe.

Right then and there, I decided I was not driving this road.

The terrain became more rocky and mountainous, and the road more like a two-track.

S-curves became switchbacks, and the overhanging forest is so dense that the road looks dark.

Still, the road climbed.

“Antique” cars, either abandoned or wrecked half or three-quarters of a century ago, litter the mountainside below the road. They are eternally rusting, clearly never meant to emerge again. School buses, campers, and other sorts of trash have also been dumped in the days since our Vannoy ancestors homesteaded this rugged terrain.

Eventually, Vannoy Road emerges at Sparta Road, still part of Miller’s Creek. Sparta is Highway 18, just above Andrew Vannoy’s land.

Despite the extremely remote location, there were at least two small churches that I “passed by” on my Google Drive, and I think there were at least a couple more.

There are more churches per capita in Wilkes County than anyplace else in the nation.

Eventually, even the Google car gave up in some places. It probably only drove on because there was no place to turn around.

Another Vannoy researcher who lived in Wilkesboro told me years ago that if you turn north at Deep Ford Hill and go “5 or 6 miles up that road and cross the river at least twice, then turn right, everything you see on both side of the road was Vannoy land to the top of the mountains.”

Debra was right. Deep Ford Hill sits at the bottom of Old NC 16.

The Vannoy Land

Francis Vannoy’s land is unplaced on Jason’s map, but we know it’s on Reddies River someplace, plus he also had land on Beaver Creek, so near Daniel and Nathaniel’s land in Ashe County.

Daniel tried to patent land near Wilkesboro in 1778, but that didn’t work, so he wound up with land on the other side of the Blue Ridge Parkway in Ashe County.

I placed the Vannoy lands on an aerial map of Wilkes and Ashe Counties as best I could with the limited information we have. Many of the high elevations and streams were some of those affected recently by Hurricane Helene. That’s the last thing I ever expected here.

It seems that the Vannoy men found the furthest distant, highest, most remote, and difficult-to-access locations in Wilkes County and settled there.

Years ago, I wondered what would possess a man to leave the land on Lick Creek with a steadily producing fish dam for these difficult-to-farm mountains. Hardly an even trade. Wilkesboro is about 70 miles “upriver” from the Jersey Settlement. It’s a relatively short jaunt today, but then, it was several days by wagon, mostly uphill and increasingly difficult with every mile.

Of course, now we know the answer to that question.

It’s likely that John Vannoy’s move to Wilkes County was prompted by his role in the Regulator Movement, Regulator Insurrection or Regulator War – whatever you choose to call it. In fact, he may have moved to Surry County as a fugitive. Or after being burned out of house and home. Or all of the above.

His son, Abraham, could have died in the process.

In 1772, John would have been someplace between 52 and 56 years old. We know he’s alive then, with two adult sons living at home, but he’s gone in the next tax list we have in 1774.

What do we know about where John Vannoy and his sons were in 1771? Fortunately, we have at least some tax lists.

Tax Lists

Surry County was formed on April 1, 1771 from Anson County.

The information below is extracted and condensed from “Surry and Wilkes County 1771-1800 Taxables” by William Perry Johnson.

The large areas covered by the early tax lists include all of the present-day NC counties of Allegheny, Ashe, Forsyth, Stokes, Surry, Wilkes, and Yadkin, along with parts of Caldwell and Watauga – a rectangular area about 35 miles wide and 90 miles long. Much of Wilkes County prior to the Revolution was considered to be the area that eventually became part of eastern Tennessee. Prior to 1771, present-day Wilkes was under the jurisdiction of Rowan County, with the courthouse at Salisbury, 60 miles away.

It was 60 miles in the other direction to present-day Tennessee.

From 1771 to 1777, Surry County encompassed the entire 35 by 90-mile area, including the area that would become Wilkes County in 1778.

  • 1771 and 1772 tax lists are complete
  • No list for 1773
  • 1774 is complete
  • 1775 is about two-thirds complete
  • No list for 1776
  • 1777 is about one third complete

1771 tax list:

  • John Vannoy 1
  • Francis Vannoy 1
  • Andrew Vannoy 1

The 1771 Surry County tax list is important because it shows that the Vannoy men, including John, had left the Jersey Settlement, which remained in Rowan County.

One thing is certain, John did make it to the part of Surry County that became Wilkes County.

1772 tax list

  • Andrew Vannoy 1
  • John Vannoy 3
  • Francis Vannoy 1

Charles Hickerson arrived between the tax list in 1771 and the one in 1772

This list is important because it accounts for John and all of his sons except Abraham.

The 1773 list is missing.

Benjamin Cleveland’s 1774 list:

  • Francis Vannoy with Leonard Miller, in all 2
  • Nathaniel Vannoy 1
  • Andrew Vannoy 1
  • Thomas Hall, Jesse Hall, Thomas Hall, in all 3
  • Thomas Owens, Thomas Owens, Barnet Owens
  • Charles Hickerson, David Hickerson, in all 2
  • Daniel Vannoy 1

John Vannoy is missing, although he could have been living with one of his children. Given that both Nathaniel and Daniel were still living with John in 1772, and he is missing but they are both present two years later and listed individually, even though only Nathaniel had married, suggests John may have died.

This is an important group because they applied for land grants that are near each other in Wilkes County, and Daniel Vannoy married Charles Hickerson’s daughter.

An unidentified Jacob Hickerson purchased 200 acres in 1774.

1775 John Hudspeth list of taxes:

  • John Darnold (probably Darnell), Andrew Vonoy 2
  • Charles Hickerson 1
  • Frances Vonoy 1
  • Nathaniel Vonoy 1
  • Daniel Vonoy 1
  • Thomas Owen 1
  • William Owen Sr and Barnard Owen 2
  • David Hickerson 1

John Darnell married Andrew Vannoy’s sister, Rachel, and the two families are living together.

To summarize, John Vannoy is present in 1772 with two additional adult males who would be Nathaniel and Daniel. The tax list is missing in 1773, and John is missing in 1774 and 1775, but his four sons are all listed.

The Surry County estate list shows nothing, and neither does the “Surry County Court Pleas and Quarter sessions 1763-1774” by Linn.

Where is John?

Wilkes County is Formed

Wilkes County was formed in 1778 from parts of Surry County and Washington District, which is now Washington County, Tennessee.

John Vannoy may have survived until the Revolutionary War arrived on his doorstep.

Earlier researchers reported that John gave material aid for the war, for which his estate was paid in 1778. He was subsequently recognized as a Patriot, although I was unable to find any Wilkes County entry about John. If anyone has any reference to John, being paid as a patriot, or his estate in either Surry or Wilkes County, please do share.

At least three of John’s sons served in the Revolutionary War, plus his son-in-law, John Darnell.

  • Andrew Vannoy served as a Captain in the 10th NC Regiment and was later granted land near Murfreesboro, TN. Andrew is mentioned in the NC State papers, volume 5, as a Captain in the Revolution who wrote a letter asking for coats, shoes, frocks and blankets for his men. This unit was active for a year. Formed at Kinston in April 1777, they served at the Battle of Brandywine Creek, the Battle of Germantown, and Valley Forge, where they disbanded in June of 1778.
  • Francis Vannoy served as an overseer of roads in Wilkes County in 1778 and as a juror in 1778 and 1779, which qualifies as Revolutionary War military service. Additionally, he was on an expedition to the New River with William Lenoir in November of 1780.
  • Nathaniel Vannoy was sheriff of Wilkes County during the Revolutionary War times and a private in his brother Andrew’s company in Benjamin Cleveland’s regiment. At the direction of Col. Benjamin Cleveland, Nathaniel hung three Tories from an oak tree for horse stealing, a remnant of which still stood in 1925 beside the Wilkes Co. Court House. He joined the regiment of Col. Benjamin Cleveland as Sergeant Major and served throughout the Kings Mountain Campaign.

The Wilkes County residents were probably thrilled to have formed their own county. The distance to the courthouse, especially on the frontier, was always a source of concern. Surry County’s seat is Dobson, about 50 miles away from Mulberry Fields, the village destined to become Wilkesboro, the seat of newly-formed Wilkes County.

This 1778 Wilkes court entry references the Mulberry Field meeting house and that they are going to erect a courthouse, prison, pillory, and stocks.

By 1778, Nathaniel, Andrew, Daniel, and Francis Vannoy were all serving as jurors in Wilkes County court sessions, which implies that they all owned land.

On June 4, 1778, Nathaniel, Andrew, Daniel, and Francis Vannoy, along with David Hickerson, were laying out a road from the end of the road at Roaring River, the best and most convenient way to the courthouse. I wonder if this qualifies Daniel, John’s fourth son, as a Revolutionary War Patriot too. I believe so because David Hickerson was recognized by the DAR based on this service.

Where Did John Live?

First, let me say that there’s no answer to this, but we do have hints.

I’m speculating here, but I think that maybe John originally settled on Mulberry, where Andrew’s land was located. My reason for thinking that’s a possibility is because just south of and adjoining Andrew’s patent is the land of Benjamin Ray. Nathaniel Vannoy, Andrew’s younger brother, married Elizabeth Ray.

Let’s look at the order in which John’s children married, and to whom.

In 1772, Francis and Andrew are living in their own homes, which strongly suggests that they have married, while Daniel and Nathaniel are living with John.

However, the marriage record for Andrew occurred 7 year later, in 1779. Does this suggest that Andrew had an earlier wife that we know nothing about? (I almost hate to breathe those words.)

Birth Year and Name Land Location Spouse & Marriage Year Spouse’s Parents Spouse Parent’s land
Francis Vannoy born 1746 Reddies River & Ashe County Millicent Henderson (unproven) c 1768 Thomas Henderson? unknown
Rachel Vannoy born 1741 John Darnell c 1771 Isaac Darnell Darnell family lives near Andrew Vannoy, Darnell’s Branch intersects with Mulberry above Andrew’s land
Nathaniel Vannoy born 1749 Multiple locations in Wilkes & Ashe Elizabeth Ray 1773 William Ray Benjamin Ray 1789 land is just below Andrew Vannoy on Mulberry
Daniel Vannoy born 1752 Ashe County Sarah Hickerson 1779 Charles Hickerson Mulberry Creek 1778
Andrew Vannoy Mulberry 1780, 1788 Susannah Shepherd 1779 John Shepherd

Andrew’s land is located on Mulberry Creek, and both Nathaniel and Daniel married women whose families are also found on Mulberry Creek. This may suggest that John settled there, which means that his two sons left at home, Nathaniel and Daniel, married women whose families lived nearby.

Furthermore, Andrew may have applied for a grant for the land where John originally settled, or Francis, who lived nearby, may have. They could not apply for land grants in this area until after the Revolutionary War.

The Vannoy Cemetery

This also begs the question of where John Vannoy is buried.

We know that there was a “meeting house” at Mulberry Fields in 1778 when the county was formed, but many families, if not most, had family burying grounds on their land near their homesteads.

The entry for the Elder James Vannoy Cemetery in Wilkes County is very interesting.

James Vannoy (1792-1857) was the son of Andrew Vannoy, who lived on Mulberry Creek.

The James Vannoy cemetery is located on his land.

The FindaGrave entry for Andrew Vannoy says:

Andrew died on October 9, 1809. He and Susannah are likely buried in a family cemetery on top of a ridge on the east side of Mulberry Creek, on present-day SR1766 in Wilkes County, NC. There are no tombstones for them, but there are several rocks in the section of the cemetery in which two of their children have inscribed markers.

I would love to know exactly where this cemetery is located. Perhaps the Wilkes County Historical Society would look this up in cousin George McNiel’s records to see if he has a location for the cemetery.

  • Andrew’s daughter, Sarah, married Isaiah McGrady, and they are buried on a plot on their land.
  • Andrew’s son, Enoch Vannoy, married Letitia McGrady and is buried in the Roberts Cemetery in McGrady.
  • Andrew’s daughter, Mary “Polly” Vannoy, married the Reverend John Owens and is buried in the Taylor Cemetery in McGrady.
  • Andrew’s daughter, Elizabeth Vannoy, married Presley Brown and is buried in the Taylor Cemetery in McGrady.

If I were a betting person, I’d bet that John Vannoy was one of the first burials in the Elder James Vannoy Cemetery.

When John Vannoy arrived in Surry County, he was one of the earliest settlers, and established churches didn’t yet exist. Early Baptists built the Meeting House in Mulberry Fields, but that doesn’t mean people were buried there. In 1778, the court met in the Meeting House and decided it was the perfect location for the new Courthouse. No remnant of the original Meeting House or cemetery, if there was one, remains.

The 1798 Tax List

By 1798, John Vannoy had been gone for probably 25 years. Some of his sons, however, still lived in Wilkes County when the 1798 tax list was taken.

Jason Duncan’s book, 1798 Wilkes County, NC Tax List, provides a glimpse of life in Wilkes County.

We’ve already viewed the locations where these families lived, but the tax list lets us view their farms, homes, and outbuildings, providing unparalleled detail.

Daniel Vannoy sold out in 1795 and disappeared. Unfortunately, we’d have to do deed research to find the 100 acres that Daniel Vannoy sold to Patrick Lenin Cavender on the South Beaver Creek branch of the South fork of the New River. The cabin there in 1798 was assuredly the same one that was there in 1795 when Daniel sold.

By 1798, Andrew Vannoy owned 450 acres on Mulberry Creek which is 200 acres less than his land grant, so he had sold some.

Andrew’s land was valued at $169. His cabin was 16×18 and valued at only $3, and his outside kitchen was 14×10 and was valued at $2.

Andrew raised 10 children in this home and likely buried four more in the family cemetery. His wife cooked in the outside kitchen.

The cabin on the Reddies River on Vannoy Road today is probably about the size of Andrew’s cabin.

Francis Vannoy owned a total of 310 acres valued at $100. His land is noted as being on the Reddies River, the North Fork, adjoining William Kilby. His dwelling house is 17×21, one story, with hewed logs and a shingle roof, valued at $46, much more than Andrew’s home. He also has two out houses, which do not mean outhouses as in bathrooms, valued at $4.

Francis raised 16 children here, and that’s without an outside kitchen unless one of the out buildings is a kitchen.

Nathaniel Vannoy had done quite well for himself. He had a total of 690 acres on seven tracts. Only one, on Lewis Fork, adjoining Robert Cleveland, had any homes or buildings. This tract was 125 acres of clearly prime farmland valued at $250.

The dwelling house is 16×24 with a shingle roof and is valued at $30.

He has a 14×16 outside kitchen valued at $3.

He has one cabin that’s 12×14, valued at $2, which reflects the fact that in 1800, he enslaved three people.

His property includes a 10×12 shop valued at $3, a 6×12 corn crib valued at $1, a second identical corn crib, two stables worth $2, and a 13×30 barn valued at $8, almost three times as much as Andrew’s humble cabin up on Mulberry Creek.

It appears that Nathaniel’s oldest son, John Vannoy, owns 150 acres on Lewis Fork, adjoining W. Roberts. John married Elizabeth Kilby, daughter of William Kilby, Francis Vannoy’s neighbor. They have a 13×15 cabin, a shop, and stables – not a bad start. They have already welcomed one child, beginning the next Vannoy generation.

It’s likely that one of these men still lived on the same land that John settled, probably in the same cabin.

Unfortunately, Rachel Vannoy Darnell, John Darnell’s widow, is not on the tax list. Other women are listed, so I presume she would be if she were living. This tells us that Rachel has likely died or possibly remarried, but we have no evidence for that either.

What we do have, however, is something as informative as a tax list.

Rachel Darnell submitted the results of the sale of the estate of John Darnell at the April 1786 term of court.

While the widow was entitled to one-third of the value of her husband’s estate, the goods still had to be sold – including “her” things – as the husband literally owned everything except the clothes on her back.

The value is listed in pounds, shillings, and pence. I’ve normalized spelling where I can and am sure.

Item Value
One pot 1.15.0
One plow 0.6.0
One sifter (?) 0.3.6
One box (of) iron 0.8.0
One tub 0.1.6
One ax 0.12.6
One frying pan 0.7.6
2 bells 0.7.6
3 head of sheep 2.8.0
One cotton wheel (spinning wheel) 0.6.6
17 table spoons 0.9.0
One linen wheel (linen spinning wheel) 0.8.0
2 chairs 0.4.0
One Bible and “rithmetick” 1.1.5
One table 0.2.0
One bed 0.10.0
One bed 3.3.0
One boock (book) 0.0.6
One slee (slu, ?) 0.3.6
One mare 10.5.0
One mare 8.15.0
One cow and calf 4.3.6
One cow 3.0.0
Total 40.0.6

Let’s note what’s missing here.

  • For starters, a gun. All men needed and had a gun both to hunt and for defense of their families.
  • There are no hides or things like feathers listed.
  • No chickens or fowl
  • There are also no pigs or “shoats,” young pigs, which was a food staple.
  • There are no crops.
  • No food like “bacon,” which would be a ham hung in the smokehouse, or flour.
  • There are no knives or butchering tools.
  • There is a plow but no wagon or gears.
  • There is one ax but no other tools. No saws or hoes or even a hammer. No nails.
  • There are no clothes listed, which means he had one set of clothes that he was buried in, and she likely has one set, too.
  • There’s no fabric or loom.
  • There is one pot, but no hook to hang it from, and one frying pan – that’s it. Rachel was cooking for at least four people when John died, and possibly more.
  • I’m a bit baffled at the 17 table spoons, especially given that there are no knives or forks. And 17?
  • There aren’t any kitchen hooks either for hanging pots in the fireplace to cook.
  • No butter churn.
  • No basins or pewter listed.
  • Two chairs, which meant that everyone else probably sat on wooden benches that would have been crudely fashioned from felled trees.
  • There are no plates, dishes, or earthenware, which means they would have been using hollowed-out wooden trenchers.
  • Most men had a supplementary skill other than farming, such as a miller, shoemaker, carpenter, blacksmith – but we don’t see anything like that for John.
  • There were no saddles or bridles for the horses.
  • There are no curry combs or anything that suggests a barn.
  • There are two beds but no bedsteads, bedclothes, blankets, or quilts. Since they didn’t specify featherbeds, these would have been straw beds lying on the floor.
  • There’s nothing like a chest or trunk.
  • There are no candles, candlestands, candle molds, or wax.
  • No oil lamp.
  • There are no bottles, razors, or anything personal like a watch or a looking glass.

How did John farm? How did Rachel manage before he died, let alone after?

No wonder her children were bound out as orphans.

What happened to Rachel? Her life was exceedingly difficult by any measure.

She is mentioned in 1795, when she would have been 54 years old, but not thereafter.

While this family appears “poor,” and they assuredly weren’t wealthy, we can combine this estate inventory with the 1798 tax list for the Vannoy men, and glean a much clearer picture of what life in those mountains was like for “normal people” in their 16×18 foot homes.

Welcome to normal life on Mulberry Creek, living in a very small “dwelling house” with one set of clothes to your name, a straw bed on the floor, one pot, frying pan, and tub to care for your large family, and very few creature comforts.

This was probably exactly like John Vannoy’s life, although he may have had even less when he died – especially if what little he had was burned in Rowan County. Perhaps this is why there is absolutely no record of his death – no estate sale – because he literally had no estate.

Summary

John Vannoy’s life took him to two different frontiers. He grew up in the midst of the Coxe Affair, which assuredly influenced his life. He saw what his parents and neighbors suffered through, and the gut-wrenching decisions they were forced to make. No good or fair choice – only unjust ones. Do I want to accept this bad option or that one?

John opted to leave New Jersey, and his aging father, Francis, whose will written in 1768, gave John, the eldest, 5 pounds more proclamation money than the others. Francis died in 1774, his will being probated in July. Ironically, John may have predeceased his father, but his father was probably unaware.

John had removed to the Jersey Settlement in Rowan County, NC, by 1753 when his stock mark was registered and may have arrived before that in a wagon train of settlers from Hopewell Township.

His experiences in New Jersey amid the crooked land swindlers primed him for the Regulator movement, where local farmers revolted against what they perceived as unfair taxation and crooked politicians.

Been there, done that!

PTSD before PTSD was a thing. John probably thought, “Oh, no, not again.” The situation simmered for years, but when push came to shove, the Regulators were defeated without much effort by government troops. The destruction of their farms as retribution may well have driven John Vannoy and his adult sons to the next frontier, just as Surry County was spun off from Rowan.

John and four of his adult sons settled in the highlands of Surry County in 1771, the part that would become Wilkes.

A few years later, John’s story came to an end someplace in the wilderness but heralded the beginning of the Vannoy family in Wilkes and Ashe Counties, a legacy that continues today with more than 2300 scattered descendants.

Fortunately, we can peek back in time.

The Vannoy Blackburn Farm

Today, the Vannoy Blackburn farm near Will Vannoy Road  and Dick Phillips Road in Ashe County, owned by Appalachian State University, preserves authentic Appalachian cultural structures from times gone by, including:

  • The historic Blackburn and Vannoy homes dating from the 1800s
  • Several outbuildings like the Vannoy men had on the 1798 tax list, including a spring house, corn cribs, and barns
  • The Blackburn/Vannoy cemetery

Although the two homes aren’t the original structures, the new houses would have been built on the old farm, so the Appalachian culture and farming methods employed are relevant to a century earlier as well.

Both Nathaniel Vannoy and Francis Vannoy obtained land grants in this immediate vicinity and purchased additional surrounding land. Daniel lived nearby. The Blackburn family owned adjacent land, and the Vannoy Blackburn farm includes both a Vannoy and Blackburn homestead.

This farm, 369 acres in total, was obtained from the estate of Beulah (Blackburn) and Reeves Vannoy, a descendant of Nathaniel Vannoy, and is located on two tracts on the original Francis Vannoy land, some of which is located on fertile bottomlands along a stream.

The report prepared by ASU in 2010 states:

There is an old growth forest ridge of white oaks, chestnut oaks, and red oaks; with some individual trees that are likely over 150 years old. One corner is marked by a hickory tree that is likely over 200 years old. This old growth forest, with its significant understory and hundreds of larger century old trees is an impressive sight and is valuable as a “living museum”, giving an idea of the substantial regional forests of the past.

I’m glad they are preserving this relic of the past in its stunning setting. I think Francis, Nathaniel, and Daniel would be too.

The views from Will Vannoy Road over the New River Valley are spectacular.

John Vannoy and his sons, who, in 1770, laid out the original road from the Jersey Settlement to here, chose well.

Very, very well.

John would be proud.

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Hickerson Family Tapestry Woven from the 1798 Wilkes County Tax List – 52 Ancestors #432

Recently, three new resources have allowed me to review the information I’ve collected about my Wilkes County, NC, families with fresh eyes. What I’ve found is amazing, as is the light it shines on life in Wilkes County right at the turn of the 18th century. I thought there wasn’t anything left to find, given that I’ve been to Wilkes County extracting records multiple times, as well as to the North Carolina State Archives. I’m very pleasantly surprised.

This information is not readily available from any set of indexed records, anyplace, but it is these resources.

  1. Jason Duncan’s book titled 1798 Wilkes County, NC Tax List, in which he has transcribed the most in-depth and detailed tax list I’ve ever seen – including the size of the house, outbuildings, and even the construction material of the house and roof. You can order his book, here.
  2. Jason Duncan’s transcribed (and free) Wilkes County, NC, Land Grants WITH MAP, here.
  3. FamilySearch’s Full Text AI Search to discover and further flesh out information not previously available, such as court documents and references in deeds where people were involved but not the primary subject. Buyer and seller, for example, are generally indexed, but others mentioned aren’t, and there’s pure gold in those nuggets.

I’m telling you what, this trifecta is simply INCREDIBLE!

Not only that, but I was able to use Jason’t land grant map to find his land today and “drive” up the road through his property using Google Maps. Not approximately his property – exactly, unquestionably his property.

In addition, I discovered an amazing nugget by rechecking my Hickerson cousin’s Y-DNA results again.

I’ll take you through these steps one by one.

Here’s the first article I wrote using these tools, which provided a great deal of additional information about the Braddock Harris “assault” case, including the identity of his intended victim, Ann Alexander.

That article is connected to this article because Braddock Harris married my ancestor Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Rachel, about that same time or shortly thereafter.

Wouldn’t you love to know the dynamics of all of that? Let’s just say the Hickerson family was “very interesting.”

What would Jason’s book reveal?

Jason’s Book

I began by finding each ancestor in Jason’s book, thinking it would be a quick extract for my families who lived in Wilkes County. However, there was so much information by combining those resources that I quickly discovered that I needed to write an additional article for each family.

Making things more complex, though, is the fact that these people didn’t exist in a vacuum up on the mountainside. I find their records intermixed in unexpected ways.

I did expect to find some family groups who lived as near neighbors, intermarried, and eventually migrated to Claiborne County, Tennessee, together, but what I didn’t expect to find was a mixture across those groups back in Wilkes County. In part because they didn’t live in the same area, and mountain travel was challenging. Well, surprise.

  1. The McDowell family intermarried with the Harrold/Harrell/Herrell family, so I expected their records to be intermixed.
  2. The Vannoy and Hickerson families intermarried, and the McNiel, Rash and Sheppard families intermarried, then those two groups intermarried too.

I suspect attending the same or different churches had a lot to do with this phenomenon.

Around 1810, members of both family groups moved another 100 miles or so across and through treacherous mountains and settled in Claiborne County, TN, near the Virginia border in what would eventually become Hancock County, TN. Their association with each other began earlier than I expected, but the two family groups didn’t actually merge (in my line) until my grandparents married.

This article focuses on the Hickerson family, so let’s do a short recap of what we know to set the stage for what we discover.

The Hickerson Family of Wilkes County, NC

Charles Hickerson was the progenitor of the Hickerson family in Wilkes County. He lived in this area before Wilkes was formed from Surry County, which was formed from Rowan County, where he was found in late 1771, witnessing a will for Lydia Stewart.

In 1775, on the tax list, Charles Hickerson was living between Francis Vannoy, who is listed with Leonard Miller, and Daniel Vannoy, Hickerson’s future son-in-law who would marry his daughter, Sarah Hickerson, a few years later. Leonard Miller married Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Jane, around 1782.

In 1776, Charles, then about 50 years old, set out on the Rutherford Expedition in which Cherokee towns were destroyed as part of the Revolutionary War.

In 1778, Charles Hickerson was serving on juries in Wilkes County as most landowners did in that time and place.

In March of 1779, Charles Hickerson had John Robins Sr., his neighbor, arrested for trespass, which typically means they are having a land dispute.

Hickerson’s original land grant for 320 acres in 1779 was located on both sides of Mulberry Creek and was witnessed by his son, David Hickerson.

Map courtesy Jason Duncan’s Wilkes land grant maps at http://webjmd.com/wilkeslandgrants/grantstable.html

Keep in mind that Charles Hickerson had clearly been living there for several years, probably more than two decades. Wilkes County was not formed until 1778, and land could not be granted until after the Revolutionary War when the State of North Carolina had land available to grant.

Prior to that, this part of Wilkes County was Surry County. Before the Revolutionary War, land in what would become Wilkes County was granted from the Granville District by John Carteret, the Second Earl of Granville, one of eight men who received large tracts of North Carolina in 1730 because they helped King Charles regain the throne. No land was granted in the Granville District after Carteret’s death in 1763 until after the culmination of the Revolutionary War, but people were still settling there nonetheless.

Land was staked out or claimed by marking trees with hatchets, known colloquially as hatchet claims, as the first step in the process. The next steps might not take place for many years, if ever.

Three years after the 1779 suit between Charles Hickerson and John Robins was filed, in August 1782, it was heard and found for Hickerson, with Robins having to pay seven pounds, 10 shillings, and costs. 

The incident with Braddock Harris occurred in 1786, which is also about the time Braddock married Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Rachel. If you’re shocked by Charles Hickerson allowing his daughter to marry a man who had been convicted of a violent assault on a young woman, then punished and humiliated publicly outside the courthouse, so was I.

By 1786, Charles Hickerson’s life was coming unraveled. He was not a young man, probably older than 60, and his family life was volatile and increasingly violent. Charles was arrested on a charge of trespass brought by his son-in-law, Daniel Vannoy, who had been married to his daughter, Sarah Hickerson, since 1779.

There’s no way to know what trespass meant in this connotation, but trespass suits over land disputes didn’t typically result in the sheriff being ordered to go and physically apprehend the person.

Something was up.

This was followed in 1787 by a suit filed by Daniel Vannoy against Charles Hickerson, “for words,” which is slander.

Whoo boy things were getting hot and spicey.

Unfortunately, the year is incomplete on another document, although this was found in the 1785-1787 court records.

The sheriff confiscated the property of Daniel Vannoy, who apparently lost one of those two suits, which clearly affected Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Sarah, Daniel’s wife.

Was Charles alright? His family seems deeply embroiled in increasingly violent feuding, including Charles granting permission for his daughter to marry a man convicted of an extremely violent act.

I actually wonder if something had happened to Charles, like maybe a stroke or accident resulting in a brain injury, as he seems to have become very combative beginning about 1779. Was his decision-making ability or judgment impaired?

In 1788, Charles Hickerson sold 150 acres of his land on Mulberry Creek to his son, David Hickerson, “being the survey that Charles Hickerson now lives on.” His wife, Mary Lytle Hickerson’s will in 1793 does not mention Charles, indicating that he was already deceased.

This means that the other 170 acres of Charles’ 320-acre land grant was likely sold to someone, but who, and when?

Many of these land grants weren’t actually filed or surveyed for years, which means that the actual grant date is much later than the family began inhabiting, improving, and farming the land. Land grants weren’t free. It cost money to file the grant and also for the survey. Often, claims were abandoned or passed hand to hand for cash, given that ownership, in the traditional sense, didn’t yet exist. Only occupation and improvements to the property, like clearing fields and building homesteads – creating farms from dense woodlands. In families, often at death, deeds were simply passed hand to hand and sometimes not registered for generations.

