1824 :: Death of Isabel Davis nee Grant

 

On this date in our family history . . . the 20th day of November . . . in the year 1824 . . . Isabel Davis nee Grant dies in Morgan County, Georgia . . . it is recorded that she is laid to rest in the "Old Davis Cemetery" . . . this Isabel is a 5th great-grandma to the Keeper of this family history blog . . . according to Stevens-Davis and allied families; a memorial volume of history, biography, and genealogy by Marie Walker Wood nee Stevens, it is said that . . .

Isabel Grant was born 13 January, 1759, Halifax County, Virginia, the daughter of Daniel and Elizabeth (Tate) Grant. On 9 January, 1777, she was married in Granville County, North Carolina, to Richard Davis. He served as a private in the War of the Revolution, First North Carolina Regiment. After the war was over, Isabel and Richard settled in Lincoln County, Georgia, moving after two years to Wilkes County. Washington then was little more than a cluster of log houses. Later they moved to Elbert, then to Morgan County, where they lived the remainder of their lives. She died, 20 November, 1824, in Morgan County, Georgia. The grandparents of Isabel were Thomas and Isabel (Richardson) Grant. Her great grandfather was Thomas Grant who immigrated from Scotland.

1653 :: Marriage of Clemens and Osgood

 
On this date in our family history . . . in 17th century Andover, Massachusetts . . . 

It is the 15th day of November in the year 1653 . . . and a long-ago scribe by the name of Robert Clemens (father of the bride) will record this date as being the day he presided at the marriage of his young daughter (about sixteen years of age) to John Osgood, aged about twenty-two . . . the new bride is Mary, and she has only recently become a resident of Andover, having lived in "the city of Coventry in Warwickshire, Old England" after her father left England about 1642 . . . 

More than two hundred years later, one of Mary's great-grand-nephews would pen the following words regarding the love one would hope this Mary and John had for one another . . . 

Love came at dawn,

when all the world was fair,

When crimson glories’ bloom

and sun were rife;

Love came at dawn,

when hope’s wings fanned the air,

And murmured,

“I am life.”

It is said that both Mary and John were born in "old" England, as were many of their neighbors and fellow settlers in the "New" England . . . 250 years later these early settlers of the Andover in New England were remembered in a poem (which also paid homage to the Andover of "old" England), when the following verse was composed by Annie Sawyer Downs in honor of the 250th anniversary of the settling of the "new" Andover . . . 

And of the proud and noble fame

which through the years comes down

To flush the cheek, and thrill the hearts

throughout our ancient town,

For our own Andover so old,

and yet so young to-day,

Who ever to the mother land

will loving homage pay,

To an old borough on the Ande

is namesake, mental heir,

Which Saxon men called Andover

in English Hampshire fair. . . . 

O, mother land, O, mother town,

when dark days on you fell,

And those you set in places high,

for gold and gauds dared sell,

The freeman's right to name his faith,

the freeman's right to pray,

To seek his God with hymn or psalm

as seemed to him God's way,

The freeman's right to judge the Word,

to teach his simple child

That secret true of holy life

is Gospel undefiled;

And that to follow leaders blind

is weak and wicked thing,

For of the soul no prince, nor priest,

but God alone is king.

Then through thy quiet rural ways, 

O, lovely mother land,

And in thine ancient city streets,

and on the north sea strand

Was heard a sound like wind at night

among the leafy trees,

Or ceaseless break on sandy shores

of never silent seas;

And which in great waves rolled along

to break at last in song.

"We go, we go, across the wave

As Israel went of old,

To seek a home and find a grave,

In strange and distant fold. . . . 

Across the sea, across the sea,

Are valleys fair and lone,

And forests rich, and wild, and free,

Which yet may be our own,

And where, unvexed by bishop's rule,

Or envious tyrant's hate,

We with God's help, in wisdom's school,

May rear a noble state. . . . 

Farewell, farewell, we may not wait,

Our ships are in the bay,

And though to-night the tide is late,

Before the dawn of day,

We shall fare off on shifting wave,

Watch line of fading shore,

The fairest shore God ever gave,

But home for us no more. . . ."

