52 Ancestors 2026: A Turning Point—Or Points

 

With so many immigrant and migrating ancestors—and so many who were called to serve their country—there have been many turning points in my family history. One story that stands out is the journey of my 9th-great-grandmother, Catalynje Trico, born in 1605. She and her husband, Joris Jansen Rapelje, were among the first group of settlers to New Amsterdam in 1624. In fact, her life is the subject of a historical novel I am currently reading, Catalynje Trico: A Life in New Amsterdam by Lana Waite Holden.

In many ways, her life included several turning points. The first came in 1623, when she left her widowed mother and her hometown in Hainaut, in French Flanders—then part of the Spanish Netherlands—at about seventeen years of age. As a Reformed (Calvinist) Protestant living under Roman Catholic rule, she faced the threat of persecution from the Inquisition, as did many Protestants in those lands.

After arriving in Amsterdam, she met a young man, Joris Rapelje, who was also a Protestant refugee from French Flanders and worked in the textile trade. The two married in January 1624. Yet even that decision paled beside the one they made just four days later—to board the first ship of settlers bound for New Netherland.

This Dutch migration differed from earlier Pilgrim migrations, which centered on established religious communities whose families often migrated together. The Dutch West India Company hoped to establish a colony in the New World that could serve both as a trading foothold and a supply station for ships; however, convincing Dutch citizens to leave their relatively comfortable lives in the Netherlands for the hardships of frontier life proved difficult. The early struggles of Plymouth Colony were well known and likely discouraged many potential settlers.

As a result, many of the earliest colonists were Walloon refugees—people who had already been displaced from their homelands but had not yet fully established themselves in Dutch cities like Amsterdam.

Catalynje, perhaps drawn by a sense of adventure—or perhaps by the feeling of never fully belonging in Amsterdam—decided to take the risk. She and Joris boarded the ship Eendracht ("Unity"), reaching the New World about two months later. After a brief stay near Fort Orange, they helped establish the settlement of New Amsterdam at the southern tip of Manhattan. There they farmed, gardened, and operated a small taproom that served patrons from many lands and cultures. The couple eventually had eleven children, including the first child born in the colony, Sarah, and also their fourth child, Judith, from whom I am descended. Despite the hardships of early colonial life, they became respected citizens of the young settlement.

Another remarkable aspect of this story is the Catalyntje was the only original settler who lived through the entire history of New Amsterdam—from its founding until the British takeover in 1674. Much of what historians know about the early years of New Netherland comes from depositions she gave while in her eighties. She died in 1689 and is buried in the Flatbush Reformed Dutch Cemetery.

It is fascinating to wonder what might have happened if Catalynje had chosen differently. What opportunities would a young refugee couple have found in Amsterdam? The decision to sail to the New World carried enormous risks, but it ultimately allowed them to build a life and become leading citizens in a new colony.

Her life—the hardships she endured, the many children and descendants she left behind, and her role in the earliest settlement of what would become one of the world’s greatest cities—all trace back to that pivotal decision to leave the Old World and take a chance in the New.

Photos:

Top: Catalynje Trico: A Life in New Amsterdam by Lana Waite Holden

Middle: Walloon Church, taken by author

52 Ancestors 2026: A Big Decision – A Common Theme

 

Many of my ancestors made big decisions that led to major changes for their families and for the generations that followed. Their fates were intertwined with the history of our land—from a collection of colonies to a nation—as they contended with the forces that shape history. During our wars of independence and civil conflict, they had to choose sides. Many, like Peter Cossart and Christian Fast, fought for the Patriot cause during the American Revolution. Later, during the Civil War era, decisions were perhaps more personal, with some choosing to fight in the Union Army and others sympathizing with the Confederate cause.

Migration was another defining theme. My immigrant ancestors who arrived in colonial days settled close to the coast, but their descendants moved inland, becoming pioneers who walked the Wilderness Road or traveled the Oregon Trail. Even earlier, they had made the difficult decision to leave their European homelands and sail to the New World—most never seeing again those they left behind.

One common thread linking many of my ancestors was religious conviction. They chose to break with established churches and join the Reformed Protestant movement led by John Calvin (in French, Jehan Cauvin). These believers sought to emulate the early Christian church by rejecting what they saw as traditions accumulated over centuries. Viewing humanity as fundamentally sinful, they distrusted hierarchical authority—whether exercised by princes and kings or by bishops and popes. Unsurprisingly, this movement drew the ire of the established order, and these so-called “heretics” and “traitors” often faced persecution and even death.

