Slaves of Samuel Kelly, Greenville County, South Carolina

My 89-year-old uncle's DNA matches are slowly but surely revealing clues to records about my seven times great grandfather Thomas Rice (1656-1711). An account of his life, written by his grandson, Rev. David Rice, stated Thomas had nine sons and three daughters. Various public trees have as many 17 children associated to him.

The following are children proven through the vestry books of baptisms in St. Peter's Parish in New Kent County, Virginia, which included the names of the parents:

1. James Rice, baptized 4 April 1686
2. Thomas Rice, baptized 24 June 1688
3. Edward Rice, baptized 17 April 1690
4. Mary Rice, baptized 15 July 1694
5. John Rice, baptized 18 September 1698
6. Alice Rice, baptized 29 September 1700
7. Marcy Rice, baptized 5 July 1702

As I was researching the other ten supposed children of Thomas Rice, I came across a Maryann Rice who married Samuel Kelly. Samuel's will was probated in Greenville County, South Carolina, in 1819.

In his will he made the following bequests:

First it is my will and desire, that my beloved wife Maryann Kelly ... also one negro woman named GRACE to have and to hold during her natural life, then to return to my grandson Samuel Forrester.

It is my will and desire that my grandson Samuel Forrester shall have one negro girl named FANNY,  this girl to remain with my wife Maryann Kelly till he shall arrive at the age of twentyone years, then to have and to hold said girl to him and his heirs forever.

The will was signed by Samuel Kelly's mark on 17 February 1819 and was probated on 24 April 1819.

Landing of Columbus Painting

I've blogged before about how much I love old books about the ancestors in my extended family tree. One book I discovered recently on Internet Archive is entitled Life and Times of Jonathan Bryan(1) 1708-1788" by Mrs J H Redding of Waycross, Georgia, and published in 1901, and included this intriguing sentence on page 16:

"In the wonderful art exhibit at the World's Fair in Chicago, perhaps no picture left a greater impression on the minds of the hosts, who saw it, than "The Landing of Columbus," loaned by a Russian prince."

I happen to know the painting by American neoclassical painter, John Vanderlyn, currently hangs in the rotunda of the U.S. Capitol in Washington, DC. How in the world did it ever come to be in possession of a Russian Prince?

Landing of Columbus, image courtesy of the Architect of the Capitol

According to the U.S. Architect of the Capitol's website, the painting was commissioned by Congress in 1836 to hang in the rotunda. It was painted by Vanderlyn in his Paris studio with the help of assistants. It was completed sometime in 1846 and was hung in January 1847.

I am assuming since the book was written in 1901, Mrs Redding is referring to the World's Columbian Exposition, better known as the Chicago World's Fair, to commemorate the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' arrival in the New World. However, I can find no mention of this painting being at the art exhibit or of ownership by a Russian prince. I did learn that one of the official medals that were struck for the fair was the Discovery of America dollar, designed by Charles Renish. It depicted the scene from Vanderlyn's painting on the obverse.

Discovery of America Dollar, photograph courtesy of Tom Hoffman

There was also a silk bookmark for sale at the fair that depicted the same scene from The Landing of Columbus.

Photo courtesy of the-forum Online Antiques Mall

Mrs. Redding is either incorrect or my research is incomplete. Or perhaps the artist painted more than one version of the painting. If there are any art historians out there that know more, I'd love to hear from you.

_______________
(1) Jonathan Bryan is the great grandfather of the husband of my sister-in-law's fifth cousin four times removed.

Wreck of the Steamship Pulaski

Sarah Virginia Bryan, daughter of Joseph and Delia (Forman) Bryan, is the sister-in-law of my sister-in-law's fifth cousin, four times removed. Sarah married William Mein Mackay in 1835. They had two children Delila, born in 1835, and William, born in 1838. William and Sarah lived in Savannah, Georgia, where William owned two plantations along the Savannah River -- New Hope and Causton's Bluff. These properties were given to him in 1837 by a cousin, Mary Anne Cowper.

