AUNT JANE'S SIX YEARS ON BEAVER ISLAND BOTH DANGEROUS, DELIGHTFUL
STE. MARIE, MI - TUESDAY, MARCH 25, 1952
BY JOHN T. NEVILL ST. IGNACE, MICH.
The six long years Aunt Jane Goudreau lived in the Beaver Islands were years fought and dangers – both fancied and real – but the dangers were interspersed with delightfully exciting voyages from island to island, and many other wonderful experience, which left indelible impressions on her childish mind.
She was, after all, only three years old, when her father and mother, Joseph and Josephine Derusha, came to is the islands, and settled upon lands vacated by the Mormons. The Mormons, in the main, had gone, but their "ghosts" still were to be seen about the islands – particularly on dark and stormy nights – and the most feared one of all was that of "King" Strang himself, the chunky little red-bearded man, who in 1856 had been murdered by two of his disciples.
Joseph Derusha laid claim to a small farm, but turned it over to his father to operate. He spent most of his time fishing in the fish-wealthy waters about the Beavers. He was likely to be absent from Big Beaver for long periods of time, so he often took his wife and children with him. Therefore, some of Jane's sisters and brothers were born on some of the Beavers other than Big Beaver.
But when Jane was six years old, and had been in the Beaver Islands for three years, her sister, Rose, was born on Big Beaver. "I was only six", Aunt Jane said, "but I can never forget the day Rose was born. The sky was dark – like during a light fog, - and the sun was just a red ball in the sky. There was a sharp, tangy smell in the air, and everything – houses, and lawns, and streets, and fields were coated with tiny gray flakes, which floated down from the sky. The grown-up folks were red-eyed, and cough a lot".
Rose Derusha, Jane's sister, was born in 1871 – while frightful forest fires raged on the mainland's to the east end to the west, and the greatest fire of all – the Great Chicago fire – devoured a city far to the south!
CHICAGO FIRE:
Of course, little Jane Derusha, at six, didn't know then why the sky over the Beavers was dark and filled with soot-nor did the adults on the island. But a trading boat came in from Chicago the next day, and told the grown-ups the City of Chicago was aflame.
During the winter months while in the Beavers, Joseph Derusha found whatever work was available ashore, or fished through the ice, or spent countless hours looking after his nets, boats, and equipment. But for three seasons during his six years on Big Beaver, he took a wintertime job carrying the mail over the ice to Mackinac Island.
That was a perilous task, but it paid well and Joseph Derusha's ever-growing family needed the money. During the deep winter months, when the wind was coldest and the ice was thickest, it was safe enough, and that's when Mr. Derusha drove a team of horses over the great white field. But in the spring months, when the ice became dangerously think, and the wind shifted in about a lot, and a light snow blanket over thin ice could hide a death trap that was the worst time!
Aunt Jane Goudreau, as might be imagined, is not a woman given to losing her composure, but she shuddered when she told of the families feelings when they watched the husband and father disappear into thee darkness out over the lake.
"In the spring months, of course", Aunt Jane said, "my father used a dog team instead of the horse drawn sled, but even so my mother worried constantly all the long hours he was gone".
"The trip required about twelve hours, each way, and much of it was in darkness. He would leave early in the morning and get home the following night. He had many narrow escapes, but one of the worst was one spring day when he came to a wide crack in the ice.
NO WAY AROUND:
"The thicker ice had parted during the night for a width of about four feet, then the water between had frozen over, but its thickness was little more than one inch. The crack extended for miles in both directions, so there was no way around it. He was several miles off Waugoshance Point, about halfway between Big Beaver and Epoufette, so he was determined not to turn back".
"He probed the thin ice to determine its actual thickness, then decided to try getting over it. He had a good dog team – a couple of dogs who would take off like a shot when shouted at in a certain way. After picking the spot he'd try to cross, he drove the team to a point about twenty feet distant, then he lay down flat on his sled. When all was set, he shouted like made. The dogs started out like a sky-rocket. My father, flat on his stomach on the sled, felt the think ice give as he skidded across the opening"!
"I'll tell you" My mother, who tried hard to keep her worries, her fears, and her tears from us kids while father was away on his mail runs, openly broke down and wept when she heard him tell of the escapades".
