Day 219/365 Gotta Love Your Ancestors

Or at least try to figure out what they did, when and why.

I just recently found this statement from one of my gr-gr-great uncles, H. Magruder, addressed to the Clerk of Circuit Court, District of Columbia, dated April 16, 1862.

The text reads:

Sir, You will please file and record in your office the annexed [attached] statement and schedule under the provisions of the Act of Congress entitled "An Act for the release of certain persons held to service or labor in the District of Columbia." Approved 16th April 1862.

And the schedule below it reads:

George York, 47 years, male, Very black, five feet seven inches high, sound & healthy

Duke Williams, 40 years, male, A dark yellow color, five feet 4 inches high, sound & healthy

Adeline Williams, 35 years, female, A bright mulatto, five feet 2 inches high, sound & healthy

Lewis Williams, 8 years, male, A dark mulatto, five feet high, sound & healthy

Charles Williams, 6 years, male, A dark mulatto, four feet, four inches high, sound & healthy

Maria Williams, 3 years, female, A dark mulatto, three feet eight inches high, sound & healthy

And the summary below:

The persons mentioned in the foregoing schedule were by reason of African descent and acquired title my property and by me held to service and labor in the District of Columbia, at the time the Act of Congress above cited was approved, the benefit of which is hereby claimed.

The bad news? My Southern ancestors were slaveholders. Not too unexpected, since some were upper middle class, but until now there's been little trace of it to be found. But, like Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings, it bears closer examination.

This statement from H. Magruder was filed in the District of Columbia. He didn't work or live there. He was actually a resident of the seceded Commonwealth of Virginia, at that time one of the Confederate States, which, most assuredly, did not have any laws in place guaranteeing the freeing of slaves.

Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation wouldn't be signed until September 22, 1862, five months after H. Magruder traveled from southwestern Virginia almost 300 miles north to D.C.,during wartime, to free his slaves.

He could have freed them in Virginia, but state law required that any slaves that were freed were to be immediately separated and transported to the state line, without possessions, and literally dumped over the state line. If they returned at any time, they were to be seized by the state and sold further south.

In other words, he went out of his way before he was legally required to do so, to free what appears to be a family, and most likely a brother, intact with their children and in such as a way as to make them legally freedpersons, able to come and go as they pleased even back into Virginia.

He also states they were slaves "by... acquired title", meaning he inherited them. Whether it was from his father or his wife isn't known.

What I do know is that our original ancestor was either his great uncle, or gr-grandfather, and that ancestor was deported from Scotland by the British in chains as an "enemy of the Crown sold as an indentured servant". His gr-gr-grandfather was hunted by the English, and had his name and lands taken by the English Crown. His gr-gr-grandmother had a G branded on her cheeks, and her home burned around her.

I really, really want to think that all that family history made them more compassionate once they arrived here. Particularily when they saw others in a similar state of slavery.

You know how family history goes though....

This is a second document, concerning another relative, Capt. W.D. Killinger, Co. A, 8th Regiment Virginia Cavalry.

The text reads:

Report of Prisoners belonging to the Army of Northern Virginia, who have been this day surrendered by General Robert E. Lee, C.S.A., commanding said Army to Lieut, General U.S. Grant, commanding Armies of the United States.

Paroled at Appomatox Court House, Virginia, April 9, 1865.

These are his official parole papers, the only official set I've been able to find, although my gr-gr-grandfather was also there (also surrendering), having fought for all four years of the Civil War in the Stonewall Jackson Brigade, in almost every major battle in Virginia, and being wounded four times. W.D. Killinger was his cousin. I find myself wondering if they realized the other one was there, or if in the confusion they found their way home separately.

I know my gr-gr-grandfather never mentioned the war again, until he was alone on his deathbed, and he dictated his memories to the preacher that sat with him. He was wounded twice in his back, and twice in his knees (which shows the shooting patterns of soldiers), went to a couple Grand Reunions (the kind where the old veterans are shown shaking hands, white beards blowing in the wind). I have his Southern Cross of Honor, and his portrait in his new uniform, taken the day he shipped out in 1861.

In hindsight, all these relatives are such products of their time - all Virginians, one traveling so far to free a family he feels responsible for, and the other traveling so far to fight for the people that want that family kept enslaved.