On 14 Jun 1838 the steamboat Pulaski left Charleston, South Carolina, bound for Baltimore, Maryland. On board were about 150 passengers and 37 crew. Mrs. Mackay had boarded the Pulaski in Savannah, along with her two children and a servant. About 11:00 p.m., off the coast of North Carolina, the starboard boiler exploded and the ship sunk about 45 minutes after the explosion. Mrs. Rebecca (Lamar) McLeod, a survivor, believed only 54 people survived. Mrs. Sarah Virginia (Bryan) Mackay and her two children were not among them. Upon hearing the news of his family's death, William Mackay moved into his mother's house and remained in seclusion until his death in 1859.

From Steamboat Disasters and Railroad Accidents in the United States by S. A. Howland

A genealogy book entitled, Virginia Genealogies, by Horace Edwin Hayden, described Sarah Mackay's death:

"Mrs M. was lost in the wreck of the steam Pulaski, June 14, 1838. The testimony of a survivor in that awful scene leaves us mournful joy in her recollection. Her pious mind and noble heart stood firm amid the horrors that surrounded her. Gathering her infants in her arms she awaited the stroke of fate, and met it with all a Christian's resignation, and a Christian's hopes. 'Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.' Hers was in truth a noble mind and noble heart. She was of short stature, but of spirited and engaging appearance. She received the Holy Communion the Sunday before sailing in the ill-fated steamer, but she had been for some years a consistent member of the Protestant Episcopal Church."

The Wilmington Advertiser published a firsthand account of the disaster as told by Mr. Hibbard, the first mate, on 18 June 1838:

"Mr. Hibbard states that about 10 o'clock at night he was called to the command of the boat, and that he was pacing the promenade deck in front of the steerage house; that he found him. If, shortly after, upon the main deck, lying between the mast and side of the boat; that upon the return of consciousness, he had a confused idea of having heard an explosion, something like that of gunpowder immediately before he discovered himself in his then situation. He was induced, therefore to raise and walk aft, where he discovered that the boat midships was blown entirely to pieces that the head of the starboard boiler was blown out, and the top torn open; that the timbers and plank on the starboard were forced asunder and that the boat took in water whenever she rolled in that direction.

He became immediately aware of the horrors of their situation, and the danger of letting the passengers know that the boat was sinking, before lowering the small boats. He proceeded, therefore, to do this. Upon dropping the boat, he was asked his object, and he replied that it was to pass round the steamer to ascertain her condition. Before doing this, however, he took in a couple of men. He ordered the other boats to be lowered, and two were shortly put into the water, but they leaked so much in consequence of their long exposure to the sun, that one of them sunk, after a fruitless attempt to bail her. He had in the interim taken several from the water, until the number of ten. In the other boat afloat there were eleven. While they were making a fruitless attempt to bail the small boat, the Pulaski went down with a crash, in about 45 minutes after the explosion.

Both boats now insisted upon Mr. Hibbard's directing their course to the shore, but he resisted their remonstrances, replying that he would not abandon the spot till day light. At about three o'clock in the morning they started amidst of the wailing of the hopeless beings who were floating around in every direction, upon pieces of the wreck, to seek land, which was about thirty miles distant. After pulling about thirteen hours, the persons in both boats became tired, and insisted that Mr. Hibbard should land. This he opposed, thinking it safest to proceed along the coast, and to enter some of its numerous inlets; but he was at length forced to yield to the general desire, and to attempt a landing upon the beach a little east of Stump Inlet.

He advised, Mr. Cooper, of Ga., who had command of the other boat, and a couple of ladies with two children under his charge, to wait until his boat had first landed, as he apprehended much danger in the attempt, and should they succeed they might assist him and the ladies and children. There were eleven persons in the mate's boat, (having taken two black women from Mr. Coopers'.) Of these, two passengers, one of the crew, and the two negro women were drowned, and six gained the shore. After waiting for a signal, which he received from the mate, Mr. Cooper and his companions landed in about three hours after the first boat, in safety. They then proceeded a short distance across Stump Ground, to Mr. Redd's of Onslow County, where they remained from Friday evening until Sunday morning, and then started for Wilmington. The mate and two passengers reached here this morning about 9 o'clock."

