52 Ancestors 2025: Wide Open Spaces — The Missouri Prairie

 

When my ancestors first arrived in the New World, much of the Dutch and British colonies were covered in forests. Over time, those forests were cleared for farmland—a pattern that continued as families pushed westward. Many of my lines ultimately converged in Barton County, Missouri, located on the eastern edge of the wide-open Osage Plains, part of the vast prairies of the American West. These prairies were characterized by tall grasses, with trees lining the many creeks and streams. The rich, loamy soil proved ideal for farming and attracted settlers from the Midwest and Upper South, especially in the years surrounding the Civil War.

The first of my ancestors to arrive in southwest Missouri were the Maddox and Curry families. Robert Curry (my 2nd-great-grandfather on my paternal side) married Elizabeth Ann Maddox, and by 1860 they were living in Montevallo Township, Vernon County—just north of Barton County. At that time, Vernon County’s population was only 4,850. Both families had deep roots in the East: the Maddoxes had lived in colonial Virginia, then migrated west through Tennessee; the Currys migrated through Kentucky from the east. They initially settled in Monroe County, Missouri, before 1840, then moved further west by 1850 in search of new farmland.

Unfortunately, they were caught up in the turmoil of the Civil War. The region was a hotbed of guerrilla warfare against Union forces. Being deeply Southern in sympathy, the extended Maddox family was aligned with the bushwhackers and suffered retaliation when Union troops struck back at towns that had supported the Confederacy. But that is another story.

Another transplanted Southern family on my paternal side was the Younts. Though the Younts originally arrived in Pennsylvania in the 1700s, they later established themselves in North Carolina and then in the Cape Girardeau region of Missouri in the early 1800s. Frederick Yount (my 2nd-great-grandfather) moved to Barton County with his second wife, Elizabeth, before 1870 and started a farm there. This was a blended family migration of Younts and Krimmingers—several of Elizabeth’s children also relocated and established themselves in Barton County. (Note: In the 1886 plat of Barton City shown above, nearby settlers included the Mayfields, relatives of Frederick Yount’s first wife. At least one was a 5th cousin. Even when families weren’t close, they were often distantly related and were part of the tight-knit web of early settlers.)

On my maternal side was Anthony Gilmartin, a Union Army veteran and 2nd-great-grandfather. He, his wife Jane, and their children migrated to Barton County between 1867 and 1870 from Illinois. Another Illinois transplant was John Jay Fast and his wife Hannah Robbins Day, my 3rd-great-grandparents, who arrived in 1866.

Another Union Army veteran, my great-grandfather David Cassatt, first moved to the prairies of Carroll County, Missouri, near the Missouri River. He later settled in Barton County in 1878. The Reed family also arrived during the 1870s, migrating from eastern Ohio under the leadership of S.D. Reed, my 2nd-great-grandfather.

Among the most notable of these settlers was Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams (my 2nd-great-grandfather), who not only moved to Barton County in the 1860s but also recorded his vivid impressions. As I’ve mentioned before, Ben was part Scots-Irish and part German from the Appalachian region of Pennsylvania, and the vast prairie made quite an impression on him. According to The History of Barton County, he:

...only remained here a short time, as the country was but a vast rolling prairie, with no houses or improved farms, and went to Dubuque, Iowa, thence to Cedar Rapids, and was married at Danforth, Johnson County, Iowa, to Miss Mary A. Cloud, on the 24th of December, 1867. In 1869 he returned to his farm in Missouri, at that time there being no house between his and the county seat, Lamar, sixteen miles away…

He further described his first impressions of the prairie in his own words:

I went around the next morning and [real estate agent George Walser] had his ponies hitched up to his ‘"buckboard," and we both got in and drove seventeen miles northwest of Lamar to the Round Mound in Barton City Township, where we commanded a good view of the surrounding country. The grass had all gone to seed that year and was as high as your head on all sides, resembling a vast sea.

Pointing from this point of view to a place to the southwest of where we stood, on the Round Mound, to land near the foot of the same said, "Now your land lies down there." [...]

