52 Ancestors 2025: Wartime — Bushwhackers and Jayhawkers

 

Earlier this year, I wrote about our family’s experiences in World War II and the American Revolution. We also have extensive narratives from Union Army veterans Anthony Gilmartin, David Cassatt, and Benjamin McWilliams. These men survived the Civil War, but like many soldiers who left their farms and endured crowded, unsanitary conditions, they suffered serious illnesses. Ben, in particular, endured the harsh realities of multiple Confederate prisons. All three, however, served honorably and were discharged at the war’s end.

Those who served the Union cause later migrated to Barton County, Missouri, where they established farms on what was then open prairie. But for families who had already settled in that region of Missouri before the war, their Civil War experiences were starkly different. On my paternal side, the Maddox and Curry families had Southern roots and were, at the very least, sympathetic to the Confederate cause. As a result, they endured great hardship—some of it, perhaps, brought upon themselves.

The patriarch of the Maddox family, Jesse T. Maddox (my 3rd-great-grandfather), came from Virginia. He moved westward—first to Tennessee, where he married Lucinda Ann Simmons, and later to Missouri, settling first in Monroe County and then in Vernon County in the late 1850s. Unfortunately, the move came during one of Missouri’s most volatile periods. Tensions between slave-state Missouri and free-state Kansas were high, and Vernon County—just eight miles from Fort Scott, Kansas—became a flashpoint in the guerrilla warfare between Confederate bushwhackers and the Union Army, as well as Union-aligned Jayhawkers.

The Maddox family was soon caught up in these events. In December 1858, John Brown led a raid in western Vernon County, killing one man but freeing twelve enslaved people for passage along the Underground Railroad. Jesse Maddox served on the grand jury that indicted Brown, though free-state authorities refused to extradite him.

When the Civil War began, those prewar skirmishes exploded into full-scale devastation for Vernon County—and the Maddox family was in the midst of it. Jesse died on August 10, 1861, soon after the war began. The following year brought even more violence. In April 1862, members of the 1st Iowa Cavalry checked into a hotel in Montevallo, where they were attacked by local men on April 13. Among the attackers were Jesse’s sons Wilson C. and William T. Maddox. In retaliation, federal troops burned the town of Montevallo to the ground—including the hotel Wilson kept.

Violence continued throughout the war. One final tragedy struck on February 20, 1865, when two Maddox brothers, Jesse and John, were reportedly ambushed and killed by Jayhawkers. John Stuart Maddox is said to have served in the Confederate Army, though no record of his service survives.

Two of Jesse’s daughters were also deeply affected by the war. Elizabeth Ann and Sarah D. Maddox married two brothers—Robert M. and John D. Curry, both born in Kentucky. By 1860, the Maddox and Curry families had neighboring farms, but both men died during the 1860s. The details of their deaths are uncertain. One Robert Marion Curry who served in a Kansas cavalry regiment was executed by firing squad and buried at Fort Scott, but it’s unclear whether he was the same Robert who lived in Vernon County.

The widows, Elizabeth and Sarah, continued to farm and raise their families, likely with help from relatives. Census records show their farms were modest—certainly less prosperous than those of their Union veteran counterparts in Barton County—but they managed to endure.

Union victory in Missouri came at a steep price. Holding the border states required harsh measures, and guerrilla activity brought brutal reprisals, often falling hardest on civilians caught in the middle. The Maddox and Curry families did not appear in the 1860 slave schedules, so they were among the many Southern-leaning families who supported but did not benefit from the Confederate cause.

With so many loved ones lost, Elizabeth and Sarah likely felt bitterness toward the “new nation” that had experienced “a new birth of freedom,” as Lincoln said, and toward the northern settlers who arrived after the war. Yet, over time, reconciliation took root.

Their daughter Mary Curry married Henry Yount, also from a southern family. And one generation later, Robert and Elizabeth’s granddaughter married Virgil Cassatt, the son of a Union veteran. By the time of that 1905 wedding, Elizabeth Ann (Maddox) Curry was still living on the original family homestead—now farmed by her son.