Bur during the early 1870's, the stay of the Derusha's on Big Beaver Island drew to a close. Men down in Washington, beginning with the Homestead Act of 1862, had made is possible for men to acquire a homestead simply by living on it for a given length of time. Many of the fisherman leaving in the Beavers, including Joseph Derusha, bade farewell to the Islands, and moved to the mainland along the north shore of Lake Michigan, where they filed Homestead claims
NEW HOMESTEAD:
So by the time of Jane's 10th birthday arrived, Joseph Derusha, his wife, Josephine, and their children, were beginning life anew on a homestead about one mile west of the tiny fishing village of Epoufette.
Little Jane Derusha, who had been thrilled by the Beaver Islands, learned in time, to like Epoufette even better. There, she found, she was to make new friends, see new countryside, and have new experiences, which would remain with her for the balance of her life.
And, most important of all, there she was to meet and learn to love the man of her choice, Louis Goudreau, who, curiously enough, had been born in Seul Choix, les than two miles from where she herself was born!
The town of Epoufette (called Poufette by residents) was not a town in the accepted sense. It was no more than a cluster of homes, barns, and other out-buildings occupied and used by the villagers, all of whom were wholly dependent upon the hordes of whitefish and trout their nets brought up from the fishing banks a few miles off shore.
These buildings, of course, stood close by the shore, facing the wide water, with their backs to the high ground immediately to the north atop which US-2 now extends. There was, for the first few years of the settlement's existence, no store, no post office, no church, or no school. But later on, Mr. John R. McLeod opened a post office, and classes for the settlement's many youngsters were held upstairs in Amable Goudreau's spacious home.
PREDOMINATE FAMILY:
John R. McLeod and old Amable Goudreau were among the very earliest settlers in what was to become the village of Epoufette. But the Goudeau's – by sheer force of numbers, if nothing else, became the settlement's predominant family.
McLeod, A York state man, a surveyor, and land-looker, had come into the north country to help in the surveying of the upper peninsula. He liked the country and remained. McLeod's first wife, who he had brought out from New York, died on Mackinac Island, leaving McLeod with two small daughters and a son.
Being away from Mackinac much of the time, Mr. McLeod was unable to look after the children, so he took them back east to live with relatives. Some years later, after had had settled in Epoufette, John R. McLeod married Caroline Goudreau, one of Amable Goudreau's twelve children and they, in time, had seven daughters and two sons.
Two of John and Caroline McLeod's daughters, his oldest daughters, married the two oldest Derusha boys – Aunt Jane's younger brothers, William and Jesse. They made Molly and Bridget (McLeod) Derusha, Aunt Jane's sisters-in-law, and cemented the McLeod and Derusha families. Another daughter, Belle married George Wixsom, father of Norman Wixsom, the Evening News representative in St. Ignace.
Old Amable Goudreau, patriach of the Goudreau clan, and French from tip to toe, came to the St. Ignace country from Three Rivers mainly to expand his experiments in fish oils. His wife was Mria Vallier and their children were Joseph, Abraham, Amable, Alex, Lous, Isaac, Peter, Mary, Caroline, Josette, Isabelle and Eleanore.
Little Jane Derusha lived on her father's homestead a mile outside the village, she attended school in a big upstairs room in Amable Goudreau's home, and she came to know the Goudreaus well.
About a decade after her arrival from the Beaver Islands, she and Louis Goudreau, the sailor of the Goudreau family, were to journey to distant St. Ignace to become man and wife.
AUNT JANE AND CAPT. LOUIS
HAD HAPPY HALF-CENTURY TOGETHER AS MAN AND WIFE
By John T. Nevill 1952
St. Ignace, MI. Fishing was a big business back in the 1870's – and Amable Goudreau's operations mushroomed to a surprising size. When it became necessary to find a more efficient method of shipping his fish, Amable purchased a two-masted schooner, which was called the "Alice", and he made Louis Goudreau, then nineteen, master of her.
Louis had displayed a special aptitude for handling boats, rather than for the more prosaic chores involved in large-scale fishing, so Louis was his father's natural choice. Old Amable, however, may not have realized that his selection caused Jane Derushe to flush with pride.
