The story begins

This entry is a bit different from the previous two, and I feel it needs a certain amount of explanation.  My family is very fortunate in that going back at least five generations (that’s as far back as I can go off the top of my head) in my maternal line, there have been only two children who have not lived out full lives.  That does not mean that there were not still-births, or children who died soon after birth which seems likely, but of those who were named only two died prematurely.  One met a tragic accidental death when she was very young, the other suffered from, and finally succumbed to, tuberculosis that he got while spending time in jail. 

Ebenezer Kingsbury, the seventh child and youngest son of my great-great-great-grandparents, spent time in the Newfane Prison—about two years out of a ten year sentence.  He was found guilty of manslaughter in the death of an infant, and while according to official records he was the father of the child, family stories are less clear on the issue.  What is undeniable is that Eb and the baby’s mother knew each other, their families were close, and the mother never served time.  What is also known is that the community rallied around Ebenezer, fighting for his release, and that they succeeded.  He did return home, but never regained his strength or health, and he was the only one of his immediate family not to marry and have children.

The reason that this is relevant information is because so many of Ebenezer’s letters survive.  There are a fair number of letters to and from Eb, spanning about ten years, ranging from his late teens until his death.   

 Because there are so many letters, as well as poems and short notes, Ebenezer begins to take shape more than many of the authors and recipients.  The kinds of things that were written to him are revealing not only of the writers but of Eb himself.  It is my intention to put together all of the letters regarding Eb, as well as to find out more about the trial and the child’s mother in order to try to ferret out the truth of the matter.  Of course, I am biased and believe the family stories that Eb was a good boy and that the child simply died while the couple were traveling—it was certainly common for infants to die in the mid-nineteenth century, and as the mother was a factory worker, it is quite likely that the child was not particularly healthy as its mother would have been in less than ideal circumstances during her pregnancy. 

The random letter that I happened to transcribe this time around is as follows.  It was sent from a nephew to Ebenezer while he was in jail, and it reveals a wonderful childlike innocence, as well as fabulously erratic spelling and handwriting.

"Jamaica Apr 6 1869

Dear Uncle I now seat myself

to write a few lines to you

in answer to yours we are

as well as common.  hope you 

are feeling well to night

Uncle Dan is here to night

and Uncle Charles too Jim 

Robbins commenced his work to 

day we have been chopping

got some tired Uncle Mart

is here.  says, tell Eb I am 

cumming down as soon as I 

can I should like to com

go down there and see you

to night but dont no as 

I Can the season I why

Father and dont Mother

dont write is becose tey

rether come donn and see 

you and write it thn

you ask me if I had

sene the nead of the love

of god I have I sould like

very much to bee good

but I Cant as lon as 

I stay at home

well I Cant tink of 

mch to write Ezra tite come

ing is A leon down here

this spring and going 

to Weaks well I must 

Close fore tis tine write 

often and write all the 

news yours truly

         from

         Leslie W Kingsbury

         to E.S. Kingsbury"

What really caught me about this letter was the closing "write often and write all the news."  Write often I understand, but "all the news"?  He was in jail in a small town; I can't imagine there was all that much news to report.  While everything I can find tells me that Leslie was Ezra's son, the mention of Ezra confuses me.  If only my overly detailed family tree wasn't sitting in my bedroom at my parents' house...ah well, he was a nephew of Ebenezer's and I can definitively rule out three of the seven possible parents based on who he refers to as uncles.  

So, there is the some of the groundwork laid for what I hope will be an interesting foray into one man's life.  I will also try to be at least somewhat chronological with posts regarding Eb, and will try to spice things up once in a while.  

And for those of you who were in Research & Writing with me last fall, the "jolly brown rouser" will be making an appearance (so to speak) yet again!

A friendly rejection

Today's letter comes from one Miss Addie Bowker to Egbert Garfield.  The Bowkers and Garfrields regularly pop up in my family's stories and as cousins here and there, and somehow we ended up with a fair number of letters that were written to dear Egbert, though no one knows quite how they came into our collection.  This is one of two letters that we have from Addie to Egbert, and I only wish I could have seen the one he sent her that preceded it.  

This letter has excellent spelling, which made my life easy with only two minor mistakes in the first part of the letter, and just one in the second section.  It is that word "finly" that causes slight confusion as it could be meant as either finally or finely, and it is impossible to know which as both would fit in the context.  

"1869

Guilford Center Aug

Egbert,

I received your letter a short

time since and will now endevor

to answer it this beautiful Sabbath

afternoon.  I find it a rather

difficult subject to write upon.