In France, Huguenots were driven from their ancestral lands, fleeing to territories controlled by Protestant princes along the Rhine or to the Dutch Republic (Netherlands), which had embraced Reformed Protestantism after separating from the Spanish crown and the Holy Roman Empire. (As an interesting side note, the familiar hymn “We Gather Together” originally celebrated the Dutch victory over Spainish forces in the Battle of Turnhout, not a Thanksgiving feast.) Likewise, French Protestants in the Spanish Netherlands (now Belgium) sought refuge in the Dutch Republic.

In England, cracks appeared in the façade of the Church of England, accompanied by persistent fears of creeping Catholic influence promoted by certain royals. Reformed Protestants organized themselves in Congregationalist (Puritan) and Presbyterian (Scottish and Scots-Irish) forms of church governance, with authority resting in local congregations or elected elders.

What did this turmoil mean for my faithful Reformed Protestant who faced persecution by church and state? Staying put was possible, but rarely wise. Refuge in the Netherlands or German states offered safety, yet assimilation remained a risk. For many of them, the New World offered a more hopeful solution. Pilgrim Separatists established Plymouth Colony, while English Puritans founded Massachusetts Bay. There, they attempted to build what they believed was a just society—though fears of losing their special covenant led to episodes such as the expulsion of Anne Hutchinson and the Salem witch trials. 

Huguenots from France and the Spanish Netherlands found common ground with Dutch co-religionists and migrated to New Amsterdam, helping to establish a colony that was less austere but more commercially focused. The search for refuge did not end there. My Quaker ancestors settled in Pennsylvania, seeking religious freedom. Scots-Irish and German settlers also made their way to Pennsylvania, making their way into the Appalachian Mountains. 

In the young republic, some of the descendants of these immigrant ancestors participated in the fervor of the Second Great Awakening, with some even joining new movements such as the Shaker communities emerging across the nation.

Religious conviction was thus a powerful force in the colonial experience. One could argue that their suspicion of aristocratic and royal hierarchies contributed to the spirit that fueled the American Revolution, and that their reformist zeal inspired movements ranging from public education to abolitionism. I sometimes wonder whether my own attraction to nonconformity and the pursuit of higher ideals is a trait passed down through the generations since my refugee ancestors first found their way to these shores.

Picture: Anonymous (France), John Calvin, www.catharijneconvent.nl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=82311289

52 Ancestors 2026: A Theory in Progress – A Sweet Harmony

 

One of my tasks this year is to update my local computer's genealogy database, beginning with the paternal side. I turned to my ChatGPT assistant to talk through my plan, including the pros and cons of wholesale downloads from FamilySearch. It suggested that I stick to updating my local tree by hand unless a FamilySearch tree was long and well documented (as many of my New England lines are), so I decided to harmonize my databases one measure—or rather, one generation—at a time.

That approach proved wise when a long Van Horne line began to crumble, revealing several generations with little or no documentation. When I moved on to the DuBois family, I paused to think more carefully. We have already met Jacob DuBois, son of Louis “the Walloon” DuBois and Catherine Blanchan, who was very likely one of Catherine’s children taken captive by Indians. Jacob had two wives: Elizabeth Gerritse Vernoye and, most likely after being widowed, Gerritje Gerretse Van Nieukerk. What do we actually know about these marriages and Jacob’s children?

At this distance in time, records are essential to piecing the story together. There is a marriage record for Jacob DuBois and Elizabeth Vernoy(e), dated March 8, 1689, which gives Elizabeth’s father’s name as Cornelis C. Vernoy. Jacob’s second marriage—presumably after Elizabeth’s death—is listed on FamilySearch as March 1690, but no marriage record is cited.

So where does the problem arise? My sixth-great-grandmother was Magdalena DuBois, Jacob’s daughter. According to FamilySearch, her mother was Gerritje Van Nieukerk; however, Magdalena’s christening record, dated May 25, 1690, lists her father but does not name her mother. Many records from this set omit the mother’s name, so I did not want to draw conclusions too quickly. Still, if we accept the FamilySearch timeline, this would mean a March marriage followed by a May birth. While short intervals between marriage and the birth of a first child are not unusual, this does raise red flags.

