“The Acadians. I’ve heard that he saved more than two hundred Acadians who were being deported aboard the British ship Pembroke last fall. I don’t know how they managed it, but the Acadians on board overcame the crew and sailed the ship to the mouth of rivière Saint-Jean, where Boishébert took them under his wing and took them up to the Miramichi.
“He’s a good man, Jeanne, and he seems to be devoted to the cause of the Acadians.”
“Dieu merci. Our brothers would do well to be in his company,” she replied.
—
In the spring, Jeanne’s and Joseph’s families said farewell to families and groups of people leaving the Port Toulouse area ahead of them. There was a sense of things falling apart, a feeling that they were seeing friends and neighbours for the last time. A number were sailing to the Miramichi area, and Jeanne wanted to send a letter on one of the ships to Charles and Abraham, but Joseph said, “Not now, Jeanne.” She wondered if it was because he was not sure they were there, but thought it better not to ask.
Late in May, Joseph and his father-in-law discussed their plans with Jeanne and Pierre. Jeanne was dismayed to learn that Joseph Leblanc dit Le Maigre was included in their plans, but tried to hide her feelings. Le Maigre had made arrangements for his family to travel ahead of him to the Miramichi, while he stayed behind to sail on Joseph’s schooner.
Joseph decided they would go to Île Saint-Jean. It was under French control and he thought it would be safer than Île Royale. He and Le Maigre believed there was still money to be made in cabotage activities, although they were not sure if France would continue to pay for the transport of Acadians to the island.
“If we find it’s not profitable or too dangerous,” Joseph said, “we will go on to the Miramichi. Pierre,” he added, “you too will be able to carry on this business.”
—
The day before they sailed, Martin Sauvage appeared at Jeanne’s side when she was having a last walk in her favourite part of the woods surrounding the Dugas settlement.
“I have something for you,” he said quietly, taking an object out of its cloth wrapping. “It’s to keep watch over you and keep you safe.”
Jeanne caught her breath and her eyes lit up. It was a statuette of a woman, a beautiful woman delicately carved in wood, her hands together in prayer, her robe resembling what one would see on a statue of the Blessed Virgin. A delicate fringe was carved at the edge of the garment. Her face had the serenity of a mature woman and her hair hung down her back in a thick plait. She seemed to have the easy grace of a Mi’kmaw woman. And Jeanne saw that although she was praying, her head was not bowed in supplication. It was held high as though facing God on equal terms. It was, of course, Sainte-Anne. When the Mi’kmaq adopted the Catholic religion, they adopted Jesus’s grandmother as their patron saint.
Jeanne looked at Martin through sudden tears. Alarmed at her reaction, he held out a hand to take his gift back. “No. Oh, no,” she said. “It’s the most beautiful gift I have ever received. Thank you. Oh, thank you, Martin.”
They suddenly heard voices and looked at each other guiltily. She quickly wrapped the gift in its cloth and opened her arms to him. He drew her close and held her gently. “I will keep you in my heart forever,” he said.
“And you in mine,” she whispered. She did not look back. She knew he would disappear into the woods like a ghost. Had he not told her to never worry about him? She smiled, mocking herself. Since when was there someone she did not worry about?
—
They sailed in early June, after bidding a tearful farewell to the Bois family. Jeanne was fond of her in-laws and sorry to leave them. She knew they would worry; but so would she.
Joseph’s schooner the Marie-Josèphe sailed with four of his children, Marie Braud and Le Maigre. Pierre’s schooner, the Angélique, carried Jeanne, their three babies, Joseph’s oldest daughter, Marguerite (who was now thirteen and could help Jeanne with the babies) and Grandfather Coste. He had asked to accompany them because he favoured his chances with them. Jeanne knew he wanted to help. She would have reason to be grateful for his presence.
