"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture
and, if possible, speak a few reasonable words." ~Goethe

~ also, if possible, to dwell in "a house where all's accustomed, ceremonious." ~Yeats

Wednesday, August 14, 2024

Missing Ancestors


THE BRIGHT EDGES OF THE WORLD
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~
Pioneers of the West, 1934
Helen Lundeberg, 1908 – 1999

********************
Beautiful surroundings . . . those light-hearted mornings of the desert, for that wind that made one a boy again. He had noticed that this peculiar quality in the air of new countries vanished after they were tamed by man and made to bear harvests. Parts of Texas and Kansas that he had first known as open range had since been made into rich farming districts, and the air had quite lost that lightness, that dry aromatic odour. . . . one could breathe that only on the bright edges of the world, on the great grass plains or the sage-brush desert."
from Death Comes for the Archbishop
Book IX, chap 3, pp 272-73
by Willa Cather

Cather's characters stand in awe of the stunning landscape; their courage is astounding, and the distance they cover -- without aid of plane, train or automobile -- nearly unfathomable. First of all, Father Jean Marie Latour and Father Joseph Vaillant travel halfway around the world, from Rome to Ohio, then from Ohio to New Mexico; and finally, a solitary round trip for Latour from Santa Fe to Mexico City:
"One afternoon in the autumn of 1851 a solitary horseman, followed by a pack-mule, was pushing through an arid stretch of country somewhere in central New Mexico. He had lost his way, and was trying to get back to the trail, with only his compass and his sense of direction for guides. . . . On a long caravan trip acros Texas this man had had some experience of thirst . . . But he had not suffered then as he did now." (17 - 18)

"The traveller was Jean Marie Latour . . . No one in Cincinnati could tell him how to get to New Mexico — no one had ever been there. Since young Father Latour's arrival in America, a railroad had been built through from New York to Cincinnati; but there it ended. New Mexico lay in the middle of a dark continent. The Ohio merchants knew of two routes only. One was the Santa Fé trail from St. Louis . . . [the other was] to go down the [Mississippi] river to New Orleans, thence by boat to Galveston, across Texas to San Antonio, and to wind up into New Mexico along the Rio Grande valley. This he had done, but with what misadventures! (20 - 21)

"So, having travelled for nearly a year to reach Santa Fé, Father Latour left it after a few weeks [on Diocesan buiness], and set off alone on horseback to ride down into Old Mexico and back, a journey of full three thousand miles.

"He had been warned that there were many trails leading off the Rio Grande road, and that a stranger might easily mistake his way. For the first few days he had been cautious and watchful. Then he must have grown careless and turned into some purely local trail. When he realized that he was astray, his canteen was already empty and his horses seemed too exhausted to retrace their steps. He had persevered in this sandy track, which grew ever fainter, reasoning that it must lead somewhere." (23)

Reading of Latour's predicament, and the vast distance that he had undertaken to travel alone, I was reminded of my distant first cousin, thrice removed, Joseph Blair Lindsey, who traveled from Ohio to Oklahoma in 1876, then on to Texas in 1881.

The Samuel Lindsey Homestead in Ohio.

Joseph Blair Lindsey was Samuel's grandson,
as was my great-grandfather James Sankey Lindsey.
Joseph's father John and James' father Robert
(my great-great-grandfather) were brothers.

Did my great - grandfather James Sankey Lindsey know his first cousin Joseph Blair Lindsey? I don't know. Did my Grandpa Paul J. Lindsey (my mother's father) know this story about his father's cousin? I don't know. I only learned of it a few years ago, long after my grandfather's death (1983). He told me many family stories but never this one. How I wish he were here now to impart his knowledge and wisdom concerning Joseph's fateful journey. What I have learned from various scraps of paper is this:

Joseph Blair Lindsey
~ 28 November 1852 - 3 December 1881 ~
from Antrim, Ohio
son of John Work Lindsey and Margaret Blair
grandson of Samuel Lindsey (my great-great-great grandfather)

brother of Mary Martha, Samuel Elmore, William Martin,
Robert Luther, James Henry, John Work, Adela Jane, Margaret Ellen

Taught Indian School, 1876 - 1881
Tishomingo, Indian Territory (now Oklahoma)
Murdered abut 250 miles from Laredo, Texas, while
Traveling Alone

Anecdotal history, recorded by one of Joe's nephews: "When Uncle Joe was a young man he taught himself to play orchestra instruments, organized the young men of the town (Craig and Billy Knouff, Trimble and several others), he wrote the score for each instrument. After he went to Indian Territory, he sent a parlor organ home, and wrote that to the sister who played the best he would give the organ when he got home -- but he never came back.

"He taught in Tishomingo College (where William "Afalfa Bill" Murray may have gone to college at the time). He published the first newspaper in that part of the Southwest. Driving a team he started farther south for his health, gave a stranger a ride, and was murdered by him as he sat at breakfast. The diary he kept described the man, who was soon apprehended and hung. Uncle Will [his brother, born 25 May 1855] went down there and remained in the West for some time.

"Mother [Mary Martha Lindsey, b 4 March 1848] mourned bitterly for her young brother, lamenting the manner of his death. One evening as she walked in the orchard weeping, she said he seemed to speak to her, out of the peaceful dusk, and say he was happy."
Chickasaw Nation Capitol Building
Tishomingo, Oklahoma
Completed in November 1898

The oldest view I could find of the streets of Tishomingo,
approximately 20 years after Joseph lived there.


