The Promise

From the deck of his schooner, Maurice threw dock lines to his sons Jacques and Jean on the wharf. Though the April air still held the memory of winter, a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Wonder what the British want now?” Maurice grumbled as he pointed his chin at small boats anchored along the wharf and beach. “If this many Acadians are here, it must be something big.”

Jacques secured his line, then faced the bateaux. “Hey, Jean, think you can find ours?”

Jean punched his brother's arm. “I tied ours near Allain's River.”

At a look from Maurice, Jacques ceased provoking his younger brother. “Maybe Philipps has another proclamation,” Jacques said. He grinned. “Maybe some bigwig tore up the Treaty of Utrecht and Annapolis Royal is again Port Royal. Seven years is a long time for the French to let the British control Acadie.”

Maurice shook his head, then joined his sons on the wharf.

“Who knows, Papa?” Jacques continued. “Maybe it's the damn oath again. The British always want us to do something.”

Jean puffed his chest. “You must sign the oath. You must sign the oath.”

Maurice laughed. “You are your mother's sons. But you're probably right: time for the French to take back Nova Scotia. They're like marsh birds, heh, those French and British soldiers? Suddenly rising up and making a big noise, flying about, dropping shit, then settling down until the next disturbance.” Maurice looked across the expanse of the Annapolis Basin. “Your Maman, though, would be happy to again call this the Dauphin River.” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a linen packet. “Perhaps this will cheer her.”

Jacques and Jean drew near.

Maurice unfolded the cloth to reveal a wooden cross of polished driftwood. In its center was a variegated pink agate surrounding an amethyst crystal. “I traded three copper pots to Cope's Mi'kmaw kin for this beauty.” He rubbed his thumb over the crystal. “Sacred stone to them. Your Maman should like that.” Maurice rewrapped his treasure and returned it to his pocket. He clapped a hand to Jacques' shoulder, looked at Jean, and pointed his chin at a derelict fort on a rise above the river. “Let's find out what that damn British Governor wants us to do.”

“What about the cargo?” Jean asked.

Jacques smirked. “Not paying attention, eh little brother?”

Maurice guffawed. “Ah, remember how this ship ended up in the Comeau marsh? Mon gos,” he continued, “Look – the river, she's at slack water. Time enough to hear whatever the governor has to say before we unload.”

Jacques bent his head to Jean's ear. “And if the governor blathers on until the tide begins to ebb, Papa'll have an excuse to leave.”

***

Maurice, Jacques and Jean entered Fort Anne through the massive stone arch of its sally port. Work was underway to repair buildings and ramparts. The British garrison was less surly and their uniforms less tattered than those of the past few years.

A throng of fellow Acadian men and older boys, murmuring among themselves and stomping their feet to keep warm, gathered on the parade grounds. Governor Philipps, increasingly irritating the villagers since his recent arrival, stood on a platform, paper in hand.

“There's Uncle Joseph and Uncle Francois,” Jean said.

Maurice, Jacques and Jean made their way along the edge of the crowd, then excused their way into the middle.

“Good fishing, Vigneaults?” asked a dark-haired man, arms crossed and staring at the governor.

“Mostly a cargo run,” Maurice said “But we caught enough – for us and for you, Joseph, and your horde of Comeaus if you spent your day in the fields instead of the bay. What does Philipps want?”

“We think it's the damn oath again,” Joseph said.

“Allegiance or neutrality?” Maurice asked.

“Allegiance, I think. Not like Caulfeild's in '15. Rumor is, this one wants an unconditional oath.”

“Listen,” urged Francois, who looked as Joseph must have 15 years younger.

“Your Maman let you come today, Francois?” Jacques needled.

Francois elbowed him. “Just tell us if the priest really translates what the governor says.”

“...to submit to your Government & Swear Allegiance to His Majesty, within the space of four months from today...”

Shouts of “No!” and “Never!” volleyed from the crowd.

“Not good, Maurice,” Joseph said. “Rumor is this one won't let us fish or trade in the Bay of Fundy unless we sign that damn oath.”

“That explains the British sloops in the Bay,” Jacques said.

Maurice gritted his teeth. “I'm getting too old for this.” He looked at his sons. “I'm not taking up arms for the British. And I'm not setting the lads against their French and Mi'kmaw cousins.”

“Nor do I want that for my baby brother Francois,” Joseph said, “no matter that he thinks he's now a man.”