Viewed from the top of this mound, the surrounding country was beautiful to behold and enough to captivate anyone, especially someone from the East, where mountains block the view. The broad plains stretched out on all sides and melted away into the horizon, with flocks of wild deer and antelope roaming freely. All other forms of game abounded—prairie chickens, wild turkey, and squirrels—in the timber. As far as the eye could reach, I found no settlements on this lone prairie, but the wild game held full sway. A few log cabins, however, dotted the creek banks as far to the east, near what was called Little Drywood, these were sheltered by trees.

To these east-coast migrants, the Missouri prairie truly was a land of wide-open spaces—a land of possibility. Barton County had just 1,817 residents in 1860. Though the region was a Civil War battleground, the promise of fertile land drew settlers westward, and by 1870 the population had grown to 4,285, and by 1880 to 10,332.

This post is only a summary of the settler ancestors in my family tree. As I’ve dug deeper into census records, agricultural schedules, and land deeds, more stories have come to light. Each deserves a post of its own.

These settlers formed farming and faith communities, and any map from 100+ years ago shows their farms scattered across various townships—but rarely far apart. Over time, these proximity-based relationships turned into marriages, as children who migrated or were born in Missouri grew up alongside one another.

Ben McWilliams recalled one such bond:

John Fast and family had located and settled in the north part of the city, near the present location of the waterworks tower. There were several trails which crossed his land, so he had laid rails across these trails to divert the travel from across his newly sowed wheat fields. Two sons, John and Marion, later went out and settled near Barton City, and became my lifelong neighbors and friends.

Ben’s daughter, Nellie, later married Marion’s son, Orin Taylor Fast—and together they became “Grandma and Grandpa Fast,” names that live on in many family tales.

Photo: 1886 Plat of Barton City Township; Courtesy of Cindy Cruz

52 Ancestors 2025: Earliest Ancestor, or What Do April Showers Bring?

 

According to 23andMe, my earliest ancestors were in Africa—hunting, gathering, and surviving long enough to produce many, many generations. Over time, their descendants moved to northwest Europe and eventually crossed the Atlantic to the New World. As for named ancestors, one family researcher traced the des Marets (Demarest) line back to a 10th-century count and various Crusaders. But according to a post on a genealogy bulletin board, the hired genealogist may have followed a tenuous link to satisfy eager clients. So, rather than chase medieval nobility, I decided to focus on the earliest immigrant ancestor I could verify, and that search led somewhere more fruitful.

I already knew about Joris Rapelje, who arrived in New Amsterdam in 1624 with the earliest Dutch/Huguenot settlers, and I was familiar with several Puritan ancestors who came in the 1630s. But could some of the hints in the FamilySearch tree pointing to even earlier immigrants be accurate? It was time to trust—but verify.

In researching my Oregon Trail ancestor, Jairus Abijah Bonney Jr., I found a published genealogy that extended four generations beyond him. Since Jairus came from New England, I hoped to benefit from the region’s well-kept church and civil records. The line led to Jairus Abijah Bonney Sr., a Revolutionary War patriot, then to his father, Perez Bonney, and finally back to Perez’s grandfather, the immigrant Thomas Bonney. Born around 1604 in England, Thomas came to Massachusetts aboard the Hercules in 1634 and eventually settled in Duxbury.

Perez Bonney, born March 10, 1709, was one of the family’s early chroniclers; however, there’s some confusion in his account about how many American generations preceded him. So I turned to the lineage of his wife, Ruth Snow. Ruth was the daughter of James Snow and Ruth Shaw. James’s parents, Joseph Snow and Hopestill Alden, caught my attention. Joseph was the son of William Snow (born in England in 1627 and brought to the colonies as an 11-year-old indentured servant) and Rebecca Brown, who was born in Plymouth Colony in 1631. That name sounded promising. And indeed: Rebecca’s father was Peter Browne—a Mayflower passenger. As far as I can tell, he’s my earliest confirmed immigrant ancestor. Not bad!

But the name Alden rang another bell. Could there be more Mayflower connections? Sure enough, Hopestill Alden descended from one of the most well-known and prolific families in Plymouth Colony. Her father, Joseph Alden, was born in 1627 in Plymouth and was the son of none other than John Alden and Priscilla Mullins—both Mayflower passengers.

John Alden, made famous by his descendant (and my cousin) Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, was a cooper by trade. Whether or not he served as a messenger for Myles Standish is up for debate, but his role in the colony was significant. He arrived on the Mayflower as part of the crew but chose to stay, signing the Mayflower Compact rather than returning to England. He went on to hold several elected offices and was the last surviving signer of the Compact.