I keep going back to that fateful last line on Joseph's index card in the family record:
"Traveling Alone"

Sadly, so little information. What were the health issues that impelled Joseph to depart from Tishomingo, where he seemed to be thriving? What cure was he seeking farther south? Did William have his brother buried in Texas or Oklahoma, or bring his remains back to Ohio? [No luck so far on find - a - grave.] So on goes the saga -- begun in my previous post "Missing, Presumed Dead" -- of loved ones lost without a trace, disappeared, presumed taken -- or worse, known dead.

The irrefutable knowledge of death may be the worst; however, it provides closure, whereas some life - endings remain forever unknowable, especially when "traveling alone." Or -- in the case of one of my 3rd great - grandfathers on my father's side -- with a 12 - year - old son. In 1879, Frank (born in 1830 or '31) went on the road with his son Robert (born in 1867).

Though no tombstone has been photographed, Ancestry.com indicates that Byrd Franklin "Frank" Brumfield, Jr. died in 1886 and was buried in Bucklin, Missouri; but my Uncle Gene Carriker (my dad's brother) tells it a different way. According to Gene, 1886 is most likely the date -- 7 years after their disappearance -- that Frank and Robert were declared "missing, presumed dead" by the authorities in Bucklin, Misouri:
"Rather sad story about Frank Brumfield, and also a huge ancestor puzzle. According to the family lore, he took his 12 - year - old son, Robert Lee Brumfield, and traveled from the Bucklin, Missouri, area to Arkansas sometime in the year 1879 to look for land to buy on which to settle. I wonder what the urge was to move to Arkansas? Was it just another example of the "gypsy syndrome" that seemed to affect so many of our ancestors? Did they keep right on going to South America, never to return?

"Sometime during the trip, they seem to have both died under unknown circumstances, for they never made it back home to Bucklin, Missouri. Their death location and burial site remain unknown. Inquiries to the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Little Rock for death certificates or notices came up empty.

"A couple of guesses can be made as to their deaths. One piece of unsubstantiated family lore is that they died of cholera from drinking bad water on their trip. Another one -- pure speculation: if they were indeed looking for land to buy, they may have been carrying a rather large sum of cash; it's conceivable that if this became known, they were murdered for their money."

The family could verify their departure, but never knew why they failed to return. No one was able to go and bear witness to their demise or demand justice on their behalf, as Joseph Blair Lindsey's brother William did. Much like Willa Cather's characters, Father Jean Marie Latour and Father Joseph Vaillant (in real life: Jean-Baptiste Lamy and Joseph Projectus Machebeuf), my Cousin Joseph, my Great-great-great Grandfather Frank and young Uncle Robert Brumfield set out from apparently stable homesteads in pursuit of "the bright edges of the world." In the end, untimely though it was, did they feel they came close to their vision? Did they seize the day? Carpe! If only it was not too late to hear the stories of their quest and learn the end.

Yet again more mysterious is my missing 5th great-grandfather Jacob Miller who totally left without saying farewell. A little is known: he was born perhaps mid - 1700s, took a bride -- first name unknown -- with the last name of Huber and begat Abraham (b late 1700s?), who begat Jacob (b 1811), who begat Henry (b 1834), who begat Anna Mary (b 1862), who begat Rovilla (b 1891), who begat Mary Beth (b 1931), who begat Kitti (b 1957). Much is unknown: we have no account of his departure or whereabouts, no return, no date of birth, no date of death. The written record simply states: "Disapppeared around 1800."

And then there's Great-great-grandfather Charles Gordon Hartman who suddenly disappeared in 1850 and amazingly reappeared ten years later, with six new children in tow, ready to resume his prior life with his prior wife. More on this mystery next time . . .

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, August 28th

Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

2 comments:

  1. Hi Kitty. Fascinating blog. Life was so much more tenuous back then.

    ReplyDelete
  2. “In New Mexico, he always awoke a young man, not until he arose and began to shave did he realize that he was growing older. His first consciousness was a sense of the light dry wind blowing in through the windows, with the fragrance of hot sun and sage-brush and sweet clover; a wind that made one's body feel light and one's heart cry 'To-day, to-day,' like a child's.

    "Beautiful surroundings, the society of learned men, the charm of noble women, the graces of art, could not make up to him for the loss of those light-hearted mornings of the desert, for that wind that made one a boy again. He had noticed that this peculiar quality in the air of new countries vanished after they were tamed by man and made to bear harvests. Parts of Texas and Kansas that he had first known as open range had since been made into rich farming districts, and the air had quite lost that lightness, that dry aromatic odour. The moisture of plowed land, the heaviness of labour and growth and grain-bearing, utterly destroyed it; one could breathe that only on the bright edges of the world, on the great grass plains or the sage-brush desert.

    "That air would disappear from the whole earth in time, perhaps; but long after his day. He did not know just when it had become so necessary to him, but he had come back to die in exile for the sake of it. Something soft and wild and free, something that whispered to the ear on the pillow, lightened the heart, softly, softly picked the lock, slid the bolts, and released the prisoned spirit of man into the wind, into the blue and gold, into the morning, into the morning!"

    Willa Cather
    _Death Comes for the Archbishop_
    Book IX, chap 3, pp 272-73

    ReplyDelete