Mary and John survived that journey across the sea . . . and the early days of life in "New" England . . . they had at least twelve children . . . and had been married for almost four decades when, in the year 1692, Mary found herself to be one of the unfortunate residents of Andover who was accused of being a witch . . . and wound up spending almost four winter months in a Salem jail . . . 

Upon her release, Mary would return to Andover, and would live on until October of 1710 . . . sadly, John died shortly following her release from jail in 1693 . . . and it is written that "His death is said to have been hastened by his grief at these sad occurrences." 

Love came at eve,

and when the day was done,

When heart and brain were tired,

and slumber pressed;

Love came at eve,

shut out the sinking sun,

And whispered,

“I am rest.”

This Mary and John are 9th great-grandparents to the Keeper of this family history blog  . . . and still today . . . 

We faintly trace their farm lands' bound,

Their cellars' green and sunken round;

Their meeting house upon the hill,

The stones of their first water mill.

Seek records of their parish wide

Who first was groom, and who the bride;

Whose child first sat on Parson's knee,

Who first paid hated tithing fee.

Yet seek in vain; but one dim page

Is wafted to us from their age;

But one faint name on tombstone gray

Reveals their brief and bitter day. . . . 

But still our loving fancy turns,

To many an ancient road,

Where aged houses lowly bend,

Beneath the centuries' load. . . . 

Click on the following links for more info regarding Grandma Mary and Grandpa John, and their home of Andover . . . 

• Mary Osgood in the BeNotForgot AMT . . . this is free to look at, but if you are not already an Ancestry member, you will need to set up a free account before you will be able to view her page . . 

• Andover - In the Neighborhood . . . besides the above mentioned Grandma Mary and Grandpa John, this article mentions numerous kith 'n kin, including these ancestors of ours . . . Ralph Farnum (1601-1648) . . .  Mary Farnum (1628-1713) . . . Ralph Farnum (1633-1691) . . . Elizabeth Holt (1636-1710) . . . Nicholas Holt (1602-1685) . . . John Osgood (1595-1651) . . . Sarah Osgood (d. 1667) . . . Daniel Poore (b. 1624) . . . Elizabeth Short (1606-1656) . . . most of these are said to have been born in England . . . 

• Death of Mary Osgood

This blogpost was researched and prepared specifically for The Seventh Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge over at cousin Bill's family history blog which is known as . . . West in New England . . . 

Sentimental Sunday :: Scrapbooking with Mark Twain

On this date in our extended family history . . . the 30th day of November . . . in the year 1864 (which was a Wednesday) . . . Mark Twain would have been observing his 29th birthday, presumably somewhere in California . . . one hundred fifty years later . . . in the year 2014 . . . this anniversary of his birth falls on a Sunday . . . 

It is said of Mark Twain that he devoted his Sunday afternoons to a hobby in which he found great enjoyment . . . and profitability! . . . in her book entitled "Writing with Scissors", Ellen Gruger Garvey says that . . . 

Mark Twain kept scrapbooks for various purposes, mocked scrapbook keepers in his writing, and invented a new type of scrapbook; he also altered and innovated the language for talking and writing about scrapbooks.

Mark Twain is in our family tree via several branches, but the closest known (at this time) is as a 4th cousin four times removed to the Keeper of this family history blog . . . 

1834 :: Howl Fir Tree for the Cedar is Fallen

On this date in our family history . . . the 8th day of November . . . in the year 1834 . . . Grant Davis dies in Morgan County, Georgia . . . although his death occurs almost eight years before her birth, he is the paternal grandpa of Josephine Wingfield Henry nee Davis . . . who is a 2nd great-grandma to the Keeper of this family history blog . . . 

Grant Davis is laid to rest in a small family cemetery near Brownwood (southwest of Madison) in Morgan County . . . and on his tomb is inscribed the following . . . 

In memory of

GRANT DAVIS.
Born July 18th, 1785.
Died Nov. 8th, 1834.

A righteous man is here inter'd.

