Piau

by Bruce Murray

  Chapter 40

  Before the first snowfall we all returned to our families at Fort Edward. My sojourn in Halifax had been the very first time I had been separated from my family in over thirty years. Jeanne and the girls were overjoyed to receive us home. My sons-in-law had barely spent any time as husbands to my three daughters. Jeanne remarked on how Jospiau had changed. I had to admit he was looking more like a man. Those who remained behind at Pisiquit observed the difference in the boy far more than I.

  “It is such a blessing to have you all home. The time you were away from us, Piau, felt like such a long time. Your absence left us with such an emptiness,” Jeanne grinned, before she continued, “I hope you have returned with the stone tablets.”

  I laughed heartily at her reference to Moses.

  “The only mountain I stood on at Halifax was a large mound called the citadel, and my divine wisdom came from an unexpected source. I met and worked with a British officer, Major Frederick DesBarres, a Huguenot raised in France and Switzerland, who was such a fount of knowledge that I feel I have returned enlightened. He filled me with such learning that I am a changed man. This gentleman treated me like his equal and was generous with his knowledge. His understanding of science knew no bounds.”

  Jeanne looked mystified when I referred to the wonders of science.

  “What is science, my love?”

  “It is not easy to explain, but I can simply say it is the study of how things work. Science can explain how a wagon works, how a pulley and rope can make it easier to lift the bucket of water in a well. Everything in our lives, especially those things that help us build structures, can be explained by science. All things in our life are explainable and can be measured by mathematics. Is that not remarkable?”

  “I am not certain I understand everything you say, but I see it fills you with great enthusiasm. That does not surprise me, for I have always been aware of your passion for learning new things. I can always feel your excitement when you master something or learn something brand new.”

  My return from Halifax also allowed me to renew my relationship with Samuel Mangeant. He had been made acting commander of the garrison at Fort Edward when Captain Gay left in the fall, promising to return after he had met with his superiors in Boston. Mangeant seemed genuinely pleased to see me on my return from Halifax.

  “I missed you, Piau. Things were not quite the same here in your absence. Your congeniality was absent.”

  “You are kind, Captain. It is wonderful to be back in the bosom of my family and friends.”

  It was time for all of us to assist the New England planters in the yearly harvest. It was refreshing to be out in the fields collecting the crops and enjoying the camaraderie and fresh autumn air. It brought back memories of the harvest festivals celebrated years ago at Melanson Village and later Gaudet Village, resurrecting Uncle Pierre, Grandmama Marie, Mama, my brothers Charles and Jean, and of course Benjamin. Their spirits played amongst the corn like children in the warm autumn sun.

  Not long after we returned from Halifax, another group of people came to the village. A ship arrived on the incoming tide carrying a human cargo that required more troops than would usually be necessary to deliver prisoners of war.

  Those who disembarked that day did not appear fierce or hostile. But when one man appeared I could hear whispers travelling across the camp, murmuring “Beausoleil.” I had heard his name many times. He was the leader of the Acadian resistance in the battles at Annapolis, Halifax, Grand Pré, Beauséjour, and Restigouche. An almost mythical character, he was said to be fearless, a fierce enemy of the British for the past eighteen years. The first time I heard of him was back in 1744 when the French were attacking the fort at Annapolis. Unlike the French troops under Duvivier, the Acadian-Mi’kmaq militia were elusive, an army of ghosts attacking from every side, causing mayhem and fear everywhere they went. Their leaders were Father Le Loutre and Beausoleil.

  Most of my people had ambivalent feelings toward both men and their Acadian-Mi’kmaq army. They fought the British supposedly on our behalf, but we rarely reaped the benefits of their efforts. Their continued resistance to British rule in Acadia made life for the neutral Acadians like us perilous. We could not help but respect the Acadian resistance fighters, but they were as much a problem for us as a help.

  With the arrival of the resistance fighters came the news that the new lieutenant-governor in Halifax was taking a harder line toward the Acadian prisoners of war. Samuel Mangeant kept me informed as to the latest rumblings emanating from Halifax and Lieutenant-Governor Belcher’s crusade to empty Georges Island of its Acadian occupants. I had not been billeted there but instead lived in the barracks at the citadel. In my discussions with the captain, I felt he was not sharing everything he knew, and this created a feeling of foreboding in me.

  “What is likely to happen to all the Acadians at Halifax? Surely they are not planning to deport them. I realize we are still at war, but many of these prisoners have already taken the oath.”

  “I am not at liberty to relate all the details of the lieutenant-governor’s plans toward the Acadians, but I can tell you that with the arrival of the resistance fighters at Fort Edward, the status quo has changed. Belcher is determined to have them close to him because they pose a threat to our colony. Although he participated in the ‘burying the hatchet ceremony’ and has an assurance from the Mi’kmaq that they will no longer be a threat to the British in Nova Scotia, he believes that the Acadian resistance should be removed from the colony.”