Charles was recorded on the census in 1790 but had died before his wife, Mary, passed away in December of 1793, with a will.

The end of Charles’s life was anything but peaceful. Not only was his daughter Rachel Hickerson Harris’s house burned in 1789, his other daughter, Jane, who married Leonard Miller, was somehow involved, and in 1793, John Roberts was found guilty of that arson.

It was just a huge, ugly, dangerous mess.

Let’s take a brief moment to recap what we know about Charles Hickerson’s children.

Charles Hickerson’s Child Spouse Comments
Jane Hickerson was born about 1760 Married Leonard Miller before 1782 and appears to have “divorced” before 1800. He moved to SC.

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

Jane concealed goods from her sister Rachel’s home robbery and arson in 1789. Convicted in 1793 in extremely unflattering terms. Later seems to have reconciled with Rachel as she later testified on her behalf.
Sarah Hickerson was born 1752-1760 Married Daniel Vannoy in 1779. Bought land in what would become Ashe County in 1779. He sold personal property the day after the Hickerson vs Vannoy conviction in 1794, sold his land in 1795, and disappeared entirely from all records.
Rachel Hickerson was probably born before 1766 Married Braddock Harris about 1786, moved from Wilkes after 1793. In March of 1789, John Roberts robbed and burned the Harris home.
David Hickerson was born about 1750-1760 Married Sarah Ann Talifaferro circa 1781. Leaves around 1809 for Coffee Co., TN. In 1793, he sued John Roberts for slander.
Joseph Hickerson was born probably before 1760 Married Ann Green or Greer. In 1793, Joseph and Samuel Hickerson testified against Leonard Miller and Jane Hickerson Miller but Joseph apparently stayed out of the rest of the mess.
Mary Hickerson Stewart Husband was probably Samuel Stewart/Steward, son of Lydia Stewart. The Hickerson family had an association with the Stewart family in Rowan County in 1771. Son named Samuel Hickerson alias Stewart, as recorded by the court, may have been born before marriage. In 1793, Mary’s mother left Mary the contents of a chest and also named Samuel specifically. Mary may have left the state shortly thereafter.
Elizabeth Hickerson was born 1748-1768. Married a Stewart, probably a son of Lydia Stewart Wound up in Nacogdoches, TX, per 1877 letter from Elizabeth’s elderly daughter saying they left about 1794.

After both Charles Hickerson and his widow, Mary, had died, all Hell broke loose within the family. It’s hard to believe that the feuding could increase beyond what was already happening, but it did. They quarreled and fought with each other incessantly, and their dirty laundry was aired in the courtroom – fortunately for us today. I can only imagine how much we don’t know. The tidbits we have are just the tip of the iceberg, teasers about the long-forgotten truth.

Most family members eventually moved to other states, probably to escape the ugliness and violence. Some simply disappeared, which makes me wonder about what actually happened – especially to Daniel Vannoy who is never heard from again. I’m not sure I want to know.

After Mary Lytle Hickerson’s 1793 death, the lawsuits increased, with David Hickerson suing Daniel Vannoy, Samuel Stewart/Steward alias Little Dr. Hickerson suing Daniel Vannoy for slander, and Leonard Miller forfeiting his appearance in the cases after he had been subpoenaed. Translated, Leonard didn’t want to or was afraid to be involved and paid a hefty fine for that choice.

The court was insistent that Samuel, alias Little, Hickerson, alias Steward/Stewart appear in court, but he refused and did not. The multiple lawsuits weren’t resolved amicably, or at all. Instead, the situation continued to escalate. In November of 1794 the state indicted both Vannoy and Samuel Hickerson for assault and battery and fined David Hickerson.

The court must have been getting sick of this, too.

By the time the 1798 tax list was taken, Charles Hickerson had been buried someplace, probably on his own land, for between 5 and 8 years, and Mary had been gone for five years.

On the 1798 tax list, we show the two land entries for Charles Hickerson’s sons, David and Joseph.

David Hickerson owned three parcels of land totaling 368 acres, worth $501, as follows:

  • 196 acres on Mulberry valued at $95, with a 24 by 17 still house valued at $5. This makes me laugh because that stillhouse is larger than most homes. I’d wager that what was produced in the stillhouse was worth a great deal. A stillhouse might also explain a good bit of the feuding within this family.
  • 170 acres on Yadkin River at the mouth of Lewis Fork valued at $300. This is the right amount of land to be the remainder of his father’s land, but the wrong location, several miles distant across mountains.
  • 2 acres, no location given, with a 17 by 24 dwelling house that is 1 story with an 8-foot wide shed on one side, with a shingle roof valued at $90. There is also an 18 by 20 kitchen made of logs and covered with slabs valued at $11. Note that this dwelling house is the same size as the still house. That still house must have been huge, at least comparatively

David’s 1796 land grant is only for 50 acres on the banks of Mulberry Creek, crossing Piney Creek, adjacent his own line. This tells us that he has more than one piece of land in that location, even though it’s not accounted for in the land grants. The additional land is probably his father’s land from the 1788 deed conveyance.

The 150 acres he obtained from his father in 1788 does not seem to be broken out in 1798, unless it’s part of the 196 acres, but if so, where’s the house? Charles Hickerson lived on this plantation.

Joseph Hickerson has 150 acres valued at a total of $100 with the following details:

  • 150 acres on Mulberry adjoining David Hickerson valued at $61
  • 16 by 20 dwelling house, 1 story, hewed logs, shingle roof valued at $10
  • 12 by 16 kitchen, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $8
  • 10 by 16 barn, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $8
  • 12 by 16 blacksmith shop, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $1
  • Stable, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $2
  • 8 by 12 mill house, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $10

Joseph’s 1799 land grant shows as 100 acres on the waters of Mulberry. A second grant for the same amount, with the same file number, but a different grant number is in the same location generally, but unplaced on the map. He does not have 200 acres total, nor is the grant that is placed on Jason’s map adjacent his brother.

Given that Joseph’s grants aren’t dated until a year after this tax list, is it possible that this 150 acres adjacent David Hickerson is his father’s land? We know Charles Hickerson’s land was adjacent both Joseph and David’s land.

If this is Charles Hickerson’s original land, or at least part of it, this tells us that Charles probably had a mill and might have been a blacksmith, although perhaps Joseph built that shop. Regardless, Charles, David and Joseph would have all worked together. Their survival depended on it.

There’s one other 1798 tax entry that references a Hickerson. James Cast’s 60 acres on Hunting Creek is noted as being adjacent Samuel Hickerson, but there is no entry for Samuel Hickerson nor land grant for him. Samuel Hickerson would be aka Little Hickerson aka Samuel Stewart/Steward.

Expanding the Searches

I took this opportunity to use the new FamilySearch Full Text AI tool first in Wilkes County, then further afield. I removed all location filters and just searched for Charles Hickerson more broadly since we still don’t know where he came from before his arrival sometime before 1771 in Rowan County.

I didn’t find what I hoped for. If Charles was born around 1724, then he would have married maybe between 1745 and 1750. Did he own land before migrating to the new Carolina frontier?

FamilySearch continues to add records, so I’ll check back often.

Revisiting Hickerson Y-DNA

I also revisited the Y-DNA matches of our Hickerson cousin, who tested a few years ago, and discovered a pleasant surprise. My Hickerson cousin has a new haplogroup, I-FTC98093, which you can see here in Discover.

On his match list, we have a Hickerson male who is a Y-DNA STR match but who provided no genealogy information, so we need to reach out to him. If we are lucky, he will descend from a different line which will provide us with clues as to the ancestors of Charles Hickerson.

A second STR match whose ancestor, Everett Clyde Henderson, not Hickerson, was born in Illinois, died in Marion County, IN, and was married to Maud Johnson, who was born on Nov. 11, 1875, in Cass Co., Indiana. Fortunately, he has taken the Big Y-700 test and his haplogroup is I-FTC98093 – the same as our Hickerson cousin’s.

Things are getting mighty interesting!

Another Y-DNA match is also named Henderson, and his ancestor is Edward Henderson, born in 1735 in Hunterdon County, NJ, the same location where the Wilkes County Vannoy family originated before removing to the Jersey Settlement in NC about 1739.

Is this relevant? Maybe.

Given that our Hickerson cousin and the Henderson man match on both STR tests and the Big Y-700, and Discover tells us that their haplogroup was formed about 1400, this seems quite relevant. Haplogroup ages are refined as more men with that haplogroup test, so this date would become more concise with additional Hickerson or Henderson testers.

We need another Hickerson male and another Henderson male to upgrade to the Big Y-700 with the hope that the additional tests will allow the haplogroup date to be further refined, or additional branches defined. I don’t want to get too excited, though, because the genetic distance at 111 markers is 9, so their common ancestor could be back in the old country. Still, it would be wonderful to know we’re actually looking for Hendersons, not Hickersons. So far, our only identified Hickerson matches are to our known line through David Hickerson.

One VERY interesting aspect of Discover is the Ancient Connections, which are derived from archaeological excavations published in academic papers.

Click to enlarge image

All of the Ancient Connections haplogroup matches are of Viking origin, but one was found near St. John’s College in Oxford, England.

Our common Hickerson/Henderson ancestor with this man lived about 3900 years ago, probably in Sweden, based on the other Ancient Connections.

How cool is this???!!! Without the Big Y-700 test and Discover’s Ancient Connections, we would NEVER have been able to discern that our Hickersons were at one time Viking warriors – or at least we share ancestors with them.

Perhaps a little bit of Viking warrior influence carried over into the mountains of Wilkes County.

My Favorite Revelations

This article builds on our earlier knowledge of the Hickerson family by adding court records, land grants plotted on maps, and DNA matches, but my favorite tidbits were revealed in that 1798 tax list.

Even though Charles was already deceased, he really hadn’t been gone long. It’s very likely that one or both of his sons owned his land. We know positively that he sold part of his land to David in 1788. Wilkes County in 1798 was very much like Wilkes County a decade earlier, before Charles Hickerson, then Mary, died.

From the tax records of those men, we learned that David was by far the wealthier of the two brothers, with assets totaling five times what his brother, Joseph, had.

David’s dwelling house on the two-acre tract was 12X17, or 204 square feet, had a shingle roof, and was valued at $90. There’s no mention of an outside kitchen? Was the cooking done inside? And by whom?

The only structure on his 196-acre Mulberry property was a stillhouse of the exact same size as his house on his other property, but valued at $5.

Know what David doesn’t have? Barns or stables. No outbuildings whatsoever. That’s baffling because even if he didn’t have livestock, he had to have owned horses. Was one of his properties, perhaps the one that was his father’s, omitted? Did his brother oversee his land and stillhouse while David lived on a much smaller parcel in town?

In the 1790 census, David is shown living beside his father, Charles, with two enslaved people who were probably doing much of the work on David’s land. He owned slaves in 1800 and 1810 as well, so they had to have lived someplace. Comparing the tax list to other men such as Jonathan Hethman or Heathman, who in 1790 owned four enslaved people and two in 1800, shows that in 1798, Heathman had five cabins of 12×12, 12×14, and 12×16 feet that would clearly have been slave quarters. But David Hickerson shows no other structures. That’s odd.

I also wonder why David Hickerson’s house was worth so much more than other homes of the same size, including his brother’s.

By comparison, his brother Joseph’s dwelling house was larger than David’s at 16X20 or 320 square feet, but it was valued at only $10, similar to that of most dwelling houses. The outside kitchen was 12X16 and was valued at $8, so almost as much as the house itself.

By virtue of comparison, a 14X70 mobile home today is 980 square feet, three times the size of their homes – so quite tiny by today’s standards.

Joseph clearly farmed because he had a 10X16 barn, so about half the size of his house, which was worth $8, the same as the outside kitchen and more per square foot than the house.

Joseph’s blacksmith shop was 12X16 but was only valued at $1, even though that’s probably a primary source of income. His blacksmith shop was worth far less than David’s stillhouse. Joseph’s mill house was 8X12 and was valued at $10, the same as David’s stillhouse. Joseph also had a stable that was worth $2, twice as much as his blacksmith shop.

Taken together, this gives us a snapshot of life in Wilkes County in 1798. Both of these men had been born in the 1750s or 1760s and had spent their entire adult life in what would become Wilkes County, first working their father’s land, then their own.

They watched their father march off to war in 1776 and probably farmed his land as best they could until his return. They learned to handle horses, cows, and whatever other livestock they would have had. They would rise with the sun every morning and begin the never-ending chores that defined farm life.

The seasons determined their activities, such as plowing, planting, harvesting, hunting, butchering, and processing meats. Not to mention making moonshine, which requires dried corn.

At least David, and probably Charles before him, turned excess corn into moonshine. Or maybe the corn wasn’t excess and was grown for this specific purpose. Were the Hickerson’s the premier distillers of the region? Perhaps so.

I extracted a list of all of the other stillhouses from the 1066 individuals taxed in Wilkes County, which covered an extensive area, across the mountains to the Virginia border. There were a total of 18 stills, including David Hickerson’s, meaning that one in every 60 households included a stillhouse. But David’s was the largest at 24X17. A few had no size listed, but most were substantially smaller. Interestingly enough, though, David’s was valued at $5, but the next largest, 20X18, and one at 14X18, were valued at $12. The rest were valued between $2 and $10, with six others valued at $5. I sure wonder what the criteria were for valuing a stillhouse.

Back then, whiskey was medicine as well as recreation, and considered a gentleman’s beverage. Drinking was only frowned upon if liquor was consumed in excess. The definition of excess was determined by your neighbors and the church.

Ironically, in the years since, Wilkes County proclaimed itself the Moonshine Capital of the World, where NASCAR was born from highly skilled moonshine runners outpacing the law on those treacherous mountain roads.

It’s also worth noting that on the 1798 tax list, Joseph Herndon’s property is noted as being on the road from the Wilkes Courthouse, across from David Hickerson. Given that David had one parcel of 2 acres, which included his dwelling house, I wonder if he actually lived in the town of “Mulberry Fields” which would one day become Wilkesboro, and sold his moonshine to folks coming and going from the courthouse.

Joseph Hickerson’s mill would be another great location to imbibe and pick up some moonshine.

When farmers harvested grain, be it corn, rye, barley, or wheat, it had to be ground at the mill. Mills were very important community resources and also served as gathering places for the local farmers who discussed anything and everything that needed discussing. They might have whittled on a piece of wood, crafting it into something useful, played a friendly game of checkers on top of a barrel, and had a nip or two. I wonder if the remains of the Hickerson Mill still exist on Mulberry Creek.

Of course, every horse and the local oxen needed horseshoes, stirrups for their saddles, and bits for their halters. The farmers needed hinges, nails, wheel rims, barrel stays, chains, tools, and other hardware forged by the local blacksmith.

Almost everyone farmed in Wilkes County, or at least tried to on the rocky mountainsides. Flat land closer to the Yadkin held a much higher value because it was easier to farm and much more productive. David Hickerson’s 170 acres on the Yadkin at the mouth of Lewis Fork was valued at $300, much higher per acre than his 196 acres on Mulberry Creek at $95, or his brother Joseph’s 150 acres on Mulberry that adjoined his that was valued at $61.

Now, of course, I want to look up all of the Hickerson neighbors shown on the land grant map to see what their life was like in 1798. Each family was part of the community tapestry that was interwoven and shaped the lives of our Wilkes County ancestors.

Let’s Take a Drive

I absolutely LOVE finding my ancestors’ land on Google Maps and “driving by.”

Given the shapes of the roads and Mulberry Creek on Jason’s map, it was easy to find on Google maps too. Joseph’s land is parallel to the left with a small piece running partway beneath Charles’s land, and David’s is above Charles in the loop.

You can see Mulberry Creek meandering through this entire area, and in at least one place, there was a still, a blacksmith shop, and a mill, in addition to at least two and probably three houses.

I turned on the aerial features.

I was excited to drive up Mountain View Road, which is road 1002. The land on both sides of the road is heavily forested with small cleared areas for farming. The road, on Charles Hickerson’s land, runs along beside, then crosses Mulberry Creek.

You can see the bridge on Mountain View Road, looking back to where it crosses Mulberry Creek.

Two roads traverse the Hickerson land. Mulberry Creek Road intersects on the west, leading to Joseph’s land.

Turning onto Mulberry Creek Road, we continue to climb and can see one of the cleared areas. Charles’s land abuts Joseph’s near here.

One last look at Mulberry Creek’s path through the Hickerson land, this time looking north to south. Water was the lifeblood of farming, not only to drain the lands and water people and animals, but to power both mills and stills.

Mulberry Creek provided the lifeblood of the Hickerson family for generations.

How I wish this landscape could talk and tell us the secrets that it holds. Charles and Mary, and probably a few others are buried someplace here in the family cemetery, but where?

What’s Next

I know I went down a huge rabbit hole in this article, beginning with the 1798 Wilkes County tax list and winding up someplace in the Viking homelands with a few detours through North Carolina, possibly New Jersey, and maybe England on the way.

I’ve identified what I need to do to make progress, though.

  • Reach out to Hickerson Y-DNA matches and ask about their genealogy.
  • Encourage another Henderson and another Hickerson male to upgrade to the Big Y-700 test to refine the origin dates and haplogroups, if possible, with the hope of bringing into better focus the date of a common ancestor. This will help us determine if the common ancestor is in colonial America or in England.
  • If the common ancestor lived after immigration to the colonies, begin searching more aggressively for information about the Henderson or Hickerson line in New Jersey.
  • Check the FamilySearch AI tool often. (Yes, I already checked for Edward Henderson, and he’s in NJ and had a will. More research is needed.)
  • Edward Henderson’s WikiTree entry is here, and his father, James is here.

How are we related to the Henderson family, when did we share a common ancestor, and where did we come from after the Vikings and before North Carolina?

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Jacques Bonnevie (c1660-c1733) Speaks from Beyond the Grave about Port Royal and Fort Louisbourg – 52 Ancestors #431

Ahh, my daughter – you’re here! In Louisbourg. I’m overjoyed, and my heart sings!

I thought no one would ever come. That no one would ever find me. But alas, you have!

It’s been almost 290 years since I, Jacques Bonnevie, passed from my mortal body on Île-Royale at Fort Louisbourg, the place you call Cape Breton Island, right across the bay from where you’re sitting right now.

Look up, you can see the fort in the distance out your window. Gaze across the bay. I’m buried on the spit of land right there, to the left of the fort, across the water with the sun glinting and sparking.

That’s the sprite of my spirit, dancing on the waves, so joyful that you are here.

Yes, my girl, I can see you. And your mother too, who accompanies you in spirit – and her ring that you wear. She’s standing right by your side and walks with you. Did you know that? Continue reading

Wilkes County Secrets Revealed about the Braddock Harris and Ann Alexander “Assault” – 52 Ancestors #430

Recently, I received a lovely email from Jason Duncan.

Roberta,

In an article that you wrote on November 17, 2019, you mentioned Braddock Harris and his wife Rachel Hickerson.

https://dna-explained.com/2019/11/17/sarah-hickerson-1752-1760-before-1820-silent-member-of-a-feuding-family-52-ancestors-262/

You included information about Braddock’s attempted rape conviction in Wilkes County, but the document that you found didn’t specify who the victim was. On a recent trip to the NC Archives, I found a document in the Criminal Court Papers that identifies the victim as Ann Alexander, the step-daughter of Isaac Darnell.  I’m sending the front and back of that paper, dated January 9, 1786.

I’m not sure yet exactly who Isaac Darnell was, but I know the Darnell family settled in the eastern part of Wilkes in the vicinity of Bugaboo Creek and Little Elkin Creek. Darnell is still a popular name in the area.

As you noted, Braddock’s punishment was to be paraded across the court yard from Humphries to Smothers/Smithers. Within the past few months, I’ve been able to pinpoint where Spencer Humphries’ home and tavern was located.  It was about 50 feet from the (then) courthouse door. This point on Google Maps is the SW corner of Humphries’ house:

https://maps.app.goo.gl/MP8Xr4qPNzu21JPL9

This is based on William Lenoir’s map and survey notes from when he was laying out the town of Wilkesboro in 1800. I found this a few months ago. One of the points that he mentioned was the SW corner of Milley Humphries’ porch. Her husband Spencer had died a few years earlier, and she still lived there. The courthouse was on the west side of the house near the tree line. The “stocks” were 70 feet south of the Humphries house. Coincidently, when I park my car to go into work at the Wilkes Heritage Museum, I’m parking in the very spot where Braddock Harris walked carrying his sign!

Jason Duncan

Wow, just wow. This is exactly why I write these articles!

Before I go on, Jason writes about the old courthouse on his website, here, with a sketch, and the 1800 map of Wilkesboro by William Lenoir.

Braddock Harris

Jason found the original criminal charging bill.

Whereas complaint being made to me ? Herndon Justice Peace for said county by Isaac Darnel that Bradock Harris did on Thursday last violently abuse his step daughter Ann Alexander by forcing her to lie with him and did greatly hurt and bruise her the said Ann (missing) her great dammage and against the (missing) dignity of our state of N Carolina (missing) command you in the name of the (missing) to immediately take the body of the (missing) Harris and then bring before me or some Justice of the said County to answer the above (missing) humane charge and to be further dealt with as the law directs. (Can’t read) jail (or bail) not given under my hand this 9th day of January 1786.

Signed by Joseph Herndon and witnessed by Alexander Gilbreath and (illegible.)

That’s ugly. Really ugly. “Forcing her to lie with him” does not sound like “attempted” to me.

Here’s what I wrote in my original article before Jason had found this information:

I was researching Daniel Vannoy and Sarah Hickerson. In an every-name index book, Daniel Vannoy was listed as a court juror on April 26, 1786. The case heard before the one in which Daniel sat as a juror is transcribed below, simply because I found the topic and entry so unusual.

State vs Bradock Harris – indicted assault, jury called, jury find guilty. Ordered defendant fined 5 pounds and be CARTED up and down the court yard from Humphries to Smothers with this inscription wrote in large letters on paper and fixed to his forehead and read loudly by the sheriff at each place. THIS IS THE EFFECTS OF AN INTENDED RAPE and the last part of the punishment be inflicted between hours of four and five o’clock this evening.

Court was adjourned for one hour and following were present: Charles Gordon, Russell Jones and William Nall, Esquires.

The caps are in the court record – not mine.

Thanks to Jason, we now know where that punishment took place.

The red pin marks the southwest corner of Humphries house, and the museum is a block to the right of the red pin.

The old courthouse was just to the left of Humphries home and tavern – a great location for the local watering hole where everyone would have gathered on court days to imbibe and discuss the various goings-on. Court was the local entertainment and sometimes was quite juicy. Like on that fall day in 1786 when Braddock Harris was carted up and down the street, being publicly shamed with the sign affixed to his forehead and read loudly by the sheriff for those who might not be able to read for themselves.

Everyone in the entire county and probably all neighboring counties knew about that and likely talked about it for years. That might have been a deterrent for others, but it was probably horrific for Ann.

According to Jason, the stocks were about here!

Whoever thought a mundane parking lot could or would hold so much incredible, and forgotten, history. I’d love to hear those tavern conversations!

I was excited, of course, but had to wait to get home to reply.

Hi Jason,

How interesting!

These families are definitely intertwined.

In my database, I have some information about the Darnell family because John Darnell, born about 1750, married Rachel Vannoy about 1771, the daughter of John Francis Vannoy and Susannah, whose last name is said to be Anderson.

Rachel and John Darnell had four children, but the parents were both deceased before Oct 23, 1787, because 2 of the children, Benjamin and Joseph, were bound to Andrew Vannoy as orphans.

John Darnell is the son of Isaac Darnell and (presumably) Nancy, his wife, whose last name is unknown. I don’t find another Isaac Darnel in the county at or near that time.

Of course, if Ann Alexander was the step-daughter of Isaac in 1786, that means that her mother was married to an Alexander sometime before that date.

I wonder if we will ever get those early Wilkes County pioneers sorted out.

Is it alright if I post this updated information, attributed to you?

It may well help someone someday.

Thank you so much,

Roberta

Of course, I had to start digging right away.

Jason provides a wonderful mapping resource for Wilkes County genealogists where he places the land grants for early, and not so early, settlers. You can check it out, here.

According to his database:

  • Edward Harris patented 230 acres in 1778/1779 on the north fork of Fisher Creek, in map grid J10.
  • Isaac Darnell patented 240 acres in 1779/1782 on both sides of Fishers Creek, map grid section K11.

I found both of those land grants.

Thanks to Jason’s streams, I was able to measure the distance on today’s Google Maps from roughly the center of each grant. Both grants would have been about half of a square mile, and there’s no way to know where the cabins were located on that grant.

As you can see, these families lived less than two miles apart and probably attended the same church. At least, did, prior to October of 1786.

After that, all bets were off. Braddock is lucky that Isaac Darnel didn’t kill him. Or Isaac’s wife, Ann Alexander’s mother.

That area was then and is still heavily wooded.

Jason’s reply to me:

Do you have any families who were still in Wilkes County in 1798?

I recently discovered the 1798 Federal Direct Tax list for Wilkes. The National Archives says that this list only exists for one county in NC (Iredell), but I found the Wilkes list among the William Lenoir papers. The list includes details for over 1,000 landowners.

I’m attaching a sample page from the “V” section.

This page tells us that Francis Vannoy owned 310 acres on the North Fork of Reddies River and that his dwelling house was 21’ x 17’ made of hewed logs with a shingle roof. It’s an amazing amount of detail for this time period!  I’ve transcribed the whole list and compiled it into a book.

Jason Duncan

Now, I’m really excited!

Of course, I ordered the book immediately, and as soon as it arrived, I checked for both Harris and Darnell, but found nothing in the right geographic location. But even that provided useful information.

Isaac Darnell was likely deceased by 1798 as he was born around 1729, and Braddock Harris – well, that’s a whole other story.

Braddock Harris

Braddock didn’t make many friends. I’m still utterly stunned that he was married about the same time he was publicly humiliated after being convicted of assault during an attempted rape. He married Rachel Hickerson, daughter of Charles Hickerson, about 1786. I still, for the life of me, can’t understand that.

Given that Braddock was convicted in October, he and Rachel may have been newlyweds at the time. Their first child was born in either 1787 or 1788 at the latest.

In the 1790 census, they are shown with two children.

In 1790, their house was robbed and burned, and Rachel’s sister was involved by aiding and abetting and concealing the arsonist. I kid you not. You can read the rest of the story, here. The Hickerson’s were at war.

In 1791, Braddock sold his land, or what was left, to Henry Carter.

This was followed by slander and assault charges brought against Braddock. He seemed to be a trouble magnet – or perhaps an instigator.

By 1800, Braddock Harris and Rachel Hickerson had moved to Laurens County, SC. It’s no wonder. In the census, they are shown with two children, ages 10-15, plus 3 more females under age 10. Those children, ages 10-15, would have been born between 1785 and 1790, so Braddock and Rachel likely married either shortly before or right after Braddock’s attempted rape conviction.

In 1806, from South Carolina, Braddock sold the last of his Wilkes land to a Sebastian family.

I can’t help but wonder if Braddock continued to get into all sorts of trouble in South Carolina.

They continued to move. In 1810, they were still living in Laurens County, but they were listed on an 1819 tax list in Franklin County, Georgia.

In the 1830 census, they lived in Coweta County, Georgia, where Braddock died.

I was able to find numerous deeds and transactions in all of those locations, including judgments against Braddock using the new FamilySearch Full Text AI, given that his name is relatively unique.

Ann Alexander

After all of this, I still have no idea who Braddock’s victim, Ann Alexander, was. There were early Alexander families living in the area, but I was unable to determine if she belonged to one of these families, or perhaps Isaac Darnell had married her mother before settling in Wilkes County.

Poor girl may have wanted to just disappear and did so in the records. It concerns me that there is absolutely nothing. I hope she was alright and nothing “happened” to her as retribution. Braddock seems like a dangerous person, involved in violent behavior.

My heart goes out to Ann, especially in that time and place. I’ve never seen any allegation of or a rape case in all the years I’ve been doing genealogy, so this must have been remarkably violent.

Furthermore, we all know that absolutely everyone knew about it. The inherent questioning about, shaming, and suspicion of the female involved is exactly why rapes aren’t reported today – let alone almost 240 years ago. I shudder to think what she went through.

I checked the Wilkes County marriage records and didn’t find her there. I hope she simply went someplace far away to live with an aunt, married, and had a wonderful life among people who had never heard of Braddock Harris.

The 1798 Tax List

Of course, I ordered Jason’s 1798 Tax List book immediately, here.

I have several Wilkes County families and I wanted to see if they were listed in the 1798 tax list that had lain undiscovered for more than 225 years.

The legacy of many families rests in the land.

Not only did these families carve humble homesteads out of the wilderness, but the land is trackable. It was either sold, if they were setting out for the next frontier, or inherited – along with whatever buildings had been built. Improvements, as they were called.

Even if the original ancestor had died by 1798, we can use grant, deed, and acreage information, along with Jason’s tax list, to find the homestead later, often still in the same family.

One of the most interesting aspects of the 1798 tax list is the painstaking detail, including home sizes and out-buildings.

Years ago, I was shocked to discover that my ancestor’s “mansion house,” as stated in the deed, was a paltry 12 by 16 feet, the size of my living room. Another was a huge 16 by 20. This was the norm on the frontier, not an exception – and these folks considered themselves lucky.

I’ve kept a spreadsheet for years with tax and census information for each of my Wilkes County ancestral families – and thanks to Jason’s careful transcriptions, now I know even more.