But her post-war story is one for another post.

Note: The artist of the blog post painting does not appear to be a relative of Robert Curry, but I haven't been able to trace Robert's line back. Yet.

Books:

History of Vernon County, Missouri: Written and Compiled from the Most Authentic Official and Private Sources, Brown & Co., St. Louis, MO, 1887

Photo:

Tragic Prelude By John Steuart Curry - United Missouri Bank of Kansas City, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48498757

52 Ancestors 2025: Multiple — A Tale of Two Journeys

 

The prompt “multiple” can have many meanings, but this week I decided to explore one set of twins in my family. On my paternal side, my 4th-great-grandmother Marie Durie (or Duryea) Cossart gave birth to twins, Hendrick (Henry) and David, on March 25, 1778. They were born into the Dutch/Huguenot Conewago Colony of Adams County, Pennsylvania.

Their early life was tumultuous. They were only about a year old when their family—and other members of the colony—migrated to Berkeley County, Virginia (now West Virginia) before making the long journey to Kentucky via the Wilderness Road. The early settlers endured great hardship, as many—including the twins’ father, Pieter Cossart, and several uncles—were killed by Native Americans during frontier conflicts associated with the Revolutionary War. With Pieter’s death in 1781, the twins and their siblings were raised by their mother and likely by members of her extended Durie family, who had also migrated to Kentucky. Unfortunately, records from those early Kentucky pioneers are sparse, but the bonds among the Conewago colonists remained strong.

So how did the twins fare as adults? Did they stay in Kentucky or move on again? Both eventually settled in neighboring states—Ohio and Indiana—though by different routes. Hendrick, who later went by Henry, married Mary Nailor in Indiana and later moved to Warren County, Ohio, where he became a successful farmer. According to family lore, his mother spent her final days with him and is said to be buried in Dodds Cemetery in Warren County. Notably, many other Conewago descendants also settled there.

David’s path was more winding. Unlike Henry, he remained in Kentucky longer and married within the colony—his second cousin, Mary (Polly) Banta. The Bantas were among the leading families of the Kentucky Low Dutch Colony, and Polly’s uncles were founders of the Pleasant Hill Shaker Village. Henry and Mary had six children who survived to adulthood, while David and Polly had two: Jacob Duryea Cassatt and Mary Banta Cassatt. Interestingly, both children carried middle names from their grandmothers, and like their cousins, they later adopted the “Cassatt” spelling of the family name.

After Mary Banta Cassatt’s birth in 1818, David and his family left Kentucky for Indiana, eventually settling in Wabash County around 1834, where they were among the first settlers. He worked in the canal-building trade, as did his future son-in-law, John Matlock. By 1850, David was living with the Matlocks following the deaths of Polly and his second wife, Sarah Johnson. Like his twin brother, David had a grandson who served in the Union Army during the Civil War. Sadly, Thomas Jefferson Matlock died of typhoid while in service. David himself passed away in 1854 at the age of 76, surviving his twin brother by just one year.

David’s surviving son, Jacob Duryea Cassatt, became a prominent citizen of Wabash County. He served in the Indiana State Legislature and held other public offices but endured several personal losses. His first wife, Louisa Jane Roberts, died in 1846 at the age of 31, leaving him with three young children, one of whom died the following year. His second wife, Emma Jane Townsend, died in 1850 at just 19, apparently from complications of childbirth. Their surviving daughter, Mary, was living in Iowa in 1860 with Thomas and Mary Townsend—likely her grandparents. Jacob spent his later years in Wabash County with his third wife, Elizabeth Barker Jones, a widow who brought one child into the marriage. Together, they had three more children, including their youngest, Mary Banta Cassatt.

The twins’ lives reflected the broader American story—surviving the arduous migration along the Wilderness Road, enduring the dangers of frontier life during the Revolution, and helping settle the growing Midwest after independence. Their paths shared much in common: farming, migration, and long life. Yet there were differences. Henry left many descendants carrying the Cossairt or Cassatt name (including me), while David’s line, having fewer children and more daughters, did not preserve the surname. Still, his legacy and genes endure through the many generations that followed.