Priscilla Mullins had her own story of resilience. During the harsh winter of 1620–1621, she lost her parents and brother when she was about 18 years old. Despite this, she persevered and eventually married John Alden. Together, they had ten surviving children and many, many descendants and are my 10th-great-grandparents.

Much has been written about these early settlers. The ideals behind the Mayflower Compact, and the romanticized image of the first Thanksgiving (thanks in large part to Longfellow), still echo in our culture today. When I first began researching my family’s history in the late 1990s, I had a breakthrough with the lineage of Hannah Robbins Day, wife of John Jay Fast. Unlike many maternal lines, Hannah’s ancestry extended many generations into the early Massachusetts Bay Colony, linking me to several prominent New England families.

More recently, I discovered that the wife of Hannah’s son, William Marion Fast, also had deep New England roots. William married Louisa Jane Bolon in 1862, and her maternal line revealed even more connections to Plymouth Colony and the Mayflower. Another line in this side that was revealed is that of John Bigelow, who was reported to have sailed in the Winthrop fleet of Puritans that founded the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

A common theme among these New England ancestors is that they became farmers and gradually moved west after the American Revolution. Like many others, they followed familiar migration routes into Ohio, Illinois, and eventually Missouri. They were farmers and part of the fabric of their communities, but their American and New England roots ran deep.

Photo: Unknown author - https://collections.carli.illinois.edu/cdm/compoundobject/collection/nby_teich/id/21342, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=67029417

52 Ancestors 2025: Religious Traditions – Simple Gifts

 

Many of my ancestors came to the New World seeking religious freedom. Many were Reformed Protestants—Huguenots, Puritans, Presbyterians, and Dutch and German Reformed. These so-called Calvinists, whose roots trace back to the teachings of John Calvin, held a dim view of human nature and mistrusted concentrated power in the hands of kings and bishops. Instead, they believed in leadership by representatives chosen by their congregations. These ideals would later help inspire the American Revolution and shape American governance.

Other ancestors were shaped by the evangelical movements of the 18th and 19th centuries. Some early immigrants were members of the Society of Friends (Quakers), products of the Evangelical Awakening in Britain (paralleling the First Great Awakening in the colonies), and were among the founders of William Penn’s colony in Pennsylvania. Others, especially those who moved westward, away from established churches with highly educated clergy, were drawn in by the circuit riders of the Second Great Awakening—Methodists, Presbyterians, and Baptists. In fact, my ancestor John Jay Fast, during his moves from Ohio to Illinois to Missouri, became a founding member of the Free Will Baptist Church in Barton County.

One of the more surprising turns in our family’s religious story is our connection to the Shaker movement. Formally known as the United Society of Believers in Christ's Second Appearing, the Shakers were founded in England in 1747 by Ann Lee. While Reformed theology emphasized a return to the early church, the Shakers took a more radical approach. They formed separate communities, held goods in common, and prepared fervently for the Second Coming of Christ, which they believed was imminent. As part of that preparation, they embraced celibacy and strict separation of the sexes. Their emotional, ecstatic worship—featuring singing, dancing, and shaking—earned them the nickname “Shakers.” Yet despite their radicalism, they were known for their industriousness, egalitarianism (especially in gender roles), and forward-looking simplicity.

So where does our family come into this?

When Mother Ann Lee came to the colonies in 1774, she began recruiting new members and founding villages in New York and New England—areas already settled by Puritan families. As the movement spread west, Shaker missionaries arrived in Warren County, Ohio, and the Bluegrass region of Kentucky in 1805. These regions had been settled by my Huguenot and Dutch Reformed ancestors. The missionaries found three willing hosts: Elisha Thomas, and brothers Samuel and Henry Banta. They were soon joined by their brother John Banta and their families. The new colony was formally established on Elisha Thomas’s farm in 1807.

The Bantas were sons of Hendrick (Henry) Banta, a leader of the 1780 Ohio River migration from the Conewago Dutch colony in Pennsylvania to Kentucky. His sister, Wyntie Banta—my 5th-great-grandmother—had married Samuel Durie, who was the father-in-law of Pieter Cossart, and leader of the the Wilderness Road migration, also in 1780. These groups joined together and became the Low Dutch Colony of central Kentucky.

