“You know, I always feel safer when you are with me, Martin,” she said with a sad smile.
“And I always feel that I’m a better man when I am with you,” he said. “I’ll take you back to the ship. I have to go now. I’ve brought some food. I even found some berries for you,” he said with a smile.
“Ah, Martin.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Thank you. Especially for the berries,” she smiled through her tears.
He paddled back to the schooner as silently as he had left it. Grandfather Coste was anxiously waiting. Jeanne climbed back into the schooner with the gifts. No one said a word.
—
It wasn’t long before Boishébert’s men became tired and discouraged. When a number of them fell ill, there were many desertions. The militia from Port Toulouse and the remaining Mi’kmaw warriors were among the first to leave. Soon Boishébert had only about a hundred and forty men left. He decided his mission was doomed and he sent a letter to Governor Drucour to advise him of this. He told his remaining men that he was planning to return to the Miramichi at the first good opportunity and that he would take anyone who wanted to leave with him.
Spirits were low among Boishébert’s remaining troops and in those who hoped to follow him to safety. It was as if there was a slowing down of time – the days seemed longer and the movements of men slower and more cumbersome. Boishébert led a few more sorties against the British siege posts, but the attempts seemed half-hearted, as if his troops were only going through the motions. Even Joseph seemed ashamed of their efforts, and Le Maigre was very angry at the idea of giving up.
Jeanne overheard Le Maigre mutter that maybe the rumours about Boishébert being there only to trade and line his own pockets were true. But Joseph angrily defended him.
“You know very well that Boishébert is a good man. And you know very well that the King awarded him the Cross of Saint-Louis this past summer.” This was indeed a high honour and the French king bestowed it only on the most deserving.
—
For the Bois and Dugas families living on their schooners anchored in an inlet of the rivière Miré, the tension and worry increased. It became more dangerous and difficult to forage for food. Jeanne kept an eye on Grandfather Coste. She could tell his health was failing, even as he denied it. And Jeanne knew by Joseph’s demeanour that he was very worried and on edge. She knew him so well, she could read him as easily as she did her bibliothèque bleu books. She had placed her family’s safety totally in his hands and she began to wonder if this was perhaps unfair of her. Had she asked too much of him?
In any event, they did not have very long to wait. On the afternoon of July 27, Jean Sauvage, his nephew Martin and several other Mi’kmaw scouts arrived with the news that Louisbourg had fallen to the British. The great fortress had come to an ignoble end, forced to surrender without being accorded the traditional honours of war. The entire garrison were to be taken as prisoners. Nothing had been said about the fate of the inhabitants of Île Royale or Île Saint-Jean, but it was assumed that the British intended to deport them.
Chapter 25
The next few days passed by in a flurry of preparations. Boishébert wanted to leave before the British came to clear out the Miré area.
Joseph gathered his two families together and surprised them with the announcement that he was sailing to Québec to try to obtain Lettres de Marques from the French governor to authorize him and others to operate as privateers.
Jeanne gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
“I am sailing there with my father-in-law on my schooner,” he continued. “Jeanne, the rest of you will sail to the Miramichi on the Angélique with Pierre and Grandfather Coste.”
Ti-Jos said he wanted to go to Québec with his father, but Joseph instinctively said, “No.” Then he hesitated, looked pensively at his twelve-year-old son, and relented. Perhaps he remembered growing up with his own father. “Very well,” he said, “you can come with us, Ti-Jos. We could use another man on board.”
It was obvious that Ti-Jos was thrilled from head to toe, but the decision sent a chill down Jeanne’s spine.
“We’ll be fine, Jeanne,” said her husband. “Grandfather will be with us and we’ll be sailing with Boishébert’s group.”
“I know, Pierre, I know.” Marie Braud was deathly pale. Jeanne put a comforting arm around her. Joseph sailed a day before Boishébert and his ships.