The ships were well stocked. They had done everything they could to anticipate their needs. The cradles for the babies were simple boxes with rope handles; they could be secured on the ship and carried when necessary. Although they only had room for strict necessities, Jeanne brought her bundle of special keepsakes, to which was now added the statuette of Sainte-Anne. Jeanne felt a stirring of the same spirit of adventure she had experienced when she sailed to Port Toulouse with Joseph.
Joseph and his father-in-law both knew Île Saint-Jean from their many voyages there. They decided they should avoid the area of Port-de-Joye and its small French garrison. If fighting should occur it would be focused there. They chose a secluded area on the eastern shore, in a cove by a stream of fresh water, and within walking distance of a small farmstead. The first step they took was to visit the farm.
It belonged to Charles Haché and his wife Cécile Arsenault. They had two cows, a few hens, a kitchen garden and three young children. They were happy to have neighbours and more than happy to sell them the foodstuffs they could spare. Like most Acadians they could not subsist on the rations the French government gave them and they did not have the means to farm on a large scale. Joseph would pay them well for their produce.
Jeanne was aware that she and her family had an advantage over many displaced Acadians. They had the two schooners and Joseph had made a great deal of money during his years of cabotage at Louisbourg. Even she and Pierre had managed to put some money aside. They were not destitute, at least not yet.
The men quickly cleared some land by chopping down trees, which they in turn used to build two rustic huts not much more than shelters. Charles Haché came to help them. Jeanne was stricken. Grandfather Coste looked equally distressed. How could they survive a winter in such conditions? Pierre assured his young wife that they would improve the huts before winter set in.
Le Maigre laughed at her discomfort, and Jeanne honestly thought she might at times be capable of killing him. Making the sign of the cross, she asked forgiveness for such thoughts.
A few days later, when they had accommodated themselves somewhat to the living conditions and made arrangements for fresh food from the farm, Joseph and Pierre set sail. They would explore the area and look into the possibilities for some cabotage work. Joseph said he and Pierre also wanted to see what they were up against. Le Maigre offered to stay with the women and children, but Joseph told him very firmly that he was to go with him. “Grandfather Coste is here and he can take charge,” he said. It was the first of many instances when Jeanne would be grateful to have Grandfather Coste with them.
She had an additional worry that she had not yet shared with anyone. She was again carrying a child. Most women, she knew, believed they would not get pregnant when they were nursing a baby, but this rule did not seem to apply to her. Mon Dieu, she thought, how can I face giving birth in these circumstances? She confided in Marie Braud, who was sympathetic and caring, but as helpless as Jeanne.
Joseph and Pierre were away for several days. They returned with stories of the great disarray in the fortunes of the Acadians, both those who had been sent away in British ships and those who had managed to escape. Many of the Acadian refugees who had managed to escape to Île Saint-Jean the previous year to avoid deportation were by now ailing, starving and dispirited, living in crude huts and barely surviving on the rations given to them by the French government.
They also brought back the news that Britain and France had officially declared war on each other yet again.
“What does that mean for us?” Jeanne demanded of her brother.
“Jeanne! Jeanne!” He screamed at her impatiently. She was alarmed. He had never spoken to her this way before. Obviously, his nerves were raw.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “The wa
r means that we were right to leave Port Toulouse. But I don’t know what else it means.”
“I hate to say this,” he added, “but there are many Acadians who need transport to safety but who don’t have the money to pay for it.” He had not been able to find out if the French government would still pay for their transport.
“I know. I know,” he said, seeing the look on her face. “But what am I to do? Your kind husband here,” he said nodding at Pierre, “gave free passage to several Acadians and they robbed him for his kindness.”
“It’s all right, Jeanne,” Pierre said. “I only had a few pennies on me. You would have given them the money if you had been there.”
It was good to have the two men back with them, but it did not solve anything. That night, Jeanne told Pierre that they were expecting another child. He did not say anything, but held her close.