Those early years were challenging. The settlers faced war and food insecurity and had to convert contested Indian hunting lands into farmland. Perhaps it was this trauma, and the absence of Dutch Reformed churches on the far side of the Appalachians, that made families like the Bantas receptive to the Shakers’ promises: shared goods, mutual support, and spiritual purpose. The Dutch settlers were certainly seeking their own pastors rather than falling under the influence of revivalist preachers from the Second Great Awakening.

Maybe the idea of a utopian frontier appealed to the Bantas—a way to keep family together in the face of constant westward movement. Whatever the reason, they became key players in the founding of Pleasant Hill, Kentucky’s earliest and largest Shaker village. Yet the community was not immune to hardship. Disease, especially tuberculosis (consumption), took its toll. Some, like Samuel Banta, eventually left the sect. And with a celibate lifestyle, Shaker growth depended entirely on recruitment, so the number of Bantas at Pleasant Hill declined over time.

Still, Pleasant Hill thrived for a time. Shakers were known for their functional architecture, their finely made furniture, and even for inventing the flat broom—sparking a broom-making boom across the country. But eventually, as with many idealistic movements, decline set in. The society at Pleasant Hill closed in 1910. Its last member died in 1923. Yet the buildings were preserved, and Pleasant Hill became a historic site.

An unexpected discovery: while living in Kentucky, we visited Pleasant Hill and were drawn to the beauty and simplicity of the place—never suspecting that we had deep family roots there.

One final note: the other 1805 Shaker settlement, Union Village, was established in Warren County, Ohio. That region became a haven for families moving north from Kentucky, including Hendrick, son of Pieter Cossart, and his mother, Maria Durie Cossart. When reviewing Turtle Creek Township’s farm plots and censuses, you can spot several Bantas—descendants of Henry Banta, the great patriarch. The Shaker story, it turns out, is another unexpected chapter in our family’s long religious journey through America.

Reference: Murray, Joan England, The Bantas Of Pleasant Hill, Kentucky: Their Ancestors And Descendants, Heritage Books, 2010.

Photo Credit: Photograph taken by Tom Allen, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=168622

52 Ancestors 2025: Cousins, or Keeping It All in the Family

 

The theme of “Cousins” can go in many directions. I’ve already written about both well-known (Artistic) and lesser-known (Divergent Journeys) cousins and their connections. When you descend from colonial immigrants who arrived in the 1600s, you naturally end up with a large collection of notable (and sometimes notorious) relatives. Years ago, Ancestry put out an app called We’re Related, which used user-submitted trees to identify famous cousins. While many of those links were questionable, the app did provide leads. Thanks to that, I’ve explored possible connections to people as diverse as Abraham Lincoln and W.E.B. Du Bois. I also seem to share distant ties with numerous Puritan families, which makes being able to trace links to cousins like Nathan Hale, Grover Cleveland, or either President Bush surprisingly common.

But instead of diving into a celebrity cousin rabbit hole, I decided to explore a different—and perhaps more interesting—angle. You may remember my 8th- or 9th-great-grandmother, Susannah Shattuck, and the couple Edward Fay and Sarah Joslin, who not only had memorably-named children but were themselves second cousins once removed. That cousin connection was taken one step further a couple of generations later.

My 4th-great-grandfather, Samuel Day Jr., was born in 1772 in Connecticut. He was the grandson of Edward and Sarah (Joslin) Fay. In 1793, he married his first cousin, Elizabeth Munger, who was also their grandchild. The couple soon moved to the new state of Vermont, the fourteenth in the newly formed United States.

Today, first cousin marriage seems surprising or even taboo, but in early America it wasn’t prohibited, and in rural communities it was relatively common. It wasn’t until the mid-19th century that the practice was seriously questioned, and much later still before genetics helped explain the associated risks. Even then, people seemed to recognize that marrying close kin could lead to undesirable traits, though they lacked the scientific framework.

Samuel and Elizabeth’s life in Vermont was difficult. Samuel worked by cutting and burning trees to make potash. But by 1809, financial trouble overtook them. Samuel was unable to repay a debt, and the sheriff seized and sold his land, home, and possessions. By then, the couple had eight children, the oldest just 14, and the youngest under a year.