“Imagine what Maman will do if the governor tells her she can't have a priest,” Jacques said.

Jean chuckled. “Like when you told her you weren't saying your prayers?”

“Exactly.” Jacques winked.

“...upon which condition you shall enjoy the free Exercise of your Religion, and be protected in all your Civil & Religious Rights & Liberties so long as you shall behave yourselves as becomes good subjects...”

“Alors,” Jacques whispered. “Maybe Maman talked with Madame Doucett at the trading post. Then Madame talked to her husband who passed something along to the governor.”

Both Maurice and Joseph began to laugh. They cleared their throats instead as the soldiers guarding the governor shifted their bayonets.

“That one there will do well,” Joseph said, shifting his eyes towards Jacques. “He always seems to know what someone needs to hear.”

“He also seems privy to information he ought not to know,” Maurice added. “He's a lot like your sister.”

Joseph chuckled. “Always thought Marguerite would make a better councilor than most men. Sure knew how to keep us well behaved growing up.”

“...Those who refuse and remain are to be punished by prohibition of fishing and other civil privileges until His Majesty's pleasure is known...”

“There it is,” Joseph said.

The crowd's murmur rose to a drone.

Jean shuffled. “Papa, what'll you do?”

“Talk with your Maman,” Maurice said. “We have four months – unless he changes his mind about that, too.”

“...This proclamation to be posted on your church door. In addition, you are ordered to cease building a road from here to Les Mines...”

The drone became a din.

“Governor Nicholson promised we could leave,” shouted a man standing in his field sabots.

“I signed the notice I was leaving,” shouted another. He clenched his fists.

“So did I,” shouted a third.

The governor raised a dainty hand. “Since you did not sign the original oath, you can leave only with two sheep and whatever you can carry.”

Old man Dugas spoke up. “How are we supposed to do that without ships or roads?”

The soldiers pointed their muskets at the crowd.

“You're right, Joseph,” Maurice said. “This isn't good. C'mon boys, time to unload the cargo. Francois, come. I have some red cloth for your mother.”

***

“Looks like Maman is worried,” Jean said. A well-nourished woman stood in the doorway of her cob home. A toddler tugged at the apron over her long skirts, while two older children peered around her wide hips.

“Ma bonne femme.” Maurice wiped a gnarled and weathered hand over his dark brow. He squared his shoulders and set his face to neutral. “Bon soir, Marguerite,” he called.

“Any longer and it would be 'good morning'.” She took the toddler's hand and went inside.

Maurice, Jacques and Jean doffed their caps and hung them on a peg-rack just inside the door. The toddler ran into Maurice's arms. The two older boys, about 4 and 7, joined Jacques and Jean at the hearth where they warmed their hands near the wood fire.

“Smells good, Maman,” Jacques said. He sniffed the air above a bubbling cauldron. “Cod.” He paused. “Chives and parsley?” He sniffed again. “Peas and cream?” He broke into a wide grin. “Another great success.”

Jean rolled his eyes.

Marguerite looked at Jacques. Her shoulders relaxed. “You could charm the quills off a porcupine. You can tell me what delayed you after supper.” She glared at Maurice.

Maurice pulled a carved wooden cow from a satchel and handed it to the toddler who squealed happily, then put its head in his mouth. “Non, non Simon.” Maurice removed the toy. “What does the cow say?”

“Moo, Mooooo,” Simon cooed.

“Ne te fâche pas, Marguerite,” Maurice said. “All will be well.” He nodded towards the younger children. “Probably a good idea to wait until Joseph-Maurice and Jean-Baptiste are asleep. The governor's given us an ultimatum.”

Maurice and Marguerite ate silently. The same could not be said of their five sons, including Simon who babbled his banter. When Jean imitated the governor making proclamations, Marguerite could no longer sustain her anger. She burst out laughing.

***

With the three youngest brothers settled, and Jacques and Jean wrangling genially over a card game, Maurice began. “This governor won't grant me a license unless I sign the oath of allegiance. I think it's time for us to leave Annapolis Royal.”

Marguerite clucked her tongue. “They always want you to sign an oath. We say we will if they protect us from the Mi'kmaq. They say we're pretending we're afraid. Then they leave us alone. Or with just a few soldiers at the fort. Then the French return. They all need us to feed them. We go on.”

