down the street of the lower town sobbing uncontrollably. I wished to escape the horrid news, hoping that if I ran far enough the truth of it would disappear. I followed the path along the river to a place of sanctuary. How could someone just die? I was eleven years old and could not remember ever losing someone to death — my departed father I had never known. This was only the beginning of a series of tragedies that plagued my life in those early years.
With the death of Caulfield came the usual unsettled feeling among the Acadians that the new lieutenant-governor would force the issue of taking the oath of allegiance to the British king. Caulfield’s replacement, like every new lieutenant-governor, took the hard line at first and insisted the Acadians swear without any qualifications. Uncle’s dealings with the new lieutenant-governor were more circumspect and less cordial despite the usual acceptance of Uncle Pierre’s “Englishness.” Uncle railed about the new lieutenant-governor’s lack of understanding of the situation in Acadia. On his annual visit to Annapolis he told his family how he had pressed his case with the new Lieutenant-Governor Doucette.
“We have ever been loyal to the British Crown, Your Excellency, but abandoning our neutrality in times of war would force us to take up arms against our kinfolk who live in the French colonies surrounding Acadia. It would force me to take up arms against my own children. That part of the oath can never be sworn by His Majesty’s loyal French-speaking subjects. The remainder of the oath is agreeable to us. I represent the wishes of Acadians throughout His Majesty’s colony in this matter.”
Over the next two years Uncle Pierre’s efforts with Doucette did eventually reap the benefits he so desired to achieve. Overhearing his discussions on the matter with René and Isabelle, I sensed, though, that his success would only survive the time of the current lieutenant-governor.
During the summer of 1719 Isabelle permitted Benjamin to spend the summer with his cousins at Port Royal. He was now ten years old and able to be taken in for a season by my family. I was overjoyed, and we both relished the idea of the warm days of summer when we could mix the carefree life by the river with the chores of the farm and fields. The purpose of this arrangement was to allow Isabelle a more relaxing summer as she prepared for the arrival of a new child. It was strange for me to imagine her with child, and I experienced benign feelings of jealousy that the new baby would eclipse me in Isabelle’s affections. However, I kept these thoughts in check, forcing myself to be joyful for the new life inside the woman I cared for more than any other.
Chapter 3
Days of mists and fog delayed our departure for Grand Pré in the autumn of 1719. After several days of waiting for the fog to lift, Uncle made the decision to risk the lack of visibility, fearing that to wait too long might cause us to be marooned at Port Royal for the winter. Our vessel sailed blindly through the mist, filling all those aboard with the same uneasiness Odysseus must have felt on his journey home to Ithaca. I pondered this as I sat wrapped in a blanket at the bow of the boat.
As our vessel finally sailed into the bay at Grand Pré, I could see a ghostly figure standing at the edge of the pier in the distance. As we approached the dock, I realized that it was Isabelle awaiting our arrival wrapped in a cape and hood.
“Welcome home.” The sound of her voice filled me with a familiar joy and a relief that now we were safe in the bosom of Grand Pré.
Isabelle had chosen to spend the remainder of her confinement in the big house under the watchful eye of her mother, Aunt Marie-Marguerite. The house was, therefore, filled with laughter and stimulating conversation: Uncle’s stories of dealing with the new lieutenant-governor at Annapolis; my tales of my widowed grandfather, Jean Antoine Belliveau, courting my mother’s sister Aunt Cecile, a woman a full generation younger than he; Benjamin’s recounting of our summer exploits in the forests around Port Royal; and general family gossip.
After four years of struggling with Robinson Crusoe, I now was able to read the story with some fluency and understanding. During the days of inclement weather, I lounged by Uncle’s warm hearth reading chapter after chapter to the entire household. I held my audience captive, especially Isabelle who wondered at the possibility of there being such a paradise on earth. One evening she remarked pensively, “Crusoe’s sense of survival seems to be as strong as that of the Acadians. I sometimes lament that we cannot be left alone in our little paradise called Acadia, free of the capriciousness and unpredictability of the British who govern us.”
In the coming weeks, Isabelle was to remark how active the baby in her womb was and that he or she would become a great Acadian warrior, judging by its energy and constant movement. However, one day I heard her comment casually to Aunt that the little one inside her had been sleeping a great deal in the past several days. I suspected nothing in what she said. Then the pains arrived and suddenly my world was turned upside down. Aunt instructed me to find René and tell him to come quickly. I was to remain at his house with Benjamin and the other children until further notice. I suspected nothing. The child was about to arrive into this world, I thought. Again I suspected nothing. Several hours later Uncle sent for us.
When we reached the Manor House, we were informed by Uncle that the baby, a girl, had been born and had mercifully survived, considering her early birth. She was now nestled in the arms of her grandmother. The priest was with Uncle as he delivered the news, but their grave expressions seemed to reveal something far more sinister. We were all told to congregate in Isabelle’s room immediately, where the priest was to perform the necessary prayers for such an occasion. We solemnly mounted the stairs to Isabelle’s room. Isabelle lay quietly in her bed, pale and lifeless, with René staring on. Her breathing was laboured. Her spirit appeared to have vanished from her body. I hoped she was resting after the ordeal of giving birth. The priest continued to pray as we all looked on in disbelief. Was this the face of death? Before long, Isabelle’s grasping for each breath ceased. I stood paralyzed on the spot, oblivious to the sobs and crying around me. I could not run away from the presence of death this time. I stood completely still — not able to grieve, not able to believe. That day, in the late autumn of 1719, I became a man.
For the next five years I continued to spend my winters at Grand Pré, not yet willing to abandon the memory of Isabelle nor the education that Uncle Pierre and René provided me. In addition, I felt a certain responsibility for Benjamin.
Sadly, Aunt Marie-Marguerite died within months of Isabelle’s death. With the passing of her beloved daughter, she seemed to lose the will to live. René remarried within six months of his wife’s demise, thus beginning a new life and a new family. In my mind his grief evaporated while Isabelle’s body was still warm in the ground. But who was I to say such things? I was a fourteen-year-old, and at that age I was rash in my judgments for lack of experience. Uncle hired a widow, Madame Thibideau, to run his household. Benjamin, his sister, Marie Josephe, and the newborn baby remained in the Manor House in the housekeeper’s care. They never lived with their father again.
Lessons abounded during the final winters of Uncle’s life. Besides giving us the use of his growing library, he provided experiences that broadened our knowledge of the world. Every autumn, on our return to Grand Pré, we were greeted by a French vessel and we witnessed the annual delivery of dispatches in exchange for crates of books, furniture, and foodstuffs not available in the colonies — all these for the secret documents he gave to the French officers. There were friendly greetings between Uncle and the French captain, but no more than pleasantries. For years Benjamin and I were present at these exchanges, but it was not until a year before his death that Uncle Pierre was forthright in describing the nature of the written dispatches.
“Piau and Benjamin, you have been witnesses to my annual trade with the French