Whose faith in all his works appear'd.

A husband and a father dear.

Belov'd by all who knew him here.

Redeem'd by Christ, among the just.

His spirit waits its rising dust.
 

Howl fir tree for the cedar is fallen.

Exactly thirty years later . . . and exactly one hundred fifty years ago today . . . Sherman is notifying his army that soon they will be leaving Atlanta to make a "March to the Sea" . . . beginning in mid-November, this military action will continue until Sherman's troops have cut a swath of destruction across Georgia and beyond . . .

The Josephine mentioned above was born and raised in Morgan County, Georgia . . . which is located just a short distance east of Atlanta . . . and directly in Sherman's path . . . although she was already living in Texas by the time of the war between the states, Josephine had many kith and kin still living in the Morgan County area when Sherman began this trek . . . including her own paternal grandma, Nancy S. Tate Davis nee Anthony (1783-1871) . . . 

Regarding this land of my ancestors . . . according to a book by Louise McHenry Hicky . . . entitled Rambles through Morgan County, Georgia . . .

While these were trouble filled times, [most of] Madison was spared from the ravages of Sherman's raid, because of an act of Representative Joshua Hill, later distinguished U.S. Senator, who resided here. Riding out from Madison, in quest of a wounded son, he made a point of meeting Sherman on the way to plead with him to spare the town. He had known Sherman in Washington, and due to the fact that he was one of the few southern congressmen who did not believe in secession, his plea had weight with the General, and [most of] Madison was bypassed. . . . 

The closing chapter of this same book says that . . . 

This is Gone With the Wind country . . .

The world is still beautiful,
filled with wonders;
the sky is blue,
the flowers still bloom,
and birds warble in the magnolia trees. . . .

There was a time when peace reigned
and life was leisurely,
and beautiful
and romantic.
Then came a war between the States,
when all this beautiful living
was gone with the wind. . . .

This is a time for remembering. . . .

This blogpost was researched and prepared specifically for The Sixth Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge over at cousin Bill's blog which is known as . . . West in New England . . .

Ode to Job

On this date in our family history . . . the 7th day of November . . . in the year 1760 . . . 38-year-old Ruth Porter nee Foster dies in Boxford, Massachusetts . . . the following day, the 8th of November, would be the 16th anniversary of the day she had married Benjamin Porter in Andover, Massachusetts . . . this Benjamin and Ruth are 6th great-grandparents to the Keeper of this family history blog . . .

Benjamin's family history in Andover traces back to his 3rd great-grandpa, Job Tyler, who is said to have been living in Andover as early as 1639 . . . it has been said of this Job that . . .  

"He was a rude, self-asserting, striking personality" . . . and that . . . He did not . . . "learn prudence very fast, but he was himself. . . . He did not shape his words to suit sensitive ears. He resented dictation and found it hard to restrain himself from what he wanted to do through any prudential policy. . . . From this old canvas there gazes steadily out, not an ideal but a very real personage, an out and out Yankee type."

At a Tyler Family Reunion held in Andover on Wednesday, September 2nd, 1896, the gathering was called to the old North Parish Church, where Job Tyler anciently paid "minister's rates," and where his sons, Moses, Hopestill and John, were early communicants.

At this gathering, songs were sung, organization business was taken care of, and genealogies and letters of regret, as well as poems were read . . . including the following excerpts from a lengthy poetic composition written in honor of our Job . . .

In Newport, quaint Rhode Island town,

way down upon the coast.

There landed from old England's shore,

of whom we can now boast

A "Tyler"; from o'er the sea came he

to the woods and lofty hills.

To found a home and family,

and 'scape old country's ills.

"Sixteen Forty," or thereabout,

he stepped upon the strand

And pitched his tent in an ancient town

now known throughout the land

As Andover, of scholastic fame,

whose influence is known

In Forum, Pulpit, Rostrum,

where Knowledge it is shown.

"Job" was his appellation,

a patient man, 'tis said.

This horny-handed ancestor,

now numbered with the dead,

Who delved from early morn till night,

he strove to make a name,

Respected, loved, esteemed by all,

but yet, unknown to fame.