Model of the Steamboat Pulaski from the e-book, "For 91 Days in Savannah," by Michael Powell and Jurgen Horn.

For more information about the explosion of the Pulaski, some good research has been done by Judi Heit and Stu Beitler.

Captured by Indians

Hugh Bryan was born in 1699 and was a planter in St Helena's parish in South Carolina. He was the great grand uncle of the husband of my sister-in-law's 5th cousin's four times removed. When he was about 16 years old he was captured by Indians during the Yamasee War, which broke out in 1715 between colonial South Carolina and several Native American tribes. The war was caused by many things, including trader abuses, depletion of the deer population, increasing Indian debt to the colonists, land encroachment, and the rise of French trading power.

Reverend Horace Edwin Hayden wrote Virginia Genealogies, which was originally published in 1891. In it he included a quote from a letter from Reverend Hutson to Mr. DeBert, a merchant in London, which described Hugh Bryan's time as an Indian captive:

"It happened in the Indian war that which broke out in 1715, and was so memorable as to the events of it, that it stands for one of the grand eras of Carolina, that he was taken, I think at the beginning of the war, and was disposed of as a slave to one of the party that took him by the king of that people to whom the party belonged. He was in captivity among them in the whole near a year, during which time the providence of God remarkably appeared in his favor in several instances. I have only two or three in my memory, which may serve as a specimen of the rest. His Indian master (who was what they called a 'mixed breed') was killed in the engagement with the white people, by which means, though still in captivity, he got more freedom. 

Drawing from Indian History for Young Folks by Francis Drake; New York: Miller, Orton and Mulligan, 1855

The king always stood his friend when the Indians under him solicited his death, which was very common for them to do when they heard of any success of the Carolinians against them, and they were particularly earnest upon the point when they heard of the death of one of their great men's sons. But the Indian king always interposed on his behalf, and would not suffer them to hurt him, out of regard to his father, who was a very hospitable man, and had been very kind to the Indians, though it is not very common with them to remember favors, especially in a time of war; and there were instances often in this war of persons who had been very kind to them, and yet were very cruelly treated by them, a circumstance which I rather take notice of to show how much providence was concerned in his preservation…Mr Bryan endured many hardships while among the Indians, and though his good behaviour [sic] gained him so much favor, that he fared no worse than their own Indian boys, yet at best his case was bad enough. At length, through the good providence of God, he was brought by them to the Spanish settlement at St Augustine, on the coast, and from thence, being released by the Indian king who had always been so friendly to him, he returned to his own land in peace, and here as he advanced in years grew in favor with all who knew him, and at length, by his integrity and industry, attended with divine blessing, he obtained a good report and a good fortune."

Hugh Bryan died on the last day of 1753 at the age of 54. He was married at least two times, perhaps three, and had one or two children.

52 Ancestors #6: Humorous William Bull

Ancestor: William Bull

Several weeks ago, I read Traditions and Reminiscences, Chiefly of the American Revolution in the South, including Biographical Sketches, Incidents and Anecdotes, Few of which have been Published, Particularly of Residents in the Upper Country by Joseph Johnson, which was originally published in 1851. The book includes much information about William Bull (1710-1791), the brother of Colonel Stephen Bull of Beaufort, South Carolina, who married Elizabeth Bryan.[1] William Bull was a medical doctor and completed his studies under Boerhaave, the famous Leyden physician. He returned to South Carolina and became one of the colony's most eminent citizens, serving as royal governor several times between 1760 and 1775. In 1782 he went with the British troops to England and died there.

Memorial to William Bull, placed at Ashley Hall by Hannah Beale Bull, 1792. Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress

"A steady friend and affectionate husband…on this land, part of his estate and place of his birth, this obelisk was erected, sacred to his virtues and her grief, with duty and affection by his disconsolate widow"

Two humorous stories are included in Traditions and Reminiscences about William Bull. A Dr. Samuel Wilson told the author the following anecedote:

While Governor Bull was walking one day before his residence and the State House, he was met by a plain, uneducated back-country man, who stopped and stared at him with open mouth. The governor also stopped and civilly asked the country man, "what is the matter, friend?" The fellow replied, "Really, Mister, you are the ugliest man that I ever saw in my life." The governor smiled as if neither surprised nor displeased, and with much good humor said, "But you would not say so if you had seen my brother, Stephen."