    But I might as well tell 

you first as last, I am sorry

that you ever thought of me

any farther than a friend 

and aquaintance.  I fear if we

should be ever be married that

we should be an unhappy 

couple.  Matrimony is a subject 

that should be well weighted

for it is taking a step for

life.  I hope you will look 

farther and find some one that

would be better fitted for the 

place than I am, someone 

that will make your life

smooth and easy and happy.

    I hope you will think of me

no more than a friend and 

acquaintance here after for as

such I shall ever retain you.

    The Guilford mineral Springs

are prospering finly the

city people are giving great

attention to them the village

is full of them.  it is getting 

late and I will close

from Addie Bowker

Guilford Center

Vermont "

I love the cool-headed response that Addie gives, there is no passion in this letter, which makes it somehow a little more sad in my mind.  Also, the transition from "no, I won't marry you" to "by the way, business is booming"--particularly set apart by two blank lines on the page--is clearly (at least in my mind) the effort of a woman to regain control of her friendship and to not close the letter with rejection; an attempt to create conversation, even if it is awkward.  I can see such a scene playing out in a parlor where a young woman rejects her suitor, hesitates then goes on to talk about the farm conditions, weather, or the previous week's sermon.  No amount of technological innovation will remove awkward silences followed by awkward segues.

This letter has excellent spelling, which made my life easy with only two minor mistakes in the first part of the letter, and just one in the second section.  It is that word "finly" that causes slight confusion as it could be meant as either finally or finely, and it is impossible to know which as both would fit in the context.  

Dakota O Dakota

Here goes, my first post.

I’ll begin with a mystery.  This political song or poem is amongst the accumulation of two centuries worth of bits and pieces that have made their way to my hands.  I don’t know who wrote it, I don’t know when it was written exactly, and for all I know it’s not even original.  I do know this, however: the internet has been silent, so if it was a campaign song of sorts, it was not a popular one.

“Once more we rally round the flag, 

Our dear old spangled banner;

We glorify no rebel rag,

We flirt no old bandana.

Opinions differ, we believe

In franchise, free, unshackled;

Should Satan all their votes receive

His right shall go untackled.

All corners, rings, and trusts should be

The scorn of every voter;

From unfair tricks I hope we’re free,

Dakota! O Dakota!!

Republicans, that’s you & me;

That’s Harrison & Morton;

But rebs & free-trade sneaks, I see,

Our party’s rather short on.

To English sophistry we’re deaf, 

The rum-lords dare not bait us;

We flounder on no tariff reef,

And pray for those who hate us. 

Opinions differ; yes, I see,

Some men believe in treason; 

While some--I say that’s you & me--

Believe in truth and reason.

They vote for free saloons & rum,

Whatever their profession,

More rum, more temperance, hi, ho, hum,

Oh Wonderful progression.

Opinions differ, so they think,

The democratic masses,

Free-trade should be a blessed link

To help the lads and lasses.

They’re bound to make the laborers smile,

By cutting down their wages;

But some will praise the party style

Evolved by party sages.

Their history for itself can speak;

Could old Apollyon beat them?

No bandit could have shown more cheek,

Their record will defeat them.

Unfair, Dakotas to the point

Unsound, the tariff shows it

In fact, that party’s out of joint

And Mrs. Grundy knows it.

Their house will soon be desolate,

Corrupted are their morals;

Upon the wall I read their fate,

Let others wear the laurels.

Is Cleveland loyal? Don’t you know?

He’s true to his own highness

To England and the South, also,

There seems a loyal nighness.

And comrades, had we fought in fury

Against our dear old banner,

Think you that man could turn away

In such a rigid manner?

Oh, no! His heart would never let

A veto pass his fingers.

But never mind, I’m prone to bet

We’ll start hum up Salt River.

Opinions differ, right, but why

Should rogues help rule the nation?

(Put?) traitors, forgers we decry

In quite important stations?

But tastes & methods vary so,

Like minds works best together;

And this they conjugate, you know,

Like birds of kindred feather.

Opinions differ that is why 

Men split on prohibition;

Third party chaps are going to try

To form a coalition.”

As far as I can tell, this is something that was written by someone either in my family or close to them, in southern Vermont at about the time that the Dakota’s were admitted to the Union as a state in 1889.  

I love the pithiness of this song, it clearly has an agenda, but it takes swipes at just about everyone.

More to come in the future.  

Though nothing else quite like this.