Wilkes land grants, courtesy of Jason, can be found here. Clicking on the grid number shows the associated map location.

I am incredibly indebted to Jason for what is clearly decades of work – and his love for the history of Wilkes County, North Carolina. His website can be found here. Notice he’s had a website since 1995. Thank you Jason!

Join me next week when I use the 1798 tax list and Jason’s maps to put more meat on the bones of the Harrold, McDowell, Hickerson, Vannoy, McNiel, Rash, and Sheppard families of Wilkes County.

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Jean Gaudet (1575-after 1671), Abraham of Acadia – 52 Ancestors #429

Jean (Jehan) Gaudet (Godet) was given the nickname of the “Abraham of Acadia” by Father Archange Godbout because his descendants are so numerous. In fact, Jean has the most known descendants of any of the founding Acadian fathers. As of September 2024, known descendants on WikiTree numbered 234,478, and I’m one among them.

That’s the size of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway seating, the largest sporting venue in the world. Think about that for a minute.

Viewed another way, a straight line of all of his descendants would stretch for about 100 miles as the crow flies – almost twice the distance from present-day Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia, or Port Royal as he would have known it, to LaHave, and back again.

I imagine Jean would find that unfathomable. I find it unfathomable.

Despite that, because he was one of the earliest settlers, we don’t have a lot of information about him.

Our first actual glimpse of Jean Gaudet in Acadia is also our last.

1671 Census

In 1671, the French took a census of Port Royal. Only 66 Acadian families lived in the town of Port Royal beside the fort as well as up and down the Riviere Dauphin between Port Royal, today’s Annapolis Royal, and Bridgetown, a dozen or so miles upriver by canoe.

In 1671, Jean or Jehan Gaudet was already setting records.

Listed second in the census, we find Jean Gaudet, age 96. listed next to Jacob Bourgeois, age 50, the surgeon, who lived on Hogg Island at Port Royal. Jean’s son, Denis Gaudet, age 46, with his wife and family are listed on Jean’s other side. It’s unclear whether Jacob Bourgeois is listed in actual enumeration order or was listed first because of his social position within the community.

I mention this because we know that many Acadian families moved upriver after the British depredations of 1654, and families associated with Jean Gaudet lived upriver, not in Port Royal.

Jean Gaudet was a stunning 96 years old, the oldest person in Acadia, and was noted as a laborer. More likely his sons did the laboring on his behalf. Jean would have been born about 1575, in France. His second wife, Nicole Colleson was 64, and their child Jean, 18, was born about 1653 and lived at home. They had 6 cattle, 3 sheep, and 6 arpents of land in 2 locations. I can’t help but wonder where those two parcels of land were located and why there were two.

Most people had a few arpents of recovered salt marsh on which to graze their cattle and sheep.

Jean’s family and who they married provide insight into the neighbors.

  • Son Denis Gaudet was 46, so born about 1625. He was married to Martine Gauthier, 62, and had 5 children including son Pierre.
  • Living two more houses away beside Michel De Forest was Jean’s daughter, Marie Gaudet, 38, born about 1633, the widow of Etienne Hebert, who had 10 children, including a baby who was just one year old, along with 4 cattle and 5 sheep. She had clearly just recently lost her husband.
  • Another house away we find Jean’s granddaughter, Marie Gaudet, 20, married to Olivier Daigre, 28, with 3 children, 6 cattle and 6 sheep.
  • Thirty-five houses away, so quite some distance, Jean’s granddaughter, Anne Gaudet, 27, lived with her husband Pierre Vincent, age 40, with their 4 children.
  • Two houses further, Jean’s daughter, Francoise Gaudet, 48, born about 1623, lived with her husband Daniel Leblanc, age 45, with their 7 children.

The De Forest, Daigre and Hebert families lived on the south side of the river, and the LeBlanc clan lived near BelleIsle, on the north side.

Jean’s son, Jean, didn’t live long, but managed to marry three times before his death – first to Marie Francoise Comeau about 1672, then to Jeanne Henry about 1680 in Pisiguit, then to Jeanne Lejeune dit Briard whom he married around 1694 before his death the same year.

Jean, the progenitor, had died by the 1678 census when Nicole Colloron, “widow of Godet,” is listed with a boy, Jean, age 3, born in 1674 and a girl, age 4, unnamed, born in 1673. These are clearly not her children given that she was age 64 seven years earlier in 1671. She appears to be living on the south side of the river, based on the neighbors.

Jean Gaudet’s First Wife

Given Nicole’s age of 64 in 1671, she was 32 years younger that Jean Gaudet. His older children were 48, 46, and 38 in 1671, meaning the oldest could have been born to a young Nicole when she was 17.

However, Stephen White states that Nicole was probably a widow who married Jean Gaudet in Acadia about 1652 and André-Carl Vachon suggests, “As she got married around 1652, she must have arrived between 1644 and 1650. Why? (…) In 1644, there were 20 families (in Acadia), and we do not believe that this family was among them. Then, the ship Le Fort arrived in Acadia on September 23, 1651, and we think it’s a bit tight in terms of time to settle in Acadia and then court the widower Jean Gaudet and marry him in 1652. However, there is a possibility.”

I actually don’t think it’s tight at all, especially if her husband died on the way over and Jean had children to raise. There weren’t a lot of wives to choose from in Acadia and they both needed a spouse.

I will add that if Nicole was Jean’s first wife, it’s very difficult to explain the 20 years between the birth of daughter Marie in 1633, and son Jean in 1653.

I have no proof either way, so I’m just providing information here, but strongly suspect that Nicole was Jean Gaudet’s second wife, and his first wife remains unknown.

Where Did These People Live?

In 1671, they lived in Gaudet Village.

We know that people collaborated with their neighbors, and they married people they saw regularly. We find the names of the people Jean Gaudet’s children and grandchildren married among the neighbors along the river.

The Gaudet Village is now known as Bridgetown. Jean isn’t specifically listed on this reconstructed map, but his grandson, Pierre, is and we know that Jean lived beside Pierre’s father, Denis, in the 1671 census.

We can see that the Hebert Village is nearby. While Etienne Hebert isn’t listed on this later map reconstructed from the 1707 census and a 1733 map, this is where the various Hebert families settled. Jean Gaudet’s daughter married Etienne Hebert.

The Forest, De Forest, Foret homestead abuts the Hebert land on either side of Bloody Creek.

Olivier Daigle, married to Jean’s granddaughter, lived directly across the river from the Gaudet Village which is now Bridgetown.

According to a 1733 map at the Nova Scotia Archives based on the 1707 census route, the Hebert and Gaudet families lived in close proximity near a bend in the Riviere Dauphin, now the Annapolis River, at the mouth of Bloody Creek.

Village des Gaudet was formed by Denis Gaudet and his two sons, who built a farm on the north bank of the Annapolis River about 1667. Given that Jean was living beside Denis in 1671, this strongly suggests that Jean’s homestead was here too, at least by this time. It wasn’t always, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

In 1733, George Mitchell’s map shows five houses at this site. Elizabeth Coward’s book about Bridgetown places the Gaudet homestead location south-east of present-day Riverside Cemetery, on land later owned by the Chipman family, on lot number 133 in Granville Township.

I’m not so sure Jean’s original homestead wasn’t actually in what is today the cemetery.

This map from MapAnnapolis shows a very slightly varied location, but only a few feet different.

Based on that map, the original Gaudet home looks to be in this general location.

Maybe the Nova Scotia GIS map will help me.

While I wasn’t able to find Lot 133 specifically, I was able to location Chipman Avenue that just happens to dead end into the Riverside Cemetery. That makes perfect sense.

We know that some members of the Chipman family were buried in the Riverside Cemetery in the late 1800s, but we don’t have a burial location for the earlier generations, although I think I might have a hint.

The English often used the same cemeteries that the Acadian families utilized prior to their removal in 1755 and subsequent reallocation of their land to British subjects in about 1760. The new settlers just moved to an unoccupied portion of the older cemetery and began burying their dead.

There are a few early cemeteries in Bridgetown, but only a couple that interest us.

The Old Pioneer Cemetery, on Riverview Drive, and the Riverside Cemetery at Riverside and Chipman fit with the location of those early homes.

There were burials in the late 1790s in Riverside, and assuredly more unmarked prior to that time.

Where Did Jean Gaudet Live?

Gaudetville, of course – on the east boundary of present-day Bridgetown! When Jean first arrived, there was no Gaudetville, only forest and swampland. Like all Acadians, they cleared a place to live and dyked the marshes to create farmland. The village grew up around his family and the name would follow later.

We know that whenever Jean first settled there, he would assuredly have dyked the land and about three years later, begun farming the reclaimed marshland. His son would have taken over as Jean could no longer do the heavy work, then his grandsons after that.

On Google maps, you can easily see the fields and today’s sewage plant. This would have been prime real estate with lots of marshland available. Dyking the river provided large fields where marshes used to be.

Back then, Jean would have lived above the marsh on a high point, ridge or hill. I was unable to location the reference of Ruffle’s Hill.

Old Town Cemetery is the red arrow at left, and Riverview at right.

Recently on a trip to Nova Scotia, I took a drive to find Jean’s land.

Come along!

Searching for Jean

In Bridgetown, I drove down Riverview Drive, attempting to see the river. Today, houses obstruct the view, but on the North side of Riverview, I stumbled across the Old Town Cemetery.

You can see that there are no marked graves in the part closest to the street where I’m standing.

There’s a lot of space with no burials, which means unmarked graves.167

I drove on down Riverview Drive to Riverview Cemetery where the road turned to dirt and also angled left, ultimately becomin Chipman after meandering through the cemetery.

There are few roads in the cemetery, and the only burials I could see are contemporary. Furthermore, the area beside the cemetery is entirely overgrown marsh and weeds, so I wasn’t about to go trekking down there.

Riverview Drive entered the cemetery from the west, and Chipman exited to the north.

Depending on which map or tidbit you reference, the Gaudet homestead(s) were either near the upper arrow, or are SSE of the cemetery, close to the lower arrow. Or perhaps both if there were 5 buildings.

One way or another, I was certainly in the neighborhood, within a few feet.

The map view without the vegetation is easier to see.

I drove up Chipman and noticed some soil displaced, having been bulldozed. That’s often what happens to the old foundations of Acadian homesteads. You can’t mow around them and all these generations later, many people have no idea about the history they are disturbing. (Sorry about the photo angle.)

However, this pile didn’t have any foundation stones, hallmarks of an Acadian homestead.

I wanted to stop and ask someone, but there were several “No Trespassing” signs and since no one knew where I was, I decided not to press my luck.

I drove on down Chipman, taking a photo through the trees to the west of the road.

On the right side of the road, if the upper arrow location is accurate, the homestead would be someplace in this natural area behind this property.

The forested area would be higher and can support trees, where the other area to the upper right would be wetter, only supporting marsh grasses and such. The perfect location for Acadian settlers.

We don’t know exactly when Jean Gaudet died, but it was sometime between 1671 and 1678. He was between 96 and 103 years of age, and he was very likely buried someplace nearby.

Parish records prior to 1702 no longer exist for the church in Port Royal.

We know there was at least one other “mass chapel,” St. Laurent, at BelleIsle and some burials occurred there. It’s possible that Jean was buried someplace near his home, here, or at BelleIsle, or less likely, in the more distant cemetery at Port Royal.

My guess would be in Gaudetville, or at St. Laurent in BelleIsle, but that’s speculation based on both location and convenience. The difference would be that the burial grounds at the Mass House would have been consecrated, and the grounds near the Gaudet home would (probably) not have been blessed by the priest. However, Acadians were practical and did what needed to be done.

Note that the “mass house” church or chapel, St. Laurent, is very close to the LeBlanc Village, meaning to Jean’s daughter. Taking a body all the way back to Port Royal by canoe, especially in the winter, seems both unnecessary and risky.

There are 17 burial records that specify St. Laurent in the Registers of Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Port-Royal, 1702-1755. This is not complete since most burial records did not include the exact burial location. Furthermore, the parish records prior to 1702 no longer exist.

The church at Port Royal was burned in 1654, rebuilt beginning in 1673, and burned again in 1690. A chapel was added to the fort in 1709, but when Fort Port-Royal was surrendered in 1710, the fort chapel was turned into a barracks for British troops.

Parishioners either worshipped in the Saint-Laurent Chapel or private homes. They buried their dead either in the St. Laurent cemetery, the fort cemetery, Cemetery of the Cross in present day Lequille, or in a now-lost cemetery near the Melanson settlement, probably near Stony Beach. There may have been and probably were other locations as well.

The Gaudet family continued to expand in the Bridgetown area. Soon, Bernard Gaudet, 1692-1747, son of Pierre Gaudet and Marie Blanchard set up housekeeping nearby.

Not long after I left, a Gaudet interpretive panel was placed in Jubilee Park in Bridgetown, marking the location of where Bernard settled and honoring all Gaudets who founded Gaudetville, now Bridgetown.

Should you be able to visit, walk along the river, clear your mind, and drink in the landscape as our ancestors would have known it.

Now that we’ve shared what we know of Jean’s later life, let’s step back a century in time to France.

France

Jean Gaudet was unquestionably born in France sometime around 1575. He would have come of age about 20 years later and would typically have married by 1600 or so.

We know almost nothing about his life in France, but a few things might be suggested, based on the history we do know.

Although Champlain visited and mapped the region in 1604, Acadia as a settlement for families really wasn’t on anyone’s radar until 1632 when Isaac de Razilly, a naval captain and knight of Malta, teamed up with Cardinal Richelieu to expand France’s reach into North America.

Photos of placards were taken at the Fort Point Museum located at the original Acadian settlement location of La Heve.

The powerful Cardinal Richelieu, who just happened to be Razilly’s cousin and the King’s Chief Minister and Spokesperson helped smooth the way and fund the endeavor.

The King signed Razilly’s patent on April 20, 1632, and Razilly arrived in present-day Nova Scotia on September 8th, 1632 to take possession of Acadia for France. He established his headquarters at La Heve with 300 soldiers and colonists, plus three monks. Unfortunately, we don’t have a list of names, but we do know that there were 40 families, which accounts for 80 adults, plus their children. If each couple had only 2 children, that’s 160 people without counting the French soldiers. It’s certainly possible that Jean Gaudet, along with his first wife and at least his first two children, born in 1623 and 1625, were among this group. His third child, Marie, was born about 1633 so she could have been born either in France or La Heve, if Jean Gaudet was in fact on this ship. I’m not convinced that he was, but I also can’t say that he wasn’t.

The King named Razilly Lieutenant General of New France, but more specifically, Governor of Acadia. No drawings or paintings of Razilly exist.

Razilly’s trusted cousin and lieutenant, Charles de Menou d’Aulnay was tasked with keeping things running smoothly which he did quite aptly. One of his responsibilities was to recruit men for the ocean crossings with trades and skills needed to establish the new colony.

Therefore, when Razilly died unexpectedly in 1635, d’Aulnay was well-positioned to take over the leadership of the fledging French colony in Acadia.

La Heve

I visited the original Acadian settlement, beautiful La Heve, now LaHave, where the Fort Point Museum is located today.

La Heve, named after “Cap de la Heve”, France, was located on the southern coast of Nova Scotia, on a peninsula of land at the mouth of the LaHave River.

The fort established there was named Fort Sainte Marie de Grace and is now the location of the Fort Pointe Museum. Nothing exists of the original fort, having been abandoned in 1636, burned in 1653, and the ruins lost to subsequent coastal erosion, but the cemetery remains.

The French, as well as other nations, often “justified” their colonization by claiming they were interested in saving savage souls.

Many of the old stones in the adjacent cemetery have been conserved, but none with French markings.

This 1744 map shows the fort and the habitation, or village where people lived.

I visited the old Fort site in August of 2024 and walked where our Acadian ancestors walked.

These cannons are not from the original fort site, but from the appropriate time period.

The river and bay meld into one here.

Coastal erosion has taken a toll, with much of the original fort site lost to the sea. The remaining fragile soil is reinforced with large rocks.

Photo of the same location today.

Based on the map, the habitations would be on the peninsula of land on the right.

A Gaudet descendant installed a seat for reflection and contemplation in this beautiful location.

I was surprised to find this here. Jean Gaudet certainly could have been among the early settlers, but we don’t know that he was.

It felt very welcoming nonetheless – a wink and a nod, perhaps.

I walked down to the shoreline.

The beach is peaceful and beautiful.

The barrier islands help shelter the mainland from the maritime winds. The Cormorants dry their wings on the rocks protruding from the water.

The tranquil stillness of this place, interrupted only by bird cries and the gentle sounds of the sea, invites reflection, offering a glimpse into what life might have been like for our ancestors.

This peaceful haven would have stood in stark contrast to Europe with constant wars, pestilence, plagues, and death. Having said that, I’m sure that these few pilgrims to the New World desperately missed their families, with no way of knowing how they were doing, or communicating with them outside of an occasional ship – if that.

The museum sits near the shoreline just above the beach.

Much of the original fort’s land has eroded away today.

Nicolas Denys who arrived within the first year described this little bit of Heaven in his journal.

The houses and village for inhabitants were located on that little peninsula, at right.

Whether Jean Gaudet was here or not, other Acadian families assuredly were, so I took a photo of Mom’s ring over the view experienced by our ancestors.

The earliest Acadian families, those who subsequently settled at Port Royal in 1636 when d’Aulnay moved the seat of Acadia away from this rocky coastline to the fertile Annapolis Valley, began their lives, here, in this new frontier.

Their humble homes would have stood where these larger houses stand today. I squint to try to ignore the modern buildings and imagine their smaller wooden structures with their outside ovens. Their children played on this beach, probably collecting “pretty rocks.”

The rocks on the beach are truly beautiful. Yes, I was one of those “rock collector” children, too.

I had begun my walk back when I noticed something familiar from the beach and climbed back up the embankment to have a better look.

Are the ghosts of Acadians still here?

Acadians are known for planting apple trees, and given that they only lived here for four years, I can’t help but wonder if these ancient apple trees were theirs. Who else would have planted them? Few others lived here, and probably not directly in this location. More likely in the habitation.

I had tarried long enough by the shoreline, although it pained me to leave. I was so drawn here, but I was already going to have to drive back down twisty curvy roads in the dark, so it was time to “get a move on,” as my mother would have said, and explore further.

Acadian Oven

Outside the museum, I found an Acadian oven.

Cooking inside was a fire hazard, so as much as possible was done outside.

Every Acadian family would have eaten this bread – everyday.

I bet they had some wonderful raspberry jam, compote, or even fresh raspberries from Raspberry Island to go with those biscuits.

My cousin, Mark, purchased Ginger Biscuits at an Acadian bakery and we shared them as treats for a week in Annapolis Royal. I love enjoying ancestral food, which connects me to them in the most primal way.

By the time I left Canada, I found myself reading in French, again, so long as it wasn’t script, and not realizing it until I reached a word I didn’t know.

I’ve always had a passion for French. And France.

I didn’t notice the embedded star in the oven until later – the pebbles assuredly from the beach..

It’s possible that Jean’s first wife and one or more children perished here, so like any good genealogist, I had to visit the cemetery.

This garden is either at or near where the small Catholic chapel stood.

I love the arbor entrance.

On the other side of the chapel garden, we find the cemetery.

Lots of space for unmarked graves. The lone marked stone in the middle commemorates Razilly. We don’t know where he is actually buried, so it’s not his tombstone.

Ironically, I met a couple and their children walking here and we discovered that the wife and I have other Acadian lines in common. They were here for his more recent family burials. Small world.

On July 2, 1636, Razilly died and was buried in the churchyard at La Heve.

The cemetery also backs up to the sea on this spit of land.

It appears that Jean Gaudet and d’Aulnay may have some history, and not just after arrival in Acadia.

This is why I’m not convinced he was at LaHave.

Let’s go back to France!

1634 in Martaize

In 1634, one Jean Godet was mentioned in a document in Martaize, below. If this is our Jean, then there are others of the same surname listed. If this is not our Jean, it’s certainly possible that it’s the same family given the d’Aulnay connection.

Archives Départementales de l’Indre et Loire, Série C, Liasse 601, signed before the notaries Messieurs Aubri and Pasquier, at Loudun on the 21st October 1634 courtesy WikiTree https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Gaudet-21

ChatGPT translated from French to English, thus:

Oath to the King, 1634, by Nicolle de Jousserand, for her fiefs located in the parish of Martaizé. (reported on p. 37), Sheet 2.

“I, in the freche of the Godets, declare twelve bushels of wheat measured by Loudun and the last three hundred in feudal rent due (owed) by Jean Gendre, Jean Godet, René Godet the younger, Francois Godet, the widow Vincent Besard, Pierre Giroire and Renée Besard his wife, Jean Besard, Simon Joubert, the heirs Pierre Bourg of Sauseau and the heirs Francois Godet by reason of a piece of land and signer being on land and signer remaining on land is of the Rondonay the whole containing together and holding two septiers six bushels…”

Fresche means land tenure, and deniers of cens in this context means feudal tax.

Nicolle de Jousserand is the Dame d’Aulnay, the mother of Charles de Menou d’Aulnay, discussed in this French article by Genevieve Massignon. Researcher, Gregory MW Kennedy discusses d’Aulnay’s rather tragic life, here, in English. He also presents a fresh perspective about the development of Acadia, along with its overshadowing by New England.

As we are often wont to say, “It’s complicated.”

It’s worth remembering that more recent researchers have the benefit of documents coming to light that were not previously known or available on this side of the Atlantic. Even today, many records still lay in archives, unindexed and unrecognized for their historical significance.

Massignon mentions the Gaudet family, including someone named Jean Gaudet, along with several other Godet family members in this document, here, too. Unfortunately, the original French document seems to be incomplete. I have taken the liberty of having her transcript translated by ChatGPT.

I have bolded either Acadian surnames or similarly spelled surnames that might represent Acadian surnames, along with relevant places. The maps and photos are my insertions in order to help both you and me understand what we are reading.

I visited Martaize with an Acadian historical tour, including the church. The Catholic church was the center of every French village, and many of the descriptions in this document reference Martaize or the church in Martaize.

The cemetery was always just outside the church, in the yard, but there is no cemetery there today.

Across from the church is the location of the original cemetery, according to the local historian, beneath this house.

Keep in mind that this village was small at that time. Everyone knew everyone else, worshipped in the same church, and had probably been related for centuries.

Note that the translated portion of the document above is translated slightly differently in this longer document, below. The handwriting is relatively poor, written in French script, and not entirely legible. I also discovered that the original French notarial document included by Massignon is not complete, but her transcription appears to be except for portions truncated when scanning. Of course, I really need that one sentence and who knows what the rest of the document holds..

Transcription and ChatGPT translation begins here:

From the King, My Sovereign Lord, I, Nicolle de Jousserand, wife and spouse of Messire René de Menou, Knight, Lord of Churnizé, having no shared property with him, authorized by Justice to pursue my rights, daughter and heiress of the late Messire René de Jousserand, who was the lord of Londigny, Angliers, Aulnay, Triou and the fief of Beaulieu otherwise known as Rallette which was at Arnaudeau in the parish of Martaizé and its surroundings, and of Lady Renée Robin, my late mother living in this town of Loudun: declare and hold to be due to your castle in the town of Loudun, as the case may arise, the things which follow, in both wheat and in money, from the inheritances declared hereafter.

And firstly the rents in wheat due each year, and each feast of St. Michael, to my said fief of Beaulieu otherwise known as Rallette. Namely, from the fresche (land tenure) of the Fourniers, the number of eighteen bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of cens (feudal tax) due by René Gueniot, son of the late Louis Gueniot, Jean and Pierre Vinattières, the widow Vallantin Brault, the widow François Breault, Françoise Havard, Philippe Guerin, Joachin Chesneau, François Boier, René Mesteau, the heirs Mathurin Pintier, Antoine(?) Halbert, René Girard, the widow Guespin, the widow and heirs Bertrand Buet, Helie Escuier, Louis Mirebeau, and the lord of Richemond, for a piece of land located in the terroir of the Turzée, behind the lordship of Saunonne: adjoining the two parts with land from said Saunonne and another to the land of Vincent Gouin, and another to the pathway leading from Saunonne to the field of Prunet by the hand of Senexrte and another to the land of Mathurin Rousseau, containing the said piece of land four septiers, one bushel, and a quarter at the lord’s oak tree on the measure of Loudun.

Photo taken inside the church in Martaize.

Also in the fresche of Coindre, the number of thirteen bushels of wheat by the measure of Loudun and six last deniers of cens and this feudal rent is due by Louis Seuirau, the widow Pasquier Bricault, Blais Cesuet, Maurice Coindre, the heirs Jeanne Bourg, Jean Potiron, Louis Rocher the elder, Louis Rocher the younger, frescheurs of the said fresche due to a lodging, houses and appurtenances, stables, courtyards, leases, and livestock: the whole held together situated in the village of Martaizé, containing five and a half boisselées and a quarter.

Bordering on one side the path leading from the cemetery of the said Martaizé to Saint-Clair, and on another side to the stream that descends from the mill of the Grange to the mill of the Mousseau, and on another side to the land of the heirs Maurice Blanchard, and another side to the land of Brilloire and the lands and oak groves of the lord of Chasteauganne. The said lodging is possessed by the aforementioned individuals.

Also, a piece of land located in the terroir of the Moys, below St. Cassien, containing two boisselées three quarters at the oak tree: adjoining the land of the heirs Jehan Poirard, locksmith, on one side, the land of the heirs Aubin Gaudet on the other, the land of René Minier, esquire, lord of Bassereau, on another, and the land of André Mauxilion on the other side.

Also, in the fresche of the Godets twelve bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of cens as feudal rent owed by Jean Gendre, Jean Godet, Jehan Moncontour, René Godet the younger, François Godet, the widow Vincent Bizard, Pierre Giroire and Renée Bizard his wife, Jean Bizard, Simon Joubert, the heirs Pierre Bourg of Sauseau and the heirs François Godet, by reason of a piece of land and vineyard located in the terroir of the Rondenay: the whole containing together and holding two septiers six bushels and a quarter. Adjoining on one side lands that belonged to the widow Jean Fouquetteau Chasseinges, married in second nuptials to Master François Brosseu, and on another side the land of the heirs of Michel Bizard and on the other side the vineyard of the heirs Jean Lasne.

Also, the number of five bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of cens and feudal rent owed by Gaspar Mauxilion and three last deniers of cens and feudal rent, for lands situated at the place and village of Martaizé called “la Pousseterie,” containing about two boisselées of land: adjoining on one side the land of the lord of Chasteauganne and on one end the house and appurtenances of Antoine Rousseau and Toussaint Mauxion, and on the other end the land of Louis Renault, who is outside the fresche with another section next to the garden of the farmhouse at the garden of the school farmhouse depending on the lordship of Lespinay and by another section next to said Renault.

Also, Antoine Halbert, laborer living in Martaizé, in the fresche of Pasquiert Bricault, owes me two bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of feudal rent for a small plot containing a half boisselée of land or about that size, situated by the main road leading to the village of Martaizé from Loudun, and adjoining the appurtenances of said Halbert and adjoining a path between the presbytery of Martaizé and the vine trellis leading out of the main road described above.

Also, Pierre Richelot, esquire, lord of Piau Ligere, son of Elie Richelot, esquire, lord of La Roche, and the late demoiselle Renée Minier, owes me four bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and a chicken for feudal rent, for a piece of land near the cemetery of the said Martaizé and adjoining the path leading to Baspollet in Martaizé, containing six boisselées of land or about that size, and adjoining the land of Guillaume Lepère and one end next to the land of Louis Minier, esquire, lord of Chasteauganne.

Also, René Bricault owes me, in the fresche of the Roches, one bushel of wheat, measured by Loudun, and a feudal rent for a path that passes by the house of La Grosserie and touching the land that once belonged to the late Jacques Gautefroy, who owned a mill, yard, and farm located in the village of Martaizé: adjoining on one side the presbytery and the house and lodging of Antoine Halbert.

Also, René Godet, laborer, and Aubinne Godet, widow of the late Pierre Iniatier, and Jean Potiron of St. Clair owe me three bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, a capon, six deniers of cens as feudal rent, for a piece of land located in the terroir of the Gazilland near…(sentence missing in French transcript – need complete original document.)

Also, Louis Renault in place of Antoine Renault owes me six bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, a capon, and a chicken for feudal rent, for a piece of land located in the village of Martaizé, containing about two boisselées of land: adjoining one hour’s distance from one end next to the field of the lordship of Saunonne, on the other to the watercourse of the Chesneau descending from the Moulins Mousseau to the mill of Gietal, and on the other to the land belonging to Jacques Girault; also, a piece of woodland located in the terroir of the Pontignou, containing about one boisselée of land: adjoining the land of Pierre de la Planche, on another side the land of the heirs of André Montillier, on another side the land of René Girard, and on another side the land of Jeanne Teteveau, widow of Simon Nivart; also, another piece of woodland located in the terroir of Le Pineau, containing about one and a half boisselées of land: adjoining the land of Louis Prudhomme…

…the land of Antoine Halbert, and another adjoining the path leading from Martaizé to Monslandrault on the right; also, another piece of land located in said terroir, containing about a quarter of a boisselée: adjoining the path on one side, and on the other side the land of Anthoin Halbert, and on the other side the land of Pierre Gouin.

Also, the widow of Isaac Bricault, Louis Seureau the younger, Jean Guet, Guy Barrault, the widow Pierre Chapeau for Marie Chapeau, his daughter, owe me one chicken and six deniers of cens as noble rent, feudal and domain, for a piece of land containing one boisselée, located in the terroir of Pontignou, adjoining on one side the field of Guillaume Lepère, on the other side the land of Guillaume Gaillard, on another the land of the lord of Richemont, and on the other side the land of Germain Ranteau.

