by Bruce Murray
No answer or response was forthcoming because I was overwhelmed by the prospect of farming the land again and what it would mean for my people. DesBarres did not wait for me to speak.
“However, for the short term I have decided to build an estate here in this area so I can spend my winters working on the mapping project commissioned by the Board of Trade in London. This is the only place in the province that has a direct, usable road to the capital. My land grant here is a fait accompli, so it is just a matter of drawing up the plans and beginning the development of what I will call ‘Castle Frederick.’ I want you to build it. Have no fear, my castle will be modest compared to those in England, but I rather fancy living in a castle.
“Ostentatious? Yes, I admit it, but one who seeks greatness must not only achieve it but promote it as well. And it will be you who will help me realize my great dream, Piau. Serve me well and I promise wonderful things will come to you, your kinfolk, and those who have followed you these past eight years. What do you say? I won’t require you to make an immediate decision. Think it over, discuss this with your family and friends, and we will talk again. Good day, mon ami.”
Smiling at DesBarres, I wished him a good day and I walked out of his quarters. That was the first time the great one had ever called me “friend.” It had always been understood but never uttered. It augured well for the future.
Freedom is a feeling. It is a gift. It is a right. Acadians were suddenly, by an accident of time and circumstance, permitted to cherish that feeling, rejoice at such a gift, and be thankful that that right had been restored to them. The immense flood of emotions that followed only filled me with confusion. I was free to go if I pleased, but where? DesBarres was providing me with a solution. Work to build Castle Frederick and rewards would follow. How could I reject such an opportunity? From our first meeting, was I not certain that divine destiny had thrown us together? My people were free to leave or stay. Which would they choose? For once, I was not certain of the outcome. For the first time, I lacked the faith that they would follow me.
First I spoke to Jeanne. I explained to her in detail what DesBarres had proposed and what accepting that proposal would mean for our family. She was quick to respond.
“Piau, we have been nomads for so many years I have lost count — wandering endlessly in the desert, as you have always told us. Our journey has been long and difficult and yet we have managed to stay alive. I thought I had lost you forever when you were so cruelly taken from us and sent off to Boston. When you were lost to us, I thought I could not bear it. Only the children helped me survive the long days. Your return filled me with a greater joy than I have ever felt. We are now safely together, we have our freedom, and we have new prospects in our lives. I accept any decision you choose to make because I love you, I trust your judgment, and I am certain God is guiding you.”
My eyes filled with tears as I embraced her.
“How blessed I have been to have you as my wife. With you at my side, I am able to endure anything. Let us gather all the Acadians together and we will trust in God that they will make the right decision, for it is finally theirs to make.”
“What you are suggesting, Piau?”
The Acadian elder continued his questioning. “Are you suggesting that we go along with this plan to create a seigneury on the French model and build the Manor House for this Major DesBarres? And that we farm the lands of the estate as his tenants? And for this, there is a possibility that in time we will own our lands, as we did before the war?”
“That is what DesBarres has promised me, yes.”
The elder continued to question me.
“Why has the great DesBarres chosen us rather than having the land settled and farmed by New Englanders?”
“I will not deceive you, monsieur. DesBarres is motivated by the fact that he owns great tracts of land throughout the colony and that he has plans to purchase as many more as possible. He requires manpower to farm them. The English-speaking Protestants refuse to settle land if they do not own it. Look at the New England planters here, for example. But we all know that the seigneurial system has functioned extremely well in New France for over a century. Governor Champlain himself established it, and the relationship between seigneur and tenant is advantageous to both.”
“That may be so, but our ancestors arrived in Acadia owning their land from the start. The seigneury at Belle Isle failed to last more than fifty years. It has not been our tradition in the New World to be subservient to an overlord.”
“What you say has some credence, monsieur, but can we not think of this new arrangement as a transition on the road to farming our own lands? We will have work and we will reap the benefits of our labour. Is that not enough?”
“This may be acceptable to some but not to others. For many of us, the only choice is to leave this place where we have been imprisoned these past three years. Living in the Miramichi puts a distance between us and the British. We will not live among the English again.”
“So be it. I will honour any decision you make and may God grant you safety and prosperity. However, those who have followed me on the journey that God has chosen for us these past years have an unwavering belief that to stay here and see what materializes is the prudent choice at this time.”
The debate quickly established who was remaining and who was going. Those who had travelled with me since French Cross unanimously resolved to remain with me and accept DesBarres’s offer. Few joined us from the other groups. We respected that they were prepared to accept the vagaries of further wanderings.
Samuel Mangeant departed Fort Edward before our move to the DesBarres lands a few miles away. He was finally returning to his family in Boston. Perhaps his place in my life was preordained; he was not a casual contributor to its narrative. I was certain Cousin Elizabeth, wherever she resided in New England, would have approved of how things had turned out in the end and would have surely realized that much of what Samuel Mangeant had done for us was due to his long-standing and abiding love for her. I owed a huge debt of gratitude to both Elizabeth LeBlanc and Captain Samuel Mangeant — the sort of star-crossed lovers one only reads about in romances.
