Piau

by Bruce Murray

  The anchor could be heard lifting against the bow of the ship and we heard the sails flapping as we set sail for parts unknown. I lay still on my bunk, tired from my long journey and even more exhausted from the spirited exchange with Beausoleil. I felt, however, he was correct in saying we would enjoy one another’s company during the voyage, for the man was not without charm.

  At mealtime I was commissioned to deliver Beausoleil’s meals to him, for he was not permitted to fraternize with the other prisoners aboard the ship. I would remove the ropes around his wrists so that I did not have to hand-feed him. After he had finished his meal I would reverse the ritual by retying the ropes. After several days, I began to realize that I was becoming his caregiver.

  It was not what I had imagined I would be doing on this ship, but it gave me a purpose and helped me overcome the severe pain I was exper­i-­­­­encing in my heart. At times late at night I turned to the wall and wept uncontrollably. Most of these times my bunkmate was fast asleep. However, one night I could sense he was still awake, and although I attempted to control my grief and weeping, he responded to my flood of emotion.

  “When one is living in close quarters with another, one senses the happiness and grief the other is feeling. Your sadness is plain to me, Piau. I suspect it is the loss of your family that pains you so.”

  There are times when one wishes to wallow in one’s own grief without sharing the experience with anyone else. I remained silent.

  Beausoleil respected my privacy and left me to my solitude.

  On those days when we were permitted to go above deck for fresh air, the two of us stood at the side of the upper deck, alone except for the British crew who manned the ship.

  “Piau, you know I have a large family, eleven offspring in all, but unlike you I have been on so many resistance campaigns over twenty years that I have hardly spent any time with my wife, Agnes, and the children. My sons and daughters are all scattered to the winds, and my wife passed long ago. So, you see, I only measure my happiness by how much freedom I possess. My suffering returns when I realize that I may spend the remainder of my life in bondage.”

  “Then you would describe your life as a military one. That is not an easy existence, but certainly it has its excitement and daring. In the past seven years I have experienced a different sort of excitement, eluding the British whenever possible and living the life of a nomad. Perhaps we are both nomads but travelling on different paths. You enjoyed the camaraderie of your troops and I the warmth of my family and friends.”

  “Does your faith in God sustain your hope of a future spent in the bosom of your family or do you foresee only a life of emptiness like me?”

  “I have been thankful for the gifts I have been given in life and I accept the challenges that have been placed as obstacles before me with the hope that with perseverance they will each be overcome.”

  “So, it is your belief that you will be guided back to Acadia?”

  “I am absolutely certain of it. I have not made this extraordinary journey leading my people to end it here and now. We have not yet reached the Promised Land.”

  “It is as they have described you; you actually fashion yourself as the new Moses. I wish I shared your faith in the Almighty. I once believed in divine destiny; otherwise, why would I have waged the war against the British for as long as I did? But one loses track of one’s place on the eternal path of righteousness. Once you have been fighting for years at a time, I believe you lose sight of the purpose of your original crusade. Even Father Le Loutre began to waver in his faith and became more caught up in the power he was accumulating leading the Native people than waging God’s war against the infidels.”

  Time passes slowly for those who are imprisoned. The days were not discernible to us below deck and we felt no compulsion to count them. Our vessel sailed into Boston Harbour after several days at sea. It lay anchor in the harbour, and by midday Beausoleil and I were above deck for our daily fresh air. On first witnessing the city of Boston, we thought we had arrived at some mysterious place. It made us realize that we had spent our entire lives in the wilderness. Even Halifax appeared small compared to this massive sea of buildings.

  “I have often heard of Boston,” I spoke, viewing what I thought a miraculous sight. “My great-grandparents spent their final years here and I had several cousins living in the city, but I had never imagined that this was where they lived. A life in this place would simply dwarf any existence we have had in Acadia.”

  “I once travelled to Quebec and spent a brief time there,” Beausoleil added. “It, too, pales in comparison to Boston. I wonder what those streets hold for us. I imagine it will be some form of servitude, do you not agree, Piau?”

  I pondered his question as we gazed at the city. Eventually, we were led away from the deck and back to our cabin. Typically, apart from delivering orders, the sailors who moved us made no attempt to speak to us. The officers and crew of our ship remained faceless to us. We knew no names and they did not relate to us as human beings, never addressing us by name. We were merely pieces of a human cargo to be unloaded and transferred to an undisclosed place. The officers came and went, some remaining on board, others going ashore for undetermined periods of time.

  Weeks passed in the harbour without any change in our status. It was strange to be in this kind of limbo.

  “Do you not find it odd, Piau, that we have been left here to rot, with absolutely no change in our situation? If they went to the effort to transport all of us to this place, you would conclude that the British officers would wish to dispense with their cargo. What good are we to anyone sitting here, week after week?”

  “I have ceased wondering what our captors are thinking. I am more affected by the number of insufferably sweltering hours we endure below deck on these hot summer days. Never in my life have I felt such unbearable heat.”

