Matters of Law

Original vital records may the skeleton of genealogy, but they don’t put flesh on those old bones. Say I find the birth, marriage, and death records for an ancestor: a fine start, but it doesn’t tell me what I really want to know: what kind of person my ancestor was, what he did for a living, how he got along with his family and neighbors, what hardships and tragedies he endured: in short, I want to know everything possible about him. (I used the male pronoun, but I research my female ancestors with the same enthusiasm.)

Today I’d like to discuss a source for all of the kinds of things the vital records of Quebec don’t tell you: legal records. Reading legal documents is not most people’s idea of fun, but if you’re researching Quebec ancestry, it’s the only way to resolve some kinds of genealogical problems. It’s true that it’s not always easy to locate them. It’s also true that it’s not always easy to read these records, not only because of the age and condition of the original records, but also because of the clarity (or lack of clarity) of each notary’s handwriting (or that of his clerk) and the legal vocabulary and abbreviations.

A French or French-Canadian notaire or notary under the French Regime was not at all like an American notary public, but more like a modern English barrister: he drew up legal documents, provided legal advice, and acted as a mediator, but in court every individual had to present his or her own case. In a largely illiterate society like that of Quebec, the notary served the vital function of documenting everything from land ownership to contracts to testimony to inventories of property.

The real trick with using notarial records is in discovering their existence. The notaries themselves and their clients had the same problem. Therefore, notaries were required not only to store copies of every document they prepared but also to provide two finding aids: the index and the repertoire. The index is a catalog of each year’s acts organized by the surnames of the persons involved. The repertoire is a list of every document by date. Every document was “usually” given a number and some notaries went so far as to state which box the document was placed. The repertoire also contains a short description of each act and the names of the parties involved. (The earliest Quebec notaries did not always number their acts or make indexes.)

Ancestry.com has numerous notary indexes online, but (for whatever reason) very few of them are labeled by the notary’s name; instead, you look under the letter of the alphabet for the notary’s surname and although you may see one or two actual surnames, mostly you will see a list of dates of the practices of notaries whose surname begins with that letter. That’s not a lot of help unless you have a reference source that lists the notaries and the years when they practiced.

I acquired such a reference several years ago: The Notaries of French Canada 1626-1900 by Robert J. Quintin, which is still available online from Quintin Publications as a comb-bound book or as a CD for $14.95. It contains 3 lists with the same information, sorted by notary surname, by dates of practice, and by location of practice. (This enables you to pick out which “unknown” index on Ancestry’s index of notarial records is for the notary you want.) Before any indexes came online, this reference enabled me to determine which notaries my ancestors might have used for their legal needs and to order the appropriate microfilms. I solved a number of problems that way (and sent back a number of microfilms that held absolutely no record of interest to me). But Ancestry doesn’t have the indexes of every notary online, at least not yet, and most of the early notaries didn’t make indexes because they were not yet required to do so.

However, with a bit of effort you can home in more precisely on your ancestors’ notary records. It’s well worth the effort, and not just for obvious "must-haves" like marriage contracts: minor everyday notary records can sometimes resolve conundrums posed by the church and census records.

Let me give you an example. One of my immigrant ancestors was Jean Demers-dit-Dumay, born about 1622 to Jean Demers-dit-Dumay père and Barbe Maugis in the parish of St-Jacques de Dieppe, diocese of Rouen, Normandy. The home town and parentage information was in his 1654 marriage record at Montréal to his wife Jeanne Vedié. The estimated birth date comes from his July 1708 burial record, which gives his age at death as 86 years.

No one can say that Jean and Jeanne failed to obey the Biblical injunction to “be fruitful and multiply.” As I discussed in a previous post, I have records for 14 children, and I believe that a 15th (for whom no baptism record survived) was born during a 4 year gap between 2 of the known children. The first 3 were born at Montréal; the rest were baptized at the Jesuit mission at Sillery, near Québec city, or at Nôtre-Dame de Québec. (This suggests to me that the incursions of the Iroquois in the Montréal area may have led Jean and Jeanne to move north in hopes of being out of the danger zone, but I have no proof of this.)