Also, Guy Barrault, Jean Savarri on behalf of Michelle Barraut, his wife, owe me one and a half bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and two deniers of feudal rent, for a house, courtyard, and garden: all held together as it has been pursued and includes, situated in the village of Martaizé in the Bassereau of said place; adjoining on one side the appurtenances of Louis Guerin and the heirs Jean Godet and on the other side the widow Isaac Bricault and on the other side the land of… adjoining the land of Gaspar Montillier, one hour away, and on the other side the land of Gaspar Constance and René Fouscher and on one side the land of René Girard and on the other side the land of René Theuillieu.

Also, Louis Guespin the elder, Helie Vinatier, the widow René Beaulieu, Joachim Chesneau, Marc Pouschau, Pasquier Blanchard, Louis Pouschau, Anthoinme Montillier, and Jeanne Pouschau owe me three bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and four last deniers in the little fresche of the Sarazins, for a piece of land located in the terroir of the Petits Moys, containing one septier and about one boisselée: adjoining on one side the small path from the Grange that goes to Angliers, on one side the land of Pierre Malherbe, on another side the land of Grétal by one end, and on the other side to the lord of Longchamp to the heirs of Aubin Godet, and on one end to the land of Mr. Bonneau, one hour away to the land of François Blanchard.

Also, the heirs of the property tenant Morice Godet owe me six bushels of wheat and ten bushels of oats and cens for the amount of three months rent on a property located at the barn of Chasteauganne: adjoining on one side the land of the heirs of the tenant Jean Ferron to Michau Mousseau, on the other side the land of Philippon Ferron and other lands that used to belong to Pineau.

Then follow the rents of one denier owed per year and firstly: the heirs of the property tenants Moricet Tem and Berthelot Boulet owe three deniers of cens for a piece of courtyard land located in Pontignou: adjoining the courtyard of the heirs of the tenant Guillaume Arnaudeau. Also, one denier of cens owed by the heirs of the tenant to the late Messire Guy de Beaussay, for a piece of land located in Joismont which was previously held by Moricet Trion, containing one mine or about that size: adjoining the land of the heirs of the tenant Guillaume Arnaudeau. Also, the heirs of the tenant to the late Marc Saulnier owe twelve deniers of cens for the piece of land from a man to the lord, located in the courtyard lands of the heirs of the tenant Guillaume Abraham.

Also, the heirs of the property tenant Perrot Poussechant owe two deniers of cens for a piece of courtyard land located in said place, adjoining the courtyard lands of the tenant Emeri Ricot. Also, the heirs of the tenant Jean Poussechant owe fifteen sols of cens for a lodging located in Martaizé: adjoining the house of the heirs of the tenant Jean Girard and the lodging of the heirs of the tenant Jean Guerin.

Also, the heirs of the property tenants Anthonine Minier owe nine deniers of cens for a piece of meadow land located near Rinneaux: adjoining on one side the meadow of the heirs of Marc Vincent and on the other side the meadow of the heirs of Jean Vinattier. Also, six deniers of cens owed for a lodging located in Lousche Pinard: adjoining the lodging of the tenant Cheneau who goes to Grenard, which was all rented from the lord. Also, the heirs owe cens for the land of the lord of Hilleret Mousseau. The heirs of the tenant also owe and to the courtyards of the Arnaudeaux. The aforementioned things I acknowledge to hold in faith and liege homage and to the duties above mentioned, with all justice, lordship concerning and regarding low justice and everything that depends on it, according to the reason and custom of the country of Loudunois, and by reason of the aforementioned things, the said faith and homage, duty or service is due to them with honor, service, and reverence with all submission and obedience, such as a liege man owes to his lord of fief and faith. And I make a formal declaration that if I possess more than what is declared above, I will declare it and employ it in these present declarations as soon as I am made aware of it. And, to present this present acknowledgment and judgment and to request its reception, I have appointed my special procurator, the bearer of this, along with affirming before the Royal Notaries undersigned, that the said acknowledgment is true and that I had it drawn up as best as I could. In witness of this, I render the present acknowledgment and bail, signed by my hand and of the said Royal Notaries at my request, and have it sealed with the Royal Seal of Loudun today, the twenty-first day of October, the year one thousand six hundred thirty-four.

Signed:

Nicolle de Jousserant and Aubri, royal notary in Loudun at the request of the said lady Jousserant

ET Pasquier, royal notary in Loudun at the request of lady Jousserant, widow

October 21, 1634

You’re probably excited, just as I am, but please do not jump to any conclusions and add to your tree just yet.

So, let’s take a deep breath and maybe freshen our tea before moving on with our analysis.

Analysis – Are There Messages?

Note also the surnames of Bourg, Brault/Breault, Guerin, Giroire/Girard, Blanchard, Halbert (Hebert?), Vincent, and Besard/Bizard/Brousseu – all exact or similar names to known Acadians.

By the way, if you’re thinking that Antoine Halbert is assuredly Antoine Hebert of Acadia – he’s not. Antoine Halbert in this document was an adult in 1634, and our Antoine Hebert, possible brother to Etienne Hebert of Acadia, was born about 1621. I know what you’re thinking next – yes, he could be a son but we really, really need marriage records or SOMETHING concrete.

The village of La Chaussée is located near the village of Aulnay in France. I wrote about La Chaussée, here.

La Chaussée parish registers reach back to 1626. After examining those registers, Geneviève Massignon wrote that:

“More than half of the entries in the parochial registers from 1626 to 1650 involve the family names which we find among the 53 family names included in the census of 1671 in Acadia: Babin, Belliveau, Bertrand, Bour, Brault (Braude, in the feminine form), Brun, Dugast, Dupuy, Gaudet (Gaudette, in the feminine form) Giroire, Joffriau, Landry, LeBlanc, Morin, Poirier, Raimbaut, Savoite, Thibodeau. In addition, the family names of the wives of the settlers include Chevrat, Gautier, Guion (Dion), Lambert, and Mercier. The names of Blanchard, Bourg, Brault, Giroire, Godet, Guérin, Poirier, Terriot are among the names found in the censuses of the mother of Charles d’Aulnay for her Seigneurie.”

In the book, Acadia; the geography of early Nova Scotia to 1760 published in 1968, author Andrew Clark, on page 397, states:

“Of the group at Port Royal after 1635, known surnames that have survived, compiled from parish registers and other records, are, according to Antoine Bernard, Aucoin, Gaudet, Martin, Dugas, Trahan, Landry, Pitre, Melanson, Caissy, Colleson, and Pesely. Histoire de I’Acadie (1939). p. 20. These would be drawn from the fifteen or twenty married engages among Razilly’s original three hundred and from the Scots.”

Summarizing Nicole Jousserant’s document, we have several Godet/Gaudet individuals mentioned as follows:

  • Aubin Godet heirs – land below St. Cassien (towards Martaize) – it’s 2.4 miles from St. Cassien to the church in Martaize. Also mentioned a second time after the path from La Grange, then “on the other side to the lord of Longchamp to the heirs of Aubin Godet.”

Using these locations to triangulate the possible location of Aubin Godet, and thus, his heirs, we find the following.

The location of “the little fresche of the Sarazins,” which could well have been Le Doismon, was also mentioned. Given this information, I believe that today’s Le Doismont could well be where Aubin Godet lived.

Look at this stunningly beautiful medieval building at the turnoff from the main road between St. Cassien and Martaize, headed towards Le Doismont.

The tiny farming village of Le Doismont is ancient too – the houses and barns morphed into one – many still in use today. You can identify the medieval buildings from this timeframe and earlier by the reinforcement X irons on the outside walls, known as anchor plates, which reinforce the internal beams and strengthen the stone or masonry walls, preventing bowing.

In the aerial photo below, you can see the main road, the old farm at the turnoff, and Le Doismont at right.

Come take a drive in Le Doismont here, on this historic one-lane road. You can’t get lost – it’s only a block in either direction from the T intersection that doesn’t even have a stop sign. Regardless of whether this is exactly Aubin Godet’s farm or village, and even if it’s not “our” family – the farming community of wherever they lived would look almost exactly like this – so savor this unspoiled step back in time into history.

But we’re not finished yet.

Nicole continues: Also the following people in the fresche of the Godets by reason of a piece of land and vineyard located in the terroir of the Rondenay: the whole containing together and holding two septiers six bushels and a quarter:

  • Jean Godet
  • Rene Godet the younger
  • Francois Godet
  • Francois Godet heirs

This clearly tells us that these people are related to each other and Aubin – most likely all his descendants.

Nicole again: In addition to the above people, others in the fresche Godet that owed tax were Jean Gendre, Jehan Moncontour, the widow Vincent Bizard, Pierre Giroire and Renée Bizard his wife, Jean Bizard, Simon Joubert and the heirs Pierre Bourg of Sauseau.

Given all these people together, I strongly suspect it was this little farm village. They lived adjacent and farmed the surrounding fields, attending church in the closest larger village of Martaize. I can’t help but get excited about seeing all those Acadian surnames noted as neighbors.

Nicole continues:

  • Aubine Godet, widow of Pierre Iniatier
  • Rene Godet laborer

Aubine is clearly the feminine fort of Aubin, so she would be a daughter, sister, or other relative. Aubine Godet and Rene Godet are mentioned together with Jean Potiron of St. Clair who jointly owe tax in the terroir of Gazilland which appears to be within a block or two of the church in Martaize – although the original Rue de Gazillon could have extended further, to another small village which no longer exists today. Roads in France outside of villages are now given road numbers which replaced the original local names making this detective work more difficult.

The following two people appear separately.

  • Jean Gaudet’s heirs are mentioned in Martaize adjacent Louis Guerin and Michelle Barraut.
  • Morice Godet’s heirs are mentioned as owing tax, but not in a location I can place. His property is at the barn of Chasteauganne and a Lord of Chasteauganne is mentioned elsewhere. There is a Chasseignes near St. Cassien, above Le Doismon.

These people would all have been buried in the cemetery in Martaize.

We have three Godet men mentioned with heirs, plus several living people. Aubine would have inherited as a daughter.

One last thing. If you’re wondering if there are any other French records of interest for Jean Gaudet, there might be.

Another Jean Gaudet was buried at St. Velluire on January 2, 1654, at the age of 82 years, so born about 1572, just three years before our Jean Gaudet of Acadia. This might be Velluire, not far from La Rochelle, although I do not have the original burial record. There’s no way to know if this is the same family as the Godet family of Martaize, or not, or if either one of them are “our” Godet family.

One thing is for sure, the Godet family of the Martaize region was clearly well-established, given that they are found in locations throughout that region, according to Madame Jousserant. Furthermore, several men appear to be deceased and have heirs, suggesting that they were older men. This family was assuredly in the right place at the right time. In 1634, our Jean Gaudet would have been 59 years old. Whyever he would have wanted to set off for the new world baffles me. Opportunity, adventure, or perhaps family encouragement.

Unfortunately, Acadian Jean Gaudet only had two sons that lived, his namesake Jean, and Denis. I wish there had been an Aubin or Aubine, which would have been very suggestive.

All of this information, of course, is our attempt to determine if the 1634 Nicolle de Jousserant document is referencing our Jean Godet/Gaudet or even the right family. If so, he was clearly in Martaize in 1634. If not, it could still be the same Godet clan given their close association with the d’Aulnay family and other Acadian surnames.

There are two Jean Godets mentioned – one living and one deceased so Jean is clearly a family name. Unfortunately, Jean (Jehan) is equivalent to John in English and is quite common.

The 1687 Document

In attempting to determine when Jean Gaudet and his children arrived in Acadia, we must also take into consideration the 1687 document signed by several Acadians, including Jean Gaudet’s son-in-law, Daniel LeBlanc.

Given that d’Aulnay died in 1650, this means that Daniel LeBlanc would have had to have been in the colony prior to that time in order to serve as an eyewitness to the number of forts, ships, houses, and mills built by d’Aulnay.

We, Michel Boudrot, Lieutenant-General in Acadie, with the older settlers of the land, certify that the deceased mister d’Aunay Charnisay, formerly the King’s Governor of the coast of Acadie, constructed three forts along this coast; the first one at Pentagouêt, the second at the Saint-Jean River (in 1645 only), and the third at Port-Royal; these forts were well supplied with all the canons and munitions required! There are three hundred regular men to defend these forts.

We certify also that the late d’Aulnay Charnisay ordered the construction of two mills; one was powered by water, the other by wind power and he ordered that they build at Port-Royal five pinasses, several dories, and two small ships of seventy tons each. As well as two farms or manors and associated buildings; houses as well as barns and stables(…)

We certify that the above is true as we have seen this; we have signed this in good faith at Port-Royal on October 15, 1687, in the presence of Mr. de Menneval, King’s Governor of all of Acadie, and Mr. Petit, Grand Vicar for the Grand Bishop of Québec, and the vicar of this place Port-Royal.

Also having signed; Mr. Boudrot, Lieutenant-Governor ; François Gaunizzot (Gautherot) Bourgeois ; Pierre Martin ; Mathieu Martin ; Claude Tériot ; d’Entremont, King’s prosecutor.

Also marked by: Antoine Bourg, Pierre Bouet (Doucet), Denis (Daniel) LeBlanc ; Abraham Dugast.”

Jean Gaudet’s daughter, Francoise, was married to Daniel LeBlanc about 1650, after the death of her unknown Mercier husband, so this confirms that Daniel was in Port Royal prior to 1650. He was born about 1626, so he either came with parents who died before the first census and are unknown, or as a young man, given that d’Aulnay was only governor from 1636 through 1650.

Some researchers have suggested that Jean Gaudet’s three eldest children married in France, if this is true then that means that the Mercier, possibly LeBlanc, Gaudet (Godet), Gauthier and Hebert families were all living in very close proximity to each other in France, and likely attended the same or neighboring churches.

We have no evidence of that in LaChaussee where records exist back to 1626, but the translated records of d’Aulnay’s mother do include one Antoine Halbert which could possibly be Hebert. Unfortunately, the script is difficult and the spelling was not standardized at that time.

In the Poitou region of France, now Vienne, not far from Richelieu where the Cardinal lived and Martaize, Loudon, and LaChaussee, locations of known Acadian families, according to Kennedy, we find swampy regions that were dyked and drained with the same techniques that were used along the Riviere Dauphin and other Bay of Fundy locations in Acadia.

It would have made perfect sense to recruit people with this rather unique skill set for Acadia as well, and it just so happened they were within the sphere of influence of both Razilly and d’Aulnay – although this skill set was not needed at La Heve.

You can see that Aulnay is directly between Martaize and La Chaussée

Both Razilly and d’Aulnay were Seigneurs in La Chaussée, which meant they owned the land and charged rent to the peasants who farmed there.

Can we draw any conclusions from this 1634 document without further research? No. Can we dismiss it? Absolutely not, especially given the other possible Acadian surnames.

We need more information or a Y-DNA test for any male Gaudet (or similar spelling) who descends from this line or region in France – meaning not descended from Acadian Jean Gaudet. If this is you, I have a DNA testing scholarship just waiting – please reach out.

In 1635 and 1636, d’Aulnay recruited additional French families to settle in Acadia. The St. Jehan departed La Rochelle for La Heve with colonists on April 1, 1636. There is a passenger list, but Jean Gaudet or a similar name is not listed.

After Razilly’s death, d’Aulnay decided to remove the government of Acadia to Port Royal, on the opposite coast for better farmland.

I know that my ancestors knew both Razilly, and d’Aulnay. They spoke with this man. How I would love to be a fly on the wall.

While this move from one location to another sounds fairly peaceful, in actuality, it wasn’t. This era became known as the Acadian Civil War. One way or another, Jean Gaudet was involved.

Acadian Civil War

D’Aulnay moved several settler families from La Heve to Port Royal, while Charles de Saint-Etienne de la Tour, the French Commander of Acadia, built a new Fort Sainte-Marie at the mouth of the St. John River in New Brunswick. It would later be named Fort La Tour, not to be confused with the locations of those same names on the southern coast of Acadia at and near La Heve.

Those two men were sworn enemies and proceeded to go to war with each other over who would control Acadia. Lives were needlessly lost on both sides. Their personal war lasted five long years, affecting all French people living there.

In 1640 La Tour attacked Port Royal with two armed ships, but had to surrender.

In 1642, d’Aulnay established a blockade of La Tour’s Fort Sainte-Marie.

D’Aulnay arranged for La Tour to be charged with treason and disrespecting the French Crown. La Tour couldn’t go to France, on pain of being arrested on those charges, so his wife traveled to France on his behalf and advocated for him, apparently effectively. She returned with a warship so that La Tour could defend himself.

In the spring of 1643, another battle took place when La Tour attempted to capture Port Royal again, this time with the ship his wife brought from France along with four armed British ships out of Boston manned by 270 English mercenaries. The British must have enjoyed this immensely. D’Aulnay lost six men and seven more were wounded. For some reason, La Tour did not attack the fort in Port Royal, which was only defended by 20 men, but he burned the mill, killed livestock, and seized furs, gunpowder, and other supplies before departing.

D’Aulnay was furious.

This had literally turned into an ego-driven Civil War between two men, but in 1645, d’Aulnay eventually won – but it was ugly.

In 1645, La Tour went to Boston requesting aid from the British once again. That sure smells like treason to me.

While he was gone, d’Aulnay took advantage of that opportunity by seizing all of La Tour’s possessions, including Fort La Tour at St. John, along with other outposts.

The infamous siege of St. John began on Easter Sunday, April 13th, when d’Aulnay mustered 200 men, probably every French soldier and Acadian man, sailed across the Bay of Fundy and arrived at La Tour’s fort, which was under the control of his wife, Francoise-Marie Jacquelin, in La Tour’s absence. She was young, age 23, but was known as the Lionesse of LaTour for her battle savvy and brilliant defense of the fort.

After five days of fighting, d’Aulnay offered quarter to all soldiers if Francoise-Marie would surrender the fort. Knowing she was outnumbered, she agreed to his terms, but then d’Aulnay reneged and hanged every one of the men in La Tour’s garrison as Francoise-Marie was forced to watch with a noose around her own neck. Three weeks later, while still in d’Aulnay’s custody, she too died. And no, we don’t know how or why.

With his fort gone, his garrison swinging from the gallows, and his wife dead, La Tour retreated upon his return and went to live in Quebec, where he continued in the fur trade.

After La Tour’s defeat, d’Aulnay traveled to France to receive honors from the King.

By this time, Acadian families must have been totally exhausted. The 9 years between 1636 and 1645 would have been filled with almost constant conflict and angst. Without church records, we don’t know who died in the attacks, who married, or anything else for that matter.

We know that Jean Gaudet’s daughter, Francoise, married her Mercier husband and had their one child sometime about 1645. She remarried to Daniel LeBlanc around 1650, having their first child around 1651. Was her first husband a victim of the French-on-French warfare? It’s possible.

It’s also possible that Jean Gaudet and his family weren’t yet in Acadia, but it’s not probable based on that 1687 document signed by Francoise Gaudet’s second husband, Daniel LeBlanc, testifying to d’Aulnay’s accomplishments.

For those living at Port Royal, I can only imagine the fear leaping into their throats every time they saw distant sails entering the harbor, especially if there was more than one ship.

From Easter of 1645, d’Aulnay governed all of Acadia without interruption, and they would finally have five years of peace.

By 1645, Jean Gaudet would already have been 70 years old. Surely he did not arrive in Acadia in his 70s. He much more likely arrived closer to 1635 when he would have been 60. I imagine that he was a fit, spry, and healthy man. Today, he would have been looking at Social Security – yet he was striking out for a new frontier. Perhaps his children wanted to go and he didn’t want to be left behind. We will never know, but kudos to him for bravery and spunk!

Between 1640 and 1645, besides waging battle with La Tour, d’Aulnay recruited additional families who arrived on many ships, but there’s only one known passenger list – in 1641.

In Charles d’Aulnay’s “memoir” of 1644, He details a long list of responsibilities, including the establishment of 20 families and 17 missionaries, the salaries and maintenance of 200 soldiers and workers, and the construction and maintenance of mills, churches, forts, and ships.

Based on engagement contracts signed in La Rochelle, most of the people who arrived in Acadia clearly either died or returned to France. Many were single men who would have completed their work contracts and returned home to families or to find a bride. Given the warfare, I’m not surprised that few wanted to stay.

With La Tour out of the picture, d’Aulnay improved Acadia. New ships were built, mills erected, and marshes dyked.

In 1647, a commission was issued, making him governor and lieutenant-general in Acadia.

D’Aulnay’s time as governor was short-lived, though, because in 1650, he died in a canoe accident, calling the governance of Acadia into question once again.

After d’Aulnay’s unexpected and untimely death, La Tour saw an opportunity. I can’t help but wonder if he was somehow involved in making that opportunity, but that’s pure speculation on my part.

La Tour returned to France and sought to reestablish himself in Acadia. He was successful, and his title was restored, making him d’Aulnay’s successor. He returned in 1651 with Philippe Mius d’Entremont, a rather mysterious figure who, two years later, was awarded a fiefdom or seigneury, only the second in all of Canada, at which time he became the Baron of Pobomcoup, today’s Pubnico. More about Mius in a future article.

When La Tour became governor, I can only imagine the terror that gripped the hearts of the Acadians who had fought AGAINST him so many times.

Not to mention d’Aulnay’s widow, Jeanne Motin, and their eight children, ages newborn to 11, who were living in Port Royal. She must have been utterly terrified. She sent her children to France to be cared for by relatives. They never returned, and she never saw them again.

Motin’s immediate future was defined by d’Aulnay’s creditors raiding and looting Port Royal for anything of value, which meant the Acadian families suffered. All those years of settlement and warfare were expensive, and d’Aulnay’s creditors intended to collect.

You’re not going to believe what happened next.

Plot Twist

On February 24, 1653, Jeanne Motin and La Tour decided, for the good of Acadia, to bury the hatchet – and not in each other.

They married – each other. I kid you not. It wasn’t just a marriage in name only either, as they went on to have five children in the next decade. I can only imagine those dinner table conversations and the shock experienced by everyone in Acadia. It did, however, end an era of conflict, at least for a little while.

Jeanne died a decade later, shortly after having her 5th child with La Tour.

D’Aulnay left a thriving colony, but the intense French recruitment era came to an end with d’Aulnay’s 1650 death.

Four years later, in 1654, it would end altogether for another 16 years.

1654 – The British

In 1654, the British attacked again. The Acadians must have felt like they were living in an incessant war zone.

By 1654, Denys estimated that there were about 270 residents at Port Royal. If you divide that by 5 for the (estimated) size of an average family, you only have about 55 families. If you divide by 7, you get around 40 families. Probably in addition to men at the various forts scattered about in various locations, including Port Royal.

Jean Gaudet, at 77 years of age, would have witnessed the English attack upon and capture of Port Royal by the British in 1654. At that time, most people actually lived in or within sight of the town, not up the river. We know this because later, it was stated by Denys that people moved upriver after the 1654 attack.

Jean Gaudet might, even at 77, have been one of the 130 men who defended the fort. He seems rather irrepressible.

Understanding that they were both outnumbered and outmanned against 200 professional British soldiers, plus 100 New England volunteers, the Acadians negotiated terms that allowed them to retain their property and continue worshiping as Catholics. Soldiers and officials, who would have nothing left to defend or reason to stay, would be transported back to France. Most of the residents would remain and be unharmed.

That’s the best they could hope for, all things considered.

However, after their surrender, the British violated the surrender terms they had just agreed to by desecrating, looting, and destroying the Catholic church at Port Royal.

This 1686 map shows the location of the church that was later rebuilt (2), the cemetery (4), and the ruined fort (3).

The good news is that in 1654, the British didn’t burn the village. The Acadian families must have been, once again, petrified.

In 1654, all transport ships and settlers from France stopped until France reclaimed Acadia in 1670, just one year before the census that showed Jean Gaudet at 96 years of age.

This series of historic events tells us unquestionably that Jean Gaudet arrived sometime between 1632, when Razilly first began settlement in earnest, and 1654 when all French immigration ceased.

Given that Jean Gaudet’s eldest son, Denis, married about 1645 to Martine Gauthier, presumable in Port Royal, and his daughter, Francoise, married a Mercier about 1644, then remarried to Daniel LeBlanc about 1650, it’s probable that Jean Gaudet was in Acadia prior to 1644, and almost certainly before 1650.

Maybe additional documents will be found in France to provide previously undiscovered information. Is it too much to wish for baptismal and marriage records??

For a long time, things were relatively peaceful in Acadia despite the English overlords. In 1667, the ownership of Acadia was returned to France in the Treaty of Breda with nary a drop of Acadian bloodshed. The official transition was delayed until 1670, but that, too, was peaceful.

After regaining control, the French immediately took a census in 1671. Surprisingly there were 361 Acadians in the Port Royal area, up from the 270 estimate in 1654. Some people would have died, of course, but apparently, more were born, and some, especially soldiers, would have arrived after control was returned to France – although they don’t seem to have been enumerated.

By 1671, Jean Gaudet was 96 years old and had seen more of life than any other person in Acadia. He was born before Champlain even set out to explore those waters.

Imagine the stories he would tell us if he could.

Unanswered Questions

Aside from the questions we’ve already posed, there are a few other things I’ve wondered about.

Jean Gaudet’s first wife’s mitochondrial DNA was haplogroup J1b2.

Was she his first wife, or was he married previously in France? I wonder because he was born about 1675, but his eldest child found with him in Acadia was born about 1623. He would have been 48 years old at their birth. That’s certainly not impossible, but it is improbable. Normally, he would already have been fathering children for 20 or 25 years by the time he was 48 years old – not having his first child. He could easily have had 10 or 12 children prior to 1623 and already been a grandfather.

Did he have a first wife we don’t know about who died along with all of their children? Did his first wife die, and her family took their children to raise? Did his wife not die, but some children were left behind in France? Were some of his children already married and didn’t want to leave? What was going on in his life? Was he truly a bachelor until age 48? Was his J1b2 wife his first or a subsequent wife?

If he married his haplogroup J1b2 wife about 1622, and had children in 1623, 1625, and 1633, that very strongly suggests that a child was born in 1627, 1629, and 1631, and subsequently died.

Based on mitochondrial DNA results, the mother of his first and third child was the same, or at least shared the same haplogroup. Their descendants are exact matches.

That alone speaks to the fact that, assuming he didn’t marry prior to 1622, he lost half his children before the 1671 census, plus their mother. This man witnessed and endured a great deal of heartbreak.

Was he actually single for an extended period? Did his wife die before the next child would have been expected in 1635, or did they have more children, and his wife AND additional children all died later?

What happened in Jean’s life between 1633 when his youngest child from his J1b2 wife was found with him in Acadia in 1671, and 1653 when his next child, John, was born to Nicole?

His J1b2 wife that gave birth to Francoise, Denis and Marie would have had to be born no later than 1608 and could have borne children until about 1650ish, not long before he married Nicole. If she lived that long, they would have buried at least another eight children.

That’s devastating.

Moving on Up

We don’t know when Jean Gaudet moved upriver, only that he was one of the furthest away from Port Royal. I don’t know if that means he left first and had his pick of locations, or last and moved beyond the other settlers to available land. Either way, he did well for himself and his descendants, obtaining a significant marsh area.

Jean’s First Wife Was Not Native American

I can debunk one theory conclusively.

Some researchers had suggested that Jean Gaudet arrived very early, perhaps even with Champlain, and stayed, taking a Native American wife.

His two daughters both carry their mother’s mitochondrial DNA, having been passed from mother to mother to today’s descendants through all women.

In the Acadian AmerIndian DNA Project, we have four people descended from Jean Gaudet’s (presumed) first wife through both daughters. Their haplogroup, J1b2, is assuredly European, not Native American, so we can definitively put that rumor to bed.

Y-DNA

In the Gaudet Y-DNA Project, several male descendants of Jean Gaudet have tested.

Only one, kit number 129804, has taken the Big Y test, but only the earlier Big Y-500, not the more refined and robust Big Y-700 test.

The resulting haplogroup, G-YP786 is about 1300 years old, according to Discover, and has no matches to any other men. I’m not surprised, given the restrictions on DNA testing in France. Discover depends on multiple testers to produce the most relevant results. The most common recent ancestral date is identified for testers, so the more testers from a particular line, the more refined the results.

I would very much like for this gentleman and at least one other Gaudet descendant to upgrade to the Big Y-700 so that we all can learn more about our fascinating ancestor, Jean Gaudet.

For example, who is their most recent Ancient Connection, and where was that burial found? Where did our Gaudet line come from and when did they arrive in France? Ancient Connections and Discover tools provide information about a lineage prior to the adoption of surnames that isn’t available to us any other way.

Jean Gaudet – Still a Mystery Man

For all the tidbits we have about Jean Gaudet, there’s far more that we don’t know about him. So much uncertainty remains.

I have my fingers crossed that a Gaudet whose ancestral locations are known in France will take a Y-DNA test. Having an actual French match outside of the descendants of Jean’s two sons would be extremely beneficial.

While prior researchers dug relentlessly in early records for information about Jean Gaudet, cousin Mark, who is an extremely methodical and painstaking researcher is having a go at this as well. We are hoping that new records have become available or old records have been indexed. Something. Anything! Fingers crossed.

And Jean, if you’re listening, it would be immensely helpful if you could just stand up and wave so we know where you are😊. Some quarter million of your descendants would like to speak with you about our ancestor warranty!

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Acadian Homecoming – 52 Ancestors #428

You might have noticed that I haven’t published a 52 Ancestors article recently.

You might also have noticed that I’ve been swamped with conference season this fall, and while that’s part of it, there’s more to this story.