As an aside, another “multiple” could refer to the many times the name David was used in the Cossart/Cossairt/Cassatt lineage, but that’s tale for another day.

Photo

By FloNight (Sydney Poore) and Russell Poore - self-made by Russell and Sydney Poore, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2806881

52 Ancestors 2025: Rural — The Quaker Connection

 

This prompt could lead to a multivolume work covering eight or more generations of farmers, but for this entry, I want to focus on one family — the Clouds. Earlier in the year, I described this branch as “overlooked,” so I began reviewing their FamilySearch lineage and consulting secondary sources. In the process, I discovered a book about the Cloud family and was struck to learn that they were Quakers and among the earliest settlers in William Penn’s Pennsylvania.

The first Clouds in my lineage were William Cloud (1621–1702) and his son Robert Cloud (1656–1717), originally from Wiltshire, England, about 100 miles west of London. The Quakers suffered persecution in England during the mid-1600s, and when William Penn Jr. was granted proprietorship of a large landholding along the Delaware River in the New World, many—including the Clouds—saw an opportunity. William received a land grant in 1681 and likely made the move sometime in late 1682. Whether by design or accident, his land turned out to be located in Delaware rather than Pennsylvania. After several transatlantic crossings, Robert, a shoemaker, also settled in Delaware. For several generations during the 1700s, the family farmed in the Brandywine Hundred, New Castle County, Delaware.

Although the details of their farming operations are not as complete as those of the Barton County farms in the late 1800s, regional histories offer insight into what life was like. The newly cleared land supported fertile fields with a variety of crops. One notable product from these farms was butter, and these Quaker farms became known collectively as the “Butter Belt.” The area’s abundance of natural springs made it possible to build springhouses, where cool water helped preserve butter before it was shipped to market.

Life in the English colonies was changing, however. Robert’s grandson Nathaniel Cloud (1725–1802) married twice outside the Quaker faith, with ceremonies taking place at Holy Trinity (Old Swedes) Church in Wilmington, Delaware. Though Nathaniel remained in the area for life, his descendants—like so many others—were bitten by the migration bug. His son Thomas Cloud (1765–1841) moved first to western Pennsylvania and then to Ohio. The family’s farming tradition continued through Nathaniel (1791–1878) and Samuel (1819–1883), the latter being the father of Mary Ann Cloud, whom we met earlier in the year. From Ohio, the family moved westward again, to Iowa.

This is one rural family among many, with roots in an important center of early English settlement. The Quaker communities were known for their religious tolerance and good relations with Indigenous peoples. Their ideals and experience became part of the social and moral fabric of the English colonies. Philadelphia—the City of Brotherly Love—stood at the heart of these developments, a center of business, trade, education, and eventually, revolution.

Picture: 

Quaker Oats company website, https://www.quakeroats.com/, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=53308037

Reference: 

Wilson, Raymond H. Sr., The Cloud Family, Houston , TX, 1953.

52 Ancestors 2025: Urban – Life in the Big Apple When It Was a Seedling

 

With so much of my family history rooted in farms across the country, it’s hard to find many city stories. My mother’s family once lived in St. Joe’s (St. Joseph), Missouri, but so far, I haven’t uncovered many memorable tales of city life from there. For this post, I decided to look farther back—to the beginnings of the most populous city in the United States: New York City, or more historically, New Amsterdam.

My earliest New Amsterdam couple, Joris and Catalyntje Rapelje, were among the founding Walloon families among the Dutch, having sailed to the New World in 1624. After a stint up the Hudson River in Fort Orange, they settled in the small community growing around Fort Amsterdam at the southern tip of Manhattan Island in 1626. They built two houses on Pearl Street and established a farm in Breuckelen (Brooklyn), near what is now the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Joris was a member of the first representative body in New Amsterdam, known as The Twelve Men.