  “Perhaps this is what hell feels like.” Beausoleil began to chortle as was his custom. His persistent tendency to expel a nervous laugh began to wear on me and became as insufferable as the unbearably hot days. I began to seek my own solitude by turning my back on him.

  To relieve the boredom of the resulting silence, he would fire questions at me to stimulate some form of communication between us. More often than not, I ignored them. One day, however, he asked a question that I was compelled to answer. It became a confession of guilt, and my willingness to answer him was perhaps a way of absolving myself of it.

  “I suppose, Piau, you have never killed a man? I have shot many.”

  “I have shot a man, but only one. I took his life so that I and my kin could survive. When we captured my brother’s schooner from the British at Beauséjour, it was either capitulate to the enemy or destroy them. There was only one choice for us.

  “I shot the captain at close range, claiming justice for the death of my father. The thing that disturbed me most about that moment was that I felt nothing when I pulled the trigger, except a momentary twinge of vengefulness. The justification was we were at war and it was a matter of kill or be killed. We knew the British were hunting Acadians through the woods like animals and shooting them on sight.

  “Are you surprised, Joseph?”

  “I am more impressed than surprised. That was heroic, a great act of courage. Shooting a man, eye to eye, at short range, requires far more fortitude than firing indiscriminately on a field of battle. Did the captain die honourably?”

  Of course this question recreated in my mind the image of the captain shamelessly pleading for his life, but I decided not to judge the dead.

  “Yes, he did,” I lied, in order to preserve the dignity of my victim, who had given up his life so I could live.

  Despite the extreme heat, our food improved in the port of Boston. After a month passed — at least it appeared to be a month — we began to speculate as to why we were left to bake below the deck of our ship. When we w
ere above deck, the same number of ships sat huddled in the harbour, stationary and stagnant. Beausoleil was the first to venture a guess as to why the “Acadian Flotilla,” as he called it, remained in port with its human cargo intact.

  “Wouldn’t it be a joke of the gods if the people of Boston refused to have us and we were forced to return to Halifax?”

  Was Beausoleil clairvoyant or was what he said the truth?

  Whichever, the following day we heard a great commotion up on deck and heard the sound of the anchor being pulled up. Were the British organizing to move? When we went on deck, we noticed that all the ships were raising their sails and preparing for a journey at sea.

  What could this mean? I could only imagine that we were being transported away from Boston to another destination. Having been told nothing by the crew, we heard no announcements either from the officers.

  Our ship was finally out at sea again. For the first time since we left Halifax, we encountered severe gales on the open sea. Enduring storms on the ocean was a new sensation for me and I suffered from a stomach illness that I knew only from Bernard’s descriptions. Beausoleil looked green as the ship rolled from side to side. For the benefit of the ailing prisoners, the captain allowed us more frequent visits to the deck. Considering that most of the Acadians on board were seasick, they posed little threat to the British officers and crew. I must say it was a relief to breathe the cool air, even on a tumultuous and windy sea.

  There were times I was certain the ship would capsize and all those aboard would be swallowed up by the sea, just as Jonah had been by the great leviathan. Under these severe conditions, even Beausoleil began to pray for deliverance from this terrible tempest.

  I saw this as yet another obstacle sent by God to test my faith. The sickness I was experiencing was far more concerning than the raging storm. This trial in my life seemed greater than any before because I was lacking the soothing balm my family had always provided me.

  “Wherever this ship is bound for, Piau, it will be a relief to arrive, supposing even it is on the far side of the world.”

  “I always considered myself as someone with firm sea legs, but I find under these circumstances, they feel like they will never lift me up again!”

  “Do you believe God has forsaken us?”

  “Absolutely not! He sends these trials to strengthen our resolve to survive and prosper in His name.”

  “Piau, you are relentless!”

  Our ship did survive the storm without throwing us savagely against the rocks along the seacoast. When the calm returned, we were surprised to be called to the upper deck as a complete assembly of prisoners. How happy this made me, for I was permitted for the first time to visit with my sons-in-law and my nephew Pierre. We rejoiced at seeing one another again. It had been over a month since we had been in one another’s company, and witnessing family in the flesh made my spirit soar. The captain spoke when all were present on deck.

  “Messieurs, it is my duty to inform you that circumstances have arisen, circumstances that I am not at liberty to share with you, but as a result we are forced back to Halifax, after which you will be escorted back to your families wherever they may be imprisoned. This is by order of the governor of Massachusetts.”

  A spontaneous roar rose from the Acadians on board. God had delivered us from exile and we were to be reunited with our families. What joy we felt!

  THE TREATY OF PARIS

  Chapter 42

  The winter of 1763 was long and cold, and we suffered more than usual from the inclement weather. However, good news came with the dispatches from Halifax in early March and warmed the atmosphere in our camp. The war between Britain and France was over and a treaty had been signed in Paris on February 7. The news arrived a month late, but the delay did not matter. Everything was about to change as a result of the peace agreement. France had relinquished all her colonies in North America, and now French-speaking peoples throughout the empire who were willing to take the oath of allegiance became subjects of His Majesty King George III. Acadians no longer needed to fear deportation. Freedom to leave the prison camps was close at hand.