Now, as my Great-Grandfather Joseph Chosa put it, when it comes to writing down a name, “you spell it like it sounds,” and in early Quebec that was the rule—in spades. Regional accents played a role: the people who recorded the parish records or other records for this couple may have came from different areas of France, and therefore their spelling of the sounds of someone’s name may be wildly different from that used in the person’s other records. (I have seen Quebec records in which one surname is spelled in three or more different ways in the same document. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again now, in European languages there was no standard spelling for any words or names until universal literacy.)

This means that my 8G Grandfather Jean appears in the Quebec records as Jean Demers, Jean Dumay, Jean Dumais, and even Jean Dumets or Du Metz, plus a likely few others I haven’t run across. His wife Jeanne Vedié’s surname appears in some records as Voidy. This in turn means that running a surname or record search online will miss many of the records for this couple unless you search with every conceivable spelling—and even then, you can’t be sure of catching a weird spelling that some 17th-century notary or curé invented. I’ve run across some of those, too.

Now, there were two other men surnamed Demers/Dumets/Dumay who immigrated to New France about the same time, who were fairly close to Jean in age, and whose parents lived in the same parish of St-Jacques de Dieppe. There is no question but that one of them was Jean’s full brother: André Demers-dit-Dumay’s marriage record shows that he had the same parents—Jean Dumets dit Demers or Dumay and Barbe Maugis/Mauger—who lived in that same parish.

André’s July 1711 burial record gives his age at death as 88, implying a birth year of about 1623. André, like Jean, married at Montréal in 1654. Most of André’s 12 known children were baptized at Montréal, and André spent almost all of the rest of his life in the Montréal area.

The third man, Etienne Dumay/Dumais, was also from St-Jacques de Dieppe and according to his marriage record at Montréal, his father was also named Jean Demers-dit-Dumay or Dumets. His mother, however, was Miote Lacombe. Now, it always seemed to me very possible that Etienne was the half-brother of Jean and André by another wife. Etienne’s December 1702 burial record at Boucherville give his age at death as 76, making him born about 1626, after Jean and André. Of course, Jean is a very common first name, and French and Quebec naming customs show that there could easily be two married men in the parish with the same name. Therefore, while it seemed very plausible that Etienne was related to Jean and André, on the basis of these facts alone it is not possible to say for certain that he was, say, their half-brother.

Now, this issue does not matter in tracing my direct ancestry, since I’m descended from Jean and the trail is solidly documented. However, I really wanted to know the relationship between these three men, particularly since Etienne and Jean both left Montréal and moved north to Sillery (then a Jesuit mission across the river from Québec, now an area of the vastly-expanded city). I wanted a history of my ancestral extended family, not just names and dates on a pedigree chart.

Therefore, when trying to figure out if Jean and André were half-brothers of Etienne, I did not rely on the estimated birth years derived from estimated ages at death. In this era, estimated ages are often wild guesses, and the same goes for census ages of adults. What I did look at was whether the three men lived in the same places at the same time and whether there was any proved contact between them—for example, were the men and/or their wives godparents to one another’s children?

Etienne may have immigrated first: at any rate, he married Françoise Morin at Québec in January 1648—six years before Jean and André married in Montréal. However, soon after the marriage he and Françoise clearly headed south to Montréal, where their first child was baptized in May 1649. Etienne and Françoise moved north to Sillery before November 1650, where they had at least 6 more children between 1650 and 1663. In the mid-1660s Sillery came under attack by the Iroquois, and it appears that Etienne and his family quite sensibly fled. Françoise died sometime between 1663 and 1678, and sometime afterwards Etienne headed south to Boucherville, where his son Etienne fils had married in 1686. Etienne père died at Boucherville (across the river from the Île-Montréal) in December 1702.

André, unquestionably my ancestor’s brother, married Marie Chefdeville at Montréal in January 1654 and apparently remained there for most of his life. Of the couple’s 12 children, 10 were baptized in Montréal.