Governor William Bull House, 35 Meeting Street, Charleston, South Carolina

and…my favorite:

Governor Bull was so great a favorite in South Carolina that parents frequently named their children after him. There was a plain, respectable man then in Charleston, a tailor, named Frog. Influenced by some favor or patronage received from John Walters Gibbs, of facetious memory, Frog asked Mr. Gibbs to be the godfather for his son, to be named John after his proposed godfather. Mr. Gibbs promptly assented, and the day was appointed for the ceremony. When the parties met, and were going up together to the font, Mr. Gibbs asked permission to give the child an intermediate name, after their worthy governor, Bull. Permission was of course granted, and the child was baptized John Bull; the ceremony was over, and the parties separated in great good humor. But when the whole name was pronounced, and the child called, John Bull Frog, the parents were dismayed; the citizens all joined in the laugh and all the Frogs, little and big, hopped off to escape the continued jests.

This is my entry for Amy Johnson Crow's 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge.

_______________
[1] Elizabeth Bryan is the great grand aunt of the husband of my sister-in-law's fifth cousin four times removed.

NOTE: William Bull was born on 24 September 1710 at Charleston County, South Carolina Colony to William and Mary (Quintyne) Bull. He married Hannah Beale on 17 August 1746 at South Carolina. He owned Ashley Hall plantation on the Ashley River in Charleston County, South Carolina. The plantation remains under private ownership today and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Bull served as the royal governor of South Carolina five times: 1760-61, 1764-66, 1768, 1769-71, and 1773-1775. He refused to take an oath of allegiance to the revolutionary government and left for England in 1777. He returned in 1781 during the British occupation of Charleston. Bull was evacuated in December 1782 by British troops. He died in London on 4 July 1791 at London, England. He was buried on 18 July 1791 in St Andrew Churchyard at Holborn, London, England.  He and Hannah had no children.

52 Ancestors #1: Nathaniel Tucker, Poet

This is my entry for Amy Johnson Crow's 52 ancestors in 52 weeks challenge.

Nathaniel Tucker (1750-1807) was the 3rd cousin six times removed of my sister-in-law. In 1973 Lewis Leary, a specialist in American literature and the former William Rand Kenon, Jr, Professor of English at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, wrote a book entitled, Poems of Nathaniel Tucker. In it he described Nathaniel Tucker this way:

"…a very minor but not unrepresentative poet of the late eighteenth century. Born in Bermuda in 1750, he lived during the early 1770s briefly in South Carolina and visited in Virginia, but then spent the rest of his life abroad, a student at Edinburgh, Leyden, and London, and was a physician in Yorkshire until his death in 1807. During the American Revolution, he thought of himself as a patriot marooned in an enemy land, able only to play a spectator poet's part in the struggle of his colonial countrymen for freedom. To their cause he contributed Columbinus: A Mask, hoping that it might be adopted in the new United States as a national drama, to be performed each year on some patriotic anniversary and thus, he said, become 'the bark in which I am to voyage over the ocean of time to the distant shore of posterity.' Instead, it has been hidden away for almost two hundred years in a manuscript copy, unread by almost everyone.

Tucker House in St George's, Bermuda. It is now a museum. A magnificent collection of Tucker family silver, china, crystal, antique English mahogany and Bermuda cedar furniture, portraits by Blackburn, and quilts are just some of the treasures on display.