A lot more.

I’m sure you’re aware that I’m the family storyteller and legend-keeper – yet I don’t know how to tell you this.

I’ll just warn you up front that not all of this makes sense – at least not logical sense as we know it on this side of the veil.

Grab a cup of coffee or tea as I screw my courage up to begin.

You see, my ancestors called me.

Not only that, they had been calling me for a very long time.

The Calling

I surely wish I knew how to explain this – that I possessed adequate words.

The ancestors have been calling me for a long time. A cacophony of voices, each seeking to be heard. Much like the din of voices in a noisy restaurant. You can’t hear any one person, and you surely know there are voices, but you have no idea that any of them are speaking to you.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but my draw to genealogy and family history was their voices beckoning – except too jumbled for me to hear. Yet, I heeded the call, masked as curiosity. Mother apparently heard it, too. Sometimes, she would come up with tidbits, pieces of information that she “just knew” but had no idea how she knew. And you know something, she was always right.

Every. Single. Time.

Even though many of them wouldn’t be proven or confirmed for years or even decades later.

I didn’t think too much about it back then. But trust me, I’ve thought a LOT about it recently.

Sometimes, my insistent ancestors lasso other people into this drama, too. Sometimes, as unsuspecting accomplices, encouraging me. Sometimes, as people who have access to records that the ancestors need me to have as pieces of their story. Sometimes, as a passerby with just the right scrap of information – or the right direction. People literally stopped me on the street. Or perhaps, ancestors shapeshifted and took the shape of someone who had disappeared into thin air when I turned back around to ask them for clarification. Perhaps.

So much of this journey has just been surreal.

Talk about unnerving.

At those moments, all you can do is swallow and walk forward into whatever awaits – just hoping and praying you’re in the right place, and safe.

Yes, safe. When you see where I was “shepherded to” as I share this journey over the next few months, one ancestor at a time, you’ll understand.

Ancestral Fate

Sometimes, after you’ve followed an inexplicable path, you find yourself standing exactly at the juncture of fate.

Fate that changed lives. Your ancestors’ lives. Not simply one of them, but all of them living at that time in that place. In an instant, it shifted the trajectory of the lives of countless generations of descendants. Changed the very essence of my life. Had that historic, fateful juncture not occurred, I wouldn’t be here and certainly wouldn’t have been standing there.

Through the thinness of the veil, I could hear their voices, their cries, sometimes bloodcurdling screams. Palpably feel their fear as it rose in their throats and then, standing in their footprints, rose in mine.

Yes, they called me. Summoned me.

I had absolutely no idea the journey I was about to undertake.

I have only ever been on one other journey in my life that shifted time and stirred my soul with wave after wave of overwhelming emotions. An earlier journey I have never written about and shared with few.

This time, this journey, I’m sharing. With you.

I am forever changed.

Nova Scotia

Nova Scotia wasn’t Nova Scotia when this odyssey began for my ancestors. My Mi’kmaq ancestors referred to the lands where they lived as Mi’kma’ki, pronounced something Migmawgee. They were stewards of this land for more than 10,000 years, leaving their petroglyph art and secred legends.

Vikings visited before European fishermen and explorers began to arrive offshore in the 1500s. In the early 1600s, the French were establishing mutually beneficial trade relationships with the Mi’kmaq people.

The Mi’kmaq were entirely unaware of what would befall them. Diseases against which they had no immunity would devastate their population, and eventually, hordes of colonizers would all but displace them from their ancestral lands. Like the French who became Acadians, the Mi’kmaq, too, would become victims of European wars.

However, in the early 1600s, most of that was still in the future.

By the 1630s, the southern coastline of Nova Scotia, then known as Acadia, served as a fishing grounds punctuated with a few French trading forts. The French warred and argued among themselves, as people are wont to do, but for the most part, the Mi’kmaq people were impervious to the quarreling of their trading partners.

In time, European men, mostly French, sought to take wives among the Native women, and deeper alliances were formed – those of blood.

By 1632, encouraged and financed by a minor French nobleman, a few French families had settled at La Have. I will take you there on my journey, but not today. By 1636, the center or capital of Acadia was moved to Port Royal as additional French settlers and families arrived. Port Royal consisted of just a few houses and a fort.

It’s there, in historic Port Royal, later renamed Annapolis Royal in 1710 after being taken over by the English, that Acadia as we know it unfolded.

It’s there, in historic Port Royal, and for a dozen miles upstream, that I waded through marshes, climbed dykes and fortified ramparts, and communed with my ancestors. I was escorted into the marshes by newly-made friends, some of whom turned out to be cousins. I was drawn and guided to the remains of the foundations of my ancestors’ homesteads, their orchards, fields, and the wells that sustained them.

I trekked in the company of a friend from years back who I met when he was searching for his biological parents. We wound up being cousins through several Acadian lines and had a tearful, joyful reunion in our joint homeland.

We stood where our ancestors stood. Walked where they walked, and sobbed where they sobbed. I felt both their fear and unbridled joy.

I realized that my DNA permeates every inch of this land. This is the land of my ancestors.

What I didn’t understand was that they had been calling me for decades. This wasn’t my first trip to Nova Scotia – but it was the first time that I understood.

Chester, Nova Scotia

In the late 1990s, before the days of cell phones with cameras, I accidentally spent time in Chester, Nova Scotia, attending the Embroiderers’ School of Advanced Study.

By accidentally, I mean that I traveled to Chester, Nova Scotia, a small town not far from Halifax, with a few fiber artists for the purpose of art quilting and inspiration.

The inspiration I hoped for and expected was for a quilt and to sharpen my artistic skills. What happened was something else entirely.

I had absolutely NO IDEA at that time that not only was this chapter 1, but it was the first page of the first chapter. This book is not yet complete.

I thought it was just an artist’s retreat.

I received inspiration all right, but not exactly as I expected.

I Am a River

The resulting quilt that I finished months later was titled “I Am a River.”

Yes, indeed, I am that river with all its twists, turns, and rocky protrusions. Fluid, changing, morphing.

My life had changed courses dramatically through events quite outside my control. Death and destruction of lives. Rebirth and recovery. That’s what I thought I was working through.

The instructor realized that something else was going on. Something besides quilting and fabric selection. Something besides good food and companionship.

Perhaps life is art, or art is life. Perhaps our art is influenced by forces far deeper than we know.

While the instructor lectured about color selection and other artsy things, I was increasingly fascinated by something, or some things, outside the window. My mind wandered aimlessly elsewhere.

We gathered for our classes on the second floor of a beautiful historic building, lined with rock walls and old wooden fences.

I was fascinated and enthralled.

I realized that I loved the sea. The maritime landscape beckoned to me as if it was a living thing.

Boats were moored at the docks and anchored in the harbour, bobbing up and down rhythmically on gentle waves. Beautiful leaves and foliage graced rock walls. And the water, the mesmerizing sea, drew me in.

Drew me out.

Drew me away.

The instructor did something very unusual.

She dug her sketchbook out of a bag, along with a box of watercolor crayons, offering them to me. I felt very self-conscious and somewhat embarrassed. I was “that” ill-behaved student. I explained to her that I wasn’t a painter, not a watercolorist – in fact, I had never used that medium before. I didn’t even know watercolor crayons existed.

She was encouraging and told me it didn’t matter. She said to take my camera, her sketchbook, and a box of crayons that turned to watercolor when you rubbed water over them after you colored and just go out and walk. Follow my heart. The sketchbook was my diary, and I was to simply go enjoy myself.

She didn’t have to tell me twice.

I walked and walked. For days and miles, mostly along the water. Oh, I went back and sewed a bit and ate with the group most of the time. However, my classmates seemed to be much more interested in my adventures than I was in theirs. I felt rather naughty, given that I wasn’t really doing what I was “supposed” to be doing. At least I didn’t think so back then.

Now, I realize I was doing EXACTLY what I was sent there to do.

And what an adventure I had!

I even met the local police when I got stuck wiggling under a thorny bush beside a tree that I had crawled under, before realizing it sported fine-as-frog-hair needle-sharp thorns.

I was taking pictures of the stunningly beautiful sunset and foliage over the bay, but all the officers could see was a pair of legs sticking out from under a bush. Backing out was painful, and funny. After they got me unstuck, we all had a good laugh, and they showed me an easier photo location. My fellow artists saw me in the squad car, and by the time I returned, they had already created a MUCH better story. We laughed and laughed!

Everyone was incredibly nice and had suggestions and stories about picturesque locations and what to order in the various restaurants, all waterfront. By the end of the week, everyone in town knew me.

Yes, these pictures are awful because I scanned them more than two decades later. But they are also precious in so many ways.

They foreshadowed the path my life would take. I was metaphorically as well as actually at a fork in the road, a road that would one day bring me back home. To Acadia.

I had no idea that this sun-kissed and wind-swept place was already deeply etched in my psyche and carved into my heart.

I had no idea I was following my soul and that what I “heard” out there was the collective voices of my ancestors calling. Beckoning me.

I had no idea that one day, I would return.

Yes, they were speaking to me, even back then.

I was entirely unaware that I had any connection to Nova Scotia or even Canada or New England. That brick wall wouldn’t fall for at least another 10 or 15 years, and even then, in the strangest of ways.

Acadian Connection

Mother’s grandfather, Curtis Benjamin Lore was Acadian on his father’s side. Of course, Mother didn’t know that, and neither did her mother or her aunts. No one knew that family secret.

I discovered why just a few years ago, long after Mom had joined our ancestors. Our Acadian family was filled with layers of drama.

In fact, Curtis Lore’s father, Anthony, or Antoine Lore as he was baptized in the Catholic church in Quebec, left all churches altogether. Not only that, but he also left Canada for Vermont where he married before moving on to Pennsylvania with his bride. He might or might not have been a river pirate.

Mystery swirls around Anthony’s life and the circumstances of his untimely death and no one but no one talked about that. His wife, Rachel Hill, died shortly thereafter, leaving impoverished orphans trying to make their way in the world. Curtis Lore, their son left it all behind. A chance overheard conversation led me to a cousin in Pennsylvania who helped unearth that part of the story, one boulder at a time.

It took years and a completely unrelated “chance encounter” in North Carolina that led me to Blairfindie in Quebec, and, eventually, Antoine’s 1806 baptism.

Years later, another “chance encounter” with just the right person provided confirmation that the man in Vermont was the child born to Honore Lore and Marie Lafaille.

If you’re thinking this is the strangest thing ever, with all of these “coincidences,” welcome to my world.

I eventually was able to track those ancestors in Quebec, and somehow, against all odds, connected the dots and bridged the seemingly insurmountable gap between the late 1700s in Quebec, back through New England, and then to Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia in 1755 where the truly unfathomable and unspeakable had happened.

How did I ever manage to navigate those fraught waters? Eventually, DNA helped a lot in the bigger picture, but connecting the dots with individual people was extremely challenging, especially given the lack of records or even a location in New England.

There were so many synchronistic “coincidences.” After an uncanny number of coincidences, I came to question if they really were coincidences.

There were surprises, too.

Native Ancestors

After DNA testing began, I was completely shocked to learn that my mother and I both carried Native American DNA. How was that even remotely possible? It was surely an error. Yes, it had to be. Everyone in her family except for that one grandfather, who I didn’t yet know was Acadian, was either German or Dutch.

But, as it turned out, it wasn’t a mistake.

Then, I assumed our Native DNA came from Pennsylvania where Curtis Lore lived, once we figured that out – but, again, I was wrong. It didn’t. It came through the Acadian lines in early Nova Scotia – a word I didn’t even know yet at the time I discovered Mother’s Native American genetic heritage.

I needed to associate a person with the genetic evidence, but that seemed impossible, given that I couldn’t even figure out Curtis’s parents’ names initially.

Years later, I was able to positively identify one of Mother’s Native American ancestors by combining autosomal DNA testing and ethnicity segments with mitochondrial DNA results of matrilineal descendants of my Mi’kmaq ancestor whose name we don’t know.

We do know she married Philipp Mius and had daughter Francoise about 1684. My Mi’kmaq ancestor didn’t join Philipp in the French Acadian villages. He joined her in the Native villages, up and down the southwest coast of Nova Scotia, including the islands off Chester, Lunenburg, then known as Merliguesch, and Halifax. None of those locations had English names at that time.

Yes, my ancestors lived on and frequented the exact islands I photographed in the 1990s before a future series of coincidences revealed those ancestors and their history.

What are the chances?

Those ancestors were loudly insistent.

Metamorphosis

By the time 2023 rolled around, my life had metamorphosed and changed completely from that of the 1990s. Morphed much like caterpillar emerging as a butterfly from a cocoon and drying its wings.

Discoveries about my Acadian ancestors were flowing like a waterfall, one after the other. Many were shocking, incredibly sad, and horrifying. At the same time, they spoke of incredible courage, bravery, and fortitude.

At first, I was thrilled to break down those brick walls one after the other – but ultimately – I realized that my role was to research, reveal, and document their struggles, loves, and lives as they lived them.

One day, it dawned on me – at least a few of them survived genocide. I never realized the 1755 deportation, or Le Grand Dérangement, the great upheaval, as they called it, was cultural genocide – a crime against humanity. Many people simply disappeared into the abyss of the unknown.

You can’t tell the good without the bad. You can’t document the wins without the losses. Someone needs to tell their individual stories, and I’m doing exactly that.

This had probably been my calling all along.

Generational Trauma

I never understood what generational trauma was or what it meant before I met my Acadian ancestors.

I understand generational poverty all-too-well, and that children suffer from the unfortunate cultural circumstances of the families into which they are born. Circumstances they often cannot escape.

What I never really considered was that generational trauma can span centuries, cultures and many, many generations. Leaving your homeland isn’t enough to escape. I have to wonder how much of this cumulative trauma has been seared into our genetics – epigenetics – genetic memory – whatever.

Does it also lead us home?

Homecoming

Can you experience a homecoming to a homeland you’ve never been to before? Can it feel so incredibly familiar that it moves you to tears? Just simply “being” there? Touching the soil? Feasting your eyes?

Yes, I had been to Chester as an appetizer decades ago, but I had never been anywhere else in Acadia, which spans all of Nova Scotia.

Can generational memories somehow lead and bring you to places you aren’t even consciously aware of? Those places that were the pivot points where your ancestors’ lives were uprooted and changed forever? Is there some unseen force guiding or sometimes pushing us?

Do descendants carry the markers in some way of cultural genocide?

Is there a path back for us? Are the events and memories seared into our ancestors’ souls passed down to us in some way?

How can one possibly be so connected to a place you’ve never been before?

I don’t have answers.

Three Weeks in August

I spent three weeks in August 2024 on the ground in Nova Scotia, tracing my ancestors’ collective footsteps, beginning along the LaHave River, visiting locations I knew that my ancestors had visited and lived.

They sent messages and guided me, including through one man I had just met a few minutes earlier. He took me aside and very uncomfortably said to me, “Don’t think I’m crazy. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you – but your ancestors know you’re here. They are here with you.”

Imagine my shocked look as my mouth fell open. But he wasn’t finished.

“Also, your mother. Is your mother with you?”

What a question.

Yes, mother was with me in multiple ways. Her body had departed this realm in 2006, but this was “her trip” and was she ever with me.

I was also wearing Mom’s ring, the one given to her as a teen by her grandmother, the wife of her Acadian grandfather. She wore it every day of her life, and I wore it on this adventure, taking pictures of “her” in her ancestor’s locations.

Each successive place we visited offered additional adventures of its own. I’ll be taking you along with me as I finish processing not only the photos and research, but the incredible avalanche of emotions.

Let me share just one extremely poignant moment.

The Expulsion

In 1755, following over a century of escalating tensions between the Acadians, who had peacefully lived and farmed in Nova Scotia, and the British, who sought to control the region, the British ultimately succeeded in forcibly deporting and expelling the Acadian population.

Acadian families were rounded up and kidnapped, their farms burned in front of their eyes, their livestock shot, and their dykes that kept the sea at bay from their fields were destroyed. The British wanted absolutely no question in the minds of the Acadians that there was nothing to return for. They had no homes left. No fields. No family. Nothing.

The British fleet anchored in the harbour beside Port Royal which had been renamed Annapolis Royal when the British defeated the French in 1710. The Acadians had previously experienced sporadic attacks by the British where they burned and pillaged, but then went away again.

That’s what the Acadians expected this time, too, but it’s not what happened. The Acadians thought they were safe because the British needed the Acadian farmers to feed the British soldiers, but they were wrong.

The harbour beside Fort Anne in Port Royal was safe and protected from the Atlantic, but ships could not pull directly up to the town itself because the river was tidal and too shallow near the shores.

That was another form of protection from attack.

In 1755, the British decided to end the conflict with the Acadians once and for all by rounding them up and deporting them. Their lands would then be distributed to the much more easily controlled non-Catholic colonists from New England.

The British ships came to anchor in the bay. The Acadians prepared for soldiers to attack and force them to sign a loyalty oath to the British Monarchy.

Instead, the British came ashore and held the men at the fort while rounding up the women and children.

I knew that every one of my ancestors had stood on this hallowed ground at the fort in Port Royal during their lifetimes. Some defended the fort. Some traded there. Some died there. Everyone worshipped there, as the original church was located beside the cemetery.

The original land before the fort was extended and fortified between 1705 and 1710 had belonged to Abraham Dugas. the armorer, who married Marguerite Doucet, Simon Pelletret who married Perrine Bourg, Jacque Bonnevie, military corporal and blacksmith who married Francoise Mius, Guillaume Trahan whose wife is unknown, and possibly Martin Aucoin.

My ancestors had been born, were baptized and married, lived, and were buried on the land under my feet. This fort, cemetery, and Catholic church that had once stood here was the one location that every single Acadian ancestor has unquestionably been – not once but regularly. The hub of their lives.

Not one or some, but everyone. It represents an entire group of people who were isolated to their own community with no newcomers. Everyone was related. That’s part of the power of this place.

Tears streamed down my face.

Earlier generations, before the deportation, were buried in now-unmarked graves in the cemetery at the fort, established before the Catholic church was burned. The fort, church, and cemetery were the center of the town of Port Royal.

In 1755, many of those graves would still have been fresh – and marked.

I walked around the fort grounds several times over multiple days, understanding the central place in the lives of all Acadians.

On the last day, I noticed something off to the side, across the ramparts, extending into the water. This was actually outside the fort, kind of behind the end of the current town. The building in the photo at right is a municipal building housing the police station.

I was drawn to this…thing…whatever it was. But I couldn’t exactly get there.

The hill descending to this walkway of sorts was very steep. It overlooked the land across the river that had been the homesteads of the Doucet, Bourg and Leveron families – also my ancestors.

By the time I found this small peninsula of land, it was late in the day, nearly sunset, and I was exhausted. I had been ill the week before my trip to Nova Scotia and not fully recovered – but nothing was stopping me now.

I had to get down there somehow.

I walked part way into town and around, behind the police station, and discovered stairs descending to the river level.

When I was leaving, I saw a sign and walked over to see what it said. I’m telling you this out of order so you understand what’s coming.

Good heavens! I had stumbled onto the deportation wharf. I had absolutely no idea it still existed.

The physical location where my ancestors’ lives were ripped apart in 1755.

Where they and their unsuspecting children and family members were shoved into rowboats, rowed out into the river, and deposited onto different ships. It was chaos. No one knew what was happening.

Families, in those horrific hours and minutes, carrying only what they could, were eternally separated – never to find or see each other again.

Many searched until death.

Where did death befall them? In many cases, we simply don’t know. Some overcrowded ships sank. Others, as poverty-stricken refugees, were buried and forgotten in anonymous graves where they landed among people all too unhappy to see them.

In most cases, we have no idea where they were – as the ships were intentionally separated and sent to different colonies so that the Acadians couldn’t scheme to return home.

God rest their souls.

I walked out onto the wharf and back in time into their lives.

The fort ramparts were to my left.

The wharf in front of me, now grass-covered, was a one-way ticket to Hell. 

A death march for many. Torturous for all.

How could the British do that?

Much like Hitler’s minions in the 1930s, “just following orders”?

Torture.

Murder.

Genocide.

I reached the end of the wharf where there were only stones, preventing today’s wharf-walkers from proceeding into the endless waters.

Yellow roses for their broken hearts.

The harbour where the ships anchored, and the exit into the Bay of Fundy – the last the Acadians would ever see of their beloved Acadia.

I could see the fort behind me, just as they would have. Originally their fort, but long-since the British fort.

The ships were anchored here. Boats rowed by British soldiers from the wharf to the ships loaded unwilling and probably sobbing Acadians.

No one knew where their family members were.

Standing on the beach, the edge of the town to my right.

A panoramic from the wharf of a now-empty, deceptively tranquil, harbour, but filled with ships taking the Acadians to God-knows-where back then.

I stood here for a very, very long time, realizing that their lives and families were ripped from them. Their agony is still palpable. They did absolutely nothing, aside from simply existing, to deserve this.

We have literally no idea what became of many of these people, or their children. I’m certain that this list of my ancestors is not comprehensive.

  • Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, born about 1703, married Jacques Lore/Lord, and died after 1742. Nothing more is known.
  • Jacques dit Montagne Lord/Lore, born about 1678, married Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, was probably deported to New York and died in 1786 in Quebec.
    • Honore Lore/Lord, born 1742 to Jacques Lore/Lord and Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, fought in New York in the Revolutionary War and died in 1818 in Quebec.
  • Jean LePrince, born about 1692, married Jeanne Blanchard and died sometime after 1752, probably either in Les Mines or after deportation.
  • Jeanne Blanchard, born about 1675, married Jean LePrince, death unknown
    • Marie Joseph LePrince, born in 1715, married Jacques DeForest, and died after 1748, probably in Connecticut.
  • Francoise Dugas, born 1679, married Rene DeForest, son Jacques DeForest. She may have died about 1751 or perhaps during or after the deportation.
    • Jacques DeForest, born in 1707, married Marie Josephe LePrince and died in Connecticut sometime after 1763.
      • Marguerite DeForest, born in 1747 to Jacques DeForest and Marie Josephe LePrince, died in Quebec in 1819.
  • Rene Doucet, born about 1678, married Marie Anne Broussard, death unknown
  • Marie Anne Broussard, born in 1686, married Rene Doucet, death unknown.
    • Anne dit Jeanne Doucet, born in 1713, married Daniel Garceau, was deported to Connecticut, and died in 1791 in Quebec.
    • Daniel Garceau, born in 1707, married Anne Doucet, was deported to Connecticut, and died in 1772 in Quebec.
      • Appoline dit Hippolyte Garceau, born in 1742 to Daniel Garceau and Anne dit Jeanne Doucet, deported with her parents and died in 1788 in L’Acadie, Quebec.

Of course, it’s not “just” these people – it’s their families too. Children, grandchildren, siblings, nieces and nephews, and sometimes, elderly parents.

Cruelly separated. Gone where?

On December 8, 1755, at least 1664 men, women, and children, all of whom were related to each other, often in multiple ways, suffered this fate – launched into sure and certain Hell from this wharf.

Eventually, I turned and walked back up what’s left of the wharf, knowing that they never had that privilege. They would have given anything to do what I just did.

I walked for them – even decades and centuries later. I felt their agony as they watched this land that they loved become more distant and then disappear, a dot in the distance, as their ship sailed into oblivion. They had never known any other home or lived anyplace other than Acadia.

What were they to do?

How would they survive?

My heart is so very heavy.

The enormity of this genocidal tragedy overwhelmed me and still does. One doesn’t “recover” from something like this.

I walked a block or so into the town where they had once lived, then onto Hogg Island, formerly owned by Jacques Bourgeois, also my ancestor, watching the sun set as I walked – as I knew they had done hundreds of times in their lives.

They must have watched the sun set over their beloved Acadia from the frigid decks of those ships, slipping behind the mountains and winking goodnight – unaware that it would be the last time for all of Eternity.

 

La Chaussée – French Birthplace of Acadia – 52 Ancestors #427

Many of the families that settled Acadia in the New World in what is now Nova Scotia originated in the Poitou region of France before deciding to embark on a life-altering journey to the New World beginning in the early/mid 1600s and continuing through the first half of the 1700s. The history of the Poitou revolves around the wealthy Charles de Menou d’Aulnay (1604-1650), and his family, specifically his cousin Isaac de Razilly. Both were members of the French nobility

De Razilly became governor of Acadia in 1632 and began the settlement of French families in earnest at La Hève, now LaHave, but died unexpectedly in 1635.

D’Aulnay became governor of Acadia following Razilly and served from 1635 to 1650, when he, too, died. D’Aulnay moved the settlement and center of government from La Hève to Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, in 1635-1636.

During a recent trip to France, I was privileged to visit the location of many of my Acadian ancestors with Claude Beaudreau through his travel company specializing in Acadian tourism travel, Les Voyages DiasporAcadie.

In fact, here’s a photo of our group of cousins.

In case you’re wondering, no, I’m not being paid for this (or any) article, ever, and Claude doesn’t even know I’m doing this. I would take this trip again in a heartbeat. It was that good and I would know more today.

Aulnay

On the way to La Chaussée, we stopped for a photo op at Chateau d’Aulnay, just outside Aulnay.

You can’t get near the Chateau d’Aulnay today. Our bus stopped alongside the road and we took photos through the gate. D’Aulnay was wealthy, but the Acadian pioneers were mostly peasant farmers, with a few craftsmen and trusted others hand-picked for their skilled contribution to the new colony.

The towns of Martaizé, La Chaussée, and the area surrounding Aulnay are known to be the original homelands of many of the Acadian pioneers who lived on d’Aulnay’s land holdings.

You can see that Aulnay is dead center in between, and those two villages are less than four miles apart.

The Cassini map of 1733 shows the La Chaussée de Renouee church and residences to the left of the church.

La Chaussée translates to “the roadway” and La Chaussée de Renouee translates roughly to “the knotweed causeway.”

Of course, back then, every little crossroads village had its own church for the residents who all walked to services. Adjacent the church was, of course, always a cemetery where everyone’s ancestors were buried.

The Road Home

If you’re not Acadian, you’re going to fall in love with La Chaussée today and wish you were. Regardless, there’s a lot of historical information that is relevant to more than Acadian history.

If you are Acadian, get tea or maybe a glass of wine, and Kleenexes, because I’m taking you back in time.

The bus rocked gently back and forth, but if you dozed off, you could easily have been napping in the back of a coach or wagon, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses.

As we drove along the quaint backroads of France, we felt like we were literally on the road home.

Excitement mounted as we neared La Chaussée, then saw the sign beside the field.

Around another curve or two, the buildings began to appear.

In these storied villages, filled with history, the roads nearly touch the sides of the buildings that were built here long before the roads existed.

These stones hold the secrets of the past, our past.

The old often blends gracefully with the new. The 20th century shoring up the 19th that shored up the 18th, and so forth.

The gardens, courtyards, and farms hold a medieval charm never found stateside.

You know when you’re approaching the center of a village because the houses get progressively older. Except they are not characterized as old, but are wise witnesses to the past and stunningly beautiful – visually transporting us back to the time when our ancestors probably lived in these very houses.

There are few houses in any small village. Everyone knew and was related to everyone else.

You can hear the lady next door calling out to see if you have any salt, or calling someone to get the midwife because her baby is going to arrive shortly.

Or maybe, sending someone to fetch the priest.

Homes are clustered closely and often share walls. Sometimes, new homes or newer structures are built adjoining ancient ones, melding centuries.

Often homes too deteriorated to restore and maintain become the next generation of barns.

The old blends with the modern. Children who gaze out the windows are very probably related to Acadian children who gazed out the same windows centuries ago. They would be related to today’s Acadian descendants in hundreds of ways, their common ancestors reaching back countless generations to the time when Julius Caesar mentioned the inhabitants of this region, calling them the “Piktones.”

The Gallic Piktone tribe became the French who inhabited the Poitou region, some of whom became the Acadian settlers who pioneered settlement in Nova Scotia, then were scattered to the winds in 1755.

We have returned home, much like the swallows that return to the Mission at San Juan Capistrano

Acadian history and culture reach deep into this soil.

The oldest structures are always found at the crossroads, which means sometimes they haven’t survived, and buildings that are still old, just not as ancient, take their place today.

Of course, in the center of the village, which is always the original settlement, we inevitably find the church – the heartbeat of the village. The lives of the villagers revolve around religious rituals and their faith – from birth until death do us part.

La Chaussée

Welcome to La Chaussée, birthplace of Acadia!

In the travel tour book provided during our adventure, Claude notes that half of the La Chaussée parish entries between 1626 and 1650 can be linked to about 20 of the 53 Acadian family names found in the 1671 Acadian census.

The 1671 Acadian census in Nova Scotia included the following French surnames by many various spellings. Bolded names represent males found in this census. Some of the original settlers had clearly died by that time. In other cases, women may have married in France, or their father and brothers, if any, had already died in Acadia. One or the other of those circumstances is why females had their birth surname listed, but had no paternal male line in Acadia in 1671. Those surnames are not bolded.