Jean and Jeanne, my 8G Grandparents, were married at Montréal in November 1654 and their first three children were born and baptized there. By 1663 they were at Sillery (where Etienne was living at the time). Most of their children were baptized either at Sillery or in the nearby city of Québec; it is not clear whether the children baptized in Québec were born in the city or at Sillery; one baptism record is found in both places, and the Sillery record clearly came first since it records the birth of twins and the Quebec record misses that detail. Both Jean and Jeanne died in the city in 1708.

It is interesting, to say the least, that in the registers for Sillery, Montréal, and Québec city, neither Jean nor his wife Jeanne were recorded as godparents to any children of Etienne and his wife Françoise, and neither Etienne nor Françoise were godparents to any children of Jean and Jeanne. In addition, André and his wife Marie never were godparents to any child of either of the other two couples or had any of them serve as godparents to their own children. Yet all three men were living in Montréal at the same time for several years, and Etienne and Jean both lived at Sillery for several years at the same time. This is quite unusual: the normal custom was to keep things in the family: your married siblings and their spouses or other in-laws or relatives were generally your first choice as godparents for your children.

Does this prove that Etienne was no relation to Jean and André? No. We know some baptism records have been lost, since some brides and grooms in the next generation are stated in the marriage records to be the offspring of one or another of those couples, but no baptism record for them has survived. It is entirely possible that André and Jean had great affection for one another and that Etienne (if a half-brother of the other two) likewise got along very well with them, all without any of this fraternal affection appearing in the surviving parish records.

Even if the three men were not on affectionate terms, they would recognize and honor the family tie. In a pinch, a brother or half-brother—even if he didn’t like you very much—would always help you out if necessary as much as he could; anything else would simply be unthinkable and would also ruin his standing in the community. For struggling and poor habitants living in chilly Quebec, where crops might fail due to the short growing season, and especially if they were living in an area where attacks by “les Iroquois” were a constant threat, it may have been important to ask more prosperous neighbors to be godparents: this could create a relationship which could be vital in times of scarcity or danger. It’s the “don’t put all your eggs in one basket” strategy for family survival.

So there the situation sat for several years, until I invested in a CD, Inventaire des Greffes des Notaires du Régime Français. This CD is available from Quintin (the same source that publishes The Notaries of French Canada), for the bargain price of $69.95 plus shipping at this writing. I say “bargain” because it contains, as the title rather confusingly states, an inventory of every document (including marriage contracts) in the recorded repertoires of the notaries who worked during that period up to about 1760. Each notary’s repertoire lists—in more or less chronological order—the type of record, the date, and the names of the main parties involved. (Some of the original documents are no longer in existence, but the publication notes that fact.) Most of the genealogical gold is generally in the marriage contracts and testaments, but I have found that the records of sales, leases, transfers of property, donations, and inventories of property after a death can also be diamond mines of information. Inventories performed as an adjunct to the re-marriage of a widow or widower are especially useful, as these were generally made to document what property each party was bringing into the marriage so as to protect the rights of surviving children of the prior marriage(s).

This CD is organized by the beginning date of each notary’s practice; it gives a brief biography of each and tells you where the notary practiced. It is, of course, in French, but it’s still surprisingly easy to get the hang of what each document contains.

Quintin’s website has an equally useful CD called Inventaire des Contrats de Mariage du Régime Français Conservés aux Archives Judiciares de Québec. Marriage contracts are often the only documentation of a marriage and will generally tell you not only the names and parishes of the parents of both the bride and groom and/or the name of a deceased prior spouse, but also what property each party brings into the marriage. This CD is arranged alphabetically not by notary but by the couple’s surnames. Each entry gives you the notary’s name and the date of the contract. Best of all, there’s an entry under the bride’s surname and a matching entry under the surname of the groom. This is much faster than going through thousands of documents recorded by numerous notaries hoping to find out when your ancestors got married and who their parents were. I have and use both CDs.

In case you’re wondering, I have no connection with Quintin except as a customer. I’m recommending these items because they have proven to be very useful to me.