Poor Natty, his brothers called him, for nearly everything that he turned to seemed to fail. Other Tuckers did well. His oldest brother, Henry, was to become President of the colonial council in Bermuda, and Henry's sons would play important roles in the colonization of India. Thomas Tudor, six years older than Nathaniel, received a medical degree from Edinburgh, practiced as a physician in Charleston, South Carolina, became a delegate to the Continental Congress, and during Jefferson's administration was the Treasurer of the United States. St George Tucker, two years younger than Nathaniel, came to Williamsburg, Virginia, as a student at the College of William and Mary, served with distinction at the battle of Yorktown, and remained in Virginia for the rest of his life, a lawyer, judge, professor, and occasional poet, honored among her most prominent citizens. But Nathaniel, whom his family thought blessed with much talent and great goodness of heart, was less successful, largely, it was supposed, because he wanted so badly to be a poet."

Nathaniel Tucker's most acclaimed verse was The Bermudian written as a homesick assistant to his brother, a medical doctor in Charleston, South Carolina. It was first published at the contrivance of his brother, St George Tucker, by Purdie and Dixon in Williamsburg, Virginia. It has been republished many times since. The Tucker House Museum in Bermuda offers copies to those visitors interested in the poem.

Photograph courtesy of the royal gazette.com

Warning, readers, the poem is long!

The Bermudian by Nathaniel Tucker

BERMUDA, parent of my early days,
To thee belong my tributary lays;
In thy blest clime, secured from instant harms,
A tender mother press'd me in her arms,
Lull'd me to rest with many a ditty rare,
And loo'd and smiled upon her infant care.
She taught my lisping accents how to flow,
And bade the virtues in my bosom glow.

Hail Nature's darling spot! enchanted isle!
Where vernal blooms in sweet succession smile;
Where, cherish'd by the fostering sea-born gale,
Appears the tall palmetto of the vale;
The rich banana, tenant of the shade,
With leaf broad-spreading to the breeze display'd,
The memorable tree, of aspect bold,
That graced they plains, O Lebanus, of old;
The fragrant lime, the lemon at his side,
And golden orange, fair Hesperia's pride.
While genial Summer, who, approaching fast,
Claims to disperse the short-liv'd wint'ry blast,
O'er the green hill, and cedar-bearing plain,
Boasts undisturb'd a long-protracted reign.

Her blushing Health, descending from above,
The daughter fair of cloud-compelling Jove,
Pleas'd with the scene all naturally gay,
And importun'd by Temperance to stay,
In pity to the weary peasant's toil,
With blessing crown'd the wave-surrounded soil.

Too happy land! if in the search around
The source of opulence cou'd here be found,
And they worn offspring, ev'ry case resign'd,
His dwelling peaceful, and serene his mind,
With independence bless'd, could sit him down
In age secure of niggard Fortune's frown!
But early torn reluctant from their home,
Amidst the tempest's roar condemn'd to roam,
Thy scatter'd sons, a race of giant form,
Whose souls at peril mock, and brave the storm,
At honest labour's call, with fruitless pains,
Are fare dispers'd o'er Britain's wide domains.

Eternal blessing with profusion smile,
And crown with lasting bliss my parent isle!
Blest be the narrow field, the little cot,
And blest the lab'ring swain's contented lot!
For thee may Commerce to the southern gale
Successfully expand her swelling sail,
And from Peruvian mines the slave for thee,
With treasures load the wave-diving tree!
With joy returning, each endeavor sped,
No more compell'd to roam for scanty bread,
All heart-corroding cares at length supprest,
Each want supply'd by ev'ry wish possest;
May thy lost children, to their friends restor'd,
Taste every blessing Fortune can afford.
While I, whose birth more inauspicious far,
Conress'd the reign of some malignant star, 
Whose name, alas! from fair Enjoyment's date
Stands far remov'd upon the roll of Fate,
With weary step, each distant realm explore,
A wand'ring exile from my native shore.

Off, when in shades envelop'd, Night descends,
And Darkness o'er the hemisphere extends,
When glooming Silence hushes ev'ry sound,
And dead Tranquillity prevails around,
And the distress'd, unmindful of their woes,
In balmy sleep their heavy eye-lids close,
While no repose my weary soul can find,
Thy loved ideas rises in my mind.
Swift at the thought, and for enjoyment keen,
Regardless of the seas that roll between,
Where o'er surrounding depths thy cliffs arise,
With rapid wing my busy fancy flies;
And, representing scenes of past delights,
A painful pleasure in my breast excites.