  “Well, Piau, this is excellent news for Acadians, is it not?” Mangeant asked.

  “It certainly gives us much to ponder. What to do and where to go are not easy questions to answer. We have been either wandering or in bondage for the past eight years, so the prospect of living freely as British subjects is almost incomprehensible.”

  “Believe it or not, I am relieved at this outcome. Do not forget that I too have Acadian blood running through my veins. My mother grew up in Beaubassin.”

  “Yes, but you have never lived as an Acadian.”

  I still wasn’t willing to include him in our suffering or our journey. Young Mangeant realized at that moment that I was not about to be patronized.

  “And what is to become of Beausoleil, Captain? Does he have the same right to live peacefully in this colony?”

  “He is a special case, to be sure. His treasonous past is far more damning than your peaceful resistance in wartime. He has not been executed to date, so I believe it is likely he will be forced into exile. I have orders already to have him transferred to Georges Island in Halifax where he will await further orders. It is more than likely he and his co-conspirators will be given the opportunity to face exile outside British dominions.”

  The news spread through the prison camp like a fierce wildfire. You would think this news would provoke rejoicing among my people, but instead it was bewilderment that plagued our entire group. Our homes on the Annapolis River had been destroyed and our lands were being given to others without payment to us for our loss. No reimbursement was likely; in fact, it was impossible. Where could we go and how could we live without land to cultivate? A quick decision could not be made, so we did not make one. Many of the prisoners refused to work for the New England planters any longer. They felt like slaves, and for them the wilderness with no prospects was better than being forced to work the land that had once been theirs.

  At an assembly of friends and family I warned against a hasty move. “Over the past eight years we have been wise in our moves; each one has been well planned and considered. I suggest that we remain here until an opportunity presents itself. Who knows, it might be close at hand.”

  Most of my group respected my judgment and complied with my suggestion to stay until further opportunities presented themselves.

  In April of that year, our deliverance came. It came in the form of Major Frederick DesBarres.

  His unexpected visit threw the entire garrison into a tizzy. Such an illustrious military commander had never visited the fort, not even in its most glorious days.

  On his arrival, he put everyone at their ease.

  I was very excited that he had come to visit. I felt comfortable enough to parade my large family to meet him. They stood as formally as any line of soldiers ready for inspection. The great one approached us with Captain Mangeant following behind. It was evident Mangeant was not privy to our friendship.

  DesBarres spoke in French for the benefit of those present.

  “Piau, Piau. What a pleasure to see you! I have missed you, indeed I have.”

  He shook my hand warmly, having removed his right glove. “I am pleased you have not decided to flee from me before I delivered my proposition. Greetings to you, Master Jospiau. You are becoming a handsome young man, for sure. And this must be your lovely wife. Madame, it is an honour to meet you.” He bowed politely, removing his hat. “She is lovelier than you described, and all your daughters are as beautiful as their mother. What an exquisite family you have, Piau.”

  The meeting was overwhelming for my family and friends, especially being treated so respectfully in their native tongue. Their smiles could have lit up the world. This esteemed gentleman was someone they were prepared to adore, even though he was an English officer.

&nb
sp; “Since you left us at the citadel, I have circumnavigated the island of Newfoundland and have spent the winter drafting the maps from that expedition. I will have to share them with you after I have gotten settled here.”

  “I look forward to it, Major.”

  Mangeant looked on in shock and wonderment. He wondered how this Acadian, who had been away from Fort Edward for only eight months, had gained the confidence and friendship of the great DesBarres, the hero of Louisbourg and Quebec.

  DesBarres bowed to the Acadians, and then turned and marched toward the officers’ quarters. His stay at Fort Edward was to prove an interesting one, and the lifeline he was throwing my way had the touch of divine providence associated with it. God had placed DesBarres in my path and now I would reap the rewards of the friendship I had cultivated in Halifax.

  “Papa, Major DesBarres remembered my name.”

  “That is because you made a very favourable impression on him. Do you not agree, Jeanne?”

  “I do, to be sure. You are truly favoured, my son. I have a feeling that this great man will bring us good fortune.”

  DesBarres sent for me not long after his arrival. He had a plan, a grand plan, to share with me.

  “Piau, my expeditions mapping the coastline of Nova Scotia have truly inspired me. The land is rich and nearly uninhabited now that most of your people have been sent into exile. I have applied for land grants at Tatamagouche, Menoudie, Memramcook, Cape Breton, and here, the lands surrounding Fort Edward. My vision is to restore the lands and dikes of Nova Scotia and settle them, not with New Englanders, but with Acadians, for it is my belief that many of your people will choose to return to their homeland now the war is over. My plan is to turn them into tenant farmers with a future prospect of owning the lands over time. What do you think of my grand scheme?”