Capt. Louis Goudreau sailed the "Alice" for three seasons, after which she was sold, and a steam tug, called the "Kremer" took her place. Louis, of course, had to journey to Marquette to get his "steamboat" papers, but had no great amount of trouble getting them. The tug was used to tow lumber, as well as fish, and the Goudreau boys found her handy in many other marine tasks.
JANE AND LOUIS MARRY
Amable Goudreau, by now was getting along in years, and on a day in 1882 he breathed his last, leaving his property fairly well distributed among his sons and daughters. About a year later, on December 27, 1883, Jane Derushe and Louis Goudreau were married.
Old Amable has passed on, so there was no one to see to it that Louis and Jane had a spanking new home to live in. Jane's marriage had been a fancy double one – Jane's sister, Josephine, having wed John Martin at the same time – but Louis's first home at Epoufette was somewhat more modest than those of his brothers.
One of the coopers employed by the Goudreau's had built a small, but neat cabin, anticipating the arrival of a "mail-order" bride from the deep south. The lady arrived all right – and the two were married – but the cooper's bride apparently didn't care for the rigors of Epoufette. She remained only a few weeks, then made the heard-broken man take her to St. Ignace, where she lost little time arranging for transportation back home.
So the cooper, having no use for the house, sold it to Louis Goudreau. Thus the marriage of Louis and Jane, which turned out to be eminently successful, began in a tiny whitewashed house of broken dreams.
PAQUIN'S CREEK
About the time Louis and Jane were married, a man named Leo Paquin camp up from Standish, MI and established a mill on Paquin's creek, near Epoufette. He had two daughters, and four sons. The oldest daughter, Mary, had married Eustice LeRocque down in Standish, and the other daughter, Attie, married Louis Burbey.
One of Leo Paquin's sons, a young man named Charles, ultimately married Lavine Derushe. Aunt Jane's sister, who was only three years old when Jane married Louis Goudreau. Lavine Paquin today lives in Sault Ste. Marie, where she is mother of "the Belvidere Paquins" of that city.
Louis and Jane Goudreau lived in the little place they called "The White Castle" for three years, then Louis decided, as a sailorman, he would be better off living in St. Ignace. During the fall of the year before they came here to live, however, Louis and Jane hurried down to St. Ignace on an entirely different sort of mission. Word was received in Epoufette that Jan's father, Joseph Derushe, was missing following an expedition out into the icy, storm-tossed straits.
A freighter had got into trouble in the storm, and had tossed hundreds of barrels of flour overboard to lighten her load. Any boatman who would dare to, could find rich pickings floating everywhere on the angry water. Two men talked Capt. Joseph Derushe to take them out in his two-masted boat. "White Cloud". The three men picked up plenty of flour, but enroute back to St. Ignace with it, through much snow and sleet, a west wind snapped one of the vessel's masts. Searchers found the wrecked "White Cloud" and its occupants some hours after the storm had subsided. The craft had drifted for miles – and beached itself on Burnt Island.
FIRST HOME
The lumber used to build Louis Goudreau's first St. Ignace home was towed down from Epoufette by Capt. Louis himself. The home was built on what today is Goudreau Avenue. Not too long after Joe Goudreau built a home nearby. Then Abe Goudreau built one, and later Isaac Goudreau built there. St. Ignace today has a number of streets named for various members of the Goudreau clan. An addition to Goudreau Avenue, there is a Mary Street, an Abe Street, and a Joseph Street, all of which bear names of Amable Goudreau, or his sons or daughters.
St. Ignace then, as always, was a sea-going town, and when the boat moguls saw how well Capt. Louis Goudreau could handle a tug, his services were in constant demand – at $30 per month. In the 1890's "the Captain", as Aunt Jane always refers to her husband, took a regular, full-time job with the Arnold Transit Company – and that connection lasted for many years.
The Captain's first assignments with the Arnold Line included a boat called the "Martelle", and another one christened the "Mary". These boats sailed to and from Mackinac Island, and among Les Cheneaux Islands, carrying passengers and freight. But Capt. Goudreau moved on to larger and larger vessels, and ultimately was given command of the "Elva", which operated daily between Sault Ste. Marie and DeTour.
