“Your mother fled with her children. You were a babe in arms. Your grandmother Marie took you in. When the British left Port Royal in ruins, Captain Pierre Morphan and the French privateers, who had fought alongside the Acadians in the battle, felt such compassion for your mother and such respect for your father’s courage in the face of the enemy that they presented to her a British vessel they had captured off the New England coast. You all were to live on that ship until your new home was constructed in the village. Your brother Charles’s passion for shipbuilding began at that period. He transformed his grief into something constructive. The ship was confiscated when the British arrived at the garrison five years ago.
“This is a story I believe you must hear and one you will in time pass on to your descendants so they can be proud of those who went before them.”
“Isabelle, it is true I was a baby when we lived aboard the British ship, but I have heard many tales told of those times living below decks. We never sailed her but I am certain it was fun to pretend we were at sea for my older brothers. Poor Mother never speaks of that time, though. But you are correct, my brothers Charles and Jean remember it all as a great adventure, raising the sails when they chose to and climbing to the crow’s nest to stand on guard for the first sight of an imaginary enemy fleet.
“Even though he was only ten at the time, Charles was forced to become the man of the family. Living on the ship made the finest shipbuilder in all Acadia!”
“How you boast, Piau!” said Isabelle.
We all began to laugh. I suppose I was a budding storyteller even then.
That first autumn, I learned more of my family and witnessed their life in their village. I saw the completion of the new church, observing how René instructed the men of the village how to place the stones. Uncle supervised from his seat in the churchyard, but it was René who made certain each stone was placed and mortared properly. They completed the construction of the roof before the first snowfall and prepared the church interior for the Christmas season. Although I was very young, I was able to absorb their joy and pride at midnight mass on Christmas Eve. Not even the British lieutenant-governor at Port Royal could threaten what they had rebuilt, for they had learned to savour each moment of this life as if it were a precious gift. The church was the gift they had given themselves and no one could steal that from them.
During that winter of 1715, I was to discover that René was no ordinary overseer. He was René LeBlanc, and, although only twenty-seven, he was a very influential person in the community at Grand Pré. I discovered that, at a very young age, René’s genius had been recognized by my uncle. Uncle Pierre had placed him under his patronage just as he had now placed me, and had educated him in English so that someone in the community could be a liaison with the English as Uncle grew older. Stonemasonry had been only a small part of his education. In later years his position as notary at Grand Pré would secure him a major role in the exile of our people. He became my teacher and mentor. He was married to Uncle Pierre’s daughter Isabelle and therefore he was also the husband of my mother’s first cousin. Even at my tender age, I was struck by Isabelle’s extraordinary beauty and vibrancy. She, too, became a part of my English world during those early years. Their son, Benjamin, only six at the time, became my closest friend.
When the spring arrived at Grand Pré I was anxious to return home to Port Royal. I was returning to my family at Melanson Village an altered person and far more enlightened. The influence of Uncle, Isabelle, René, and even little Benjamin was to survive each summer and spill over into my life with my brothers and sisters. My mother perceived a great change in her youngest son both physically and mentally.
“You have changed, Piau. You have grown and I notice a difference in your eyes. Perhaps they are wiser. We all missed you but I see that your winter with Uncle Pierre has been a benefit.”
She embraced me in a more meaningful way than I could remember. From that time on she never took me for granted again.
During the summer we received a visit from Uncle, Isabelle, and Benjamin. For a week Benjamin and I enjoyed the freedom of the hot summer days, swimming in the river and scaling the ramparts of the dikes. Occasionally we would find a shady spot in the town where I would read aloud from one of the English books from Uncle’s library.
One day, as we sat outside the blacksmith’s shop engaged in our usual pastime, a distinguished-looking officer chanced by and heard me reading aloud. He spoke to me with a sound of amazement in his voice: “Young man, where did you learn to read English with such fluency? That is remarkable for an Acadian boy and one of such a tender age.”
“My uncle taught me and has allowed me to choose some English books from his collection.”
“And who might your uncle be, young master?”
“Uncle’s name is Pierre Laverdure, of Grand Pré.”
“Indeed! I am acquainted with your uncle. He is a venerable English gentleman and you are a very fortunate young man to have access to your uncle’s library. I am Lieutenant-Governor Caulfield. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. And to whom am I speaking?”
“Pierre Belliveau, but they call me Piau. This is my uncle’s grandson, Benjamin. He speaks English as well.”
Despite my mistrust of the British at Port Royal, I felt proud that I was able to communicate with them in their own language. That being said, I always felt a degree of remorse after each encounter with the British soldiers of the garrison.
The lieutenant-governor appeared to be genuinely good-natured, though. My discomfort began to dissipate when he spoke.
“Come to the garrison tomorrow. I have something I wish to give to you. I will expect you after the noonday gun. Until tomorrow, young Piau.”
The following day at noontime, the soldiers guarding the gate at the fort were amused at the sight of two young Acadian boys requesting to see Lieutenant-Governor Caulfield. They were even more amazed that one of them spoke perfect English. Just as promised, the lieutenant-governor appeared at the gate with a book in hand.
Ignoring the guards, Lieutenant-Governor Caulfield spoke to us in a congenial and familiar manner.
“Good day, Master Piau and Cousin Benjamin. Recently, my wife forwarded to me a book newly published in England. It is a story of great adventure on an exotic island in the South Seas. The author is a Mr. Defoe and the title is Robinson Crusoe. It is a fascinating story, and although it will require much effort on your part to read it, I am certain in time you will find it most entertaining. It is my gift to your continuing education. Keep it. I am able to get another should I wish in future.”
He shook both our hands and sent us on our way. I have never forgotten his kindness, and history has shown him to have been the gentlest and most sympathetic of all the British lieutenant-governors of Acadia.
One winter followed the next, and the summers followed each other as well, and I enjoyed my two lives — winters at Grand Pré and summers at Port Royal.
My education continued under the tutelage of many. At Grand Pré, Uncle Pierre, René, and Isabelle each felt responsible for contributing something to my knowledge — sometimes, admittedly, my fog of knowledge. Absorbing all they hurled at me was daunting. It took my summers to digest all they chose to send my way during the winters.
Isabelle made certain that Benjamin and I perfected our penmanship, encouraging us to practise in both French and English. This