E'en now, transported to my native land,
Upon the summit of some hill I stand,
The fears view, uncultur'd as they grow,
And all the varied scenery below.
Far at a distance as the eye can reach,
Extend the mazes of the winding beach:
Loud on the coast the bellowing ocean roars,
While foaming surges lash the whiten'd shores;
Stupendous rocks in wild confusion stand,
Lift their tall cliffs, and sadden all the strand.

Before Aurora gilds the eastern skies
The sun-burnt tenants of the cottage rise;
With many a yawn their drowsy comrades hail,
Rub their dim eyes, and taste the morning-gale.
Some bear the basket, plenteously supply'd
With hooks and lines, the able fisher's pride;
Others with dextrous hands the toils display,
Well skill'd to circumvent the scaly prey;
With wide-extended nets the shores they sweep,
Or man the bark, and plough the finny deep.
The happy islander, return'd at night,
Recounts the day's adventures with delight;
Astonishes the list'ning crowed with tales
Of rocks avoided, and of dang'rous gales;
Of groupers, who deluded by the bait,
Shar'd many a former grouper's wretched fate;
And rock-fish, who had tugg'd the well-streth'd line,
Oblig'd their pond'rous carcass to resign.
The little urchin, playing on the strand,
At distance kens the bark return'd to land,
He hies impatient, views the scaly store,
And bids his parent welcome to the shore.

Meanwhile the housewife decks the cleanly board
With all her homely cottage can afford;
Her little brood are seated to their wish,
And taste the blessings of the smoking dish;
Of childish stories prattle all the while,
Regarding either parent with a smile; 
The finny monster's grateful taste admire,
And for it bless their providential fire.
He with delight the youthful tribe surveys,
His gladdened eyes still brighten as they gaze;
Of earthly joys he knows no higher pitch,
And bids the prince be great, the miser rich.

Where rising Phoebus darts the morning-ray,
The verdant hills a diff'rent scene display;
Promiscuous houses in the vale are seen,
Whose decent white adorns the lively green.
The weary peasant here, reclined at ease,
Beneath his fig-tree courts the southern breeze;
Or, while the great, at fruitless cares, repine,
He sits the monarch of his little vine.

There scatter'd isles, whose banks the waters lave,
Grace with their herbage the pellucid wave.
The lordly bullock there, unus'd to toil,
Securely stalks the tyrant of the soil;
While tender lambkins on the margin play,
And sport and gambol 'midst the sunny day.

From early infancy  inur'd to toil,
Rough as the rocks that bound his native soil,
The sturdy craftsman, with laborious hand, 
Fells the tall tree, and drags it to the strand:
Resounding shores return the hammer's blows,
Beneath the stroke the gaudy pinnace grows,
Lanch'd, and completely mann'd, in quest of gain,
Spreads her light sails, and tempts the wat'ry main.

Near yonder hill, above the stagnant pool,
My stem preceptor taught his little school:
Dextrous t' apply the scientific rod,
The little truants shudder'd at his nod;
When-e'er he came, they all submissive bow'd,
All scann'd their tasks industriously loud;
And, fearful to excite the master's rage,
With trembling hands produc'd blotted page.
Skillful he was, and dabbled in the law,
Bonds, notes, petitions -- any thing cou'd draw:
'Twas even whisper'd, and 'tis strictly true,
He claim'd acquaintance with the Muses too,
And, by the goddesses inspir'd, at times,
His lofty genius mounted into rhymes.
Great bard! what numbers can they praise rehearse,
Who turn'd Qui mini into English verse;
Taught the smug epigram with art to glide,
and e'en at lines of heav'nly Maro try'd?
Tho' many an epitaph of thine was known
To grace the cold commemorating stone,
Thy own remains, in some neglected spot,
Now lie unsung, unheeded, and forgot!