Once you know what notarial records exist for your ancestor, you can order the microfilms from Salt Lake City through your local Family History Center, then read (and reproduce) the original documents). And you’ll be astonished at what you’ll find. We Americans usually think of the Germans as being the masters of bureaucracy (although navigating the minefields of our own government bureaucracy is getting trickier every year), but believe me, the French (including the French of old Quebec) are at least the equals of the Germans.

Want to hire someone to do some work for you? Give some property to your widowed and impoverished sister-in-law? Borrow your neighbor’s second ox at plowing time because your own ox has gone to that great pasture in the sky? Exchange a bit of land with your neighbor? Settle some kind of dispute over, say, a boundary line? If you live anywhere in Quebec during the 16- and 1700s where at least one notary is accessible, you will hire a notary to record the exact terms even if you are illiterate. Witnesses to the transaction will sign the document, and of course, so will all parties (even if only with an X). You’ll get a copy, the other parties will get a copy, and the notary will keep a copy in his files, generally in a notebook or a storage box. He will also keep a chronological, usually also numbered, list (repertoire) of each document.

When the transaction has been completed—payment made or property received or returned—the parties involved will return to the notary (or to another one) so that he can issue a document to that effect (quittance) and add that to his repertoire, or at least there will be a dated notation on the original document that the contract has been fulfilled. (At the beginning of each year the notary will make his index of the previous year’s documents, with a notation of the type of act involved; in due course, the index will be published online by Ancestry.com, but the notary of course has no idea that could possibly happen.)

Only if you live somewhere too far away from a notary will you fail to document the transaction, and I think that in that case, usually the matter was agreed upon before witnesses even if no written record was made or has survived. (That was how voyageurs like my 4G Grandfather Louis Dufaut would marry Native American wives when there was no reasonable access to a mission or a notary.) As you’d expect, wealthy people had recourse to notaries far more frequently than poor folks.

A few weeks ago, determined to do a thorough job of discovering all available notary records for my ancestors, I decided to go through the Inventaire des Greffes CD I mentioned, which lists the complete repertoires of the notaries more or less in chronological order by date of beginning practice. Rather than hopping back and forth looking for specific records of my numerous Quebec ancestors, I simply started at the beginning and worked my way through it page by page, notary by notary, looking for anything that involved any ancestral surname. And in the repertoire for notary Romain Becquet, who practiced at the city of Québec, I found a listing dated 27 Jun 1678 for a sale (vente) by “Estienne du Mets, veuf de François [sic] Morin, à Jean du Mets, son frère”: Estienne du Mets, widower of Françoise Morin, to Jean du Mets, his brother.

Now, the notary would hardly have recorded such a relationship if he had not been given that information by Etienne and Jean. Technically, Etienne and Jean were clearly half-brothers (same father, different mothers), but as I have said before, in early Quebec that is a strictly legal distinction, not a distinction made in social terms within the family. Your half-brother is your brother, period. And that holds true even if you have not always been on the best of terms with him.

Riddle solved. Etienne was in actual fact the half-brother of Jean and André. It’s not clear whether Etienne’s mother Miote Lacombe was their father’s first or second wife. At least one researcher’s website says that she was the first, but I intend to look at the records for St-Jacques de Dieppe myself; so far as I’m concerned, someone else’s research is only a lead to original documents which I have to see for myself before I accept the other researcher’s conclusions.

Unfortunately, Becquet's records are not available on microfilm, nor are they available through the PRDH; the Parchemin Project can locate and send you an extraction of a record but not a copy of the original, so apparently I can't get a copy of the actual document without traveling to Quebec. I have no real doubt that notary Becquet recorded the transaction correctly in his inventaire; what I’m really wondering is what it was that Etienne sold to Jean and how much Jean paid for it. It could be anything from household goods to his late wife’s wardrobe to farm implements or a cow. If Etienne was already preparing to move to Boucherville, it could even be part or all of Etienne’s land in the area of the city of Quebec. The Family History Library in Salt Lake City has transcriptions of Becquet's documents in book form and that should give the information. But it's still not the same as looking at your 8G Grandfather's actual signature or X mark that bridges a gap of 330-plus years and feeling a sense of contact.