  “What impact will that have on us at Fort Edward?”

  “Should they deport the Georges Island Acadians, we would be required to provide at least eighty men to the building project at the capital. That would mean that the men here would be obligated to replace the workforce that had previously been expelled from Nova Scotia.”

  “Captain, I fear if we leave this place and go to Halifax, we, too, will be on a ship to nowhere. Fort Edward has become a safe haven for us, but if we leave we may never return. These are very uncertain times!”

  Mangeant gave me a troubled look. Perhaps he knew the truth at that time, perhaps not. Both of us were intelligent enough to know that once one is out of his place of safety, his vulnerability increases tenfold. It was early summer; perhaps we would be left in peace.

  The members of the Acadian resistance were kept separate from the other prisoners of war, so we could only gaze at them from a distance. They were heavily guarded at all times, and therefore Beausoleil and his companions remained strangers to us. What I did know was that the presence of these fighters jeopardized our existence in Nova Scotia. The Acadians in my group began resenting these men rather than considering them heroes.

  The day I most feared came in mid-July 1762 with the arrival of a large contingent of British soldiers from Halifax. Eighty Acadian men, many from my group, in addition to all the members of the resistance army, were paraded into the square and instructed to gather their belongings in preparation for an immediate relocation to Halifax. The women were extremely alarmed that their men were being taken off yet again. One could read the terror on their faces, for they dreaded the worst: that they would never see their loved ones again. That possibility certainly crossed my mind.

  Alarmed that Jospiau would be included in the group, I beseeched Captain Mangeant to intervene and ensure my son remained behind with the women, for he would be needed as the man of the family. Mangeant gladly escorted Jospiau back to his family.

  “It is done, Piau, so Godspeed.”

  “I will always remember your various kindnesses to my family. Every good deed done to us will negate the offences your father perpetrated upon my family at Grand Pré. I repeat, the son does not have to pay for the sins of the father. God bless you, Samuel.”

  Mangeant put out his hand to shake mine. I imagined I could feel his regret pulsating through the leather of his glove.
He turned around and returned to his quarters, demonstrating his preference not to witness the sad scene that was playing out in the square.

  Weeping and painful goodbyes filled the air with grief. I embraced Jeanne and each of my children, not knowing whether I would ever see their faces again. As we marched down the road, I began to sing “À la claire fontaine” so that Jeanne would have this final memory of me. As the sound of the melody soared above the river, I could hear the Acadians raising their voices in song, pouring their hearts out to heaven, asking God to intercede on their behalf, so their loving husbands and sons could be brought safely back to them.

  The Acadian resistance fighters were still kept separate from the rest of us as we travelled the road to Halifax. We preferred it that way. I had my own bodyguards in my sons-in-law, the three LeBlanc boys, but despite their physical strength they too succumbed to the devastation of having to leave their wives, perhaps forever. To this day, I am able to resurrect the gut-wrenching pain we suffered as we marched away from Fort Edward in the summer of 1762.

  Chapter 41

  Our expectations on arriving at Halifax were that we would probably be reassigned to work duties related to the continued construction of the citadel. Those expectations were dashed when we were all placed on lifeboats and dropped off at Georges Island. There were close to a thousand Acadian men camped there, and they appeared to be packing up their belongings in preparation for a voyage. I asked some of the officers where we were being sent, and later I asked some of the Acadian prisoners. The former refused to answer, and the latter had not the slightest idea.

  The number of British ships moored near the island was substantially greater than I had remembered in the past. I feared that these vessels were there for some greater purpose — we were being deported. After seven long years avoiding it, I found the reality that we were to leave our beloved Acadia horrifying and tragic. How could we be torn away from our loved ones, never to see them again? What form of cruelty was this? I then thought of the thousands who had already been forced into exile, not knowing where they were being sent until their arrival at a destination that was not of their choosing. They would have arrived there without money or belongings, and I could only imagine the horrific life they were compelled to endure. Now I was to join them in this appalling world of obscurity.

  Destiny was not finished with me yet, however. As we boarded our vessel, my name was called. Having identified myself, I was directed by a ship’s officer to step aside and wait until all the others were below deck. Another officer pointed me in the direction of a solitary prisoner being closely guarded by four armed soldiers. The man they were watching over was chained at the ankles, and his hands were bound tightly together by a thick rope; I did not know why. The first officer walked toward me across the deck bearing a paper on which, I came to discover, were special orders.

  “Pierre Belliveau, you have been given special orders by the commander at Fort Edward. His Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor of Nova Scotia has signed his approval of these exceptional orders and we are fulfilling them. You are to occupy a berth with this prisoner for the duration of the voyage. Follow the soldiers below.”