To gratify his longing

he went from town to town,

To Roxbury, Mendon, Arundel,

before he settled down.

But he came back to Andover,

and here resolved to stay.

Where we revere his memory

on this September day.

The supposition is,

his bones a grave doth fill

In the little old-time burial yard,

not far upon the hill;

No stone doth mark the sacred spot

or record can be found,

But one, his first born,

who lies there beneath historic ground.

The trees do wave their requiem

above the sacred dead,

So we should grant our meed of praise

for the spirits that have fled,

And add our mite of reverence for

those who went before,

And visit, each and all, the spot,

before the day is o'er.

As is stated in that poem, Job's final resting place has been lost to the sands of time . . . thanks to those involved in the referenced gathering, our Job is now memorialized with a bronze tablet attached to a boulder in the Old North Parish Burying Ground in North Andover, Essex County, Massachusetts . . . that boulder was relocated from the old Tyler farm in West Boxford . . . and placed near the gravestone of his son, Moses . . . the memorial was dedicated five years following the above reunion . . . on the 4th day of September in 1901 . . . 

This blogpost was researched and prepared specifically for The Sixth Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge over at cousin Bill's blog which is known as . . . West in New England . . .

1833 :: The Night the Stars Fell

 

Texas is the finest portion of the Globe
that has ever blessed my vision.
The above poetic statement was penned by Sam Houston in an 1833 letter to a cousin, shortly after Sam had crossed the Red River and stepped onto Texas soil for the first time, i.e. . . .

On December 2, 1832, an imposing figure stood on the north bank of Red River. His passport read: "General Sam Houston, a Citizen of the United States, thirty-eight years of age, six feet, two inches in stature, brown hair, and light complexion."

Sam would soon become a frequent visitor in the homes of some of the men later described by Alexander Horton as . . . some of the noblest men to be found in any county. They (were) generous, kind, honest and brave . . . Elisha Roberts* . . . Philip A. Sublett* . . . These were the most earliest settlers of East Texas. . . .

*This Elisha is a 4th great-grandpa to the Keeper of this family history blog . . . Sublett is married to Elisha's daughter, Easter Jane . . .

Before Sam left Tennessee, he served as a commander in the Tennessee volunteer militia of General Andrew Jackson during the War of 1812 . . . among those serving under Sam were the Parker brothers, Daniel and Isaac . . . by August of 1833, this Daniel and Isaac were members of a wagon train leaving Illinois, their destination being Texas . . . regarding the people on this wagon train (including a young girl known as Cynthia Ann), according to Glenn Frankel in his book, The Searchers, The Making of an American Legend . . .






In mid-November they reached the brown, placid Sabine River, bordered by pine trees as tall and erect as sentinels, and crossed over into Texas. They camped that first evening, November 12, 1833, near San Augustine, twenty miles deep inside their new promised land, just in time for one of the most awesome celestial events in human history.


On the Night the Stars Fell, the heavens blazed with shooting stars as large as moons trailing clouds of bluish light like divine afterthoughts. Although well past midnight, the bright burning sky illuminated the wide, awestruck faces of the pilgrims as if it were high noon. . . .




As it happens, during the year the stars rained all over the sky, Grandpa Elisha and a large assortment of his kith 'n kin lived near San Augustine, just about Twenty miles deep inside their new promised land . . . i.e., just east of San Augustine and about 20 miles west of the Sabine River . . . so it is quite possible this group of travelers actually camped on land owned and / or occupied by some of our Roberts kith or kin . . .






 

Meanwhile, in another part of Texas in 1833 . . . a family by the name of O'Docharty is residing in San Patricio County during this year of the Plenty Stars Winter . . . as the years passed and their lives on this earth came to an end, many of these family members were laid to rest in the Old Cemetery on the Hill (FYI, it is believed by some that our Elisha's son-in-law, Bryant Daughtry, might be buried in the same cemetery) . . . the matriarch of the O'Docharty family was Susanna, who was tall and slender with a shock of red hair . . . it has been said of her that she accurately predicted her own death . . . the following is a portion of what is referred to as her epitaph . . . it is from a collection of stories handed down through generations by oral tradition . . .