There is, however, another important clue. In the witnesses and sponsors column of Magdalena’s baptism record, the names listed are: “The Father. Annetje Vernoy. Louis DuBois.” This strongly suggests that Magdalena’s maternal family was the Vernoy family, not the Van Nieukerk family. Supporting this interpretation is a marker in the Huguenot Cemetery in New Paltz, New York, which lists Jacob DuBois (1661–1745), Lysbeth Vernooy (1662–1690), and Gerretje Gerritsen Van Nieuwkirk (1669–1739).

Gerritje herself had been widowed; her husband, Barent Janse Kunst, died on October 13, 1689, leaving her with a daughter, Jacomyntje. Magdalena would therefore have had an older stepsister, Jacomyntje Kunst, whose christening record from May 3, 1693 does include her mother’s name: Gerritje N. Newkirk.

So far, we have been working with names and dates, but these records allow us to assemble a plausible narrative. Jacob—who had survived Indian captivity and, along with his father Louis and other patentees, helped found New Paltz in 1677—married Elizabeth Vernoy in 1689 at age twenty-eight. Elizabeth was a year younger than he was. The following year, they welcomed a daughter, Magdalena, but Elizabeth died that same year, possibly as a result of childbirth. Jacob was likely supported by his family and perhaps by his late wife’s family as well, who were already closely connected through Jacob’s brother David, who had married Elizabeth’s sister, Cornelia. The closeness of these families is underscored by the fact that David and Cornelia’s daughter, Catryn, was baptized on the same day as Magdalena.

Between 1690 and 1692, Jacob married again, this time to the widow Gerritje Van Nieukerk Kunst. Magdalena grew up alongside her older stepsister and, over time, twelve half-siblings. Magdalena later married Peter Van Nest, and at some point the family moved from Kingston, New York, to Somerset County, New Jersey. There, their daughter Margaret married Francis Cossart, the well-known patriot who founded the Conewago Colony of Pennsylvania.

Two lessons emerge from this exercise. First, death was an ever-present reality in colonial America. Second, online trees—even reputable ones—must be confirmed with records before being blindly downloaded into a reference family tree. Next task: correcting the FamilySearch entries to bring the databases into harmony.

52 Ancestors 2026: An Ancestor I Admire – A Study in Perseverance

We begin another year of the "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" challenge. I originally planned to participate only occasionally, joining in when a prompt particularly interested me, but it just so happened that the very first prompt sparked an idea.

Many of the colonial ancestors we learn about—and are often taught to revere—were people of their time. As the New World was settled, land was taken from Indigenous peoples, and slavery was an accepted practice. In telling these stories, we try to acknowledge positive contributions while also confronting the realities of the past, rather than hiding its warts away. We look to the ideals, but we also learn from the errors. With that in mind, I turn to the story of my 8th-great-grandmother, Catherine Matthyse Blanchan.

Catherine was born on October 27, 1637, to Mattheus and Magdeleine Blanshan in Armentières, Artois, Nord-Pas-de-Calais, France (then part of French Flanders, sometimes described as Belgian territory). As Huguenots, the family moved in search of religious freedom, eventually settling in Mannheim. Mannheim lies in the Palatinate (Pfalz), and it was there that Catherine met and married Louis DuBois, also from French Flanders, on October 10, 1655. In 1660, they emigrated to New Amsterdam with two of their sons, Abraham and Isaac. The couple ultimately had twelve children, eight of whom lived past infancy.

The DuBois family was part of the migration into Ulster County, and in 1663 their settlement was attacked by the Esopus Indians. Catherine and three of her children—though it is unclear which ones, as they then had four children, with Jacob and Sarah having been born in the colonies—were taken captive along with other women and children. After some time in captivity, they were to be killed, but according to family tradition, they began singing Psalm 137: “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion” (King James Version). Perhaps they were thinking of their own captivity. Their captors, perhaps charmed by the music, relented long enough for a rescue party, which included Catherine’s husband Louis, to locate them and secure their release.

After hearing this story, I became curious and began to dig into what song they might have been singing. As Reformed Protestants, these Huguenots were restricted in the types of music permitted in worship, though congregational singing was encouraged. Following John Calvin’s desire to emulate the practices of the early Christians, they sang only texts found in Scripture—specifically, the Psalms, often described as the songbook in the middle of the Bible. To support worship, composers set the Psalms to music, resulting in the Genevan Psalter. Some tunes were newly composed, while others may have adapted melodies already in use. From this tradition comes the well-known “Old Hundredth,” still widely used in worship today. Given this context, it is likely that the captives sang a tune from the Genevan Psalter, “Estans assis aux rives aquatiques.”