Far to the south, above the wat'ry roar,
When the blue Ocean rolls against the shore,
And the tall cliffs and sloping mountain's side
O'erlook the deep, and stop the coming tide,
Of ancient date, and calling for repair,
Is seen the parish-church, the house of pray'r.
No stately columns there superbly rise,
No tow'ring steeple greets the distant skies,
No pompous domes magnificence impart,
Strike the pleas'd eye, or show the master's art.
To mark the silent mansions of the dead,
No obelisk of marble rears its head,
No finely-decorated tomb is shown,
No sculptur'd monument of Parian stone.
But the rude native quarry,  as it lies, 
A far more coarse remembrancer supplies,
Which the dejected son, reduc'd to mourn
His much-lov'd parent, from his bosom torn,
The last sad honors to his ashes paid,
Sighing, erects to the departed shade.

Touch'd with the theme, by pow'rful Fancy led
To more remote apartments of the dead,
I see sad ATTICUS, in silent gloom,
Indignant quit the solitary tomb,
His ancient, well-remember'd form renew,
And pass before me slowly in review.
The happy thought, the mirth-exciting joke,
The turn satirical, the pointed stroke,
The vein of humor, the remark so dry,
The witty sally, and the keen reply,
Around the social table form'd to shine,
Without a rival, ATTICUS, were thine.

Talent like these, (for they have seldom fail'd),
While bus'ness flagg'd, and indolence prevail'd,
And sullen Prudence, frowning, stood aloof,
Entic'd the jovial circle to thy roof;
And for life's eve, thy glory in the wane,
Prepar'd a fund of indigence and pain.

Thrice happy thou! if to discretion led
By the much-valued part'ner of they bed,
Thous hadst been taught more laying bliss to prize,
And learn'd from her example to be wise!
But she, such ills unable to withstand,
When deadly, pale Disease, with tyrant hand,
They cruel destiny relentless wrote,
They visage sadden'd, and they dwelling smote;
For they unhappy lot with grief opprest,
Before thee sunk to everlasting rest.
Her duteous offspring, (who, no longer near,
Expos'd unshelter'd to the storm's carrier,
His native shore unable to regain,
Reluctant plough'd the bleak Atlantic main),
O'erwhelmed with sorrow, at his let return,
With tears bedew'd her consecrated urn.

Tho' at a distance from my searching eye,
Amidst surrounding woods, thy dwelling lie;
Tho' envious Time or weaning Absence strive
Thy charish'd image from my breast to drive;
Yet near my hear (for they shall strive in vain)
His wonted place shall CANDIDUS retain.
If manly sense, if an extensive mind,
Unsway'd by prejudice, and unconfin'd;
A judgment happy to decide with skill;
But mild and open to conviction still;
A voice in polish'd numbers taught to roll,
Whose accents waft the music of the soul;
An honest heart, a temper that can learn
To love mankind, and to be lov'd in turn;
If sentiments humane, combined with these,
May challenge merit, and expect to please,
Of gentle manners, affable and free,
The praise, O CANDIDUS, is due to thee.

No more frequented by festive bands,
Behold yon solitary mansion stands.
There fair ARDELLA tripp'd along the vale,
Her auburn tresses floating in the gale,
Sweet as the favorite offspring of the May,
Serenely mild, and innocently gay:
ARDELLA, once so cheerful and so blest,
Now, by Misfortune's iron hand, opprest.
Methinks I see the solitary maid
Pensive beneath the spreading cedar's shade,
No soothing friend, no voice of comfort near,
Heave the big sigh, and shed the silent tear.
"Awake to consolation, nor repine,
Because the sorrows of to-day are thine:
In air let sublunary cares be hurl'd,
And look exulting to a better world;
Triumphant virtue there shall bear the say,
And life thee far above the solar ray."