As they saw Joseph off on the Marie-Josèphe, Ti-Jos looked happy and proud to be sailing with his father, but to Jeanne he was tiny and vulnerable. Mon bon Dieu, she prayed silently, please protect them, and all of us. Grandfather Coste, who was standing behind her, patted her awkwardly on the back.
Later in the day, when Pierre and Grandfather Coste were away from the schooner looking for more supplies for their trip, Martin Sauvage came for a last visit. He was carrying a child, a little boy who looked to be about Pierrot’s age. The child’s big brown eyes watched everything around him in silence and he clung to Martin so fiercely that his little fingers were white.
“Martin, who is he?”
“I don’t know. He has been with us for a few days now and I have not been able to find his parents. I think they must have been killed. I tried to find a family to take him. Acadians are usually good that way, but two families yelled at me that he is a Huguenot and that they want nothing to do with him.” He paused. “There are times when I find it difficult to understand your god, Jeanne.”
“Ah, Martin, there are times I do not understand Him myself.”
“We can keep him with us, but I believe he would be safer with his own people. Our situation is very uncertain, as you know.”
“Are you asking us to take him, Martin?”
“I am asking you to take him, Jeanne,” he replied, looking into her eyes.
She held her arms out to the boy. “What is his name?”
“I don’t know. He’s old enough to speak, but he has not said a word. And I have no way of knowing what he’s been through to make him like this.” The boy buried his face in Martin’s neck and held on to him even more tightly, ignoring Jeanne’s arms.
Martin murmured to him softly and started to gently pry his little fingers open.
“Viens, mon petit,” Jeanne said. Finally, he lifted his head and blinked and looked first at Jeanne and then at Martin and back to Jeanne. Then with a last glance at Martin, he gave up and went into Jeanne’s arms, clinging to her just as fiercely. Jeanne held him and crooned to him.
Marie, who had been holding on to her mother’s apron, went to Martin. “Uncle Martin,” she said, “I’ll help Maman to take care of him and I’ll be good to him. I promise.”
Martin put his hand on her head. “Thank you, Marie. One day you are going to be wonderful woman and a wonderful maman. Just like your Maman. Jeanne ...” he began.
“I understand, Martin. Thank you for coming to me.”
“The boy was barefoot when we found him and we’ve given him some moccasins. I’ve brought some extra ones that should fit your children. You may need them later on. And I’ve brought you some dried meat and beans.”
“Thank you. Will I see you again, Martin?” She was on the verge of tears.
“Yes. Yes. I’ll do my best to keep track of you. And if things ... get very bad and you need me, tell any Mi’kmaw and I will come to you.” He put his arms gently around her and the boy and then silently melted away.
—
They sailed the next day. Boishébert’s ships carried his remaining troops and a number of homeless and destitute Acadians. One of his ships called at Port Toulouse to pick up others. It was a bold effort on Boishébert’s part. Jeanne could see why Joseph admired this man. But she was fearful. There were two sides to their adventure. One, the excitement of fleeing from the defeated Île Royale; the other, the very real worry as to what awaited them in the Miram
ichi.
The Angélique was crowded as never before. As well as Jeanne’s family and Grandfather Coste, their schooner was carrying Marie Braud and four of Joseph’s children, the little orphan, and a stray man who had joined them at the last minute. He told them his name was Michel Benoist and that he was an Acadian who had lived on Île Royale most of his life. Grandfather Coste thought he remembered his family and said they should take him.
The new man turned out to be a godsend and Jeanne wondered if perhaps God did sometimes really care. As Pierre soon realized, his grandfather was no longer capable of pulling his weight on the schooner, and Michel stepped in. Grandfather Coste was able to save face by acting as the ship’s captain and overseer.
Jeanne felt herself pulled in ten directions at once. The most immediate and urgent tug came from the little orphan, who would not leave her side. Marie and the other children tried to amuse him, but he ignored them. Pierre told Jeanne to put him down and let him fend for himself, but she couldn’t.
