As I grew older, I became fascinated by my brother Charles’s obsession with the sea and with shipbuilding. From the earliest days of our misfortune aboard the captured British ship we called home in 1707 and 1708, he had relished the science of ship construction. He was able to design and construct vessels of all kinds: simple fishing boats, small sailing vessels, and even large ships. He became a master mast-maker and his skills were often used when British ships sailed up the river from the sea, looking for a repair of their sails and hulls. As he approached adulthood, he insisted on being well paid for his efforts. He would later become famous for these marine skills that had been nurtured out of his own adversity. They would in time serve him well in a formidable act of revenge against those he considered to be our father’s murderers.
I never had a deep understanding of building a boat, but I often became a second pair of hands when Charles was in need of them. I marvelled as he crafted the spine of the vessel from sturdy lengths of oak using the tools he had collected over the years from Uncle Pierre and from the British at the garrison. These often engaged him for repairs and to create new masts from the massive white pines we felled. Benjamin became the assistant’s assistant during the summers at Port Royal, and we mixed this work with occasional fishing along the river. While Benjamin and I enjoyed the fish we caught, the news and gossip that I was able to pick up during my time working with Charles by the harbour would prove to be of greater value.
One day in early September of 1726 news arrived that a new lieutenant-governor was arriving at Port Royal. The word quickly spread throughout the Acadian communities and beyond. The Acadians knew Lawrence Armstrong from previous visits, and he was as unpopular among them as he was among the soldiers and officers at the fort. Armstrong had never endeared himself to Governor Philipps, who spent most of his time away from Acadia; in fact, Philipps complained to the Board of Trade at Westminster about Armstrong’s behaviour elsewhere in Acadia, forcing Armstrong to sail to London to defend himself more than once. Now that Armstrong had become acting lieutenant-governor, a position he was to hold for the next fourteen years, he turned his attention to the matter of the oath of allegiance. Refusal to swear the oath had been a long-standing problem in Acadia, but a compromise had always been reached. It was soon evident that he had chosen to take a hard line with those he considered obstinate.
Not long after Armstrong took up residence at Annapolis, he began visiting the various communities in the district to survey the farms, livestock, community activities, and, much to my brother Charles’s consternation, the local shipyard. To say that the lieutenant-governor’s perusal of Charles’s work on a newly constructed chaloupe was an intrusion was to understate the anxiety we all felt by his sudden presence.
As the lieutenant-governor looked on, we continued with our task silently. It was he who broke the silence.
“Your reputation as a shipbuilder has reached as far as England, Monsieur Belliveau. I have some commissions I wish to discuss with you.”
Charles purposefully gave Armstrong a blank stare, pretending not to understand what the lieutenant-governor was saying. We all were aware of the antipathy that lingered beneath the surface of that blank stare. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. I was the one who decided to respond to the lieutenant-governor, being the most fluent in English of all the Acadians present.
“I speak on behalf of my brother, Excellency, that at a convenient time for him you may discuss the time, compensation, and design of any projects to be completed in future.”
Taken aback by my forthrightness, the lieutenant-governor responded quickly and authoritatively: “Young man, I sense a certain impertinence in your tone. You will in future speak to your lieutenant-governor in a respectful manner. Furthermore, any discussion of commissions will be at my convenience, not yours.”
Sensing that I had overstepped, I softened my response. “I meant no disrespect, Excellency. The abrupt tone of my English is explained by my lack of a true understanding of the language. My mother tongue is French.”
Armstrong stood motionless, not knowing whether this young man of twenty was being sincere in his response or taking advantage of him.
“We will talk!” Armstrong turned about-face and strutted away. Major Cosby, who attended the lieutenant-governor, followed him for several yards and then glanced back, giving us a knowing smile and an informal salute.
Feeling we had achieved a minor victory over an oppressor, we quietly resumed our work.
Chapter 5
The month of September 1726 was one I remember as a time when fate began to manipulate our lives in ways we never imagined. Only a few days after our unsettling encounter with Lieutenant-Governor Armstrong, a vessel flying a French flag floated through the thick and impossible mist like a ghost ship carrying no one but the dead. Eerily approaching us at the shipyard at Annapolis, at first it appeared to have not a living soul aboard. Looking back on that day, I realize that Benjamin, in watching that ship sail into our lives, was facing his own destiny.
It was he who first noticed the tall, faceless apparition at the wheel of the ship. He became so mesmerized by the vision, he was not aware of the commotion surrounding him. Soldiers rushed to the shore with muskets pointing at the mysterious vessel. The lieutenant-governor waded into the water, pushing officers and troops aside. We waited breathlessly on shore as the tableau unfolded. To this day, I can clearly remember the two men facing one another for the first time: Armstrong and Mangeant.
An unlikely alliance was about to be forged. In hindsight, an unholy one!
Armstrong barked an order in the direction of the figure behind the helm, “All persons on board must show themselves unarmed on deck immediately or my soldiers will commence firing on your vessel.”
Not completely certain his message was being understood by the captain of the ship, he called to me on the shore.
“Young Belliveau, come here at once.”
Running as fast as I could, I shouted: “Yes, Excellency. I am at your service.”
“Did you hear my orders just now?”
“Yes, Excellency. You were quite clear in your directions.”
“Deliver them to the captain of the ship in French.”
I nodded in agreement, and then translated his command into French, loud enough for all to hear. A quiet descended on the scene.
The captain’s voice broke the silence. “I understood you the first time, Monsieur le Gouverneur.” There was only a hint of French in his accent but no sign of fear or deference.
The captain spoke to his unseen compatriots below deck, but no one ashore heard his utterances or their reply. The small group who came up from below were a surprise to all watching.
If anyone had witnessed this scene not knowing what had gone before, they would have believed it to be an almost farcical scenario. One hundred and fifty muskets directed at one tall, unarmed man, an elegant woman, and two small children, a boy and a girl. The only possible threat was from the first mate, who followed them on deck. His simple dress and lack of a weapon diffused any sense of menace he may have posed.
The captain shouted to those on shore: “We come in peace. My family and I wish to seek sanctuary.”
“You have no other crew aboard?” inquired Armstrong.
“None, I assure you, Monsieur le Gouverneur.”
Armstrong’s tone and demeanour relaxed and he seemed to be more intrigued than alarmed by his new visitors.
“Come ashore then and we will talk.”
On being given permission to disembark, the first mate activated the pulleys to lower the lifeboat into the water. A seat suspended by ropes appeared to accommodate the captain’s lady. She was lowered into the small vessel. The others descended a ladder after the swing was lifted.