A modern English translation reads:

Along the streams of Babylon, in sadness

We sat and wept, rememb’ring Zion’s gladness,

And on the willows there we hung our lyre,

For there our captors did our songs require;

While we lamented, joy and mirth they wanted.

“Sing for us one of Zion’s songs!” they taunted.

 

What became of Catherine and her children after their release? She and Louis went on to have eight more children, continuing their biblical naming pattern. In addition to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Sarah, they had David, Solomon, Rebecca, and Rachel. Fourteen years after the conflict with the Esopus, Louis—nicknamed “Louis the Walloon”—along with some of his sons and others, received a patent and purchased land from the Esopus, founding the village of New Paltz. The village was named for a place of refuge familiar to them, and today it commemorates its Huguenot heritage through the Huguenot Street Historic District.

Catherine outlived Louis and, after his death at age seventy, married another Huguenot, Jean Cottin. Reflecting the complexities of colonial America, the DuBois household included enslaved individuals. However, at her death in 1713, Catherine’s will called for the manumission of her two enslaved people. Her family went on to include many notable descendants, among them the scholar W. E. B. Du Bois, whose lineage traces back to a Loyalist descendant of Louis and Catherine who received land in the Bahamas after the American Revolution.

Here, then, is a complicated history—and a lesson in perseverance. Through her faith under extreme stress and her actions later in life, Catherine lived a remarkable life and remains someone we can admire.

Photos:

DuBois Fort: https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=93550776 from Ralph Le Fevre, History of New Paltz, New York and its old families (from 1678 to 1820): including the Hugenot pioneers and others who settled in New Paltz previous to the revolution, Fort Orange Press, 1903. 

Pidoux, Pierre, Le Psautier Huguenot du XVIe Siècle, Edition Baerenreiter, 1962. https://archive.org/details/lepsautierhuguen01pido/mode/1up

52 Ancestors 2025: Language in My Family Tree

 

Although many of my ancestors came from the British Isles and Northwestern Europe, other languages were also well represented in my genealogy. For this topic, I could write about my 5th-great-grandfather, Christian Fast, whose parents came from Germany. He grew up in Maryland and Pennsylvania, speaking both English and German. When he was captured and adopted by the Delaware Indians after a failed attack, he no doubt learned their language as well. His German skills played a crucial role when he later escaped captivity and returned home—only to find that his parents, seeing his native dress and war paint, struggled to believe he was truly their son.

But I’m especially interested in my Dutch and French-speaking ancestors who settled in the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam. In the 17th century, the Dutch Republic (Netherlands) became a refuge for persecuted Reformed Protestants from France and Spanish-controlled Belgium (Wallonia). Many of these refugees had French names like des Marets, Durie, DuBois, de Ruine, and Sohier, while others had Dutch names like Banta, Van Horne, Van Neste, Rutgers, Terhune, Helling, and Brickers.

One of the earliest immigrant couples in my lineage was Joris Jansen Rapelje and Catalina Trico, who were married in the Walloon Church in Amsterdam on January 21, 1624, and sailed for the New World just four days later on De Eendracht. Within 40 years, New Amsterdam had become a multicultural trading city, but Dutch remained the primary language.

That changed in 1664 when British warships arrived, and New Amsterdam became New York—with English as the official language. Over time, the French-speaking settlers intermarried with their Dutch neighbors, adapting to their surroundings. As they migrated westward, their communities became known as “Low Dutch” colonies, following familiar migration patterns from New York to New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Kentucky. By the 18th century, English had largely replaced their original languages. When the Cossart/Cossairt line settled in Ohio, they became less insular, intermarrying with English-speaking neighbors, fully integrating into the American melting pot.

And back in New York? The city remains a global destination for immigrants, continuing to enrich its culture with new languages, traditions, and foods—all in pursuit of the American Dream.

Word cloud generated using data estimates and historical research with assistance from ChatGPT.

52 Ancestors 2025: Siblings - The Cossart Family’s Diverging Journeys

 

There are many families in my family tree, and except for recent generations, there may not be many interesting sibling stories that have been passed down. However, one family intrigued me because its various siblings took dramatically different paths.

My 5th-great-grandparents, Francis Cossart and Margaret Van Nest, came from Huguenot-Dutch families in New Amsterdam and later New Jersey. Before the American Revolution, they settled in the Low Dutch Colony of the Conowago Valley in York County (now Adams County), Pennsylvania. They had seven recorded children, and here are the stories of three of them.