—
Joseph, Le Maigre and Pierre continued their cabotage for the rest of the summer. It was not as profitable as in other years. Jeanne suspected that Pierre gave free passage to many more Acadians, but she did not hold it against him. Even Joseph gave in a bit, but he never made a voyage unless there was some kind of payment. It was a haphazard business, not the usual cabotage by contract. Most of the Acadians who now found their way to the Tatamagouche area looking for passage to Île Saint-Jean arrived destitute and desperate. Many lost their lives in their attempt to escape.
In early September, a small shallop anchored near the shore close to their encampment, and several people waded ashore. Grandfather Coste went to meet them and Jeanne insisted on accompanying him. They were Acadians, one man and two women, thin and dirty and dressed in rags.
“Please,” one of the women said, “we come in peace. Do you have anything you could spare us? We have hungry children. We need food and money. We will take anything.”
Jeanne told Grandfather Coste to stay with them and she went back to get some food. She brought them some fresh meat from small game they had hunted, and vegetables and dried beans bought from the farm. She told them she had no money to give them, but handed them the length of yellow silk that Pierre had given her. She suggested they could sell it to someone.
“Yes. Yes. I know someone who will give us money for this beautiful silk,” one of the women said, looking at it greedily. “Are you sure you want to give it to us?”
“Yes. Please take it.” It was just the first step in the erosion of her bundle of treasures. She felt a pang of guilt in realizing that the gift from Pierre was the item that she could most easily part with.
—
A week later, in the dead of night, they heard a frightful noise and Jeanne believed they were being attacked by redcoats. But she had no time to think. She nudged Grandfather Coste, who was hard of hearing and still asleep. Then she quickly gathered her three children and Joseph’s Marguerite in her arms, and crouched with them at the back of the hut. Grandfather Coste reached for the musket they kept loaded at all times and rushed outside.
Grandfather Coste fired the musket – God knows in what direction – and the wild animal he disturbed ran for its life. He calmly returned to the hut, re-loaded the musket and put it in its usual place, looked to see that Jeanne and the children were not hurt, then lay down and went back to sleep.
Jeanne put her three children back to bed and soothed a terrified Marguerite until she slept. Then she lay down herself, her heart still pounding. She eventually fell asleep, but woke up later in the night with severe cramps. When she woke again in the morning, wet and bloody, she knew she had lost the new baby.
The days following felt unreal. Jeanne was devastated at losing the baby. Although she knew the loss had been caused by the attack in the night – it was, after all, an attack, whether human or animal – she also felt guilty. In an ideal world, she would not have chosen to carry a child at this particular time. Was it wrong for her to feel relief as well as sorrow at the loss? After all, this did mean one less worry in the coming months. She unburdened herself to Marie Braud, who firmly told her that it was God’s will, and not Jeanne’s doing.
When Jeanne told Grandfather Coste, he in his practical and down-to-earth way told her it was a blessing. “Perhaps,” he said, “God realized you have enough to cope with as it is. You already have three healthy children.” He awkwardly patted her shoulder.
When Pierre and Joseph returned to the camp at the end of August, Jeanne had come to terms with the loss. But she felt as if a small part of her, or of her innocence, had died. She felt stronger, but it was as if her heart had hardened. It was some comfort to her that Pierre was saddened, but concerned for her health. But when he approached her that night, she turned away from him. “I’m afraid, Pierre,” she said. “It’s all right, Jeanne,” he replied. “I understand.” He did not insist.
—
Joseph reported that the flood of Acadian refugees from Nova Scotia was now slowing, and that there was still a lot of confusion as to who should pay for their transport. Those who had money were happy to pay, but there were not many of them.
Le Maigre argued that they could have done better. “You’ve got to be merciless,” he said. “I know there is money to be made, Joseph, if you’re tough enough.”
Jeanne saw Pierre’s mouth tighten.
“That’s enough,” Joseph said angrily to his father-in-law. “You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip. These people have nothing.” They had obviously had this argument before.