  • Aucoin
  • Babin
  • Bagard
  • Bajolet
  • Bayon
  • Beliveau (Bellieveau)
  • (de) Bellisle
  • Belou (Blue) (Bleu)
  • Bertrand
  • Blanchard
  • Boudreau (Boudrot)
  • Bourg
  • Bourgeois
  • Breau (Brode)
  • Brot
  • Brun
  • Caissy (Kuessy) (Scottish surname)
  • Chebrat
  • Claude
  • Colleson
  • Comeau
  • Cormier
  • Corporon (La Tour)
  • Cyr (Sire)
  • Daigle (Daigre)
  • D’Entremont
  • Doucet
  • Dugas (Dugast)
  • Dupeaux (Depuis) (Dupont)
  • (de) Foret (Forest)
  • Gaudet
  • Gauthier
  • Gauterot (Gautrot)
  • Gillebault (Guillebault)
  • Girouard
  • Gougeon
  • Granger (Grange)
  • Guerin
  • Guilbaut
  • Guyon
  • Hebert
  • Helie
  • Joffriau
  • LaBatte
  • Lalloue
  • Lambelot
  • Lambert
  • Landry
  • Lanoue
  • LaTour
  • LeBlanc
  • Lefevbre
  • LeFranc
  • LeJeune
  • Martin
  • Melancon (Melanson) (Huguenot, perhaps English)
  • Mercier
  • Mius (Muis) (also d’Entremont)
  • Morin
  • Nicollas
  • Ouestnorouest
  • Pellerin (Pelerin)
  • Pelletret (Peltret)
  • Peselet (Pesseley)
  • Petitpas
  • Pitre
  • Poirier
  • Poulet
  • Rau
  • Richard
  • Rimbault
  • Robicheau (Robichaud)
  • Sallee
  • Savoie
  • Terriau
  • Thibodeau (Thibeaudeau)
  • Trahan
  • Vigneau
  • Vincent

Some of the Acadian lineages are found in La Chaussée, including Brun, Belliveau, Breau, Chabrat, and Chaumoret, and several others are likely from there or nearby.

Jean Chabrat is my ancestor, born to Antoine Chabrat and Francoise Chaumoret and baptized on February 5, 1627, in La Chaussée. She was probably born either that day or the day before. It would have been a short walk to the church for the father or other family member.

Today, we will find their origins in this small crossroads village in the French countryside.

Click to enlarge image

La Chaussée really is a tiny crossroads. We’re going on a walk together, so here’s the aerial view with a few labels to help you orient yourself.

La Chaussée was and is a tiny, dense village. You can see the church and the buildings just to the left, with a small walkway in between. Those would be the buildings drawn on that 1733 map.

We were all VERY excited to arrive. Everyone spilled out of the bus and began taking photos.

For many Acadians, this is ground zero.

In La Chaussée , the Maison de l’Acadie and the church mark the crossroads where our cousins awaited our arrival.

The welcoming committee was waiting for our bus to arrive. This small Acadian museum, staffed by volunteers, is attached to and shares a wall with the church.

Seeing this for the first time, knowing my ancestors literally walked here brought tears to my eyes. I was overwhelmed by a sense of awe.

Awash in a sense of place.

Our cousins greeted us by waving Acadian flags in welcome.

Across the street, a street sign made it official and announced where we were.

I couldn’t help myself, I had to take a closeup of the snails on the white cover at bottom left below the street sign. Even the snails are beautiful here!

Rue des Acadiens translates to “Street of the Acadians.”

This wall is ancient and likely stood, protecting the home of an Acadian family or someone related to one. At that time, they weren’t Acadians yet, but they soon would be.

The narrow walkway between the church and another ancient building, today’s village hall, at left.

The pathway and archway are important. We will pass beneath it, as our ancestors did.

I felt that this was a portal into the past, and it actually was. Wait until you see what I found.

But first, we turned and entered the church through the doorway that you can see, at right, before the steps.

Walking into Notre Dame de La Chaussée where my ancestors celebrated and grieved all of their life’s events was simply breathtaking – as in steal your breath away and transport one through time.

Local lore says that the Acadian families prayed here before leaving on their long journey, from which there was no return.

Those who stayed behind would have known that they would never see their family members who left – so this was a mammoth decision. The family story that they prayed for guidance would have brought comfort to those remaining in La Chaussée  – understanding that their family members were doing God’s work, or at least had asked His blessing.

Returning home, almost 400 years later, was equally as emotional. I hope somehow they knew.

You can read more about the church, here, and here, in French. I have translated relevant portions using ChatGPT.

Razilly and d’Aulnay were the Seigneurs of La Chaussée, which means that they owned the land and charged rent to the peasants who farmed here.

From the brochure:

Why not let yourself be surprised by the first contact with this church, then sit on one of the old benches in its nave and let yourself be penetrated by its simple and captivating atmosphere? Why not think for a moment of all those inhabitants of La Chaussée who prayed here? Why not evoke all those that Charles Menou d’Aulnay, governor of Acadia, recruited to populate New France and who were led across the Atlantic by the lord of the town, Mr. Le Godelier, in the 17th century?

Prior to reading this brochure, I didn’t realize that the “lord of the town,” which I’m presuming would be something equivalent to the mayor, actually led a group of people to Acadia that had been actively recruited.

Welcome to the church of our ancestors.

A basin, probably for Holy water, by the entrance.

Our cousins and guides did their best to make it inviting and decorated accordingly, or maybe I should say, Acadianly. Here, the flags of both Acadia and Acadiana.

From the brochure, you can see many of these items in the photo above and below.

    • The statues of Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and Saint Radegonde, on either side of the altar, and of Saint Anthony of Padua, between the choir and the chapel, are more indicative of popular devotions.
    • The stained glass window, featuring Saint Paul and Saint Genevieve, was offered by Julie Goudon de La Lande.
    • In a beautiful Gothic niche, to the right of the altar, a statue of Saint Roch evokes the formidable plague epidemics that decimated populations from the 14th to the 17th century.
    • Roch, born in the 14th century into a wealthy family in Montpellier, became a hermit and spent a large part of his life on pilgrimage. Legend has it that when he was afflicted with the plague, he took refuge in a forest where a dog belonging to a nobleman came to feed him. Along with Saint Sebastian, he is invoked during epidemics. He is often depicted as a pilgrim (with a hat, staff, and panetière…), showing his leg with a sore caused by a bubo, and accompanied by a dog holding a loaf of bread in its mouth.
    • To the left of the altar, you should notice a beautiful Pietà from the 15th century, unfortunately mutilated.

This child, whom you have joyfully engendered to the song of angels, now you receive him from the cross in your sorrowful arms. Have compassion on Christ and his mother, faithful soul, if you want to rejoice eternally with them in heaven. Jesus, son of God, take pity on me, by virtue of the prayers of your joyful mother, save me through the cross, lead me to true light, with you, I will rejoice in heaven.

Thomas de Kempen – “a Kempis” – (1379-1471)

I wonder how badly impacted this region was by the plague that swept through Europe from the 1300s to the 1600s, again and again.

The plague arrived in France with a vengeance in 1347, spreading rapidly and being interpreted as God’s wrath. Roughly half of the population died in a five-year period, with estimates ranging from 40% to 60%. We know for sure that half of the people living in Paris and 60% of the population of Florence died.

It took another 150 years for the population to recover to pre-pandemic levels, which would have been about a century before the Acadians began to immigrate.

Plague outbreaks ebbed and flowed across the next several centuries, with the last French epidemic raging in 1720, after most of the Acadians were already settled far away in Acadia. They were facing a scourge of a different kind.

The cemetery outside this church would have been filled with plague victims, somehow singled out by God to suffer and die for their evil deeds, while others were chosen to live.

According to the University of Iowa, as with more recent epidemics, home remedies, mostly hopeful, sprang up, along with advice, including:

  • Plague is a scourge from God for your evil deeds – by scourging yourself with a whip like a flagellant, then God has no reason for scourging you with plague.
  • Apply a mixture of tree resin, roots of white lilies, and human excrements.
  • Bathing should not be avoided, and be done with vinegar and rosewater—alternatively in your own urine.
  • Drink the pus of lanced buboes.
  • Quarantine people for 40 days (quarantine comes from Latin for 40) – first done in Venice in 1348.
  • Place a live hen close to the swellings to draw out the pestilence then drink a glass of your own urine twice a day.
  • Grind up an emerald and drink it in wine.
  • Ingest snakeskin, a bone from the heart of a stag, Armenian clay, precious metals, aloe, myrrh, and saffron.
  • Roast the shells of newly laid eggs, and grind them to a powder – add Marigold flowers and treacle – drink in warm beer every morning and night.

If the plague didn’t kill you outright, some of these cures just might.

Look at those ancient stones in front of the table with the cross, worn concave by hundreds of years of worshipers’ feet. My ancestors would have trod on those very stones.

Be still my heart.

I noticed some broken statuary, tucked respectfully into a corner, likely for protection.

It was probably whole when they worshipped here.

ChatGPT translated part of the French document about the church, which says:

To conclude, we take the opportunity to highlight two sculpted elements:

    • The statue of the Virgin of Pity (or Pieta) unfortunately amputated of the heads of Jesus and his mother (during the revolution?) dated from the 15th century. It was once painted in polychrome. Its execution quality is remarkable.
    • The lower fragment of the statue of Saint George or Saint Michael fighting the dragon (of which a clawed paw is visible at the back) also dated from the 15th century. The leggings and armored shoes of the fighting saint are perfectly visible.

As a little anecdote, one of these statues was found in a cache made in a wall of the church during work undertaken in the neighboring house.

Given that this does not look like a statue of Mary and Jesus, I’m presuming it’s Saint George or Saint Michael.

Regardless, given that it dates from the 1400s, and the French Revolution didn’t occur until 1789, this statue was very likely intact and installed someplace in the church here when Acadian ancestors lived.

This little area is the transition between the older and newer parts of the church. There’s a buttress rising above.

Rear steps in the original part of the church, but not the original doors, according to the church history. Piscinas for Holy Water, perhaps, on each side?

I don’t know what the worn-away areas are in the back walls of the little alcoves, but they remind me of generations of fingers that wore areas like this in the limestone in some of the Hospitalier buildings on the Camino de Santiago – worn away over centuries by those seeking blessings or communing with the Lord.

My ancestors climbed these steps.

I walked in their footsteps.

Me, at far right, taking it all in – or trying to.

I’m actually inside the church of generations of my ancestors. Where they began and ended their lives. Where they came to baptize, bury, and marry.

Jeanne Chebrat’s parents, who stood in this very church and baptized their daughter, were 11 generations removed from me, assuming that this Jeanne Chebrat is my Jeanne Chebrat. But there were untold and unnamed generations before her.

I don’t know when the “new” portion of the church was built, but the history says that the building was extensively remodeled in the early 1500s with the addition of the south chapel which is open to the choir. That means that this church, structurally pretty much as is, was here when Jeanne was baptized in 1627. The stained glass windows apparently came later.

Given that the church was originally built in the 1200s, it’s probable that another dozen generations of my ancestors worshipped here – and are buried outside.

As I sat in the front pew, I closed my eyes slightly, staring at the stained glass and transported myself back in time to hear the Priest as he would have baptized and buried so many generations of my ancestors.

I heard the droning of his voice, in unintelligible Latin, then the melodic singing of the church members.

These murals – I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I raised my gaze in awe as I saw what they saw. Trying with my vision to reach across the centuries.

What did they think?

They couldn’t read the Latin in the Bible, but they surely understood the drawn images on the murals.

Did they interpret them as encouraging or threatening? At least one, Saint Lucia, a martyr, is depicted being brutally killed.

I walked along the walls of the church to see what was in the little alcoves or niche, as the church’s document calls this.

Murals surround the statue. In the bottom of the alcove is a square hole and on either side are round ones.

The documentation states that this mural was degraded by what it refers to as a “large niche housing a liturgical sink.”

In old Catholic churches, holes in the bottom of alcoves are piscinas that allow the Priests to pour sacramental wine or Holy water used in and left over from masses into the wall of the church to return to the earth so that it could not be harvested for nefarious purposes, such as witchcraft.

These incredible murals were discovered a few years ago, but the church does not have the funds to restore them.

Dating from the 1200s, these murals were, until recently, hidden beneath plaster.

Here’s what the La Chausse document says about the murals, translated to English using ChatGPT:

While the entirety of the church walls seems to retain painted panels covered with several layers of plaster, only those of the oldest nave are currently considered worthy of being revealed. The others, more recent and more fragile, keep their mysteries and certainly their beauty. These narrative scenes on the walls of the western nave are authenticated from the late 13th century.

The south panel is truncated by the piercing of a large niche and the modification of the former opening. However, the north panel is almost complete.

The conservation states of the decorations are uneven, making the work of updating and restoration perilous. The oldest decor, depicting martyrs, occupies almost the entire surface of the two south and north walls of the first bay. These decors have been prioritized for conservation and presentation. To the north, it is partially covered by a very altered Saint Christopher, of which only the upper part of the body remains (estimated from the 16th century).

Unfortunately, the lower part was chipped away during the redoing of the plasters from the ground up to about 1.45m in height during the late 18th century. This Saint Christopher has been preserved as is as a punctual testimony but also because it was not wise to risk finding nothing underneath. The three adjacent registers occupy the entire wall (covered in the center by the 16th-century Saint Christopher). Only the left panel reveals a name: Saint Cecilia (Sancta Cecilia), while the right panel is too altered to allow any reading.

The south wall presents three well-visible panels, unfortunately degraded in the middle by the piercing of a large niche housing a liturgical sink, and also degraded along its entire length up to 1.40m from the ground. The three identified saints are martyrs: Saint Catherine (Sancta Catharina), Saint Anastasia (Sancta Anasta sia: the saint’s head is interspersed in the middle of the name), and Saint Lucy (Sancta Lucia). Executioners performing their grim task can also be identified.

I’d love to know more about the messages in these stunning old murals from centuries ago.

What stories were they trying to tell? Were they just religious interpretations from the Bible, or were there historical aspects from this region interwoven, too?

Who painted the murals?

Do other churches from this timeframe have murals?

How rare are these?

What were our ancestors told about them?

Notice the old iron candle holder, at far right, that would have lit the inside of the church in the darkness.

Look how thick these walls are.

This old window may have been original. The oldest windows in small churches often didn’t have colored glass, which was expensive.

My ancestors would have sat in these small pews, or similar ones, with their neighbors who were all family members, I’m sure, perhaps daydreaming as they looked out the windows. The sermon would have been in Latin, not French, so they had lots of time to think.

Is it going to rain?

I wonder if I should plant seed yet?

Is the cute boy two pews behind me noticing my new dress and bonnet?

Should I visit my sweetheart’s father and ask for her hand in marriage?

What if he says no? What do I do then?

Am I pregnant again?

I forgot to go to confession.

Should I go to the new world?

The extent of the oldest part of the church, the west nave, is seen here. These very old murals are only found in the oldest portion of the church, although apparently, some are still covered in the newer part.

The fact that experts don’t feel that they can uncover and save the newer murals makes me sad.

This is what my ancestors would have seen, looking towards the older end of the church from beneath the buttress, the dividing line between the newer and older.

Who sat where? Was there a hierarchy? Did the moms with babies sit near the doors? Did sinfulness or money matter, or was seating first come, first choose?

Notice the unevenness of the stones on the floor.

This is the only detailed photo I managed to take of the side chapel by the door in the new portion of the church. “New” is a matter of perspective, because even this new part built in the 1500s is older than America.

From the brochure:

The altar of the side chapel is the altar of the Virgin, as indicated by its monogram formed by the intertwined letters M and A (Ave Maria) and the statue of the Virgin with the Child.

This looks like a Crusader’s cross to me. That’s entirely possible, given that the Crusades occurred in the 1100s and 1200s.

Claude near the altar.

I wonder if the white statues in those alcoves above the two wooden doors were there when our ancestors worshipped here. I would presume that they were.

Unfortunately, I didn’t take closeups of the items on the altar as there was a lot going on up there. I felt a bit intimidated and didn’t want to get in the way. Of course, now I wish I had a photo of at least that Pieta – but I didn’t realize there WAS a Pieta until after I was back home.

Given that French is not my native language, I also misunderstood and thought that the newer part of the church was built after the Acadians left. It was not, but it was remodeled long after they departed.

Look at those ancient steps along the side wall of the new portion of the church and the blue remnants of a mural.

The Madonna and child.

Every mother and her child.

We listened to and sang a French Acadian song that had great meaning and brought tears to those who grew up Acadian or in the Acadian diaspora. Anne-Christine, one of our guides, is playing the music from her phone.

Jim took a photo of the group of cousins as they sang.

This church is actually quite small. Just a little country church. These always speak to me, more so than larger churches. I experienced a deep feeling of belonging.

We all felt that we had returned home.

Notice the darkened arched doorway, at right.

I’m going to explore. (I can’t even begin to tell you how many times this phrase has gotten me into trouble over the years.)

This is inside the arched doorway to the right in the new part of the church. I’m not sure what the small stone archway near the floor was.

It kind of looks like an old oven, but an oven would not be in a church and not on the floor.

The bell tower with a modern ladder reaching to the top.

Looking upward. Imagine the people who would have originally climbed all these levels to ring the bell on some type of wooden ladder.

Say your prayers first.

Having said that, I’m sure that every little boy aspired to climb the bell tower ladder and ring the bell. Maybe it was a rite of passage.

Plaque honoring the Brun and Braud line.

These people are not my ancestors, at least not that I know of, but with Acadians, you never know for sure about some of the unknown wives. Even if they weren’t directly my ancestors, since our families all lived within walking distance of this crossroads for time immemorial, you know they were all somehow related and probably many times over.

There’s an Acadian saying that is absolutely true, “If you’re related to one Acadian, you’re related to all Acadians.”

I am standing beside the first pew, looking back into the old portion of the church through the newer portion. By the 1600s, when Jeanne Chebrat was baptized here, the parishioners would probably not have realized that there was an older and a new portion of the church. The older portion had already been in place for several generations, and the oral history probably didn’t descend to them. For those people, all that really mattered was that this was their church and played a crucial role in their everyday lives. It was just “the church” that had always been there.

Given the large number of children born to each family, there were an equal number of baptisms and eventual deaths. Almost universally, those who didn’t die married. Many people would have visited the church multiple times each week, not just on Sunday.

The church bell summoned people and often announced a death. The local communications medium long before the phone.

I can see the spirits of my ancestors here.

This part of the church, to the rear beyond the arch, with the murals, is the oldest portion of the church from the 12th century. The church was built here only after people were settled in the region and, of course, after Christianity took root.

I wish I could put my feelings into words. Some combination of awe, gratitude, and a knowing in my soul.

I slipped quietly outside.

Something, or someone, was calling me.

“Daughter…follow me…”

“I’m coming!”

Exploring

Outside the church door, I turned right and stepped through the old archway, heading towards the rear of the church.

To the right is the original, oldest portion of the church, more than 800 years old.

Clearly, at one time, there was either another entrance or another chapel.

I turned and glanced in the other direction, to my left, and suddenly…I drew a sharp breath.

I knew exactly what I was seeing.

Glory be!!!

The old well.

Moreso than even the church, the communal well was the lifeblood of a small village.

No one, not man or beast, can survive without clean water.

This well would have provided life-giving water to my ancestors and their ancestors too.

I felt my mother standing beside me.

We stood there for a long time, just drinking everything in.

I didn’t want to move, because I didn’t want the feeling of Mom beside me to dissipate, but eventually, I had to.

I invited Mom to come with me on a walk.

The Walk

I decided to take a walk in this ancient ancestral crossroads and see what else awaited.

The spirits weren’t finished showing me around.

A beautiful cross marked the entrance to a walled communal park-like garden area by the church. This is the area marked on the old map with houses. I entered.

I was alone. No one else was here.

This, too, was ancient, and as I stood here, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the old cemetery. However, it’s probably more likely, given the ancient houses, that this was the communal yard in front of all of the homes.

The entire area was walled.

The archway at far left in the photo leads to the well. This would have been the original village and assuredly where the original villagers lived before expanding across the street from the church..

The back of these buildings shares the arched walkway with the wall of the church.

Whatever this was, it’s quite old and was here originally.

Original peasant homes were small and often shared with animals, or animals were housed in the other “half” of the building.

The walkway with the wood box area above probably at one time led directly to the church door. Today, this building is the village hall.

The back wall of this building is the side of the arched walkway.

The well is in this open archway that passed through to where I was standing earlier.

These beautiful, sacred old stones were placed in the surrounding wall by the inhabitants of La Chaussée. Building communal walls was probably a community effort.

The community bulletin board provides information to residents. I have no idea what it says.

However, the QR code takes you to this village link: https://lachaussee86.com/

That QR code seems like something from the far future here.

This grapevine may be as old as the building!

I desperately want to know what this is, but I have no idea. I also wanted one of those rocks but didn’t touch them. If there had been someone to ask if I could have one, I would have.

They’ve reinforced the original construction. You can see the foundation boulders, stones, and beams.

Windows, but no glass or shutters, so I’m not sure what this is.

This must have been the churchyard or a cross placed to bless and protect the villagers.

I can’t help but think of my mother.

I stood here for a very long time.

How my ancestors must have prayed for Divine guidance.

I turned around and crossed the courtyard one last time, thinking how many times my ancestors had done that exact same thing.

Through the Archway

I stepped through the covered archway that sheltered the well, into the area behind the church.

To my left was what remained of the churchyard, which was, at first glance, nondescript.

To the right was the beautiful old entrance to the church.

The flight of stone steps led down from these double doors to the double piscinas on both sides.

From the outside, it looks like this facade might have been added.

The report on the condition of the church contains information about this, the west nave entrance, and the required restorations to prevent further decay.

It was during the summer of 2016 that the municipal council considered undertaking works in the Church of Notre Dame de La Chaussée due to significant humidity rising from the ground, attributed to the building’s low-lying structure. This humidity is accompanied by severe contamination from microorganisms, such as green algae, at the lower parts of the walls and the floor of the west nave. This issue is also exacerbated by the absence of gutters on the entrance porch and by infiltrations on the building’s buttresses. Due to its listing as a historical monument, the designation of a heritage architect was necessary and mandatory. The various funding searches, administrative procedures, and various authorizations finally allowed the work to begin at the end of 2018. Major external drainage, roofing, and masonry work were planned, accompanied by essential archaeological research. Some remnants of objects and bones have been collected and are currently being dated in a specialized laboratory. Simultaneously, research for possible painted decors has been undertaken by specialists (Atelier Moulinier from Vendôme).

I’m dying to know about those bones! Whose bones are they, and how did they get there? Where, exactly, were they found?

You can see the church, along with the archway joining the church to the buildings alongside. These would have been the original village buildings, clustered together for protection. Of course, the well served them all.

Much of the area behind the church has been paved.

This now stone-filled archway may well have been the original entrance or perhaps a long-gone chapel.

The Crusades ended about the time the original church was built, but the Hundred Years War broke out not long after. It seems that France has never been peaceful, and the peasants had a LOT to pray about.

I turned around to walk behind the church.

The Churchyard

I stepped into the small grassy area between the church and the home behind the church.

The church has graciously placed benches, I’m assuming for both rest and reflection.

I walked into the grassy area, trying to determine if this had once been the cemetery. Was there any hint left, at all?

I turned around to see the church through beautiful blooming trees.

The blossoms framed the steeple beautifully.

Descendants of the people who lived here hundreds of years ago probably mingle outside on Sunday mornings now – much like our ancestors did in the past.

As I continued to walk around the church, I noticed the petals from the flowering trees had collected along the path.

Pink snowflakes mixed with the beautiful dandelions and other wildflowers that nourish the bees, descendants of the bees that nourished our ancestors with their honey a long time ago.

I couldn’t help but think of the analogy about the Acadians, blown on wild winds across the world, yet, finding our way back again.

This area, too, may have been the cemetery. One thing is for certain: it was one place or the other and adjacent to the church. I suspect, here, behind the church rather than in the other area due to the proximity to the well, the courtyard arrangement, and the villagers’ homes.

April is beautiful in France and touches the soul.

I noticed, from this view, the old iron support in the rear of the wall near the archway walk. That form of wall support is ancient, too.

The well is located in that archway.

The tiny cross on the original portion of the roof is visible here.

Sometimes it’s the little things. I suspect this was original and they all viewed this same cross – since the 1200s.

I turned around and noticed an iris blooming – one that looked exactly like Mom’s.

Yes, Mom was definitely here with me. I would have said a prayer for her soul, except her soul didn’t need a prayer.

Instead, I simply gave thanks for being here, for her strength in the face of unbelievable adversity, most of which has never been revealed.

Did she inherit that fortitude from these hearty people, survivors of the plagues, brave enough to forge on ahead to an unknown world?

God bless you, Mom.

Thank you for this sign.

Even as fully grown adults, sometimes we need the presence of our mother.

I smiled and walked around to the far side of the church.

You can see the window well that is probably 3 feet deep that one looks up into when inside the church. Those daydreaming windows.

This church was built into the slope of a hillside.

The bell tower is in the newer part of the church.

I was incredibly glad that I was able to take this sacred walk alone in the churchyard, especially finding the well.

The Walk

Next, I decided to walk down the small road.

The roads here are so small that they are paved, but there are no center lines. Pretty much everyone is courteous in the countryside, and no one needs lines.

Ancient walls whisper their secrets, amid the doors offering entrance into their mysteries. Houses were attached to the walls and often barns as well.

Was this perhaps where my ancestors lived?

Hundreds of years ago, someone had to be the first to build this beautiful “new” farmhouse when there was no more room in the little village enclosure beside the church.

The bowed roof tiles speak to the age of this building, as does the wrought iron support at left. Normally, these wrought iron devices, called tirants, from the verb tirer, to pull, were sunk into the beams of ancient walls to keep the stones from pulling apart near the beams, offering additional support. They usually correspond to upper beams, sometimes to floor levels in multi-floor buildings. Tirants can reach back into the Middle Ages and were still used in the 1500s.

Sometimes, in prosperous cities, the iron was shaped into a year, so a house built in 1592 would have four irons, each shaped into that number, and any extra irons would have been shaped into something decorative.

However, in the countryside, I saw no years, just lots of practical reinforcing tirants.

The newer concrete block structure almost looks obscene beside the building so full of character and heritage.

Peasant homes didn’t have glass panes, so they simply used shutters. Closed them at night and opened them in the morning. Many places still do, although most do have windows inside the shutters now. Last year, I saw a few in southern France that didn’t.

I’m so incredibly glad the current owners have preserved these old buildings with their centuries of history instead of simply tearing them down.

The maintenance must be unreal.

Sometimes one side looks to be from a different century than the other side.

My Dad used to maintain structures like this. He almost never tore anything down, even when he should have.

I love the old holes where the original beams, probably now long rotten, would have been. Even the newer portion on the road-facing side is probably hundreds of years old. The corner has clearly been reinforced.

When our ancestors lived there, this road would have been a simple cart path.

Peering around the corner into the barnyard. Beautiful blending of the old and new. I love the single old stone wall in the more distant building with the red tractor.

Another historic building saved.

Seeing this part of my ancestors’ lives makes me feel infinitely closer to them and what their lives were like.

Whoever you are that has preserved all this – thank you! My heart is bursting with gratitude.

All these buildings were one or two houses from the corner, if you count the church. When I said this was a crossroads village, I meant it literally. There is only one house/farm behind the church until you’re in the “country” with no more buildings for a long way. I’m headed back now – the church is on the right, just before the crossroads.

We’ve come full circle as the Rue des Acadiens sign is located on the wall at left at the corner by the white fence.

Across the road, on the opposite corner, we find a crucifix statue.

The Museum

The museum, attached to the church, is open and very welcoming.

I rejoined my cousins who were touring the museum.

The Acadian Museum shows life as the Acadians knew it.

The sign outside states their mission of retracing Acadian history, including everyday objects. The church “recalls the long prayers said when laborers and craftsmen set off from the towns of Aulnay, Martaise, La Chaussée, and St. Clair.

A bit of history.

It’s safe to say that d’Aulnay and Razilly changed the course of life for millions of people alive today.

Various headdresses worn by Acadian women.

Reproduction of Acadian food cooking in a fireplace.

An Acadian couple in front of their hearth.

An Acadian woman in traditional dress. She made all of the clothes for her family.

An Acadian man. Note the wooden shoes to prevent sinking in the marshlands. The marshlands of the Poitou prepared the Acadians for the marshlands of Acadia. That’s likely at least a part of why they were recruited.

A candleholder, clearly authentic and used.

La Have, the original seat of Acadia from 1632-1636.

Artifacts excavated from the site of the fort in La Have.

A piece of wood from the aboiteau, a type of dyke and sluice system used by the Acadians, from the homestead of Jacques Bourgeois in Beaubassin. He is also one of my ancestors.

We were only here a few hours, but what a world of difference it made.

Maison de l’Acadia translates to “House of Acadians,” but it’s really the home of the Acadians. Home is someplace you can always go back to.

The hospitality of the museum volunteers, most of whom we’re related to somehow, created a wonderful, educational day and truly made us feel at home.

While they were excited when we arrived, you can see their exuberance when we left. We all felt like we had made fast friends with our distant cousins. Much hugging ensued as we boarded the bus.

We couldn’t say thank you enough times.

There were more than a few misty eyes as we bid farewell, adieu, to our cousins at La Maison de l’Acadie.

It’s time to say goodbye, au revior, at least for now, to this tiny crossroads so vastly rich in personal and Acadian history.

_____________________________________________________________

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Claude Dugas (1649-1732), Acadian Octogenarian Armorer – 52 Ancestors #437

Claude Dugas lived more than four score years in Acadia and witnessed a lot of changes during his lifetime. Witnessed is probably far too weak a word.

Claude was born about 1649 in Port Royal to Abraham Dugas and Marguerite Doucet.

He married twice, the first time to Marie Francoise Bourgeois, daughter of Jacques (dit Jacob) Bourgeois and Jeanne Trahan, about 1673, and the second time, after her death, to Marguerite Bourg, the daughter of Bernard Bourg and Francoise Brun, about 1697.

Claude had at least 12 children with his first wife, Marie Francoise, my ancestor, and at least another 10 with his second wife, although the children’s birth years suggest that another 2 or 3 children were born to that marriage.

The early Catholic parish records of Port Royal were destroyed, so we extrapolate Claude and his family members’ birth years from the various census records where they are recorded.