Other Dutch and Huguenot families followed. Some, such as Jan Cornelissen Van Horne (arriving before 1645) and Jacques Cossart (1662), settled near where the Rapeljes built their homes—Van Horne near what is now Marketfield Street, and Cossart near the foot of Broadway. Other early settlers, like Pieter Van Nest (1649), made their homes in Brooklyn. Gerrit Van Nieuwkercke (Van Newkirk) (1659) and Albert Terhune (before 1654) also settled in Brooklyn, in the Flatbush and Flatlands areas, respectively. David Des Marets (Demarest) (1663) first settled at Oude Dorp (Old Village) on Staten Island, then sought farmland in New Harlem. We round out the New Amsterdam families with Epke Jacobse (Banta) (1659), who established a farm in Flushing.

By 1653, New Amsterdam had grown to perhaps 1,000 or so residents and was officially incorporated as a city. It might be a stretch to call this mix of farms, trading posts, and shops a true “city,” but its harbor and the Hudson River route to the interior made it a thriving trade center. Unfortunately, its success also made it an attractive target for the British, who seized the city in 1664—turning its Dutch and Huguenot settlers (and others of many nationalities) into British subjects.

As the 17th century progressed and farmland grew scarce, some settlers sought new opportunities. In 1678, led by David Des Marets, several families crossed the Hudson River to the “French Patent” on the Hackensack in Bergen County, New Jersey. Within a few years, they were joined by the Banta and Durie families. One family, the DuBois, bypassed Manhattan altogether—Louis DuBois (1660) first settled in Wiltwyck (now Kingston, New York), then helped found New Paltz, New York.

The Cossarts later moved to Somerset, New Jersey, and as Bergen County became more crowded, another migration followed. In 1768, a group of now-mixed Dutch and Huguenot families from New Jersey founded the “Low Dutch” Conewago Colony in Pennsylvania. For generations after that, my ancestors lived rural lives, far removed from the bustling city that grew where their ancestors first arrived. Urban life wouldn’t return to my family story until the 20th century—and even then, in another part of New York State.

Pictures:

New Amsterdam in 1650: https://digital.onb.ac.at/rep/osd/?11105439

Overlay: https://silencesofnyhistory.org/items/show/212#lg=1&slide=0

References:

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

Major, David C. and Major, John S., A Huguenot on the Hackensack: David Demarest and His Legacy, Farleigh Dickenson University Press, 2007

52 Ancestors 2025: Fire – The Lost Records

 

Fire has long been an essential part of human existence—used for cooking, clearing brush for planting, warmth, and metallurgy, among other purposes. Yet building fires and wildfires can also destroy lives, property, and history. For this essay, I want to reflect on what we lost in the 1921 fire at the Commerce Building in Washington, D.C.

The purpose of the U.S. Census population schedules was to count everyone living in the United States in order to apportion seats in Congress. At first, only heads of households were named, and other members were simply tallied by age and gender. Beginning in 1850, however, curiosity about the nation’s people grew. Over time, the census began recording names and relationships within households, as well as information about education, literacy, birthplace, parents’ origins, citizenship, property, and more. Additional schedules on agriculture and industry were also collected, proving invaluable to historians and genealogists.

Although the census data were analyzed and compiled into statistical summaries, the original books were often viewed as expendable once their immediate purpose was served. Storage conditions were poor, and that neglect set the stage for a disaster familiar to every genealogist: the 1921 fire that destroyed nearly all of the 1890 census records. The damage came not only from the flames but also from the water used to extinguish them. Only a few fragments survived.

For a long time, I didn’t feel the loss too keenly, since I have so much information from the 1880 and 1900 censuses, and my ancestors remained in Barton County, Missouri, through much of the postbellum years. But as I’ve tried to go beyond names and dates in my research, the 1890 gap has become increasingly significant. That census would have captured a pivotal time for my great-grandparents’ generation.