Francis was an important member of the community. Before the Revolution, he served on the Committees of Correspondence. During the war, he worked to supply soldiers with clothing and, as a member of the Provincial, then State, Assembly, helped draft the first Pennsylvania Constitution.

David Cossart (1743–1823)

The eldest son, David, followed in his father’s footsteps, serving in the local militia during the Revolution and later in the Pennsylvania Legislature. Even before the war, he had purchased a farm near his family’s land and remained in the area for the rest of his life. His son Denis moved westward to West Virginia, and that branch of the family found great success. One descendant, Robert Cassatt, made a fortune in land and stock trading in Pittsburgh before relocating to Philadelphia. His children became famous: Mary Stevenson Cassatt, the renowned Impressionist artist, and Alexander Johnston Cassatt, president of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

Christina Cossart Clopper (1755–1801)

Christina married Cornelius Clopper, a fellow member of the Low Dutch Colony, and they divided their time between Pennsylvania and Maryland. Their son, Francis Cassatt Clopper, bought a gristmill in Gaithersburg, Maryland, along Seneca Creek. He married an Irish Catholic woman and donated land to the local diocese to build St. Rose of Lima Church. His prominence led to the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad building the Metropolitan Branch to serve the D.C. and southwestern Maryland region. The road passing his mill, Clopper Road, later inspired lyricists Billy Danoff and Taffy Nivert, from Gaithersburg, to write that song that was completed by John Denver. Interestingly, this branch of the family also began using the “Cassatt” variation of the surname.

Pieter Cossart (1746–1781)

The second son, Pieter (Peter), was also a Patriot and militia member. Unlike his siblings, who remained in the east, he was drawn to the west, lured by the promise of land in Kentucky. In 1781, he migrated with many in-laws to the Fort Harrodsburg area of the Bluegrass region. Tragically, he was killed by Native Americans within six months of his arrival. His descendants, including Hendrick, William, and David, became farmers, shaping my lineage. His choice to move west remains one of the great “what ifs” of my ancestry. Interestingly, some of his descendants also adopted the “Cassatt” variation of the surname, suggesting that family ties transcended the distances as their paths diverged.

52 Ancestors 2025: Migration - Huguenot Refugees

 

Since all of my ancestors were European immigrants, migration has been a constant theme in my family history. This post, however, is about my paternal immigrant ancestor, my 7th-great-grandfather, Jacques Cossart.

Jacques was born in 1639 in Leyden (Leiden), which is now part of the Netherlands. At the time, it was part of the Habsburg Netherlands, but he wasn’t Dutch—he was a Huguenot, a French Protestant and a member of the Reformed Church founded by John Calvin.

It’s unclear whether the Leyden Cossarts came from Liège, in the French-speaking Belgian province of Wallonia, or from Picardy, in northeastern France. However, it is certain that they were affected by both the persecution of Huguenots in France and the Eighty Years’ War, during which the Netherlands fought for independence from the Habsburg Empire. In 1648, when Jacques was about eight years old, the Peace of Münster granted Dutch independence, bringing some stability to his family and other Huguenot refugees in Leyden.

At just 17 years old, Jacques married Leah Willemijn (or Willems or Villeman), whose family came from Lorraine and the Netherlands. Their first migration, in 1657, was to Frankenthal, in the Pfalz (Palatinate) region of Germany. However, they stayed for only two years before returning to Leyden. In 1662, they made the journey across the Atlantic Ocean to New Amsterdam, settling among other Huguenot refugees and Dutch settlers. Initially, they lived at the southern tip of Manhattan, near the Dutch fort, but later moved to the Bushwick area of what is now Brooklyn. There, they had four more children, including three sons—Jacques, David, and Anthony—who established the Cossart family lines (including variations such as Cossairt and Cassatt).

Like many of my ancestors, Jacques was a devout member of the Reformed Church, and his migrations reflected his search for religious freedom. Interestingly, Leyden was also home to my Pilgrim ancestors before their migration to Plymouth Colony in 1620. My English, French, Walloon, and German ancestors were shaped by religious and territorial conflicts, from the Eighty Years’ War to the Thirty Years’ War to the Eleven Years’ Tyranny of Charles I. They sought freedom from European wars, kings, and bishops, and their democratic and republican church governments later became models for the American Revolution and U.S. government.