  Surprised, I looked at the face of my new bunkmate before climbing below. The man looked dispassionately at me but seemed to possess a knowledge I did not. I stared at him for no more than a moment, but there appeared to be something familiar in his features. There are often times when you see someone who looks like a person you knew in the distant past and in trying to recall who it is you imagine a young face under the aging one. I stripped away the lines in my mind as I lowered myself below deck and discovered it was someone I had known as a young boy at Port Royal. It was Joseph Broussard, whom I had not seen since I was a child. He was four years my senior. What did not dawn on me until we were in our tiny cabin together was that the man in chains sitting on the opposite bunk was none other than Beausoleil!

  “Well, well!” the man remarked in French. “So, you are the famous Piau. The fates have brought us together, finally.”

  “Apparently it was Captain Samuel Mangeant and not the fates, monsieur. Although I can hardly understand what Mangeant’s motive was in having us placed together.”

  “Perhaps he wished to unite the two great resistance leaders of the Acadian people.”

  “Greatness should not be confused with notoriety, Joseph.”

  He was not expecting me to address him by his Christian name. It became clear to me that his only knowledge of me was one associated with my fame. I was Pierre, known as Piau Belliveau, but he did not remember me from his childhood.

  “I have not been called Joseph for many years, monsieur. Why would you use a name from my past?”

  “I knew you, Joseph, when we were young at Annapolis.”

  “You mean Port Royal. I have never recognized the British governance of Acadia. You have me at a disadvantage, monsieur. Who exactly are you?”

  “My father was Jean Charles Belliveau, who fought and died in the Battle of Port Royal a year after my birth. My grandfather was Charles Melanson, founder of Melanson Village.”

  Beausoleil sat opposite me digesting what I was revealing of myself and my family.

  “Your father was a hero and your grandfather was a traitor!” Beausoleil barked. “Which are you?”

  “Neither, Monsieur Beausoleil,” I replied sarcastically. “But surely you know that. After all, you say that you have heard of me.”

  After I challenged him, Beausoleil calmed down immediately. “Indeed I have. After the Battle of Restigouche, which, by the way, you did not participate in, you may have heard that my militia wandered about in the area, causing havoc for the British wherever we could find them until we landed in the Miramichi in 1760 after you and your group had left for Beauséjour. Those who remained along that river told tales of the great Piau. I believe they actually considered you their deliverer. The stories of Charles Belliveau, who I now understand was your brother, and his taking of the HMS Pembroke, and your taking of his schooner from the British at the mouth of the Petitcodiac, have become legendary. Many Acadians are inspired by such stories of heroism.”

  “I cannot object to anything that keeps their hopes alive. However, the heroes sitting here in this cabin have come to a sorry end, wouldn’t you admit, monsieur?”

  “Neither of us is dead yet. Who knows what trouble we can stir up in the British colonies?”

  “From where I sit, monsieur, ‘le beau soleil’ has set. Who knows when it will rise again?”

  I could see that my comment had bruised his vanity. He remained silent, sizing me up like a foe who had to be vanquished. Again his mood rose to a slow boil.

  “And what crusade have you led where your life was in peril time and time again? What army has followed you time and time again? How many battles have you fought in order to secure a land that respects your language and your religion?”

  “My battles have been with my conscience and they have consumed most of my time, monsieur. I have risked life and limb for the safety of my family and friends. In every case, I have permitted those I lead to choose their own path. There were times they followed me and times they did not. With God’s guidance, those who followed me have survived. Many that chose not to have perished. Perhaps this was by divine providence, but I believe that prudent decisions have allowed us to prevail, to survive until we had to make yet another choice.”

  “You are a philosopher, monsieur. However, extreme action is the only solution when those who govern you restrict your freedom and oppose your religious beliefs.”

  “I have the belief, Joseph, that my relationship with the Almighty cannot be violated by any living being. The spiritual realm is inviolate. There are times when one must fight for what one believes, but muskets and violence are not always the solution. Did not the Lord tell us to love our enemies?”

  “Nonsense. You are beginning to sound like th
e bloody Protestants.”

  “I admit that there is Protestant blood flowing through my veins, but we Acadians are devout Catholics although we have never subscribed to the intolerance of the French Crown. I have been a British subject for most of my life. That is where we differ, you and me. You chose to leave Port Royal for the Petitcodiac years ago. You have lived most of your life in French territory, at a time when we preferred to fight our own battles of quiet resistance within the land of the English. We have been engaging in a war of peaceful coexistence with the British for fifty years and have defended our right to speak our language, practise our faith, and live in Nova Scotia without firing a single musket shot.”

  “And where has that got you, monsieur?”

  “Precisely in the same cabin below deck as you, monsieur. And tell me, which of us is in chains? Extreme actions beget extreme consequences, would you not agree!”

  Beausoleil observed me quietly for several minutes and then broke into a spontaneous laugh that I am certain could be heard all the way to the citadel.

  “If nothing else, Piau, you provide me with amusing conversation.”

  “Perhaps this is the role Mangeant wished me to play, jester to the mighty Beausoleil!”

  Again the man in chains convulsed with laughter.

  “Oh, monsieur, I think I am going to enjoy bunking with you in this tiny hole of a place.”