Whatever it was that he sold to his brother Jean, if Etienne Demers/Dumay/Dumets and Françoise Morin are your direct ancestors, then you’re my distant cousin.

A Line of Patriots

Since we in the USA have just celebrated Memorial Day, I decided to discuss a problem posed by my grandfather’s brother, Frank Chosa. In August 1942 (9 months after Pearl Harbor) Great-Uncle Frank gave an interview to his local newspaper, the Ely Miner, about the many Chosas who had already signed on to defend their country, and about the long family history of military service (which has continued to this day, by the way). Great-Uncle Frank (who was 74 at the time) specifically stated that his father, (my Great-Grandfather Joseph Chosa/Chaussé) had served in his country’s military “for many years”.

I discovered the interview about two years ago in the Minnesota newspaper microfilms held at the Minnesota Historical Society in St. Paul, Minnesota. (You can search their excellent website, which includes a catalog of their vast collection. You can search the catalog for the names of individuals as subjects or authors; there are also searchable indexes of state vital records as well. Just follow the links and explore the site.)

I was reasonably sure Great-uncle Frank hadn’t just made the story up: he had two brothers living in the same area of northern Minnesota who read the Ely Miner regularly. Grandpa Henry and Great-Uncle Leo were notoriously honest and would surely would have challenged him if there weren’t at least a kernel of truth in Frank’s assertion. So I set out to look for that kernel of truth.

Well, I already knew that Great-Grandfather Joseph had not served in the American Civil War, although two of his brothers had. So I began considering other possible wars in which Great-Grandfather might have served. I was handicapped by the lack of any proof as to when he crossed the border to the USA: it could have been any time up to his marriage in Michigan in June 1855. Joseph might have arrived in the US sometime during the mid-1840’s, for example, in time to take part in the USA’s war with Mexico 1846-48. The Joseph I believed to be my great-grandfather was born would have been 13 in 1846 and 15 in 1848: a highly unlikely participant unless he was some general’s personal servant or a bugle boy, but not an utterly impossible one.

When the 1851 Census of Canada came online at ancestry.com, the first thing I did was to see whether the Joseph Chaussé I had already identified as my great-grandfather (born at Ste-Elisabeth, Joliette, Quebec in August 1833 to Joseph Han-dit-Chaussé and Catherine Lavoie) was still in Quebec as of the official census date of Sunday night, 11 January 1851.

Well, the census showed that Joseph was there at Ste-Élisabeth on that date, with his parents and all but one of his siblings, who was still in the same parish, working for another farmer. (Much of the 1861 census was lost, including, alas, the record for this entire family.) This meant that since he hadn’t emigrated as of the census date, this Joseph Chaussé couldn’t have been a US soldier in the Mexican war.

Now, I already knew that Great-Uncle Frank was mistaken as to his father’s dates: on the tombstone he erected on his father’s grave, the dates are shown as 1812-1921. The birth year is about two decades out of whack with his age in the US censuses and his stated age of 21 in his 1855 marriage record; his Baraga County, Michigan, death certificate gives his date of death as 8 October 1919.

As I have stated before, you never know who supplied the information as to age to the census taker, and before the 20th century many people did not keep track of their own age anyway. Joseph Chosa’s census ages (which do not agree with one another) and stated marriage age could have been erroneous—although I was inclined to believe the marriage age of 21 matched fairly well with his appearance. Frederic Baraga (by then the first bishop of the diocese of Marquette) presided over the marriage ceremony at the Assinins mission which he had founded in Assinins, Michigan, and he was a pretty shrewd individual.

I concluded that if Great-Grandfather Joseph had ever been a military man it almost certainly must have been while he was still living in Canada. But Canada’s military history between 1800 and 1855 (when Joseph Chosa married in Michigan) consisted of only two conflicts: the War of 1812 (obviously out even if Great-Uncle Frank was correct in his belief that his father was born in 1812), and the Peasants Rebellion (aka the Patriots Rebellion) of 1837-38, when the Joseph I had identified as my great-grandfather was only 4-5 years old.