SERVED AS COOK
Aunt Jane Goudreau remained at home most of the time the Captain was sailing, although for three seasons she served as cook aboard the "Elva". She had become proficient, also, as a seamstress, so when at home, she busied herself taking in sewing, or working in her flower garden, which came to be and still is one of the prides of St. Ignace
In the early 1930's Captain Goudreau's health, which had been failing for some time, made a task of lesser responsibility advisable, so the Capt. Was assigned to smaller boats operating out of St. Ignace, or among Les Cheneaux Islands. He stepped aboard the "Elva" for the final time in October 1933, and took her up the St. Mary's to the Sault for repairs.
In December of that year he and Jane celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, upon which occasion the Capt. Moved about their new home on Spring Street, greeting friends and relatives pleasantly. But Capt. Goudreau was far from a well man – and showed it.
One day in January 1934 – less than a month later – he took to his bed, and it was apparent to all, except the Capt. That the end was near. Capt. Ben Houle, a close friend, who succeeded him as commander of the "Elva", was a frequent visitor during the Captain's last illness, and assured him that all was well on the waterfront. But Capt. Goudreau worried constantly – particularly about his new command, the "Islander".
One January day, while a storm howled outside the little home on Spring Street, and all craft still in the water were being buffeted about and bounded against their docks. Capt. Goudreau insisted upon being taken down to look over his boat. Those present, including Aunt Jane, knew he was delirious, but talked him into settling for a view of the boat from the kitchen window.
SAW HIS BOAT
So, supported by his wife and others, the Captain was permitted to walk to the window, where he stood for a few minutes looking down over the town's business houses to the familiar harbor. Apparently satisfied after a moment's inspection, he asked to be helped back to bed. He never hazed upon St. Ignace harbor again.
That night, with Aunt Jane and various others at his bedside, he passed away.
Aunt Jane Goudreau today lives in the little white house called "Manitou". But she's seldom alone – her many relatives and close friends wee to that. Almost every day her nephew, John Goudreau, an employee of the St. Ignace bank, who is her brother-in-law, Pete's son, calls by to shovel snow off her sidewalk, or perform a hundred other such chores for her. Johnny Goudreau, as a matter of fact, is Aunt Jane's business manager, and looks after all the things a woman of her age would find both difficult and irksome.
One day recently, while I was visiting with Aunt Jane, she introduced me to a young man who had driven some distance and crossed the Straits of Mackinac just to see her.
"This young man", she explained, "is Norman Mashall of Levering, Michigan. His mother, Lena Marshall, was Lena LaVake, daughter of Eleanor Goudreau, one of Amable's daughters. In other words, this boy's grandmother was my sister-in-law. He's a good boy, and you'll do me a great favor by mentioning him in your story".
And that's the way it goes. Aunt Jane soon will be 87, but she had a memory as clear as a person ¼ of her age. And she gives the impression of being ever-lasting. She still does all her own housework, cooks on a wood-burning stove, and washes with an old-fashioned scrubbing board. (She refuses to permit anything so modern as an electric stove or washer in her home!)
In the attic of her home, Aunt Jane has a museum, which someday she'll leave to the Knights of Columbus, and she makes many trips daily up the steep stairway to the attic. There is no handrail on the stairs, an d one has to stoop over to negotiate the second flight, but Aunt Jane – at 86 – goes up and down almost like a teenager.
She still smokes a pipe, and admits she's smoked one since she celebrated her 15th birthday – and she is likely to surprise anyone at any time for any reason by exploding some salty comment or expletive not at all in keeping with a lady of her advanced years.
Aunt Jane, devoutly religious, nevertheless is quick-tempered, and delightfully outspoken. When crossed, she would "tell off" anyone at the drop of a hat – from the President of the United States down to the nicest of the neighbors' children.
But St. Ignace love it! For Aunt Jane Goudreau is an institution in St. Ignace.
St. Ignace, MI. Fishing was a big business back in the 1870's – and Amable Goudreau's operations mushroomed to a surprising size. When it became necessary to find a more efficient method of shipping his fish, Amable purchased a two-masted schooner, which was called the "Alice", and he made Louis Goudreau, then nineteen, master of her.