The Cassatts were well established and seem to have had a home industry making brooms—were they growing broom corn? The Younts married after the 1880 census—what did their young family look like? Hannah Brown Reed was a widow—were there children still at home to help her? Several generations of Fasts were alive; in 1880, John Jay and Hannah’s granddaughter lived with them after her mother’s death in childbirth—did she return to her father, who remarried soon after the 1880 census? And what about Fannie Knauss McWilliams, also a widow—was she living alone or with one of her children?

Other records, such as the Civil War Veterans Schedule and pension files, help fill in some of the gaps, but the census has long been a backbone for understanding family structure, guiding us toward answers or new questions. As a side note, I’ve often wondered why the Agricultural Schedules stopped after 1880. It turns out the 1890 schedules were likely lost to the same fire and water damage, and the later ones were deliberately destroyed—deemed by Congress to have “no historical value.”

Historians today are working to go beyond compiled statistics and the stories of prominent men, to uncover the experiences of ordinary families like ours. Those destroyed records would have offered a wealth of detail—insight into daily life, work, and community—that we can now only partially reconstruct.

Photo: Courtesy Bureau of the Census: https://www.archives.gov/publications/prologue/1996/spring/1890-census

52 Ancestors 2025: Water - A Salute to Polonia

 

So far, this blog has focused largely on ancestors who came to the thirteen colonies or early United States from northwest Europe—Great Britain and Ireland, France, Germany, Belgium, and the Netherlands. But another part of our family came from Eastern Europe, particularly Poland. Many of the earlier immigrants were refugees fleeing persecution for their Reformed Protestant faith; for Poles, however, the story was one of political subjugation and national loss.

After the successive partitions of Poland by Prussia, Austria-Hungary, and Russia, the nation itself disappeared from the map, and its people were reduced to second-class status. Many Poles—and Jews confined to the Pale of Settlement—sought better lives in the New World. Alongside southern Europeans such as Italians and Greeks, they formed part of the great migration of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. This post tells the story of four Polish families who became part of our own ancestry, along with a brief look at the history that shaped them.

Our first immigrant is Wincenty Dzailakiewicz, who lived in Russian Poland. Born around 1883 (according to census records), he was living in Kleczew when he left Poland. Family lore says he had an interest in both music and his faith and was studying in seminary in 1904. When the Russo-Japanese War erupted that year, he faced conscription into the Russian Imperial Army—an unthinkable prospect for a patriotic Pole. With help from an uncle, he escaped through Hamburg, booking passage on the SS Phönicia of the Hamburg-American Line and departing on 26 October 1904, arriving in New York City on 10 November 1904. Once in America, he continued to serve the Roman Catholic Church as an organist in Brooklyn, Connecticut, and Long Island.

Wincenty (anglicized as Vincent) married Zophia “Sophia” Wysocka, born around 1888 in Russian Poland. She emigrated in 1904 as well. Family stories say her family was relatively well-off but deeply patriotic, and that she and her siblings—Anton (Anthony) and Katarzyna (Catherine, or “Bubbles”)—all came to America. Unfortunately, no passenger list has yet been found to confirm their journey.

Another branch of the family remains partly mysterious. Zygmont Szymanski was born on 23 September 1886 in Tykocin, in Russian Poland, and was living in Łomża before emigrating. His naturalization record provides one clue, but his arrival is puzzling. He stated that he came to New York on 29 May 1900 aboard the Granada, yet no such voyage appears in any shipping records—certainly not one arriving from Europe. In the 1930 census, he gave an arrival year of 1908, but no record supports that, either. Since his Declaration of Intention was filed on 3 February 1908, and these were typically submitted about two years after arrival, it’s likely he came to America around 1905 or 1906.

We have more solid evidence for his wife, Suzanna Sarnacka. She sailed from Rotterdam aboard the SS Rotterdam (of the Holland America Line) on 23 July 1910, arriving in New York on 1 August 1910 at age 17. She was detained for two days—likely because immigration officials worried she might become a public charge—but was released to a family in Schenectady, New York. About three years later, she married Zygmont.