To make matters worse, that same year the family was "warned" out of town. Under Vermont law, towns were responsible for their indigent residents—unless those residents were transients or posed a financial risk. Despite having lived in Jericho for 14 years and owning property, Samuel’s misfortunes and large family apparently led the town’s selectmen to deem them a burden. Being warned out didn’t require them to leave, but it did mean they could no longer count on public support if they needed help.

FamilySearch shows that their last son may have been born in Vermont in 1811, so the family may have remained for a short while longer. But by early 1812, they had relocated to Madison County, New York, where Elizabeth died, leaving Samuel with little money and a household of children.

Samuel did marry again but this time not to a cousin. At age 40, he wed Hannah Robbins, who was just 20. Together, they had 11 more children, including Hannah Robbins Day, who married John Jay Fast, who became a prosperous farmer and the patriarch of the Missouri Fast family.

Samuel died in 1839, and Hannah followed in 1845. Samuel’s life spanned from the American Revolution to the early years of the Republic. Like many New Englanders, he migrated within New England, then to New York, and finally to Huron County, Ohio. He wasn’t alone in this path—his father-in-law, Ephraim Munger, and other Munger family members likely made the same journey. Samuel, who acquired the title “Dr.” somewhere along the way, is buried in Day Cemetery in Huron County, Ohio, along with Hannah and many other Days.

Though his Vermont community warned him out, Samuel wasn’t truly alone. His extended family and faith in kinship likely helped him weather hard times. These families built communities wherever they went. While the history books may spotlight the “great men (and women)”—some of whom may be our cousins—it was ordinary people like Samuel and Elizabeth, struggling, moving, adapting, and building, who truly laid the foundations of this country.

Note: The author is indebted to Mary Richmond, who wrote a series of stories posted on RootsWeb that described what was known about the Day, and associated, families.

Photo: First Vermont Flag

52 Ancestors 2025: Travel on the Oregon Trail

 

So many immigrant ancestors, so many westward movements—where do I even start when the topic for the week is travel? Should I talk about ocean crossings to the New World? Already covered that. Possible Mayflower connections? Still unconfirmed. The Wilderness Road to Kentucky? Done. Even wrote about our family’s move back east.

But while combing through the family tree for another travel story, I came across an ancestor who made not one but multiple big moves: first from New England to Ohio and Illinois, and then all the way to Oregon Territory. This is the story of my 4th-great-grandfather, Jairus Abijah Bonney Jr., who, fittingly, had not just one but two Biblical names.

Jairus was born on October 14, 1793, in Litchfield, Connecticut—just 17 years after the founding of the United States—to Jairus Abijah Bonney Sr., a veteran of the American Revolution, and Anna Brown. In 1814, the younger Jairus married Irena Larned in Litchfield. Not long afterward, the couple moved west to Ashtabula, Ohio, part of the Connecticut Western Reserve. Since Ohio had only recently become a state (1803), this move reflected the pioneering spirit that still burned strong.

Jairus and Irena had five children, including Lydia Louisa Bonney, my direct ancestor. Sadly, Irena died in 1827, leaving behind their young children. Jairus remarried, this time to Jane Elkins, and they moved again, this time to Fulton County, Illinois, where they had eleven more children. But Jairus wasn’t finished with big life changes.

A skilled millwright, carpenter, cabinetmaker, and cooper, Jairus was successful in Illinois. Yet when he heard tales of opportunity in Oregon Territory, he was inspired to go west again—this time on the Oregon Trail. He built his own wagon and stocked it with provisions, setting out in the spring of 1845 from Independence, Missouri, along with his second family and his brother, a doctor, Truman Augustus Bonney and his family.

At Fort Hall (in present-day Idaho), they encountered an agent for Captain Sutter of California who warned them that the trail to Oregon was “destitute of grass and wood” and plagued by hostile encounters with Native people. Persuaded, they diverted south to Sutter’s Fort in the Sacramento Valley.

They arrived in fall 1845 to find drought conditions, inflated prices, and land too expensive to afford. And since California was still under Mexican control, settlers were expected to become Mexican citizens. Feeling misled, the families set out again in spring 1846, this time on horseback, heading north to Oregon. With no established roads, the journey was rough, but they finally reached Oregon on June 16, 1846.