“This time it's different,” Maurice said. “They're repairing the fort. The soldiers wear new red uniforms. British ships patrol the Bay. They could block us – or destroy our ships with their cannons. And the merchants in the British colonies are agitating for control over the fisheries and fur trade again.”

“Oh, Maurice. You know how to run a blockade. You outran those ships from Boston.”

Jacques and Jean stopped bickering about cards.

“I tell you, this one is different, Marguerite. Besides, back then, Governor Subercase was on our side. He despised the British and Bostonnais raiders as much as we did.”

Marguerite looked at Jacques and Jean. “You didn't know your Papa was a pirate?”

Jacques grinned. Jean looked dumbstruck.

“Privateer, boys,” Maurice said.

Marguerite glanced at Joseph-Maurice and Jean-Baptiste asleep on their pallets. “If you'd been born here, you'd understand, Maurice. My grandparents, my parents, me – we've outlasted all those raids and plunders. We're still here. I won't leave my home.” She stabbed her index finger at the pine tabletop.

“I remember when I was nine,” Marguerite continued. “The English sacked Port Royal, pillaged our homes. And worse. I can still hear Marie-Louise's screams when the soldiers caught her mother. But they went away. With them and the French, there's always a next time.”

Maurice puffed his cheeks, then leaned back. “Boys, go bed down the animals.”

Jacques argued. “Papa, we're not boys.”

“Then men, go bed down the animals.”

Jacques felt Jean tug his sleeve. He relented and followed Jean into the yard.

Jacques gazed at the stars. “When I was 5, the English burned our home. You were just a little older than Simon. Papa was fishing in the Bay. Maman and I ran to the fort with you.”

Jean waited.

Jacques looked back at their home. “That's why Papa used clay and sand and straw to build this house. So Maman wouldn't worry so much about losing another home to the raiders' fire.” He looked at Jean, at the barn, then back at the house. “I have to know what they're saying. This is our home, too. And we're men. We should have a say in where we live.”

“Go, brother. I'll see to the animals,” Jean said.

Jacques pursed his lips and nodded his head. He crept to the window, where he watched his parents seated across from each other in front of the hearth.

“I'm weary of rebuilding, and of supplying the garrison,” Maurice said. “The older boys – our men –” he smiled – “are old enough for the British to press-gang them into military service. Jacques especially is an able pilot.”

Jacques stood taller.

Marguerite glanced toward the window. Jacques froze.

“We should go to Port Toulouse,” Maurice said.

From her bodice, Marguerite removed a wooden cross on its leather thong. “Remember our wedding day, what you said when you gave this to me?”

Maurice softened. “I could never forget.”

“Say it.”

“That I will always protect you and our children like Joseph protected Marie and Jesus.”

Jacques gulped and closed his eyes. He leaned against the wall.

“Is that what you're doing now?”

“Oui, ma chère. Neither the Mi'kmaw and French alliance, nor the Bostonnais and British one will leave Port Royal to the other. Nor leave us alone. No matter to whom we swear an oath. It's what my Papa told me: soldiers and villagers are pawns in battles between kings and queens.”

“He would know, God rest his soul,” Marguerite said. “So how will we leave if you can't sail without a license and you won't sign the oath?”

“I'll sign it. Then we'll go on a fishing trip – a trip of no return.”

Marguerite gasped. “You'd go back on your word?” Her shoulders tensed and she looked away. “That's a great sin.”

Maurice looked into the fire. “It would be a greater sin to let harm come to my family.”

Marguerite relaxed and reached out to clasp his hands, the cross held between them.

Maurice continued. “I promise I'll build another home for you in Port Toulouse. Out of wood and brick if you like. The French are in charge there. And there's a Récollet priest.” He lowered his head. “I've bought two acres.”

Jacques straightened, then moved his head closer to the window.

Marguerite's eyes crinkled as she released Maurice's hands. “I thought as much – that you'd bought land somewhere. I've no doubt about your building skills.” She slid her hand along the smooth arm of her pine chair.

Maurice raised his head.

Marguerite smiled a smile that reached her cornflower blue eyes. “Have you learned nothing in your 20 years in Acadie?”

He exhaled, relaxed his shoulders and sat upright. “Her women love to gossip.”

Marguerite tapped his arm. “B'en sûr. We learn much during our gossips. Acadian men suspect. Those others – they don't. They think nothing happens in our homes but cooking and making babies.” Marguerite stroked the cross with her thumb. “I think I will leave this with our girls, and with baby Francois. I want them to know we haven't abandoned them.”