Beneath my bending eye, serenely neat,
Appears my ever-blest parental seat.
Far in the font the level lawn extends,
The zephyrs play, the nodding cypress bends;
A little hillock stands on either side,
O'erspread with evergreens, the garden's pride.
Promiscuous here appears the blushing rose,
The guava flourishes, the myrtle grows,
Upon the surface earth-born woodbines creep,
O'er the green beds the painted 'sturtians peep,
Their arms aloft triumphal lilacs bear,
And jessamines perfume the ambient air.
The whole is from an eminence display'd,
Where the brown olive lends his pensive shade.
When zephyrs there the noon-tide heat assuage,
Oft have I turn'd the meditative page,
And calmly read the ling'ring hours away,
Securly shelter'd from the blaze of the day.
At eve refresh'd, I trod the mazy walk, 
And bade the minutes pass in cheerful talk,
With many a joke my brothers wou'd assail,
Or cheer my sisters with the comic tale;
While both fond parents pleas'd, the group survey'd,
Attentive heard, and smil'd at all they said.

Thrice happy seat! here once were centered all
That bind my heart to this terrestrial ball;
The sight of these each gloomy thought destroys,
And ties my soul to sublunary joys!

Ye pow'rs supreme, who rule the spangled sky,
On whose protection firmly they rely,
Grant them each bliss the fertile mind can form,
And lift them high above Misfortune's storm!

But hark! I see them to the green repair,
To taste the sweets of the refreshing air;
Descend, my soul, on airy pinions light,
The circle join, and feat thy gladden'd sight.

Hail ever-honor'd authors of my birth,
The poor's assistants, and the friends of worth!
My best of brothers, hail! companion dear,
Unshaken friend and partner of my care!
My sisters too! transported let me gaze
And bless the sweet'ners of my former days!
A long lost wand'rer to your arms receive,
Soothe all his sorrows, and his cares relieve.

How incomplete is east terrestrial joy,
Where disappointments all our hopes destroy!
Tow other sons shou'd in the circle stand!
For these, alas! I search a distant land;
Lament them gone, an honour to their race,
And with a sigh behold their vacant place.

Tho' CAROLINA, skill'd in social lore,
with open arms receiv'd me to her shore;
Altho' her sons, an hospitable band,
Have hail'd me welcome to their fertile land,
And, giving all the friendly heart can give,
Bade their remembrance in my bosom live;
Tho' (thanks to all my guardian powers!) there
I found a brother and a friend sincere;
Still, for 'tis natural, affection's tide
Flows where my honour'd parents yet reside.

For every blotted be the fatal day
That tore me from their circling arms away,
When the tall ship, regardless of my pain,
Call'd me reluctant to the sounding main;
Aloft her swelling sails triumphant bore,
And left them pensive on the winding shore!

My aged parent's awful voice I hear,
The solemn sound still vibrates in my ear.
"Adieu, my son! with winds propitious go,
Obtain what knowledge travel can bestow;
Thy neighbour's friend, an enemy to strife,
Uprightly tread the mazy path of life;
Let honour's rules they ev'ry act control,
Nor suffer vice to bend thy stubborn soul.
Shou'd sovereign Gold, the tyrant of mankind,
Attempt from justice to divert thy mind;
Exulting still prefer the frugal crust,
And spurn with high contempt, the guilty dust.
Let all the frowns of Fortune be defy'd,
Virtue thy friend, and Providence thy guide!"

Body Mutilated, Crushed and Cut

Death certificates are pretty informative documents. You can usually find out the person's father's name, their mother's maiden name, cause of death and other wonderful details. But it's a shock to read:

       "Dead when examined. Body multilated, crushed and cut by train running over him."

Edmund Linwood Womack Death Certificate

Let me explain. Edmund Linwood Womack is my father's uncle by marriage.  He married Leta Vernon Jennings in 1906 in Roanoke, Virginia. He was a conductor on the railroad for over 30 years. He left great Aunt Leta with six children, the youngest was 14 when Edmund was killed.

I thought it was also interesting the medical examiner used a State of Tennessee form, marked out Tennessee and typed in South Carolina. Edmund did die near Spartanburg, South Carolina, but I thought it was unusual that he didn't have the correct form with him at the time. 

Edmund and Leta Womack are buried in Evergreen Cemetery, which is located in Erwin, Unicoi, Tennessee.

Evergreen Cemetery