Armchair Ancestry  - From The Comfort of My Recliner
  • Blog
  • Contact
  • David John's 1878 Flood Run
  • Herseys' Kingston, Ontario Circa 1880
  • Daniel Hersey 1797–1879 Tree
  • Nova Orbis Tabula
    • Nova Orbis Americas Detail
    • Nova Orbis Tethered Oxen Detail
    • Nova Orbis Wheat Harvest Detail
  • The Thomas Herse Maps
    • Chatelain's 1719 Carte Tres Curieuse de La Mer Du Sud
    • Mariage des Canadiens
    • Canadian Burial
    • America Siue India Nova
  • Thomas Herse Frontier Links Page One
  • Thomas Herse Frontier Links Page Two
  • John James Audubon
    • Bulgier Beasts
    • Smaller Critters
    • Avian Audubon

 Doctor Samuel H. Fee (1840-1905)

7/23/2016

1 Comment

 
Doctor
"Portrait of My Doctor" Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836-1912)
There are many peoples of interest that surface during an ancestor search.  One individual that speaks loudly from the past is Doctor Samuel H Fee (about 1840- August 31, 1905).  I found him in the 1881 census of Canada living close enough to the Hersey family to make his way into David John's Flood Run tale.  It is likely that the Herseys knew the Fee family, by reputation if not personally.  (Oddly, living in Kingston simultaneously is another Samuel Fee, a bookkeeper.  Although David John most likely knew Sam Fee, the bookkeeper, he does not enter into our regard.)
 
Samuel and his parents, John and Mary Jane, along with two siblings, immigrated to Kingston, Ontario from Ireland during the Great Famine in 1847.  There are many stories of hardship that accompanied this particular wave of immigration.  Along with impoverishment, the stories include horrific Atlantic passages, sickness, isolation, and death.  The Fee family, however, became a success story.  John Fee became Kingston's Postmaster, marrying one of his daughters to the Assistant Postmaster.  An older brother became a merchant.  Another sister married a carpenter.  The family was close and was still living together as young adults in the 1871 census.  Seemingly well-to-do, the family also had one servant living with them.
 
Samuel attended medical school while living in Kingston: the Kingston hospital was an excellent training university.  In 1862 Samuel endeavored to expand his medical experience in a novel fashion for an Irish-Canadian.  He travelled south to Albany, New York, and volunteered as a surgeon in the United States Union Army.  During the months of November and December, 1862 Samuel witnessed the terror and inhumanity of the American Civil War participating in the Battle of Fredericksburg, Virginia.  It must have been a brutal experience. 
 
On a whim I wished to include a physician in David John's story and Samuel Fee was an easy inclusion.  With the aim of obtaining more information on Fee I did some investigating.  The first record I found for him was an August 31, 1905 death record. 
Picture
 Revolver shot.  An intriguing and alarming entry.  Murder?   I investigated further.   Ultimately I discovered this obituary in the 1905 Journal of the American Medical Association:
Samuel H. Fee Obituary
Samuel Fee, a real man, suffering from depression in the summer of 1905, killed himself. 
 
There is, of course, more than this to Sam Fee.  He followed his father's path and became an important civil servant in Kingston.  Civil War doctors often came away from the field with resolve, wanting to improve medical care.  Fee was one of these individuals.  He worked many years advocating better sanitation for the area, including the improvement of drains - the cause of the 1878 flood on Thomas Hersey's property. 1  2  3

For unknown reasons Samuel appears to have remained single; there is no record of a marriage and he is alone in each of the Canadian censuses in which he appears.   He became depressed alone.  He died alone.  There are no descendants looking for Sam Fee, lauding his medical work. 
Summertime Sadness
1 Comment

David John's Flood Run Part VIII, Finale

6/17/2016

1 Comment

 

Night-time, February 22, 1878

Cabin in the Rain
"Cabin in the forest" - Original Canadian oil painting by Shirley Levie
Two brothers, David John (1846–about 1900) and Thomas Albert (1839–1910) Hersey, stood in silence gazing south from the cabin's porch listening to the decaying pace of rainfall.  It was only a trickle, as compared to the torrent released in the earlier hours of the day and of the previous night.   The temperature was dropping and a few flakes of snow could be seen drifting in the wind.  Both brothers had warmed up and dried off inside the cabin, recovering from after their precarious, if somewhat comical, effort to ford   
the distance between Thomas's house thirty yards downhill to the cabin where their parents lived, and where they stood at that moment.  From the safety of the porch they watched the abating flood.