Now, if I had linked my great-grandfather to the wrong family, my whole chain of reasoning fell apart and I had collected hundreds of records for the wrong set of ancestors. I simply had to determine whether Great-Grandfather Joseph could have served in any Canadian military unit before emigrating to the USA.

To explain what I did, I need to take you through a quick review of some Quebec history during the 18th and 19th centuries.

As a result of the Seven Years’ War (aka the French and Indian War on this side of the Atlantic), the French Regime in Canada ended in 1760 and New France became the property of Great Britain, although the Treaty of Paris (which officially ended the war) was not signed until 1763. In the meantime, the occupying British had wisely decided to permit the French-speaking inhabitants of their new Canadian real estate to continue to use their native language, retain their property and customs, be governed by most provisions of French civil law, and in general to live as they had always lived.

They continued this policy after the treaty was signed. The Catholic Church no longer had absolute sway over the spiritual lives of all of what had been New France; a wave of non-Catholic immigrants, mostly British, built their own houses of worship, but there were no forced conversions either way. Transcriptions of the Catholic and non-Catholic registers of births, marriages, and deaths were (and are now) made to be deposited with the civil authorities; some of those civil copies are the only ones that have survived. Human nature being what it is, soon there were intermarriages between the French speakers and the speakers of English.

However, there was a also takeover of the seigneurial system of land ownership, the lucrative fur trade, and the development of industry by English-speaking immigrants who considered themselves inherently superior to everyone else. The new British seigneurs who began to buy out the French seigneurs demanded higher exactions of the French tenant farmers (habitants). French voyageurs were still welcome to do the heavy work of the fur trade but French businessmen began to be ousted from the management levels of the fur-trade companies. French who weren’t wealthy were looked down upon as lacking in ambition and intelligence.

It is axiomatic that a conquered people is not a happy one; the British were aware of this and did in fact make a serious effort to make the transition more palatable for the French-speaking inhabitants of what had been New France. They allowed Francophones to vote, to run for office, and to head the local militias. They got nervous when their colonies south of Canada successfully broke away from British rule to become the United States of America, and even more nervous when the French monarchy fell, clearing the way for the rise of Napoleon and ten years of war.

But they were shocked to the core when their peaceful system in Canada began to fall apart in the early 1830s, when three successive years of poor harvests naturally created unrest among the peasant farmers. They were horrified and outraged when the resentment of the supposedly long-pacified French-speaking peasants turned into an outright Patriots Rebellion (also known as the Peasants Rebellion) in 1837. Many members of the local militias in Quebec joined the rebellion; others tried to remain neutral, or supported the government.

For a full account of the rebellion, its causes, events, and aftermath, I strongly recommend Allan Greer’s The Patriots and the People, The Rebellion of 1837 in Rural Lower Canada (University of Toronto Press: paperback edition reprint 1996).

Now, Great-Uncle Frank must have gotten his idea about family participation in war from somewhere, most likely from his father’s reminiscences about his family’s history. So in addition to reading Allan Greer’s book, I google-searched the 1837 rebellion and hit pay dirt: a website dedicated to the rebellion which included a searchable list of the participants. Among the the Berthier contingent I found the names of Joseph Chaussé père and Joseph Chaussé fils.

(The site I found then seems to have vanished, but a new Patriots Rebellion site also includes a searchable list of the participants. The site is entirely in French, but if you want to find out if one of your ancestors was involved in the rebellion, this page of the site is not difficult to use. Enter your ancestral surname in the box labeled “Entrez une chaîne de lettres correspondant au nom de famille recherché” and then click on the >> next to the box; you can also search for a list of every rebel in a particular parish or area in the box “Cherchez tous les individus d’une région”: select a locality in the pulldown TOUS (meaning “all” if you want to search all localities), then click on the >> next to the box.)