DesBarres’s land was situated about eight miles from Fort Edward and consisted of five hundred acres of forest. Very soon after our acceptance of his offer to stay, horses and oxen arrived at the fort from Halifax to facilitate the clearing of the trees in order for a road to be built to the site. Besides the Acadians, DesBarres brought German settlers from Lunenburg to help assist in felling the trees. We marvelled at the tools being used to prepare the land for construction. A hundred men toiled diligently to clear the brush and trees from the land, and the Acadian women kept the food production at a maximum.
Granite stones were transported from the coastlines around Halifax. Limestone and sandstone from the coast of the Bay of Fundy arrived by boat at Fort Edward, where it was unloaded and conveyed to the building site miles away. A massive system of pulleys was provided by DesBarres, who borrowed these from the citadel. I had been involved in building construction all my life, but I had never witnessed a project on this grand a scale.
DesBarres kept his residence at the fort, and we maintained our temporary homes there as well. It was not long, however, given the numbers in the workforce, that we reached the heart of the major’s acreage. Each day the whole company of workers journeyed along the new road to clear the forest so we could begin to erect Castle Frederick. By early July, the stone foundation was begun.
Frederick DesBarres visited his emerging estate every day until July, after which he returned to Halifax to set sail on his annual mapping expedition. He left me in charge of the building operations. It was splendid to watch the mighty LeBlanc boys place the massive timbers that would constitute the upper storeys and roof. Once the frame was completed, we set about layering and sealing the stone walls. DesBarres had drawn detailed plans for me and
my team of masons. The spirit of Great-Uncle Pierre stood watching over my shoulder, whispering in my ear when something was not quite precise enough.
While I worked, childhood memories of the construction of St. Charles Church at Grand Pré came to mind. As we laboured, the Acadians sang ancient French folk songs. They filled us with a happiness we had not felt for a very long time.
V’la l’bon vent, v’la l’joli vent
V’la l’bon vent, m’amie m’appelle.
V’la l’bon vent, v’la l’joli vent
V’la l’bon vent, m’amie m’attend.
Sixteen-year-old Jospiau worked by my side and practised his stonemason skills under my direct tutelage. The conversations we had enabled me to discover the man he was becoming. I chose to share my experiences aboard the New England–bound ship and my impressions of the great city of Boston. He was captivated by the stories I related about the great Beausoleil, whom he had only seen from a distance. Beausoleil’s exploits as a freedom fighter fired his imagination. Although he was a cheerful boy, I had to wonder how his years in exile had truly affected him, for he had spent half his life as a refugee. I dreamed that someday this young man would own his own land and live in peace and harmony with his fellow man.
The most profound effect on all the young Acadians living in exile was the lapses it created in their education. They had all been taught to read and write in French when they were very young, but because in recent years it was a matter of just surviving one day at a time, they had few opportunities to read and write in their own language. The best they could do in the Miramichi was write sentences in the sand. I carried in my satchel only two books, Pierre and Priscilla’s King James Bible and Benjamin’s Fables of La Fontaine. The one was in English, so it was usually up to me to translate the stories found there; the other was in French, and each of my children had read its tales time and time again until they could recite them from memory.
When DesBarres returned to take up residence in his new but still uncompleted Manor House, I voiced my concern that my children and their children might descend into illiteracy. He was sympathetic and understood what I was saying.
“Piau, your concerns are not unfounded. Those who have an education in this life have good fortune follow them.
“When I studied mathematics and science at the University of Basel, and, by the way, my education was in French, a whole new world opened up for me. When I finally moved to England, that degree opened doors for me and finally the Duke of Cumberland recognized my intelligence and aptitudes and supported me in my military education. I am what I am because he was my benefactor.
“The best I can do for you is, when my book collection begins to build here, you and your family can have access to those books that are within their grasp to read. I will make certain that there are volumes in both languages, with special emphasis on the easier pieces of literature. If you can wait until next spring, I should have the latest published books from England and France.”
“I am particularly partial to Robinson Crusoe. Would you be able to get your hands on a copy?”
“Really? And how are you familiar with this book by Daniel Defoe?”
“Sir, it was the first book I read in English when I was a child.”
“How did you acquire a copy of the book?”
“It was from a surprising source, Major. It was loaned to me by the governor of Nova Scotia!”
“Oh, Piau, you truly are one in a million!” He began to laugh with appreciation.
Throughout the following winter, Jospiau and I passed many hours working on the Great Room of the castle, completing the joining and other smaller constructions. Invariably we were interrupted by DesBarres, who invited us into his unfinished library. The bookshelves were still relatively empty, but the great one discussed with us the volumes with which he intended to fill the shelves in the upcoming years.
The maps of the colony, which he called the fruits of his labour, were scattered indiscriminately all over the room, on tables, on the floor, even hanging from the walls. His drafting was a lonely occupation, so he often shared the maps with us, describing the coastlines and the problems he experienced circumnavigating the colony in order to complete his enormous project. Jospiau was fascinated by the maps of Nova Scotia, never having seen one, let alone witnessed the creation process. Interesting stories were told and DesBarres appeared to enjoy entertaining us with the tales of his many expeditions. In later years, he housed a coterie of draftsmen to facilitate the completion of his mapping project.