At last, Jairus and his family had arrived. His skills were in high demand, and he quickly found work as a cooper and millwright, while Jane worked for Governor Abernathy. In 1847, the family claimed a farm in the Willamette Valley, in what is now Hubbard, Oregon, where Jairus farmed until his death in 1856, three years before Oregon became a state.

This Oregon Trail tale comes from several sources found on FamilySearch under Jairus Abijah Bonney Jr. (LVHD-7FG), including an 1840s article from The Spectator and a set of recollections written by Jairus’s son, Benjamin Franklin Bonney, who was just seven years old when he made the journey.

And what became of my direct line? Lydia Louisa Bonney had already moved with her father to Illinois, where she married William Bolon in 1840. They didn’t go west again, instead staying in Fulton County, Illinois. Their daughter, Louisa Jane, married William Marion Fast and later became part of the Fast family migration to Barton County, Missouri after the Civil War.

Not quite the Oregon Trail, but still another step in the long pattern of westward migrations that mark my family’s story.

Photo Credits: 

Oregon Trail meme from Etsy

Trail map from Oregon Trail Center

52 Ancestory 2025: Family Business — David Cassatt’s Side Hustle

Looking back at my lineage, the overwhelming family business was farming. But I want to focus on a particular side business practiced by my great-grandfather David Cassatt: broom making.

David was a farmer and a Civil War veteran. He was born in Ohio, but after the war he settled in Barton County, Missouri. His broom-making sideline came to light when I saw a family photograph, taken in the late 1880s or early 1890s. In it, alongside David, his wife Susan, their children, and a few rabbits, is an array of brooms and what appears to be broom-making equipment.

Judging from the ages of the children—Orville (born 1875), Virgil (my grandfather, born 1878), and Bascom (born 1883)—the photo was likely taken around 1888. It’s possible this photo was taken during a solemn family moment: the death and funeral of their daughter and sister Laura, who died in 1888. If that’s the case, this image captures both grief and the everyday resilience of work and family life.

Unfortunately, the 1890 U.S. Census, where further clues might have appeared, was mostly destroyed by fire, including the detailed agricultural schedules. But not all is lost. The 1880 U.S. Census Agricultural Schedule shows that David Cassatt lived in Barton City Township, Barton County, Missouri. In 1879, he and Susan had sold their farm in Carroll County and evidently relocated to Barton County. At the time of the census, he was renting a 110-acre farm. Among the crops and livestock listed, I found 1/4 acre planted in sorghum, which yielded 40 gallons of molasses.

That detail caught my attention because brooms are traditionally made from a type of sorghum. But there’s a distinction: the kind used for molasses is sweet sorghum (Sorghum bicolor), while broomcorn is a different variety (Sorghum vulgare var. technicum). The census even had a separate column for broom corn, but in the 1880 returns for David, those entries are blank.

It’s plausible that David was testing the waters in a new area, renting before purchasing land and experimenting with local crops. At some point in the 1880s, he seems to have either acquired broom-making equipment, perhaps from a previous local broom maker, or purchased new tools outright. The family photo reveals one broom in the process of being constructed, held horizontally in a device I later identified through Google Images as a kick-winder. In this apparatus, the broomstick is secured in a vise while a foot pedal is used to spin it. Wire is then wound around the straw to bind it firmly to the stick. Afterward, the broom is transferred to a flat vise, where the straw is woven into a flat shape and trimmed.

Interestingly, the brooms in the photo are the more modern flat type, rather than the old-fashioned round brooms where straw was simply wrapped around a stick. Flat brooms require more specialized equipment, and their design is sometimes credited to the Shakers. There’s a bit of family lore here too: one of David’s ancestral lines, the Banta family, were founding members of the Pleasant Hill Shaker community in central Kentucky. So perhaps there’s a deeper connection between this invention and our family’s past.

In the photo, several brooms are clearly mid-construction, and there appear to be around ten completed brooms. Besides selling crops, the family could make extra income by selling brooms to other farmers and townspeople—a classic example of a rural side business.

David, who managed to recover from his wartime experiences and resulting ailments, built a reputation as a successful farmer. In time, he was able to provide farms to each of his three surviving sons. His resourcefulness, and his willingness to explore opportunities beyond farming, clearly served him well.