When she had first explained him to the others and said he was probably a Huguenot, no one had objected. But Pierrot was frustrated by not knowing what to call him, and said, “Hu ... no ... guenot ...” then, triumphantly, “Nono!” He loved words like that and for better or worse that became the orphan’s name. Nono ate if Jeanne fed him and Nono slept if Jeanne was beside him. It was awkward during the day. The younger children were used to spending their time on board ship tied by a rope to the mast so that they would not wander too close to the side of the ship and to protect them in rough seas. But Nono reacted so violently to that idea that they did not insist. So Jeanne and Nono were inseparable. But if all went well, the voyage should only take a few days and perhaps little Nono would be less fearful on land.
A bigger worry was the news that Michel Benoist brought with him. Grandfather Coste asked him if he was familiar with their destination, the Miramichi. His reply made Jeanne wish that Grandfather had not asked.
Michel explained that in the years leading up the deportation in 1755, a number of Acadian families who were worried about the political situation had sought refuge on the rivière Saint-Jean, Michel and his young family among them. They had settled along the river in family groups, surviving by cultivating small farms and by hunting and fishing. In 1754, the French had a small fort, Ménagoèche, established at the mouth of the river, with Boishébert as commandant.
The following year, after defeating Fort Beauséjour, the British had sent troops to capture Ménagoèche. Aware of the plans, Boishébert had burned the fort before the British arrived and taken several hundred refugees up the northeast coast to make his headquarters on an island in the Baie de Miramichi. It was considered a good spot for hunting and fishing and brought new hope to the Acadian families. They named the island Camp de l’Espérance. Michel paused and looked off into the distance.
“Well,” he continued in a voice rough with emotion, “it wasn’t. A camp of hope, that is. The government of Nouvelle France was in charge of supplying Boishébert, his men and the refugees with food and support, but corrupt officials stole the money set aside to buy provisions, and the people at the camp were left to fend for themselves.
“During the winter of 1757, hundreds of Acadians died at Camp de l’Espérance, from starvation or from smallpox. All our children died. Those of us adults who survived ate anything we could find, even at the end our deerskin boots. Finally, we had nothing; we lay on the ground, with Boishébert, his officers and soldiers and waited for death.
“Then in early May,” Michel continued, “we were rescued from death’s door when a ship made its way through the ice and brought us provisions. The hardiest of us survived.” He paused and shook his head, looking off into the expanse of ocean.
“I was not going to tell you,” he said, “because I feel so guilty for surviving. I left my wife and two sons buried there. So now you know.”
“Ah, mon Dieu,” Jeanne cried out, “you poor man.” She hesitated. “But you’re going back?”
“There is nowhere else to go,” he said softly.
“But ... but I think my brothers were there at the time.... And we’ve had a letter from them. It seems they are alive and well.”
“I’m sorry, Jeanne. I shouldn’t have told you all this. I assure you, it’s quite possible that your brothers were not at Camp de l’Espérance at the time this happened. They could have been hiding in the area. Some of the Acadians took to the woods and some of them took refuge with the Mi’kmaq. Please don’t worry, Jeanne, I am sure that is what happened.” She nodded, but how not to worry?
“I’m told that Camp de l’Espérance has now become a place of transit for refugees escaping Louisbourg and Île Saint-Jean on their way to Ristigouche Poste or Québec. So I’m not sure just where Boishébert is taking us,” he added.
Jeanne wondered if this meant that they might not find themselves in the same place as Charles and Abraham after all.
Chapter 26
The Angélique was one of the last ships in their group to reach land at Miramichi. Jeanne wondered if they would land on Boishébert’s island or on the mainland. Pierre said they would follow the other ships. As their schooner came closer to the shore of the island there was great confusion with several ships arriving at once, but they could see there were shallops waiting to take them ashore. Pierre dropped anchor and they all stood facing the shore waiting for a shallop to reach them.
Jeanne held Nono in one arm and Angélique in the other. Marie held on to her mother’s apron. Pierrot, afraid of nothing, was standing at the end of his rope as close to the side of the ship as he could get. Jeanne could hear shouting from the shore and from other ships, but on the Angélique there was complete silence, as if they were all frozen in place.