Now, “Berthier” in general use means the town of Berthierville aka Berthier-en-Haut (“Upper Berthier”) and/or the parish of Ste-Genevieve de Berthier in Berthier County, as distinguished from Berthier-en-Bas (“Lower Berthier”), which is much farther north. Note that in Canadian geography, “Upper Canada” (including the province of Ontario) is south, adjacent to the USA, and “Lower Canada” (including the province of Quebec) is northwards, which is confusing if you look at a map, where north is at the top. I still have to stop and think about that. But the designation comes from the fact that the St. Lawrence River—the easiest travel route for new settlers in a roadless land—flows from south to north, so “upriver” is south and “downriver” is north, and the designation stuck.)

Now, Ste-Élisabeth, where Great-Grandfather Joseph was born, is just a few miles inland from the St. Lawrence River from Berthierville and had been part of that town's parish until it became a separate parish in 1802. (Ste-Élisabeth is technically in Joliette County, but propinquity is what counts here: you have no more difficulty passing from one county to another in Canada than you have in the United States.) Therefore, it was perfectly reasonable that would-be rebels living in rural Ste-Élisabeth would go to the much larger town of Berthierville to sign up.

There were a lot of Chaussés in the general area of Berthier, but there was only ONE father and son in the neighborhood of a suitable age who were both named Joseph Chaussé. The Joseph who I still believed was my great-grandfather Joseph Chaussé/Chosa, born in 1833, was obviously far too young to be the son who served in the Berthier contingent in 1837-1838, but being the first son of his parents, he had been named for his father, also named Joseph Chaussé, who had been born and baptized in Berthier in 1812—the birth year attributed to my great-grandfather on his tombstone. The father was therefore about 25 in 1837. And being the first-born son of of his parents, the father had likewise been named after his father, Joseph Chaussé père, who was born in 1786, therefore age about 51 in 1837. This grandfather was a hale and hearty farmer whose last child was born in 1836 and who lived until 1874; it was by no means unlikely that he was well able to participate in the rebellion of 1837-38.

Pretty clear, isn’t it? Great-Uncle Frank heard his father (my Great-Grandfather Joseph Chosa) talk about his family’s part in the Patriots Rebellion, knew the family lived in the neighborhood of Berthier, knew that his father was the son of a Joseph, and knew that a Joseph Chaussé, son of Joseph Chaussé, of his own direct line had been born and baptized at Berthier in 1812. Frank also knew that his own father was quite old when he died (he was in fact 86). It did not occur to Frank that the father-and-son Josephs in the Berthier contingent of the Rebellion could be his great-grandfather and grandfather, not his grandfather and father.

And so when Great-Uncle Frank put up a tombstone over his father’s grave several years after the old man’s death, he had it inscribed “Joseph Shosa Sr. 1812-1921”, using a spelling reflecting the original pronunciation, and using his grandfather’s birth year of 1812 instead of the correct 1833. (Great-Grandfather was correctly identified as “Sr.” because at the time of his death, he had a living adult son named Joseph.) By the time he put up the tombstone, Great-Uncle Frank had also forgotten that his father had died in 1919, not 1921.

In his newspaper interview, he also may have inflated participation in a short-lived rebellion into “many years” of soldiering. However, it is not at all unlikely that the two Joseph Chaussés who did participate in the rebellion also served in the local militia perhaps for “many years”, as many other participants did. Great-Uncle Frank may have been entirely correct as to fact and length of military service even though he was mistaken as to the generations involved.

But the fact that he had the correct birth year for his grandfather—even though he gave it as that of his father—and the fact that he did indeed have direct ancestors who truly had been involved in patriotic military action—was confirmation that I had connected Great-Grandfather Joseph to the correct family in Quebec. I could now breathe more easily; my research was correct.

All of this brings me to my Fourth Genealogical Mantra: Family lore should never be accepted as fact until proven. But errors of fact in someone’s memory may hold a kernel of truth that can help you trace your family line back another generation, or determine whether or not you are on the right trail.