Genevieve's Resolve

Some said it was courage to set sail from the only place I had known and journey to the New World. But those of us making the voyage knew better. It was despair, plain and simple. Courage, we would discover, was what came afterwards.

Port of Dieppe, France, June 22, 1671

“Name?” asked the agent from the India Company.

“Genevieve Petit.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You are with the group from the Hôpital Général de la Salpêtrière in Paris?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, yes, here you are.”

He placed a mark beside my name on the list. He then nodded to his companion to load my trunk onto the ship.

“Line up with the others.”

I did as ordered and took my place in line. A few of the women before me I knew from the Hôpital de Paris. A hospital in name only. It was really just a catch-all for orphans and people broken in body and spirit. With no one to look after them, we all became wards of King Louis XIV.

At twenty-two, I had been at the orphanage for twelve years. My brother and I were brought there when our father died. With no means to support herself, let alone two extra mouths to feed, our mother couldn’t cope. She went to the workhouse alone. I never saw her again, but I heard she remarried. Her new husband came to get my brother, and he took him as an apprentice. There was no need for me, so I stayed at the orphanage.

The line grew to include over one hundred women of all shapes and sizes. Some were younger, some older. All shared the look of apprehension in front of uncertainty. On the other side was another line for the indentured workers who would make the voyage with us. I counted as many of them as there were of us. They were going to New France and would work for two years for room and board only so that they could pay back the cost of the ship’s transport. Last to line up were the nuns, coming to chaperone us. The crew was already onboard, getting the ship ready.

The ship, we were told, was one of the finest outfitted by the India Company. The Saint-Jean-Baptiste, a galleon, was long and wide. There were cannons on its sides. But I was not impressed when I looked away from the shore and out into the open sea. I pictured it as a small piece of soap in a large tub.

We walked up the gangway and stayed above deck for the departure. The docks were lined with people waving goodbyes. I had no one to see me off. I turned and walked to the side with the open water.

My eyes filled with tears. The orphanage had not always been pleasant. It was crowded, food rations were limited, and the work was constant. It was run by nuns, but it wasn’t a school. No one taught us how to read or write, just how to work. Manual labour, sewing, cooking, washing, and cleaning. The older girls looked after the younger ones. But at least, this I knew, it was a familiar routine. The New World, I knew nothing about.

The sisters had recommended me for this journey. I was young, fit and stubborn. At least, enough to show a strength of character and determination that the sisters thought was an asset for the new life. I didn’t know exactly who it would be helpful to, but one sister said I was pretty enough to make a suitable candidate. One sister in particular had looked after me and protected me when men came to the hospital to look for girls for work. She was the one who put my name on the list for this journey. The King of France was going to provide for me by sponsoring the trip, and giving each of us a fifty-pound dowry, some clothing and sewing supplies. This was going to help us find a husband and settle in Canada.

As the ship pulled away, I learned we were going to La Rochelle, the last place in France I would see. After that, it would be the open water of the Atlantic for about sixty days, if the weather was good. Longer if we faced storms, or the wind failed us. When the ship pulled away, I cried again as I watched the shore get smaller and smaller.

Then it was time to go down below and pick a berth. The only space I would have to myself for the long voyage. The berths were lined up along the sides of the ship three high, and because there were so many of us, they had put another row down the middle. I considered the options. The upper bunk offered no headroom; I would not be able to sit up in it. The mid bunk had the disadvantage of being stuck between two people. I expected people like us, with no experience of the sea, would be sick. The lower bunk was too close to the floor, and there would be smells that would eventually come from the slop and latrine buckets, with so many people in such a confined space. Being small in stature, I picked an upper berth.

For the first few days, I went up on the deck and enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine. I talked with the women I knew and made new friends from this mismatched group bound by a common destiny. One of them was Anne. I had noticed her because she was accompanied by two children, a boy of about ten years of age and a daughter, five years old. I found out she was a widow. Her husband had recently died from an accident on the docks.

“This is Pierre, and Catherine,” Anne said, introducing the children.

The boy was already restless from the confinement. The girl was shy and hid behind her mother. We sat on the deck and breathed in the salty air.

“Where are you from?” Anne asked.

“Paris. The orphanage,” I said. “You?”

“Dieppe. But I’m not part of the King’s Daughters scheme. A man who knew my husband and found out about my plight said they would let me board the ship if I came before it left. I got a few things together, and they took us.”

“Do you know anyone on board?” I asked.

“No.”

“Neither do I. Are you planning to find a husband?”

“Maybe, but I doubt anyone there will be looking for an old woman with children. They’ll want young and attractive women to have large families.”

“You can’t be that old, surely,” I said.

“I’m thirty-nine, but I lied about my age. I said I was younger.”

We laughed.

“I thought that at least in a new country, I could maybe find work and keep my children,” she said. “In Dieppe, we had nothing, and I didn’t want to leave my children to go to the workhouse.”

I nodded. I knew too well what that meant. I already knew that those two dark-haired angels were too precious to abandon.

“What about you?” Anne asked.

“I know nothing about men, or about being a wife. I don’t remember much about my parents or having a home.”

“We have lots of time to talk. I’ll tell you about men.”

Then the rain started, slow at first, and the wind picked up. We went back down below. As the last hatch slammed shut above us, the darkness settled over the crowded deck below. Around me, women whispered prayers or sat silently staring into nothing. The smell of damp wood, tar, and fear filled the air. France was already disappearing behind us, and for the first time, I understood there was no turning back.