Jeanne glanced over at Grandfather Coste, who was as pale as death, Pierre standing anxiously beside him. Marguerite stood with her sisters and with an arm around the trembling Marie Braud. Michel Benoist faced the shore like the others, but his eyes seemed unfocused, as if he did not want to see.
Their silence was broken by the gentle bump of a shallop against the side of the Angélique. A rough voice shouted up to them: “Who are you?”
Pierre shouted back. “Dugas ... and Bois. Dugas and Bois.”
The man turned and shouted the names back and the names were picked up and shouted closer and closer to the shore.
“Dugas! Bois!”
“Dugas! Bois!”
“Dugas! Bois!”
Suddenly, Jeanne saw a man jumping up and down on the shore and waving his arms wildly. Mon Dieu! Could it be Charles or Abraham? He was too far away for her to see what he looked like, but Jeanne said to everyone, “Wave to that man! Wave to that man!” She put Angélique down so she could wave and suddenly Nono squirmed from her grasp her and got down, waving with the others.
The women and children were quickly put in the shallop, which would come back for the men. Jeanne looked anxiously at Grandfather Coste. He was sitting on an upended cask and Pierre was holding him. Pierre lifted his hand to Jeanne as if to say, “It’s all right. Go.”
Jeanne kept her eyes on the man on the shore. He was watching them and tracking their shallop to see where it would land. Finally, they were close enough and she could see that it was indeed her brother Charles. She tried to shout to him but her throat wouldn’t make the sound. Instead, she forced a smile and waved and he smiled and waved back.
None of them on the shallop had spoken yet. The two men who rowed the boat had kept silent too, as if they sensed something strange about their travellers. Strong hands helped Charles and the rowers to haul the shallop onto the sand.
Charles went to Jeanne first. “Ah, Jeanne!” He picked her up out of the shallop but as he started to carry her further up the beach Nono started to wail. Jeanne found her voice. “Ah, mon Dieu, that little boy thinks you’re taking me away from him. Put me down, Charle
s, I’ll have to take him with me.” She ran back and took Nono with her, while the men disembarked the others. Charles was holding out his arms to them, as if he would take them all in his embrace.
“Where are the men?” he asked.
“The shallop is going back for them. There is my husband, Pierre Bois, his grandfather Jean Coste, and another Acadian, Michel Benoist.”
“And Joseph?” Charles looked stricken.
“No, no, Charles, he’s well. At least we think he is. Joseph has gone to Québec hoping to pick up Lettres de Marques from the French Governor so he can be a privateer.”
Charles put back his head and gave a bark of laughter. “He hasn’t changed, has he? Did he go by himself?”
“No, his father-in-law, Joseph Leblanc dit Le Maigre, is with him. And Joseph took his twelve-year-old son Ti-Jos with him too. And you’re right, Joseph has not changed.”
“And the rest of you are safe! Tell me who everyone is, Jeanne. It’s so long since I have seen any of you.” So Jeanne introduced him to everyone. Joseph’s children, Marguerite, Anne, Mimi and Françoise. “Mimi is Ti-Jos’s twin. Remember? They were born in Grand-Pré. And Marie Braud, who came to Port Toulouse with us from Grand-Pré.”
“Yes, of course, I remember.”
“And these are my children, Marie, Pierrot and Angélique. And this is the new member of our family, Nono. We’ve adopted him.”
Charles hugged and kissed all of them. Jeanne wondered how Nono would react. But Nono, having watched all this, decided he had no choice and accepted the show of affection.
In the meantime, the shallop was on its way back with the men.
Jeanne told Charles how she was worried about Grandfather Coste. She knew he was ill, but did not know what was wrong.
“We will take care of him, Jeanne.” Charles put a strong arm around her shoulders as they watched the shallop approach. He radiates strength and purpose, Jeanne thought. He seemed to have a stronger sense of himself than she remembered. Perhaps it’s because of all the hardships he’s gone through, she thought.
Jeanne Dugas of Acadia Page 13