Claude Reaches Adulthood

Immigration into Acadia occurred primarily between 1632, when France regained control of Acadia from the British, and 1654, when France lost control again. Most of the Acadian families, including Claude’s family, arrived during this window of time.

The French regained control of Acadia from the English again in 1667 and wanted a census. Thank goodness they did because the census are the first and sometimes the only records we have to reassemble our Acadian families

In 1671, Claude Dugas is 19 years old and living with his parents, Abraham Dugas (spelled Habraham Dugast) and Marie Judith Doucet. Two of his sisters have married, and Claude is the eldest of his 5 siblings still living at home. His father is an armurier, or gunsmith, and they own 19 head of cattle and 3 sheep. They live on 16 arpents of land.

The census shows them between Thomas Cormier and Rene Rimbault on one side and Michel Richard and Charles Melancon/Melanson on the other.

The village of Port Royal consists of 58 homesteads, quite small by today’s standards. Many of these people are related to each other by now, or soon would be, given that there had been no new French settlers arriving since 1654.

In the Port Royal census of 1678, Claude is missing, but based on where he was in 1679, we can fairly confidently say he had established a home in Beaubassin, a settlement founded by fellow Acadian and his father-in-law, Jacques Bourgeois.

By this time, Claude and Marie would have had two children, with a third probably on the way.

in 1679, in Beaubassin, Claude was a witness to his sister, Anne’s second marriage to Jean-Aubin Mignolt on April 26th. In that record, her surname is spelled Dugast. Her first husband was Charles Bourgeois, the son of Jacques Bourgeois.

In 1681, Claude’s daughter, Marguerite, was born and baptized at Beaubassin on March 19th. The date of her birth was not mentioned in the register, but she was likely born that day or the day before. Her godparents were “sieur Alexandre LeNeuf sr du Beaubasssin and Marguerite Bourgeois who named her Marguerite.”

The Dugas and Bourgeois families were heavily allied and intermarried.

High Drama!

In March 1682, the recently appointed seigneur of Beaubassin Michel Le Neuf de La Vallière sent a summons to eleven inhabitants to appear before the Sovereign Council of Quebec for having refused to accept concession contracts. These inhabitants, presumed to be heads of household who may have represented the entire settlement, were: Pierre Morin, Guyon Chiasson, Michel Poirier, Roger Kessy, Claude Dugas, Germain Bourgeois, Guillaume Bourgeois, Germain Girouard, Jean-Aubin Migneaux, Jacques Belou and Thomas Cormier. Le Neuf was attempting to impose typical seigneurial dues such as the corvée (obligatory labor), such as bulding mills or bake ovens, but was contested by the settlers who eventually won their case in court.

This fledgling settlement, comprised of three groups: Frenchmen, Acadians who had arrived from Port Royal with Jacques Bourgeois, and a few people imported by Le Neuf, might have been small, but there was still high drama.

One man, Francois Pellerin, experienced a long miserable death. Jean Campagnard was his farmhand. On his deathbed, Pellerin accused Campagnard of being a witch, blowing some mysterious substance into his eyes while they were working in the field as part of a diabolical plot to usurp his place as head of the household. Translated – Pellerin meant that Campagnard wanted to marry his widow. That accusation spurred more accusations, launching a “witchcraft hysteria” of sorts. Campagnard was eventually brought to trial in 1684, in which it was revealed that there was a plague in Beaubassin in 1678 that took the lives of several settlers. Coincidentally, 1678 is when accusations towards Campagnard peaked.

Campanard was apparently an outcast, but it’s unclear if that’s part of what spurred the witchcraft accusations, or was a result of such.

Jean-Aubin Mignaux, Claude Dugas’s brother-in-law, accused Campagnard of casting an incantation on his crops to cause a poor harvest. Campagnard said that if his crops failed, it was Mignaux’s fault for having farmed badly.

The Port Royal Bourgeois group tried to avoid this drama. Of the entire Acadian settlement from Port Royal, Germain Bourgeois was the only one to give a deposition in which he said, as a witness to Pellerin’s death, “The man was obviously delirious with fever. I did not take the accusation seriously.”

The trial in Quebec, which took place after Campagnard had been held in jail for 9 months, revealed a dark secret. Many if not most of the men who had accused Campagnard of sorcery owed him money and/or viewed him as a competitor, in the case of several suitors.

Campagnard was eventually cleared of the accusations and found not guilty, but he was also forbidden from returning to Beaubassin – a “punishment” he probably welcomed and was more than glad to honor.

Return to Port Royal

Whatever happened in Beaubassin, for some reason, Claude Dugas returned to Port Royal, although we don’t know if he intended to stay permanently.

In Port Royal in 1686, Claude, age 38, is living with Francoise Bourgeois, 25, with Marie, 12, Claude, 10, Francoise, 6, Joseph, 6, Marguerite, 5, Agnesse, 1, Jeanne, 3, and Anne, 7. They are living on 8 arpents of land with 25 cattle, 9 sheep, and a few hogs. They own 1 gun.

It looks like Francoise and Joseph might have been twins. Future censuses or eventual parish records might tell us more.

His neighbors are Marie Sale (Martin Aucoin’s widow), Antoine Landry, and Francois Broussard, and on the other side, Germain Terriot, Vincent Brun, and Francois Levron.

However, Claude still had one foot in Beaubassin where at “Chiqnitou dit Beaubassin”, he is recorded as owning 30 arpents of land and 8 cattle. Of the 11 men named in the 1682 summons, only one man, Guyon Chaisson is not listed in 1686. Nineteen other residences are recorded, with a total of 119 inhabitants.

Claude seems to have been the only settler to have returned to Port Royal, at least that we know about.

He might have regretted that decision.

The 1690 Attack

1690 was a banner year, and not in a good way. Claude lived right on the water as ships approached Port Royal, so he had a birds-eye view of everything.

Claude would have been 42 that year – a man in his prime.

The Battle of Port Royal occurred on May 19, 1690. The British attacked, and Port Royal was entirely unprepared. The fort was being rebuilt. They only had 70 soldiers in total, and of those, 42 were absent.

Sir William Phips, the English commander, sailed into the harbor with 700 men on seven warships. There was absolutely no question about the outcome.

The soldiers burned 28 homes in and around Port Royal along with the church, although they reportedly spared the “upriver farms” and mills. It’s unclear what exactly was meant by upriver at that time. The 1686 census of Port Royal enumerated 95 families that we know were spread from “beneath” Port Royal to today’s Bridgewater. This means that 30% of the homes were burned.

One thing is for sure, Claude’s land, #15 shown here on the Canadian Park Service website positioned in relation to Port Royal and other homesteads, was not upriver.

While the Acadians had been somewhat used to episodic attacks by the English, this was an exceedingly cruel act of warfare bent on devastation and destruction, not on “taking” Acadia so that life as normal could continue, just under English rule. Instead, the English soldiers tore the dikes down, ruined the fields and farms, killed livestock, and torched everything in sight. As if this devastation wasn’t enough, pirates followed shortly thereafter, burning, pillaging, and looting even more.

Phips didn’t want to simply control and occupy Port Royal. He wanted to conquer and destroy it. He succeeded. He kidnapped and loaded the local priest and some of the soldiers onboard his ship and returned with them to Boston.

Before leaving, Phips required a loyalty oath to be signed by the Acadian inhabitants. The priest took the petition with its signatures with him, and it wound up eventually in the Massachusetts archives where I found it in 2008. I transcribed it, here.

Along with his fellow countrymen, “Claude Dugats” signed with his mark. Most Acadians could neither read nor write. A total of 61 men signed. Of those, 45%, or nearly half, had their homes burned and their farms destroyed by pulling down the dikes that kept the seawater out.

I can only imagine the rage and animosity experienced by the signers as they penned their names or made their marks through gritted teeth. Clearly, they only signed under duress, threat of great harm. I was going to say under threat of death, but I’m fully convinced there are fates worse than death – and that’s what they were facing.

They must have truly hated the English.

Claude surely was thinking about his terrified wife and children. His elderly parents were likely burned out, if Claude and his family weren’t too. Claude’s father, Abraham’s signature is missing from the loyalty oath. I’m not sure what to make of this. Either he was incredibly brave in the face of danger, or he was injured or too ill to sign. Maybe he used his advanced age of 70 or 71 as an excuse why he couldn’t sign.

In the 1693 census, Claude and family are still living at Port Royal. He’s 44, his wife, Francoise Bourgeois is 34, and they have 11 children: Marie, aged 17, Claude, aged 16, Francoise, aged 14, Joseph, aged 13, Marguerite, aged 11, Anne, aged 10, Jeanne, aged 9, Agnes, aged 7, Francois, aged 5, Madeleine, aged 4, and Cecile, aged 1.

Claude is living with his parents who are listed as the head of household. Abraham Dugas is 74 and Marguerite Doucet is 66. The combined family owned 4 guns and was living on 26 arpents of land with 20 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 pigs. I suggest this is evidence that one or both families were burned out in 1690.

Based on the order of the census, they are living very near Port Royal. Beside them we find Michelle Aucoin, the widow of Michel Boudrot and on the other side, Charles Melancon and Marie Dugas, his wife. Jean Bourg is next to them.

You can see Claude’s land at far right, Boudrot to the left of him, and what I believe to be Abraham Dugas’s land at left. Here, he’s referred to as Abraham “armoire”, as best I can make out.

It’s impossible in 1693 to tell if the family is living on Abraham’s original land, or Claude’s, or if that’s really one and the same. Abraham’s land appears to be closer to Port Royal, so he’s more likely to have had his farm burned.

Abraham is now in his 70s, so he’s not likely to be actively farming anymore.

Hard Times

Claude’s wife, Francoise Bourgeois, died sometime between the 1693 census and the baptism of his first child with his second wife, Marguerite Bourg, about 1697. Francoise could have died in childbirth in 1695.

Claude was left with aged parents, no wife, and a dozen children, one of whom might have been a baby. If his fields had been ruined in 1690, they would only be beginning to be productive again as he rebuilt his dikes. After the death of Francoise, he would have wanted to remarry soon. It was a necessity.

He probably remarried about 1696.

Second Marriage

In the 1698 census, Claude is listed as age 49, Marguerite Bourg, noted as his second wife, is age 24, the same age as his eldest daughter who married about 1695. At home is Claude, 21, Joseph, 18, Marguerite, 17, Anne, 15, Jeanne, 13, Agnes, 12, Francois, 11, Madeleine, 10, Cecile, 8, Marie, 7, and Elisabeth, 3 months. Clearly, baby Elisabeth is Marguerite’s daughter. They live on 32 arpents of land with 25 sheep, 25 cattle, and 6 hogs. They have 20 fruit trees and 3 guns.

The ages of his two daughters, Cecile and Marie don’t match the 1693 census, but it’s reasonable to deduce that Marie would have been born later in 1693 or 1694 given that she wasn’t listed in 1693 and Cecile was 1.

They are listed beside Claude’s inlaws, Bernard Bourg and Francoise Brun, and two other Bourg families on one side, and Bonaventure Teriot and Francois Boudrot on the other.

Based on this, Marguerite Bourg clearly joined Claude’s household which was a productive farm. It’s also obvious that the census-taker was traveling by canoe and paddled across the river often. The Bourg family lived on the north side of the river and Claude Dugas lived on the south side beside the Boudrots.

Claude’s parents are not listed in the census which would lead me to surmise that they had both died, but I would be wrong.

In the 1700 census, we find Claude and his family living with his mother who is listed as head of household. Marguerite Doucet, widow of Abraham Dugast (no age given), Claude Dugast, 51, Marguerite Bourg (no age), Claude, 23, Francois, 12, Joseph, 2, Marguerite, 18, Anne, 17, Jeanne, 16, Agnes, 14, Madelaine, 11, Cecille, 8, Marguerite, 3. They have 3 guns, 40 cattle, 25 sheep, and live on 28 arpents of land.

They live between Bonaventure Terriot and Francois Aucoin on one side and Charles Melanson and Marguerite Martin, widow of Jean Bourg, on the other.

In the 1701 census, Claude is listed as 51, wife Marguerite, 30, Claude, 23, Francois, 13, Joseph, 2, Marguerite, 18, Anne, 14, Agnes, 13, Jeanne, 12, Marie, 11, Magdeleine, 10, Cecile, 9, They live on 12 arpents of land, have 3 guns, 20 cattle, 12 sheep, and 10 hogs.

They live beside Pierre Commeau and Germain Savoye on one side and Bernard Bourg flanked by Bonaventure Terriott and Francois Boudrot on the other. Louis Allain, who Allain (Alan) Creek is named for, lives beside Boudrot.

Karen Reader reports Stephen White citing that Claude is an armourer or gunsmith, like his father, as noted in his daughter Marguerite’s marriage record in 1701.

Dictionnaire Généalogique des Familles Acadiennes, Première Partie 1636-1714 – Stephen A. White – 2 vols., Moncton, New Brunswick: Centre d’Études Acadiennes, 1999 – p. 1156 Listed on daughter Marguerite DUGAS marriage contract (LOPPINOT) dated 11 Jan 1701 at Port Royal to be an “armurier.”

The Port Royal parish records don’t begin until 1702, so I’m curious where this record was found. I can’t locate it.

Claude Dugas is reported by researchers to be an armorer in the 1701 census as well, but Tim Hebert did not reflect that in his translation nor did I find it at the Canadian Archives Heritage site. This makes absolute sense, but needs confirmation. If anyone has a source or the documents, please let me know.

The 1703 census only provides the name of the head of household, if he has a wife and the number of boys and girls. Claude had 2 boys and 7 girls. One person in the houshehold is an arms-bearer. The family is listed beside Guillaume Blanchard and Germain Savoie on one side and Jacques Bonnevie and Jacques Michel on the other.

1705 Letter

This 1705 letter from Claude Dugas, found in the Acadian collection in the French archives, provides interesting information, including that Claude lived on his land for 60 years.

I asked ChatGPT to translate and transcribe this letter. If anyone can clarify either the translation or the meaning, please let me know. I’m all ears!

The named Claude Dugas
Heard in the council ordered by
an ordinance of the King’s prosecutor,
rendered on the fifth of March
that he and three other inhabitants
will have to transport a number of four men, the
King’s prosecutors of the country
on the 25th of October last,
in the arrest of the 24th of October in his
own name and by reading
and tending. What he has
he and his obliged the said
complainant to the said country. His
counterpart, he expects the amount
of the high mass and ill-treatment
of the parties and threats of the King.
To stop the bag and dispensation
Rousseau which passes in the middle.

of his lands which he has enjoyed
for sixty years fearing
that he might not make any ob.
threats he offered him payment
which is the currency of sales in
this country but the
prosecutor of the King never wanted
to receive it and he had to.
obliged to seek this money
in cash to satisfy him
which cost him a lot which
makes him a bad subject of
the country. The King does not pay
what he owes to the inhabitants except
in bills and above mentioned.

M. Lomag. T. Henry
begs to give order to the Capt. from
outside who must go to Acadia
to report what I have seen.

I don’t know if the last portion beginning with “M. Lomaq” is part of the Dugas entry or the beginning of the next one. I suspect it’s the following entry.

I sure would like to know what happened, and to better understand the meaning of this letter, including why it was written.

If indeed, Claude Dugas had lived on his land for 60 years, that meant he was also living on his father’s land. In 1705, Claude would have been about 55 or 56. He’s not even 60 years old. However, his father, Abraham was born about 1616, so this tells us that Abraham probably was living on this land in 1645, or even earlier. Maybe the letter-writer, assuming it actually was written on behalf of Claude, was trying to convey that Claude had lived his entire life on this land.

1707 – The Map Year

In the 1707 census in Port Royal, Claude Dugast is shown with his wife, 1 boy 14 or older, 2 younger boys, 2 girls 12 or older, and 4 younger girls. They live on 10 arpents of land with 30 cattle, 35 sheep, and 18 hogs. Claude has 3 guns.

They live beside Abraham Dugast, Vincent Terriot, and Francois Boudrot on one side and Alexandre Robicheau, La Libertie (aka Roy), and Charles Melanson on the other.

This Abraham Dugast is not his father, but his nephew, the son of his brother, Martin. He is reportedly the man labeled Grivois. Marais de grivois means swampland of grivois. You can see that it’s located just beneath his grandfather, Abraham’s land and not far from his uncle, Claude Dugas.

This amazing map was drawn in 1708 from the 1707 census.

It shows Claude Dugas’s land in detail, including which way his crops were growing and the path of the streams. He had significant holdings. You can also see his neighbor, Boudrot.

Zooming out, you can see Claude’s father-in-law, Bernard Bourg across the river, and then at left, what I believe is his father, Abraham, followed by what I believe is “armoire”.

Zooming out a little more, you can see the Melanson settlement at bottom right. Charles Melanson married Claude’s sister.

The provenance of the map is disheartening, though.

Port Royal was a lightning rod. It simply wasn’t safe. No one ever forgot what happened in 1690.

This could explain why Claude’s son, Claude Dugas, with wife Jeanne Bourg, is shown with 2 boys less than 14, 1 girl less than 12 on 6 arpents of land with 10 cattle, 7 sheep and 6 hogs in Cobequid.

He had left Port Royal for the next, hopefully safer, frontier.

Cobequid

Cobequid, now Masstown, was founded by the Bourg family and a few others. In 1707, there were two Dugas men married to Bourg females and one Bourg Male married to a Dugas female. Additionally, there were three other Bourg males and three other males married to Bourg females. Other surnames were familiar Acadian families: Blanchard, Theroit, Hebert, Guerin, Aucoin, Gautrot, and more.

Claude’s sons were responsible for founding the Dugas Village in Cobequid, very near the Bourg and Hebert Villages.

The Archaeology in Acadia Facebook group published the following:

What happened in 1707?

What fresh Hell was Claude living through?

Twice in 1707, the English tried to conquer Acadia. The French troops and Acadian men, assisted by the Wabanaki Confederacy, stymied their attempts, but it wasn’t without damage.

The first siege attempt began on June 6th and lasted 11 days. Inexperienced English commanders and their 1000 men could not land their cannons to fire upon the Acadian fort at Port Royal. Once again, Claude had front-row tickets.

As luck would have it, about 100 French soldiers were stationed at the fort, plus another 60 who were due to take command of a recently built frigate. Fortuitously, about 100 Abenaki Indians had arrived at the fort just hours earlier, a Native force that often defended Acadia. The local militia consisted of about 60 men and was quickly summoned.

The English attempted to form a siege line around the fort but were too distant. They marched towards the fort but wound up establishing camps about 1.5 miles (2.4 km) from the fort. Canadian Governor Subercase, whose horse had been shot out from under him the previous day, sent parties out of the fort to harass English foraging parties, giving rise to rumors that additional militia forces were en route from northern Acadia.

This map shows the approximate location of Claude Dugas’s homestead in relation to the fort.

The English departed, regrouped, and returned on August 22nd. This had given the Acadians time to prepare, and they were spitting mad. Luck was also with the Acadians. Pierre Morpain, a legendary French commander and pirate, or so-called privateer, arrived, adding his crew to the defenses, along with the “prize ships” and their cargo that he had captured. Those supplies were needed for the fort.

The English, now about 250 men less than in June, sailed into the bay on warships and dispatched 300 men to try to mount their cannons on land near the fort, but were unsuccessful. Subercase, now prepared, sent forces to harass them. Using guerrilla-style tactics and fire from the fort’s cannons, the English were forced to retreat to their camp

Nine English men were killed while cutting brush, whereupon their commander wrote that they were “surrounded with enemies and judging it unsafe to proceed on any service without a company of at least one hundred men.”

The English retreated to an unfortified camp protected by their ships, but even that didn’t work since the Acadians and Indians swarmed them with sniping attacks, probably appearing out of and disappearing into the marshes.

On the 31st, the English tried to make a second landing in a different location. Subercase himself led 120 soldiers out of the fort, where about 70 soldiers engaged the New Englanders in hand-to-hand combat. The Acadian men were outnumbered but relentless, wielding axes and musket butts.

The Abenaki leader and 20 of his men were wounded and five killed, but the English were cowed. They retreated onto their ships and high-tailed it back to Boston.

The French and Acadians, with their Indian friends, drove the English out of town and Acadia.

The Acadians and French, in their reports, claimed to have killed 200 English men, which would explain their rapid retreat, but the English claimed 16 killed and another 16 wounded.

The English were completely humiliated and embarrassed. They were met with jeers upon their arrival in Boston. Dudley’s commissioners were sarcastically called “the three Port Royal worthies” and “the three champions. Dudley pointed out that many plantations around Port Royal had been destroyed during the two sieges, so all was not a failure.

This assuredly could have meant Claude’s home and lands.

Claude would have been about 57 or 58. Being the feisty Acadian man that he assuredly was, I’m sure he was right there in the fort defending Port Royal along with the rest of the Acadian families. Still, I’m sure he dreaded starting over yet again.

According to the 1707 census, there were 102 married men in Port Royal. The English warships that had their butts whipped by French farmers returned to Boston among ridicule. Unfortunately for Acadia, all this did was strengthen the reserve of the English.

The Acadians had defended Port Royal and won the battle, but…

1710 brought the end of French rule in Acadia with the heartbreaking Siege of Port Royal, in which the French were overpowered and surrendered to the English.

This time, it was the English who were prepared. Despite requests for reinforcements, France did not send additional ships nor troops. They should have.

This 1710 map shows the details of the Riviere du Dauphin just west of the fort.

I suspect that today’s Ryerson Brook is the former Dugas Creek or River on the 1710 map, across from the Melanson Village.

This map showing the 1710 siege plan includes the Dugas habitation. The area looking like fields on the map is noted as “large areas of morrases that by draining and daming out the high tides have made a great part arable.”

The 1710 census shows Claude with his wife, 4 male children, and 3 female children living beside Francois Bodrot (Boudrot) on one side and the Allain family on the other.

Here’s a contemporary map showing the Melanson settlement, a red star by the Ryerson Brook, and Allain’s Creek.

I bet someone in Nova Scotia knows exactly where the old Dugas village was actually located. I wonder if wildflowers grow among the remnants of the foundation stones of their homes.

In 1714, Claude Dugas is listed with his wife, 4 sons, and 5 daughters. They live beside Bernard Bourg and Abraham Bourg on one side and Francois Dugas and De Laurier on the other.

The last census was taken in 1714. The English were now in charge, and no further censuses were taken. However, beginning in 1702, we have parish records that record births, marriages, and deaths.

In 1714, Claude would have been about 65 years old, and his wife, 40. They may have lost a child in 1714, as the previous child was born in 1712. Marguerite would bring their last child into the world in November of 1715 when Claude was about 66.

We know little about what happened in Claude’s world for the next several years except that he and Marguerite were raising his second family of children.

Claude’s Children

Claude’s children scattered throughout Acadia and his descendants, across the globe.

Child Birth Death Spouse Grandchildren
Marie Dugas C 1674 1733 Mines, Grand Pre Philippe Melanson c 1695 Grand Pre 11
Claude Dugas C 1577 Bef Nov. 1723 Cobequid Jeanne Bourg 1702 Grand Pre 5
Francoise Dugas C 1679 Aft 1751 prob after 1755 Rene Forest 1695 Port Royal 14
Joseph Dugas 1680 Port Royal, lived in Cobequid C 1765, St. Martinville, LA Claire Bourg 1699 Port Royal 12
Marguerite Dugas 1681 Beaubassin Bef 1729 Grand Pre Jean Melanson 1701 Port Royal 12
Anne Dugas C 1683 Port Royal Abt 1710 Cobequid Abraham Bourg 1704 Cobequid 3
Jeanne Dugas C 1684 Abt 1726 prob Niganiche (Ingonish) Pierre Part, 1707 Port Royal, lived in Louisbourg 6
Agnes Dugas C 1686 Aft Nov 1734 Port Royal Michel Thibodeau 1704 Port Royal 15
Francois Dugas C 1688 Aft 1734 Claire Bourg 1713 Port Royal 11
Madeleine Dugas C 1689 1766 Becancour, Quebec Jean Hebert 1704 Port Royal 14
Marie Dugas C 1691 Bet 1763 Maryland census and 1772 Richelieu, Quebec Abraham Bourg 1709, Claude Broussard 1754 Port Royal 12
Cecile Dugas C 1692 1760 Riviere-Ouelle, QuebecCanada Claude Brun 1709 Port Royal 13
Second Wife
Elisabeth Dugas 1697 Feb 1733 Port Royal, same day as her son Pierre Aubois 1717 Port Royal 7
Joseph Dugas 1700 Cobequid? Abt 1759 ? Marguerite Coste 1725 Port Toulouse, Isle Royal 3
Marguerite Dugas C 1702 C 1765, St. James Parish, LA Barthelemy Bergeron 1721 Port Royal 12
Louis Dugas 1703 1740 Port Royal Marie Josephe Girouard 1734 Port Royal 3
Claire Dugas 1706 Aft 1767, in Salem Mass in 1756 Charles Amireau or Amirault 1726 Port Royal 4
Marie Anne Dugas 1707 Mass 1755-1763, died 1772 Quebec City Charles Belleveau Oct 1732 Port Royal 9
Charles Dugas 1709 After Aug 1763 at either Fort Beausejour or in LA Anne Robichaud Jan 1732 Port Royal 9
Marie Dugas C 1711 Held hostage in Halifax 1763, Haiti 1765, died 1777 Cavabicey, LA Augustin Bergeron c 1729 4
Claude Dugas 1712 1786 Quebec City Marguerite Boudrot 1734 Port Royal 7
Michel Dugas 1715 1758 Mass, died 1801 Rimouski, Quebec Elisabeth Robichaud 1742 Port Royal 6

Claude is unusual in that he was literally begatting children for more than 40 years and had 22 children that we know of.

Amazingly, all 22 lived to marry and produce offspring.

His oldest child married about 1694 and blessed him with his first grandchild in 1696, about the same time he remarried to his second wife. He had grandchildren older than his younger set of children.

His daughter, Marie Anne, married on October 14, 1732, just two days before the priest penned Claude’s burial record.

All but three of his children married before his death, which is pretty remarkable given that his last child was born when he was 66.

We’re nearly certain that a few of his children died as infants or were stillborn, given the gaps in birth years.

Five of Claude’s adult children died before he did. None of them lived in Port Royal which would be renamed to Annapolis Royal in 1710, so while he probably heard about their deaths, he would not have been able to attend their funerals and celebrate their lives. Or mourn their deaths.

Two children died someplace in Acadia before the deportation. We don’t know what happened to four more, or where. An amazing 11 and probably 12 survived to the 1755 deportation. I don’t know if that was a blessing or not. I surely hope so, but I fear otherwise.

Of course, that gut-wrenching legendary expulsion was horrific. Rounded up like livestock, losing everything, watching your homes and farms burn as you were forcibly separated from your family and loaded onto ships, setting sail for destinations unknown.

Some of Claude’s children were themselves elderly by that time. Francoise would have been about 76, and Joseph was about 77. No spring chickens. Yet, Joseph lived another decade and died about 10 years later in St. Martinville, Louisiana. Sadly, we lose Francoise entirely.

Claude’s children were indeed scattered to the winds of fate.

We know that six eventually made it to Quebec, but that doesn’t mean they even knew their siblings were there. The locations were distant.

We know that Claire was in Massachusetts, but we don’t know anything else, so we should probably presume that she died there.

Three made it to Louisiana. I can’t help but think of Louisiana, then held by the Spanish, ironically, as the Acadian promised land, where the Acadian survivors, at least some of them, gathered and reunited once again.

Charles either died at Fort Beausejour on the Isthmus of Chigneco, where his family was held, or in Louisiana, where some of his children later found refuge. Fort Beausejour, near Fort Lawrence, was where the families from Beaubassin were imprisoned.

Marie and her family were held hostage in Halifax where they were listed as such in 1763, then shipped to Haiti where we find them in 1765, then found their way to Louisiana where she died in 1777. I wonder if she was able to connect with any of her siblings or their children.

What an incredibly joyful reunion that would have been – but oh, the heartache of not knowing the fate of your family members.

For Claude’s children, their days in Acadia, even though they were difficult and fraught with challenges, would turn out to be the good old days. At least they were together. At least they knew if each other was alive.

Claude had an amazing 192 known grandchildren. Assuredly, there were more, especially by his younger children who were still actively having children in 1755 when Le Grand Derangement began, and their lives went up in smoke. It’s a sure bet that Claude had more than 200 grandchildren and quite possibly quite a few more than 200.

The Genealogy Sin

Claude committed one of the great sins of genealogy – he named children with both wives the exact same name. The children probably had nicknames, and they may have had middle names when they were baptized, but since many were born before the existing church records kick in, we have no way of knowing.

I guess both wives wanted a daughter named Marie – but it’s even worse than that. EACH WIFE had two daughters named Marie. Seriously. At least one of them was named Marie Anne.

I guess if you called Marie, either four people answered or no one answered.

There were two sons named Claude, two named Joseph and two daughters named Marguerite too. There was Anne and Marie Anne, but do you call that poor girl Marie or Anne because she already has siblings by both names?

Only 11, or half of the children, didn’t have a duplicate name with a sibling.

Good Heavens!

Claude’s Death

It’s difficult to mourn the death of a man who was in his late 80s or maybe even 90 and had survived so very much to die as an old man surrounded by his family. I think of it more as the final chapter of a well-worn and much-loved book closing.

Claude was able to watch all of his children grow to adulthood, at least the ones who survived beyond infants. His parents lived to be elderly as well. He visited the cemetery less often than his contemporaries, despite having more children. In that respect, he was a very fortunate man.

He probably narrowly escaped death more than once himself, but escape he did.