Five years after H. Magruder released the Williams family and two years after W.D. Killinger surrendered at Appomatox, my gr-gr-grandparents joined the two families in marriage.

What I wouldn't give to go to that family reunion..... lots of horrified looks and "You did WHAT?"

Day 32/ 365 Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Sunday I took the DD to our county's national park: Booker T. Washington National Monument. For those of you who do not remember your American history, Booker T. Washington was one of the most influential Black Americans in the latter 19th century, and the beginning of the 20th century. He hung with folks like W.E. Du Bois, ran Tuskegee Institute for many years, and did more for education of black children in this country than anyone else (in addition to being a guest at the White House). He was also the first Black American to appear on a postage stamp.

The reason we have the National Monument for him is because he was born here in our county, in slavery, to the Burroughs family. At the age of nine, he and his family were emancipated, and off they walked to West Virginia (a two and a half hour drive, over mountains).

The national park has recreated the farm he lived on, the slave quarters, barn, and tobacco barns of his time, all in a rural setting that is down in a small valley, so when you visit, you can block out the modern world.

We took lots of photos Sunday (and argued over the camera a bit), so different aspects of the visit will be in different entries.

Today's story is about one of Virginia's biggest crops - tobacco- sortof our gift to the nation (love it or hate it - it played a huge part in building this nation), and it was not only part of Booker T's past but part of my personal past as well.

When the English arrived here just over 400 years ago, they met Chief Powatan, who ruled over approximately 5 million Native Americans in Eastern Virginia and the Eastern Shore.
His daughter was the famous Pocahontus. Together they introduced the English to tobacco.

The English (commercial scouting being the reason for their road trip to the New World) took tobacco back to England, and hustled back, anxious for more. It quickly became a cash crop, and has remained so for the ensuing centuries.

The top photo is of a tobacco field at Booker T. Most of the leaves are not ready yet - but a few have started to yellow, and then were picked from the bottom up, tied together, and hung over a rack made of branches (in the photo below).

Once it's dry, you can roll it and smoke it, directly.

The process of getting it dry or cured, has changed over the years. In between the rough racks and the modern day drying houses with thermostats and fans, came the picturesque Virginia tobacco barns, built 2-3 stories high of logs chinked with mud and clay, with hanging poles strung across the inside. The hanging poles were loaded with the tobacco shafs, then carefully llifted up and set in place, until the entire inside was layered from top to bottom in hanging leaves. During curing season, a fire would be lit on the ground floor,of the barn and the men would take turns staying in the tobacco barn for days, making sure the fire didn't get too hot, or worse, too cool.

Most tobacco barns have an incredible aroma inside them - no matter how long they've been empty or unused. They are huge inside, all dark and cool and empty. This is the only door, and might be closed up tight during curing, or left open in different positions to control the humidity and the heat.

This is the inside view of Booker T's barn - it's only minimally loaded for an exhibit as they don't cure the tobacco here any longer. Because they aren't controlling the humidity, the tobacco gets mold on it (the whiteish streaks). These racks are hung about six feet over my head, and there's room for at least 3 more hanging levels over this one.

When we first moved here eleven years ago, there were old tobacco barns all over. Until the last couple years, most farming families here grew tobacco and sold it to the commercial companies, picking their crop over a six week period and hauling it to the warehouses, to be piled on the floor, and bid on by the tobacco buyers and auctioneers. Now the trend is towards subsidies and buying out the tobacco farmers. Many of the old tobacco barns have been renovated into guesthouses, antique shops, equipment sheds, corn cribs or workshops, or have just fallen down from age.

While tobacco is not politically correct anymore, it fed and clothed a great many families here in Virginia (including my grandparents), and provided one of the few farming incomes that was commercially viable in a very poor remote region. It's a labor-intensive, backbreaking occupation, but also a craft - curing tobacco is an artform. What they do now with chemicals, the old-time grower could do with the type of plant, the timing of the pick, the drying, and the curing, including the temperature of the fire, how long it was left to burn, and what kind of wood was used. A good tobacco buyer could tell what county a particular shaf of leaves came from, just by the aroma.

Even with all my allergies, I love the smell inside a tobacco farm - it instantly takes me back in time to my grandaddy, watching him roll up a cigarette that he grew himself, then hearing the strike of the match on his shoe, and finally watching the smoke curl up and drift away.