These Polish immigrants, like so many others, built new lives while preserving their culture and faith. During the First World War, the Polish lands became a battleground between the German, Austro-Hungarian, and Russian Empires, but from the wreckage, Poland regained its independence. Tragically, World War II brought renewed devastation—the German and Soviet invasions, and the murder of around three million Polish Jews during the Holocaust. Afterward came decades of Soviet domination, until the rise of the Solidarity movement helped Poland reclaim its freedom.

For generations, the Polish-American community has celebrated its heritage while contributing to the cultural and civic fabric of the United States. For my family’s Polish ancestors—Vincent and Sophia Dzailakiewicz, Zygmont and Suzanna Szymanski—crossing the water to America meant not just escape, but opportunity, freedom, and hope.

52 Ancestors 2025: Cemetery – Low Dutch Cemetery

 

For a genealogist, cemeteries are like gold mines—so much information literally carved in stone. Of course, mistakes can happen, and tombstones cannot be edited, but they often provide valuable clues about families and their communities. With so many burial grounds scattered across the country, how does one choose a single cemetery to focus on?

For me, the choice was the Low Dutch Cemetery not too far from Frederick, Maryland, just east of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. This cemetery offers a snapshot of the Conewago Colony, a community formed by Dutch and Huguenot families who had first settled in New Amsterdam in the 1600s. As New Amsterdam (later New York) grew during the 1600s and early 1700s, farmland on Manhattan and Brooklyn became scarce. These families pushed westward and became some of the earliest European settlers in northern and central New Jersey.

The Conewago Colony was established in 1768 when some of these New Jersey settlers migrated farther west into what was then York County, Pennsylvania. The British victory in the French and Indian War had opened new lands beyond the original Atlantic colonies, particularly along rivers feeding into the coast.

Looking through the gravestone records posted on Find-A-Grave, I traced several family origins. These Dutch/Huguenot surnames appear frequently in the Low Dutch Cemetery, along with their original spellings and the New Jersey counties from which they emigrated:

• Brinkerhoff – Bergen County

• Bercaw (originally Broucard; also Brocaw) – Somerset County

• Cassatt (Cossart) – Somerset County

• Demaree (DesMarets) – Bergen County

• Monfort – Hunterdon County

• Van Duyn – Hunterdon County

• Van Orsdel – Somerset County

Although these families lived in different counties in New Jersey, they clearly stayed connected. Intermarriages were common, keeping ties strong across county lines.

The history of the Conewago Colony also notes that many families later moved to Berkeley County, Virginia (now West Virginia), before continuing west along the Wilderness Road into Kentucky. The records of the 1780 migrations highlight several surnames:

• Banta – Bergen County

• Cosart (Cossart) – Somerset County

• Demaree (DesMarets) – Bergen County

• Duree (Durie) – Bergen County

• Voris (Voorhees) – Somerset County

These families left Pennsylvania only about twelve years after first settling there. Once again, they came from both Bergen and Somerset Counties, with some families—such as the Bantas, Durees, and Vorises—sending many more migrants than others. A few Bantas appear in the Southern Low Dutch Cemetery, while the Demarees are found in both Pennsylvania and Kentucky groups. Interestingly, Pieter Cossart and his family (my line) were the only Cossarts to migrate; the rest remained behind. His migration makes sense when we consider his wife, Marie Durie—her father (Samuel Durie), many of her siblings, and her mother (Wyntie Banya Durie, of the Banta family) also joined the migration to Kentucky. The stories of the Cossarts, Duries, and Bantas reflect the broader patterns of the Revolutionary era and early nationhood, when settlers moved westward as new lands became available (often while Native peoples were being displaced).

As for the Northern Low Dutch Cemetery itself, the church once located nearby is long gone, but its records have survived. Last year, after visiting the Gettysburg battlefield, my grandchildren and I toured the cemetery. Though it was heavily overgrown, we were able to locate the grave of Francis Cossart, Patriot (pictured).

The Conewago Colony no longer exists as a distinct community, but its legacy lives on through its cemeteries, its records, and its many descendants who blended into the broader population of the region.