He did bury his first wife and perhaps a baby with her, which had to have stabbed him in the heart.

Still, he had to go on because animals needed to be fed, crops needed to be sewed and harvested, and there was no time for lingering grief after the funeral.

Claude died and was buried in the cemetery by the church in Port Royal, as shown on this 1686 map, on October 16, 1732. He was approximately 86 (one translation says 90) years old, which means that he was born about 1646 – or perhaps as early as 1642.

Just two days before his death, his daughter, Marie Anne, had married Charles Belleveau, spelled Belivau in the record. I checked to see if Claude had been a witness, but he was not. I do wonder if the priest performed the marriage at Claude’s home so that he could be in attendance, presuming he was frail.

Of course, Claude might not have been frail or ill at all. He could have been healthy right up until the end.

Claude’s burial entry from the registers of St. Jean-Baptiste, the parish church in Annapolis Royal, reads:

L’an mil sept cents trente deux et le sesieme
de octobre je — soussigné ay inhumé
dans le cemitiere du le paroisse de St. Jean
Baptiste Claude Dugast agé ? quatre
vingt-six ans. Le que a donné les marque ?
bon chrestien.

Jacque La Lache missionnaire

Google translation:

The year one thousand seven hundred and thirty two and the sixteenth
of October, by the undersigned priest has been buried
in the cemetery of the parish of St-jean
Baptiste Claude Dugast aged around four
twenty and ten years the quey gave marks of a
good christian

jacque lessclache missionary

Dugas Village

When you have 22 children and upwards of 200 grandchildren, and you live on land adjacent to your father and brothers – it’s no wonder that you wind up having a village named after your family.

The location of the Dugas Village is still shown on this 1741 map, as are the Fort and Allen’s Mill, seen at far bottom right.

I can’t help but wonder if the crosses are chapels, but there seem like an awful lot of crosses for that if you view the larger map.

A 1757 map shows the Dugas Village as Ryersonville, which today either is or is near Upper Clements, or Clementsport, an English settlement founded after Clements Township was set out in 1784. The early name for the community was Ryersonville after early settlers.

I love MapAnnapolis, and I mean LOVE in all caps. They have a wonderful Facebook page, here, where I found this detailed description of the location of both Abraham and Claude’s land. Hallelujah!!!

The rail trail cuts through this land, which means visitors today can drive down the Evangeline Highway or ride or hike the trail, which is located closer to the coastline.

Claude may be gone, buried in an unmarked grave in the churchyard, and his village dissipated after the Acadian removal in 1755 – but he still lives on in the memory and DNA of his descendants.

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Françoise Dugas (1679-after 1751): Goodbye Port Royal – 52 Ancestors #426

Françoise was born about 1679 in Port Royal, the daughter of Claude Dugas and Françoise Bourgeois.

The first record we find of Françoise Dugas is the 1686 census, where she is living with her parents and seven siblings on eight arpents of land in Port Royal, on the peninsula of what is now Nova Scotia. They have 25 head of cattle, 9 sheep, and 11 hogs. She is 8 years old. The family is doing well.

It looks like they may be living near or even in the Melancon/Melanson Settlement, today a historic site, given that in the census, they are living beside Charles Melancon who has married Marie Dugas, a sibling to Claude.

The 1690 Upheaval

In 1690, Françoise was about 10 years old, give or take a year.

Warfare between England and France on the soil of Acadia was just the way life was. An odd form of normal. Always on edge. Always watchful but at the same time carrying out the routines of everyday life. Everyday life is what fed your family. Protecting your farm enabled you to feed your family. The English were always trying to take Acadia, and then the French were always trying to take it back. Rinse and repeat.

Having reverted to French control in 1670, English warships attacked Acadia once again in May of 1690, surprising the unprepared Acadians.

Before approaching the town, William Phips, the fleet’s commander, made contact with Pierre Melanson dit Laverdure, a bilingual French Huguenot. Phips determined the town’s condition, then weighed anchor and sailed further into the bay and up to the town, today’s Annapolis Royal, where the fort was located.

Given where they lived, Françoise would have seen the huge ships passing by. Was she fascinated or terrified?

Fort Anne, which normally stood sentry over the town and harbor, was being torn down and rebuilt. Less than 70 French soldiers were in the garrison, 42 of whom were absent at that time. The French couldn’t defend themselves and surrendered.

After the surrender, the English breached the surrender terms, plundered and burned the town and fort, and desecrated the church after promising they wouldn’t.

In Phips own words, “We cut down the cross, rifled the Church, pulled down the High-Altar, breaking their images,” and on May 23rd, “kept gathering Plunder both by land and water, and also under ground in their Gardens.”

Clearly, the English meant business and behaved in an incredibly cruel manner – unlike the style of warfare the Acadians had been used to in the past. 28 homes and the church succumbed to flames, but the mills and upriver farms were spared, whatever “upriver” meant. Was the Dugas home burned? I would guess that it was, given that we know they lived near the fort and town.

Many Acadians hid in the forest. Françoise may well have been among them. Phips threatened them, and fearing slaughter, they came out of the woods and returned to their homes.

Following the devastation, the English required a loyalty oath to the English King. Phips ordered that his soldiers “burn, kill and destroy” anyone who refused to take and sign the oath.

Men signed out of self-preservation. Françoise’s father, Claude Dugas, and her future husband, René Forest, both signed. They had little choice if they wanted to keep their farms, livestock, and their lives – or whatever of that was left.

Françoise witnessed all of this as a young child.

Later Censuses

Changes from the 1686 to the 1693 census may well have resulted from the English burning so many homes in 1690 and the subsequent pirate attacks that resulted in more devastation.

In 1693, Françoise was 14 and is listed in the census with her parents and her elderly grandparents, Abraham Dugast and Marguerite Doucet, on 26 arpents of land – quite a bit more than in 1686. She now has 10 siblings. The family owns 4 guns but only owned one 7 years earlier and has 20 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 pigs. This is clearly a combined household. In the 1686 census, her grandparents had been living alone.

In 1697, the French once again took control of Acadia.

The next census in which Françoise appears is 1698, after she married René Forest. His age is listed as 28, and hers as 20, which, based on their children’s ages, means she married at about 17 in about 1695. Daughter Marie is 2, and Marguerite is 1. They are doing well, especially for a young couple, with 18 cattle, 22 sheep, and 2 hogs. Unlike before, the census lists 40 fruit trees, and her husband owns 2 guns.

Five years later, in 1701, Françoise, now 22, has two more children: Marie is 5, Marguerite is 4, Joseph is 3, and Francois is 1. They farm 6 arpents of land, have 1 gun, 23 cattle, 18 sheep, and 3 hogs.

Two years later, in 1703, they reportedly have 4 sons and 4 daughters with one arms-bearer, who is clearly René.

In 1707, they had 4 males under 14, 2 girls less than 12, 8 arpents of land, 14 cattle, 24 sheep, and 15 hogs. They also had one gun.

In 1714, the last census, which, unlike the others, was ordered by the English, they had 10 children, 5 boys and 5 girls. Very little information is contained in the census, probably due to what happened in 1711,

Acadia Falls

In our mind’s eye, we see a peaceful census taker visiting each farm, climbing out of his canoe, waving as he approaches the house, and chatting with his neighbors. That belies what was actually going on in Acadia during this entire time. Acadia was never peaceful.

For example, let’s look at what happened in 1711 that clearly affected all of the Acadians.

Françoise Dugas’s aunt, Madeleine Dugas (1664-1738) married Germain Bourgeois (1650-1711) about 1682 in Port Royal. By 1686, they were living in Beaubassin with the other Bourgeois family members, who had created a village there.

The men from this village, eventually called Bourgeois Village, visited Port Royal from time to time. Among other reasons, their family members lived there.

On September 24, 1710, the English once again attacked Port Royal with 5 warships and 3400 troops. The Acadians, with 300 soldiers, which consisted of all able-bodied men, stood absolutely no chance. A siege began. The English blockaded Port Royal. Battles ensued for the next month, but on October 12th, the beleaguered Acadians surrendered. The British allowed the soldiers, which would have assuredly included René Forest and the rest of the Acadian men, to surrender the fort and leave, with their flag flying,

One of the terms of surrender stated that inhabitants within cannon-shot, 3 English miles, could stay for 2 years. This meant they had two years to move their “moveable items” to a French territory, which at that time was any of the rest of Acadia, including the Minas Basin. 481 Acadians pledged allegiance to the Queen of England, and the French troops left Port Royal, now renamed by the English to Annapolis Royal.

It would always be Port Royal to the Acadians.

450 English soldiers remained, but they clearly didn’t want to be there. By June of 1711, only 100 were left – the rest having either deserted or died.

By Verne Equinox – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10531352

On June 21st, a contingent of British soldiers was ambushed and killed at “Bloody Creek,” upriver about 15 miles, and ironically, where René Forest’s Village would later be drawn on a map.

Sixteen British were killed, 9 injured, and the rest captured, supposedly by the Mi’kmaq – although the Indians and Acadians were very closely allied.

About this same time, Acadians Guillaume Bourgeois, Jean Comeau, and Pierre LeBlanc of Annapolis, Germain Bourgeois of Beaubassin, and Francois Brassard of Chipody (who were passing through Annapolis) were arrested, reportedly for capturing a British soldier.

A descendant reports that Germain was held in the subterranean Black Hole at Fort Anne, originally a powder magazine, for several weeks. While his son, Guillaume, and the others were released, Germain died as a result. I can’t even begin to fathom that torture.

Writ large, we don’t know the outcome of this incident, but I decided to see if I could locate any corroborating evidence. As it turns out, the parish death records provide a clue.

Germain Bourgeois 1711 death

The priest, Father Durand, had been kidnapped and taken to Boston in January 1711, so deaths during his absence were not recorded on the day that they occurred. Nonetheless, we find that the priest later entered a burial record for Germain Bourgeois and the others who had perished during this time. “Died 1711, died during Durand’s captivity at Boston.”

A Bourgeois book by Paul-Pierre Bourgeois, page 72, states that Germain “d 1711, Port Royal, en prison comme hôtage du serment d’àllégence (61a)”. This translates into something like “he died in prison as a hostage for the oath of allegiance.”

To add insult to injury, without a priest, there was no one to perform the traditional Catholic Mass for Germain. The family would have made do, somehow, and buried him in the cemetery near his parents, who had died just a few years earlier – if they were able to have a funeral at all.

Françoise would have attended whatever service they had, standing by her mother and aunt who had children ranging in age from 28 to the baby, who was just three.

He died for being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and Acadian. There was no evidence he had been involved in the capture of the soldier.

Organizing the Census Data

The only avenue we have to discern birth dates of individuals born before parish records began is to correlate their ages across multiple census years. That’s also how we determine how many children were born to a family.

Françoise is with her parents in 1686 and 1693, but married before the 1698 census.

Family Member Birth Year 1686 1693 1698 1701 1703 1707 1714
Françoise Dugas 1679 6 – born 1680 14 – born 1679 20 – born 1678 22 – born 1679 4F & 4M 4M<14, 2F<12 5F & 5M

 

Rene Forest 1670 28 31
Marie Forest 1696 2 born 1696 5 F1 F1 F1
Marguerite Forest 1697 1 born 1697 4 F2 F2 F2
Joseph Forest 1698 3 born 1698 M1 M1 M1
Francois Forest 1700 1 born 1700 M2 M2 M2
Unknown male Forest 1701 M3 gone
Unknown male Forest 1701/2 M4 gone
Unknown female Forest 1702/3 F3 gone
Unknown female Forest 1702/3 F4 gone gone
Mathieu Rene Forest Jan 1704 M3 M3
Jacques Forest June 1707 M4 M4
Marie Madeleine Forest June 1709 F3
Elisabeth Forest 1710 F4
Unknown male Forest 1711/2 M5
Catherine Josephe Forest May 1713 F5
Anne Forest May 1715
Pierre Forest July 1717
Jean Pierre Forest July 1719
Space for child Forest 1721
Charles Forest Oct 1723

The number of children listed in the census, especially in 1703 is confusing. If they had four named children with ages listed in 1701, two males and two females –  how did they have 8 children, four of each, two years later?

Four years later, in 1707, they had six children, but we know that children died often.

I suspect 1703 is simply wrong, or someone else’s children were counted as theirs that day. Unfortunately, 1703 doesn’t include the children’s names and ages.

As best we can tell, Françoise had at least 15 children, probably 18 and possibly 20. We only know the names of 13. We know for sure that four died as children, and another four may have died as adults before Françoise.

After their marriage, René and Françoise have the following resources listed in the census.

Item 1698 1701 1707
Arpents of land 16 6 8
Fruit Trees 40
Cattle 18 12 14
Sheep 22 18 24
Hogs 2 3 15
Guns 2 1 1

It’s interesting that in 1698, they have 16 arpents of land under cultivation and 40 fruit trees. Almost every family has fruit trees listed. Champlain’s men brought apple seeds with them in 1605, and by 1633, trees were planted in the Annapolis Valley.

In 1701, less land is listed, and no fruit trees – but neither are fruit trees listed for any other family. Maybe that accounts for the difference in the amount of land under cultivation, too. No fruit trees are listed in 1707 either, so 1698 provides us with a special glimpse of life in Acadia.

Françoise’s Children?

Like most women of that era, Françoise spent most of her adult life caring for her husband and children. Life, especially life with children, required a partnership between two people. One worked the fields and took care of things, literally, outside the house, and the other bore and nursed the children, made clothes, cooked, and kept the household in order. Families were large, in part due to the lack of modern birth control and the tenets of the Catholic church, combined with the need for children to become “hands” to help their parents.

Children raised in a farm culture looked forward to being old enough to help in some capacity. Being permitted to do different chores were rites of passage.

Marie de Forest was born about 1696, died Feb 1, 1770, in Montreal, Quebec, married Joseph Robichaud (Robichaux) (c 1794-1768) on Feb 7, 1718, in Port Royal, and had 9 children.

Marie Forest Robichaux marriage

Marguerite Forest was born about 1697 (per the 1698 census) and died May 27, 1747 in Port Royal, about 47 years old (per her death record). Witnesses were Claude Bourgeois and Francois Forest, her brother, and she was buried the following day.

She married on January 19, 1724 to Pierre Bastarache (1702-1751) and had 6 children. The last child was born in 1738 when she would have been 41 years old.

One of her sons, Michel Bastarche, was deported to SC with his brother, but they returned to Acadia quickly by 1756. He died there at age 89. Apparently, his two sisters remained in Acadia.

Joseph Forest was born about 1698, died January 10, 1732 in Port Royal, aged about 32, married Marie Jeanne Guillebaud (1701-1763) on November 25, 1720 and had 4 children. His wife remarried in 1737 to Francois Girouard and had two additional children. She was buried on November 27, 1763 in Cherbourg, Manche, Normandy.

Joseph Forest Guilbaud 1720 marriage

On July 6, 1723, Marie Joseph Forest was born to Joseph Forest and Marie Guilbaud with godparents Charles Guilbaud, father of Marie Guilbaud, and her grandmother, Françoise Dugas, mother of Joseph Forest.

Francois de Forest was born about 1701, died October 22, 1777 and was buried two days later at L’Assomption, Quebec, Canada, aged about 77. He married Jeanne Girouard (1709-1767) on October 20, 1727, age 26, with witnesses Alexandre Girouard, Antoine Blanchard, René Forest and Pierre Le Blanc, son of the late Pierre Le Blanc. They had 9 children.

1701/1702 child or children unknown

Parish records in Port Royal begin in 1702. Four years between children tells us that a child was born about 1702 and died.

The first child whose birth is recorded in the church records is Mathieu.

Mathieu René Forest was born January 11, 1704, and was baptized on April 20th with godparents Mathieu de Goutin, lieutenant general of this province, and Renee Bertrant dit de Forest (who is this person?). Is the name Bertrant a clue to a different surname and is Forest entirely a dit name?

Forest Mathieu 1704 birth

Mathieu married on January 19, 1728, to Marie Madeleine Guilbeau (born 1712) with witnesses René Forest, Joseph Forest, brother of the groom, Jacques Forst, son of the said René Forest and brother of the groom, Charles Guilbaut, and Charles Guilbaut, the son, brother of the bride. They had two known children, born in 1728 and 1740. He appeared on the 1763 census of Connecticut.

Jacques Forest was born June 21, 1707 and baptized on July 19th in Port Royal with godparents Sieur de Teinville, lieutenant of a company and Jeanne Dugast, wife of La Forest.

He married on January 25, 1734, to Marie Josephe LePrince (born in 1715) with wintesses Claude Granger, Pierre Lanoue, Ambroise Beliveau, René Forest, Pierre Granger.

Jacques Forest and his family were deported to Connecticut in 1755 where he appears on the 1763 census.

Marie Madeleine (Magdelaine) Forest was born June 30, 1709, and was baptized on July 3rd with godparents Francois Dugast and Magdelaine Dugast, wife of Jean Hebert.  She married Pierre Guilbeau (1704-1758) on January 21, 1731, with witnesses Charles Guilbaut, son of Charles Guilbaut, brother of the groom, Alexandre Guilbaut, son of Charles Guilbaut, brother of the groom, René Forest and Jacques Forest, his son.

Forest Marie Madeleine Guilbaut 1731 marriage

She died on March 27, 1758, the day after Easter, in Quebec, age 48, and was buried the next day in Bellechassse. Her husband and three children died in the same week. Her son, Jean-Baptiste, age 16, died the same day as his mother. Her husband died 9 days later, on April 5, 1758. Joseph died three days before his father, on April 2nd, about age 7, and Ursule, 14 years old, died the day after her father, on April 6th. What an incredibly grief-filled week. I wonder what took the family and if neighbors were dying, too. I can’t imagine being the two barely adult children left and having to deal with the magnitude of this loss. 

Elisabeth (sometimes Isabel) Forest was born about 1710 and died on September 12, 1767 in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec. She married under the name of Isabelle to Honore LePrince (1717 – c 1756), son of Jean Le Prince and Jeanne Blanchard on November 24, 1738, in Port Royal with witnesses René Forest, father of the bridge, Jean Le Prince, father of the groom, Pierre Forest, Paul Blanchard, Joseph Le Prince.

Forest Isabelle LePrince 1738 marriage

They had two known children. Their daughter, Marie Jeanne Victoire, married Francois Cornier in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec, on January 7, 1760, so they were there by then. Another daughter married another Cormier male in the same place in 1771.

Catherine Josephe Forest was born on May 17, 1713 in Port Royal and was baptized the same day with godparents Claude Girouard and Isabelle Broussard.

She married Claude Gaudet (1713-1786) on August 18, 1737 with witnesses René Forest, father of the bride, Bernard Godet, father of the groom, Pierre Forest, Paul Blanchard, Isabelle Forest and Madelene Tibaudot.

Forest Catherine Josephe Godet 1737 marriage

They had 8 known children. Some may have been born after the deportation. This family is on the list of Refugees at Camp L’Esperance in 1756 and 1757. They are at Fort Edward in 1761/1762 with three in their household and settled at St-Jacques-de-Cabahannocer, Louisiana.

Karen Theriot Reader reports that Catharine Josephe died in Louisiana, and her name is recorded on the Acadian memorial Wall of Names where she is listed along with Claude and one child as early Acadian immigrants to Louisiana. Two of their children are known to have died in Louisiana, but the balance are unknown. She does not appear on the January 1, 1777 census at St. James, LA, but Claude died there before May 2, 1786.

Anne Forest was born May 3, 1715, and was baptized the following day with godparents Claude Brossard and Marie Forest.

She married on January 25, 1740, to Joseph LePrince (1719-1781) in Port Royal, son of Jean LePrince and Jeanne Blanchard, with witnesses René Forest, Jean Le Prince, and Simon Le Blanc. He died on May 24, 1781, in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec, aged 62.

Forest Anne LePrince 1740 marriage

This family escaped the deportation by fleeing to Miramichi in New Brunswick. Her husband and children are noted on the passenger list in Quebec in July 1757, but Anne is not. Anne had died by the time her daughter, Marie-Joseph, born in October 1753 in Port Royal, died in Quebec on January 5, 1758, and probably died during their time in Miramichi.

Pierre Forest was born July 10, 1717 and was baptized provisionally by Claude Teriot. On August 1st he was baptized by the priest in Port Royal with godparents Guillaume Blanchard and Jeanne Richard.

Forest Pierre 1717 baptism

He married on June 30, 1744 to Marie Madeleine Richard (1718-1761) in Port Royal with witnesses René Forest, Prudent Robichaux, Etienne Robicheaux, Simon Richard, and Joseph Richard.

According to the Belle-Ile-en-Mer depositions, he died in 1750 inthe Memramcouk village of Beaubassin.

Jean Pierre de Forest was born July 22, 1719, and was baptized the next day in Port Royal with godparents Francois de Forest and Agnes Godet.

Forest Jean Pierre 1719 baptism

On November 11, 1743, he married Anne Richard (born in 1720) with witnesses René Forest, Bruno Robicheaux, Simon Richard and Joseph Richard.. He was listed in 1763 in the Connecticut census.

Space for 1721 child – unknown

Charles Forest was born On October 23, 1723 and baptized the next day in Port Royal.

Forest Charles 1723 birth

He married on May 10, 1745 to Marie Chaisson in Beaubassin, Acadia, but was then married about 1746 to Marie Josephe Poirier, with whom he had 5 known children. In 1763, he was listed on the Fort Beauséjour census. In 1792, he married again to Marie Josephe Girouard. Karen Reader shows his death in 1805 in Menoudie, Cape Breton, at age 82.

There is significant confusion surrounding two men by the same name – see here.

What Happened to Françoise’s Children?

We have some information about what happened to Françoise’s children by the time the deportation occurred.

The more we are able to learn about the destination of her children and where they eventually wound up, the more hints about where Françoise may have eventually been laid to rest.

Keep in mind that known children does not necessarily equate to all children, especially not for grandchildren born in remote locations in Acadia, or after deportation. Many were simply “lost.”

Child Spouse Death Known Children Deportation
Marie b 1696 Joseph Robichaud m 1718 1770 Pointe-aux-Trembles, Montreal, Quebec 9 Some of her children went to MA, some were prisoners at Halifax, NS, until 1763, and some settled in LA.
Marguerite b 1697 Pierre Bastarache m 1724 May 1747 Port Royal 9 Some children to New Brunswick, others to Clare and Pubnico, NS
Joseph b 1698 Marie Guilbeau m 1720 Jan 1732 Port Royal 4 Some children to Quebec
Francois b 1700 Jeanne Girouard m 1727 Oct 1777 L’Assomption, Province de Québec 9 Some children to MA, CT, Quebec, lower Canada near Montreal
Mathieu Rene b Jan 1704 Madeleine Guilbeau m 1728 Before 1777 Louisiana Unknown CT but left during the Rev War following loyalists back to Canada – this person uncertain
Jacques b June 1707 Marie Josephe Le Prince m 1734 Unknown 9 Deported to CT, one child to l’Acadie, Quebec, the rest still lost
Marie Madeleine b June 1709 Pierre Guilbeau m 1731 Mar 1758 in St-Charles, Bellechasse, Canada 8 Husband + 3 children died the same week she did. One child in New Brunswick and others in Quebec.
Elisabeth b 1710 Honoré Le Prince m 1738 Sept 1767 Bécancour, Québec 5 Some to Quebec and others to Lower Canada near Montreal
Catherine Josephe b 1713 Claude Gaudet m 1737 Louisiana after 1763 8 Escaped to Camp d’Esperance on the Miramichi, only one child survived, after 1763 went to Louisiana.
Anne b May 1715 Joseph (Le) Prince m 1740 Between Oct 1753 and Jan 1758, probably in Miramichi with 3 of her children 7 Escaped to Miramichi in New Brunswick, then to Quebec.
Pierre b Jul 1717 Marie Madeleine Richard m 1744 July 1750 Memramcouk, Beaubassin Unknown
Jean Pierre b Jul 1719 Anne Richard m 1743 After 1763, probably CT Unknown Deported to CT and listed on 1763 census.
Charles b Oct 1723 Marie Chaisson 1745, Marie Josephe Poirier 1746, Marie Josephe Girouard 1790 About 1805 Menoudie, Nova Scotia 6 or 7 Memramcock, then Restigouche, then Chedaik, Point Beausejour. In 1761 Gaspe Refugees. 1763 Fort Beausejouir. Menoudie later.

Françoise had at least 75 grandchildren and probably several more. Unless they were exiled in the same location that she was, she would never have known about any born after the summer of 1755. Furthermore, she would have grieved the absence of every one of these sweet souls. They were ripped away from her. Grandchildren are the light in the life of grandmothers, and hers were gone. She probably prayed every single day for them and that their separation would not be forever.

Many of the deported Acadians never accepted that they weren’t one day going back home

Two of Françoise Dugas’s grandchildren were documented in depositions on Belle-Ile-sur-Mer in France in 1766 and 1767 after deportation. Marie, the daughter of Pierre Richard and Marie Girouard, married Pierre Forest. Her sister, Anne. married Jean Forest.

Françoise’s family was literally tossed to the winds, with leaves falling across the globe. 

Godmother

After the 1714 census, information about Françoise is sparse but some information is found in the Catholic parish registers.

On what must have been an incredibly joyful day, Françoise Dugas stood as the godmother for her first grandchild, a boy, Prudent Robichaux (also spelled Robicheau and Robichaud), born to her eldest daughter, Marie, on Monday, December 19, 1718.

She was probably present for the child’s birth too.

The original parish records were recopied once, above, and they are much more legible than the original below. I always check both. Sometimes whoever made the copy can make out words in the original that I can’t.

Robichaux Prudent 1718 original

Françoise Dugas was mistakenly noted as the wife of René Robichaux instead of René Forest, but it’s clear who was meant. There is no René Robichaux or similar spelling in the St. Jean-Baptiste parish records between 1702 and 1755.

Forest, Marie Josephe 1723 baptism

On Tuesday, July 6, 1723, Françoise stood as the godmother for Marie Josephe Forest, her son Joseph’s first daughter, where she is noted as Joseph’s mother.

Fortunately, the Nova Scotia Archives records are indexed by the name of the primary individuals, meaning those who are being buried, baptized or married. Unfortunately, there’s no every-name index published, even though the individual record transcriptions do show that information.

If we were to check the baptismal records for Françoise’s grandchildren born in Port Royal, beginning with the ones born closest to the 1755 deportation date and working backward, we might discover more instances of her serving as Godmother.

1755 – The Final Battle

You might think that Françoise’s final battle was death, but in this case, it wasn’t.

The final battle was the horrific genocidal eviction of the Acadian people from their homelands in 1755. At least all of the Acadians that the English could find.

By 1755, Acadia reached throughout most of Nova Scotia, stretching entirely across the peninsula from Pubnico through Port Royal, past Halifax, northeast past Louisbourg, and back to the Les Mines basin, including Truro, Grand Pre, and Beaubassin.

The English were determined to take Acadia once again. Not just to oversee or rule the land but literally to “take” all of the land and property, evicting, removing, and essentially robbing the Acadian people of all of their belongings. Their intent was to settle English families who would, of course, be much easier to control.

If Acadian lives were lost in the process – so what.

Ships were sent to round up and forcibly deport the Acadians. No effort was made to keep families together, either on ships or relative to their final destinations.

Many were sent to the colonies, but the colonies weren’t prepared, and some rejected shiploads of destitute people.

For many families, the only connecting glue is if someone was baptized in Acadia and some two decades later, is once again found in the parish records elsewhere, say, Louisiana or Quebec, for example.

My ancestors either died or made it to Quebec, south of Montreal. Many families were simply never heard from again.

Several overloaded ships headed back to ports in Europe, and some sank en route.

Where was Françoise? Was she alive? Where did she go? Was she entirely separated from her family? Did she ever see any of them again?

Françoise’s Death

Françoise died sometime after October 12, 1723, when she stood as godmother. That much we know for sure. She was about 43 then and could certainly have lived many more years.

Françoise may still have been alive when René died and was buried in Port Royal on April 20, 1751. She would have been about 70.

His burial record in Port Royal indicates that two sons and a son-in-law were witnesses on his burial entry: Claude Godet, Mathieu Forest, and François Forest. That tells us that at least these three children were still living in Port Royal, although they would be separated during the deportation 4 years later.

Rene Forest 1751 burial

It doesn’t say he’s the widower of Françoise Dugas, although it does mention her, so she may have outlived him. If so, that means she also outlived at least four of her adult children, plus the ones who died young.

There’s no death record for Françoise before the deportation, Le Grand Dérangement, which probably means she was rounded up and deported at 75 or 76 years of age.

Let’s hope that she managed to get on a ship with at least one of her children.

How her heart must have ached for the children and grandchildren who would disappear into the mists of time, ghosts on other ships, screaming across the water until their voices could no longer be heard. Frantic outstretched arms.

Mémère!

Mémère!

Grandchildren she would only reunite with in the hereafter. She probably heard them in her nightmares, still screaming for her – unable to reach them.

The church where her entire spiritual life had been spent – joys and sorrows – elation as a bride, and tears as she buried those dear to her heart, including that groom more than half a century later. Now, simply disappearing as she could see it behind the fort and garrison, an ever-smaller dot and spire on the horizon, slipping away.

René’s grave – those of her parents, brothers, sisters, their children, her children, and, yes, grandchildren too. The grave where she was supposed to rest beside her beloved family members for eternity. She would never rest in peace now.

There would be no comfort. No peace ever again.

If Françoise lived to see this horrific day, she slowly sailed out of sight of everything she had ever known – into the yawning jaws of the inky abyss. I hope she didn’t realize…but in my heart, I know that that she did.

Goodbye, Port Royal.

_____________________________________________________________

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