Maurice took her hands in his. “I miss them every day, too. Little Francois toddling about after his brothers. Marie and Marguerite learning to help you in the home.” His voice caught and a tear escaped. “And baby Josette, learning to call for Pa-pa.”

“Listen to me, Maurice.” Marguerite stared into his eyes. “It was the sickness the British soldiers brought. You could have done nothing else.” She released her hands from his and stroked his greying head. “But I will go to Village Comeau and leave this at their graves. To protect them when we're gone.”

Maurice reached into his pocket and drew out the linen packet. “Perhaps now is the time to give you this.” He held out his palm. “Ah, I've surprised you.”

Marguerite unwrapped the driftwood cross with its agate-amethyst inset. “What will my sisters and cousins think if I wear such fancy?”

Maurice leaned over and kissed her forehead. “That you have a good husband?”

“That if my husband gives me a cross, there's a big change coming, more likely.” She stood and walked to the window. “Come inside.”

Maurice looked at her, eyebrows raised.

Jacques slunk in. He opened his mouth to speak.

Marguerite raised her hand. “I've had far more experience in this than you, my son. Go, get Jean. We have much to prepare over the next few months.”

***

Through May, they acted as they always had – working, visiting, and attending Mass. Marguerite prepared provisions, spun wool and flax, salted fish, and harvested herbs and vegetables.

By early June, Maurice, Jacques, and Jean, with some help from Joseph-Maurice, outfitted the ship's hold with more berths and pens.

At Midsummer, on a soft evening full of late light and a gentle, steady river breeze, the family sat round the pine table. “It's time Maurice?” Marguerite asked.

Maurice removed a clay pipe from his lips. “It's time.” He added a pinch of tobacco to the bowl. “Some of the soldiers grow too curious about work on a ship that's forbidden to sail.”

Jean spoke up. “Some of our sailors are shunning Papa for letting our relatives give us fish instead of catching them himself.”

Maurice slapped the table with his free hand. “Don't worry about that, Jean. They'll know the truth soon enough. Then your friends will shun you because I signed the oath.” He looked at each of his sons, including Simon sitting on Marguerite's lap. “Learn this, my boys.” He raised the hand holding the pipe. “You'll know you truly are a man when you put your family first. No matter what anyone says or does.” He leaned back. “I'll sign the oath tomorrow. Jacques, in the morning. you'll take your Maman, Jean-Baptiste and Simon to Village Comeau. No arguments.” He set the pipe back between his lips.

***

Headed back to Annapolis Royal from Village Comeau, Jacques rowed the bateau in a sure and steady rhythm. Jean-Baptiste, seated between his knees and with his small hands on Jacques', furrowed his brow. They passed homes, some near the river's banks, and some set back behind rich meadows claimed from the salty river by dykes and aboiteaux.

“You must be happy, Maman, to know that Auntie Madeleine is sneaking out, too.” Jacques said. “And the Samsons.”

Marguerite looked furtively around. “Be careful, Jacques.” She pointed to Jean-Baptiste and mouthed: “He's not old enough to know yet what not to say.” She sighed, then shifted the sleeping Simon on her lap. “I already miss this place.” She waved to a group of women tending to their home gardens. “Bonjour Lanoues!”

Collectively, they raised their heads. “Ça va, Marguerite?” one called.

“All is well,” she answered, then whispered, “I pray that is true.”

***

On the day of departure, the predawn light glowed through a thin haze of summer fog. Jacques stood in the doorway, ready to haul another load to their waiting cart. He stopped as he heard the sounds of his parents' waking.

Maurice, his arms around Marguerite, gently shook her. “It's time, ma belle.”

She sniffled. “I know, Maurice. I've not slept all night.”

He put his mouth to her ear. “Then that was quite a thunderstorm that so rattled this bed.”

Jacques smiled as he turned his back to his parents and bent to lift a sack of grain. “I'm worried those noisy chickens will rouse the soldiers' interest,” he said. “Papa, we don't take chickens on a fishing trip. Or small children.”

“Then we'd better hurry, hadn't we?” Maurice said. “Is your Uncle Francois here?”

“In the barn with Jean. They're getting the calf and cow ready. That worries me, too, Papa,” Jacques said. “Who takes a calf on a fishing trip?”