Joseph turned to Jeanne and Marie Braud. “Pierre and I have decided that it would be better for all of us to move to Remshic, near Tatamagouche, in Nova Scotia. There is a risk in being in British territory, but it’s probably as safe as here. You will be near the port we use as our base, so we will be together for longer periods of time during the season. I agree with Pierre that we should not leave our families alone here so much, even if Grandfather Coste is with you.”
“That’s right,” Pierre said firmly. Jeanne was pleased to see that Joseph had begun to see Pierre as an equal and an ally.
Le Maigre snorted.
“Beau-Père,” Joseph said, “I know very well you’re worried about going to Nova Scotia because of your reputation there, but I really don’t think anyone will be after you in the Tatamagouche area. Things are too much in disarray right now.” His father-in-law turned away without replying.
They sailed for Remshic a few days later. Jeanne did not know what awaited them, but she was relieved that they would not be facing winter on Île Saint-Jean.
—
Remshic was a secluded cove compared to the open port of Tatamagouche a few leagues away. But it was crowded with Acadians on the run. At first this annoyed Jeanne, but then she thought, Mon Dieu, this is what we are too. Joseph and Pierre had earlier found two small abandoned houses and paid a young man to keep guard over them, but when they arrived the houses had been taken over and the young man was nowhere to be seen. Joseph was furious and determined to throw these people out of the houses. Pierre stayed out of the argument.
Jeanne felt ashamed, embarrassed and frightened. Ashamed because she knew these people were as needy as she. Embarrassed by Joseph’s anger and Pierre’s silence. Frightened because she did not want to be homeless with her three babies. Her oldest, Marie, was not yet three.
They finally made an arrangement with the squatters to move into one house, leaving the other for the Dugas/Bois group. Jeanne, Marie Braud and all the children would move into the one house and the men would sleep outside – there was not enough room for everyone to sleep inside on the floor. It was not a good beginning.
While Jeanne had felt isolated in their camp in the woods on Île Saint-Jean, here in Remshic she was overwhelmed by the presence of too many people. There were people everywhere, all seeking refuge. The people they had ousted from the house kept a resentful eye on them. Jeanne tried to befriend an elderly woman who was part of the group
by offering her some of the turnips and onions they had managed to buy. The woman almost spat at her as she accepted the food without a word of thanks. One of the woman’s daughters apologized to Jeanne with tears in her eyes. “Maman is not herself,” she said. Jeanne assured her she understood. “Please do not worry about it. I wish I could help you more.”
“It’s all right. Thank you for this much,” the daughter said.
It was barely fall and the weather was grey and cold for that time of the year. Baby Angélique caught a chest cold and then most of the other children caught it. No one complained, but the atmosphere was strained.
One dark rainy day soon after their arrival, Pierre told Jeanne that he thought they should risk going to their home in Port Toulouse for the winter. The British had not yet launched an attack on Louisbourg and the chances were that they would not do so now before spring. Still, when she pressed him for a decision, he seemed doubtful.
“I don’t know, Jeanne. I told Joseph how I feel about it, but he did not say anything. I don’t know if he agrees or not.”
“Ah, Pierre.”
“Well, you know your brother,” he said and shrugged.
Yes, and I know you too, Jeanne thought to herself, sadly.
They stayed in Remshic through September, and then in early October two things happened that changed Joseph’s mind. A group of particularly destitute and determined Acadians tried to force Joseph to take them to Île Saint-Jean and when he refused they tried to steal his schooner. At about the same time, a young man from the area tried to lure Marguerite, Joseph’s young daughter, to go for a walk with him in the woods. Pierre was the one who witnessed this and accosted the young man, who refused to let go of Marguerite’s arm and insolently told Pierre it was none of his concern. Pierre grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, made him let go of the girl and then punched him in the eye. The young man took off.
It was a frightened Marguerite who told Jeanne the story when she got home. Joseph was horrified at the news. They left for Port Toulouse very soon after. They had been in Remshic for almost two months.
Jeanne Dugas of Acadia Page 10