And now I lie with them upon this hill
Mingling with Texas earth as seasons come and go.
Chilling northers bend grasses almost to the ground;
Low-hung clouds are misty blankets
Dropping days of rain upon the earth.

Then wild flowers make sweet the air in spring;
At dawn birds chirp and trill as if to wake us,
But we lie immutable, insensible to summer heat and winter cold . . .
While we lie here a segment of a forgotten colony.




Here I lie beside my own --
A hundred springs have come and gone
Since first I lay upon this lonely hill. . . .

This blogpost was researched and prepared specifically for The Fifth Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge over at cousin Bill's blog which is known as . . . West in New England . . .

1791 :: Birth of Lucy Thurston

On this date in our family history . . . the 11th day of November . . . in the year 1791 . . . a baby girl is born in Cumberland County, Maine . . . her parents, Thomas Thurston and Lucy Fenderson, decide to call her Lucy . . . this Lucy is a 4th great-grandma to the Keeper of this family history blog . . .

Sentimental Sunday :: Dear Home Faces

Mrs. Silence J. Soule penned the following words . . . I have observed that old people live much in the past. As I grow older I find myself turning oftener to the days in the old home. I hear the patter and the prattle of childish feet and voice ; light step of youth and maid; sober footfall and serious word of man and matron; the slowing step and failing voice of age. All, all are gone! I alone am left of . . .



The dear home faces whereupon
The fitful firelight paled and shone.
Henceforward, listen as I will,
The voices of that hearth are still.
How strange it seems with so much gone
Of life and love to still live on.

These few lines of poetry were adapted by cousin Silence from
Snow-Bound
by
John Greenleaf Whittier


The version linked here is dedicated as follows . . .

To the Memory of the household it describes :







On this date in our family history . . . the 3rd day of November . . . in the year 1816 . . . Mahala Lee Roberts is born in Washington Parish, Louisiana . . . she is the 7th of nine children known to have been born to Elisha Roberts and Patsy Gill . . .


By 1830, Mahala is living in San Augustine County, Texas with her parents and siblings . . . in 1833 her father signs his name to a document establishing the town of San Augustine . . . in 1836 Mahala marries John M. Sharp in San Augustine County . . . and at least two children will be born to them . . . Samuel Houston Sharp and Margaret Sharp . . . John Sharp is presumed to have died before 1846 . . .


In 1851, Mahala marries Joshua James Hall in San Augustine County . . . and they have at least two children . . . Roberta Hall and Toby Hall . . .


On Mahala's 53rd birthday . . . the 3rd day of November . . . in the year 1869 . . . Mahala's granddaughter, Margaret Elizabeth Sharp, is born in Liberty County, Texas . . . another two years later . . . on the 3rd day of November . . . in the year 1871 . . . another granddaughter, Ida Mae Sharp, is born in Houston County, Texas . . . Mahala would live to share another thirteen birthdays with these two granddaughters before her death in June of 1885 . . . 

We are blessed to have access to a portrait of our Mahala . . . as well as photos of some of her grandchildren . . . the little one in the collage is a four-year-old version of the Keeper of this family history blog . . . in the arms of her great-grandma, Berta Mary . . . Mahala was grandma to Berta Mary . . . and is a 3rd great-grandma to the four-year-old in the photo . . .





A hundred-year-old photograph stares out from a frame.
And if you look real close you'll see our eyes are just the same.
I never met them face-to-face but I still know them well
From the stories my dear grandma would tell.





They're my Guardian Angels and I know they can see,
Every step I take they're watching over me.
I might not know where I'm going but I'm sure where I come from.
They're my Guardian Angels and I'm their special one.

A hundred-year-old photograph stares out from a frame.
And if you look real close you'll see our eyes are just the same.

This blogpost containing poetry as well as song lyrics was researched and prepared specifically for The Fifth Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge over at cousin Bill's blog which is known as . . . West in New England . . .