“I'm sure that you or Jean will think of an explanation if we're stopped,” Maurice said.

Marguerite readied the three youngest boys and gave each a biscuit. “Maman has more breakfast for you once we're on our adventure. Remember, Jean-Baptiste, if we see soldiers, no talking to them.”

Maurice and Francois climbed onto the driver's bench. Marguerite and the three youngest settled onto grain-filled sacks in the cart's bed opposite the caged chickens. She cradled a pot of chives.

Jacques and Jean walked behind with the cow, calf, and several sheep.

“You'll move in soon, Francois?” Marguerite asked. She watched her home recede.

“As soon as I return with this cart and the oxen,” he said. “Don't worry Marguerite. No Bostonnais will live here. When you return...”

“We won't be coming back,” she said. “Once this governor realizes Maurice duped him, we won't be able to return.”

“Then, dear sister, I'll find a way to get you all the gossip my wife will share.”

“What wife?”

“The one that I'll be able to find now that I have a home for her to come to.”

Marguerite smiled as a tear fell. “At least family will live here.”

As they reached the wharf, the fog began to lift. “Hurry boys,” Maurice said. “Get those animals on board before the soldiers see us. Not you, Joseph-Maurice. I need you to help your Maman settle Jean-Baptiste and Simon. Be very, very quiet.”

Marguerite nodded her head.

Jacques, Jean and Francois emerged on deck. “Done, Papa,” Jacques said.

“Not yet.” Maurice pointed his chin to two soldiers marching from the fort toward the wharf. He removed a soiled paper from his pocket. “You'd best come down here. Francois, get back to the cart and go.”

From the wharf, they watched as one soldier stopped near the cart. Francois pointed to the ship; the soldier waved him inland, then joined his companion.

“Good morning, lads,” Maurice said in English. “Good day for fishing.” He offered the paper.

“Governor says I can weigh anchor.”

The older soldier took the page. “This is signed by Lt. Governor Doucett.”

Jacques stepped forward. “My Papa's English is not so good,” he said. “Yes, of course, you're correct.” The sounds of clucking came from the hold.

Jean grew wide-eyed. Maurice remained unflappable. The older soldier narrowed his eyes. “Are those chickens?” Jacques motioned to the soldiers to follow him down the wharf. The older one did.

“My Papa's hearing is not so good these days,” Jacques said. “My brother, there, he likes to have a little fun. Wants to see what Papa does if he's woken at sea by a rooster.”

The older soldier looked at the ship, at the men beside her, then at Jacques. He let out an exasperated sigh. “You Acadians are a strange lot.” He handed the paper to Jacques and waved his fellow soldier forward.

As he reached Jacques, the younger soldier bumped him and growled, “Out of the way.”

Jacques stepped closer to the water while he watched Maurice and Jean climb aboard ship. Still in place, he overheard the younger soldier say, “Why doesn't the governor just get rid of these Papist clods?”

Jacques strode to the ship. He released the last line holding it to Annapolis Royal and hopped aboard, then stood beside Maurice.

“You said something ridiculous, didn't you?” Maurice asked.

Jacques grinned. “And yet, they believed it.”

Jean joined them in companionable silence until they sailed through Digby Gut. They passed several British sloops in the river and several more watching the Bay of Fundy. None made any effort to stop them.

“Jean, go tell your Maman it's safe to come topside,” Maurice said. “Jacques, you take the helm.”

Marguerite joined Maurice at the rail. She linked her arm with his. Sunlight glinted off the amethyst in her cross.

“Soon you'll be in your new home in Port Toulouse,” Maurice said.

Marguerite watched the coastline recede. She looked at Jacques sailing the ship, then at Jean explaining sails and ropes to his three younger brothers. She put her head on Maurice's shoulder.

“This is home, Maurice. Wherever we're all together.”

Notes:

According to historian Geoffrey Plank (An Unsettled Conquest:The British Campaign Against the Peoples of Acadia, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001, p. 64), Maurice and a group of others swore unconditional loyalty to Britain's King George. “Then, having obtained official permission to raise anchor, Vigneau boarded his family and sailed off, pretending to go on a fishing trip.”

Components of the governor's proclamation come from New England's Outpost: Acadia Before the Conquest of Canada by John Bartlet Brebner. NY: Burt Franklin, reprint 1973 of author's 1927 thesis