During the winter of 1764, he was assisted by a young naval officer, James Cook, who had captained his ship while mapping the British colony of Newfoundland. Cook was cordial to us, but because he spoke only English he was often left out of our conversations, for DesBarres preferred to speak to us in French, his mother tongue.
By the late spring of 1764, the two were gone from Castle Frederick to parts unknown, not expected back until the autumn. For us, this presented the opportunity to complete the fine work outlined in the architectural plans of DesBarres. Although we continued to live near the fort at Pisiquit, we Acadians working on the estate built wigwams on the site so we were not forced to walk the distance to the Manor House every day. The Germans from Lunenburg initially kept to themselves, but because many of them had come from lands in Germany close to the border of France, they spoke French as well as German. I observed that these Europeans were outstanding and skilled workers. By the time DesBarres returned in the fall of 1764, his dream house had been, for the most part, completed.
In addition to the five hundred acres he had originally owned at Castle Frederick, DesBarres had increased his acreage by the thousands, thus opening up his estate to tenant farming. The construction of our farmhouses began in earnest in early autumn, and we were able to complete them before the first snowfall. This was achieved through a co-operative effort, an Acadian tradition that expedited the building process considerably.
My people became the tenants on the DesBarres estate, but our time there was to be short.
Chapter 43
Frederick DesBarres’s homecoming in the autumn of 1764 did not include Captain James Cook. He arrived back at Castle Frederick with a comely young woman. Her name was Mary Cannon. On their arrival, Jospiau and I were summoned to the Manor House, where we caught our first glimpse of the lovely Mistress Cannon. Our first impression was that she was extremely young. We later discovered that DesBarres was thirty years her senior. What role she was to play in the life of the castle was soon to be revealed to us.
“Piau, I wish to introduce my housekeeper, Mary Cannon. She will be responsible for running the everyday workings of the household. This establishment requires a womanly touch to create the atmosphere of gentility that best befits my station in the colony. She will be responsible, with my assistance, for decorating the castle. We have transported furniture from England, some artworks that I collected before arriving in the colonies in 1756, and all the cookery and china necessary to entertain large numbers of guests.”
“It is our pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Mary,” I declared, as Jospiau and I bowed politely to the young lady standing ceremoniously before us.
The girl gave us a quizzical look when she was introduced to us in the Great Room of the manor. I sensed she was struck by the unlikelihood of an Acadian dressed as I was, speaking the King’s English like a country gentleman. She was neither charmed nor did she utter a single word of greeting. However, the charms of my handsome seventeen-year-old son were not lost on her.
Her figure was comely beyond her years, and her features were even but unremarkable. However, there was a spark in her eyes that more than compensated for the plainness of her face. Her hair was a bright strawberry-blond colour, which added to the fire burning deep within her emerald green eyes.
Throughout the introduction, I became aware that the young lady kept a c
onstant gaze on Jospiau. To ease the discomfort my son was feeling, standing there equally unable to keep his eyes off the young lady, I introduced him to her.
“And this is my son, Jospiau, baptized Joseph Belliveau.”
“Charmed, mademoiselle.”
Mistress Cannon gave my son an interested look, which could have been construed as flirtatious. To confuse her attitude toward Jospiau at that first meeting as an example of girlish coyness was to underestimate Mary Cannon’s extraordinary power as a woman. She may have been only fifteen, but there was no denying she was in every sense of the word an experienced woman of the world. It would not be long before we all became aware of her full capacity as an ambitious femme fatale.
DesBarres interjected with enthusiasm.
“Piau, as promised, I have acquired two books for you, one you requested, Robinson Crusoe, and one newly published this year, The Castle of Otranto. How appropriate is that, The Castle of Otranto by my close friend Horace Walpole, the son of the deceased former prime minister of Great Britain, Sir Robert Walpole, first earl of Orford. I have read the latter just recently, and the story will scare the britches off you.”
I could barely contain my excitement at this news, not having read any book but the Bible since Benjamin’s death.
“Major, I am so filled with gratitude. Thank you so much for remembering my request.”
“It pleases me to do this favour for you, Piau. You are a true lover of literature and learning, and that is rare in this colony.”
Jospiau produced a broad smile, feeling the excitement the gift had created in the room.
Mistress Cannon looked on with astonishment.
During the winter months, our life at Castle Frederick became intertwined with DesBarres’s. Jospiau and I continued to apply our woodworking skills in the various rooms of the house, and Jeanne was brought in to assist and instruct Mistress Cannon on the fine points of preparing food. Jeanne was circumspect with her young student. My wife was straightforward and without artifice; Mary was the exact opposite. This created a quiet mistrust in both women. To make matters worse, every time Mary entered a room occupied by Jospiau and myself, the atmosphere changed. Jospiau became animated in Mary Cannon’s presence. No words were exchanged between them, but it was apparent that there was a quiet attraction between the two, which only exists in the young.