David, using an old pipe of his father’s, lit up, trying to calm himself.  The sweet aroma of tobacco blended well with the smell of fresh rain water.  Thomas, reflective, was considering the cut in his right thumb and strategizing what their next actions should be.   He eyed his brother, taking in David’s muddy and torn clothing; the cuts still bleeding from his eyebrows and scalp.   Perhaps a ten minute trek to Doctor Fee's residence was their next best move; he would be home at this hour. 

"David," Thomas said gently, not wanting to rankle his brother, "Why don't you change out of your clothes and put on something clean of father's? You would be warmer."
 
David's exasperated retort was short.
 
"I would rather go naked."
 
Thomas sighed and gave an understanding shrug. The Old Man had been unnecessarily hard on David.  
 
"Well. Let's make our way to Sam Fee's (about 1840-1905) house. It will be a short walk. The flood has ebbed." Thomas added an attempt at humor, "He can tend our battle wounds."
 
Not in the mood for levity, David snorted and threw Thomas a scornful sideways glance.  He also sighed, reluctantly accepting the suggestion. 
 
"Aye, all right.  To Fee's it is."  
 
The pair set out, leaving Thomas's two youngest sons with their parents in the cabin. Most likely young Ernest would prevent father from getting back onto the roof and creating another spectacle for the neighborhood.


Their pace was calm, a change from the frenetic activities of the past few hours. After about two hundred yards in a southerly direction they turned left onto the mud that was Princess Street. The only sounds were the sucking noises of their footsteps in the mud, a small wind in the trees, and the faint drops of water falling onto the sludge.

In the next minutes, off in the distance up Princess Street, came a series of growing sounds; cracks, thuds, short shouts. The two brothers stopped in their tracks and peered off into the dimming light. They next glanced at each other, four eyebrows raised in curiosity. The sounds became alarmingly louder. A blur of heaving white horses began to materialize in the distance, and the ominous sounds became dangerously present.

Thomas flew into action. "David!" he yelled; grabbing his brother, throwing him into the gutter of the road and falling on top of him protectively. Rushing past them was a horse drawn carriage flying at top speed. The cabby, who most likely had not seen the two in the dark, was wildly cracking his whip and shouting full voice at the racing horses. The carriage recklessly careened north off of Princess Street onto Chatham, spewing gushes of muck and spritzes of water every-which-way, mainly onto the two brothers. The pair remained on the ground for several minutes, catching their breath and waiting for their pumping hearts to calm. It was a very close call.


Racing Horses
"Horses Stepping Out" by Sera Knight, contemporary
It was at this point, after the hellish stormy afternoon, the evening of mud, wind, cold, crushing falls, and ruined attire, that David began to fall apart. He began to shake. The shaking grew and with his voice near panic, he started yelling.
"Thomas, I cannot take any more!!!" 

"Now, David, it is all right. The crazy fool is gone now.  Let's keep going."  In his head Thomas affixed extremely un-Methodist adjectives to the driver, the
horses, and to whoever was riding inside the carriage. 

Wet and muddy, they made the rest of the way to Dr. Fee's residence on Division Street.  Through the windows they could see lit lamps, a good sign.   They limped up the portico and Thomas knocked on the door.  After thirty seconds David began pounding his fists on the wood.  On the other side of the door they could hear a scurry of footsteps.  Thomas grabbed his brother’s arms to stop the banging. The lock rattled. The door opened just a peek to reveal a diminutive, red haired Irish girl wearing a maid's uniform. 
 
"We need Dr. Fee's help,” announced Thomas.  "I have a severely cut thumb and my brother here has gashes around his head." 
 
The girl eyed the condition of the David's clothes and closed the gap in the door just a smidgen more. 
 
"Doc Fee'd be not 'ere"
 
"What, girl??  Come now, we need help!"
 
"Yon 'bout two hour ago the 'ospital sent a carriage to fetch 'im.  There'd be an ‘ uge mass o' folk a’ needin' help this eve wit' the flood an' all."
 
She eyed the two of them suspiciously.  "Ye best be on your way to 'ospital, now."  And she slammed the door in their faces. 
 
The brothers shared a few tense moments of silent irritability, staring at the goblin door knocker positioned inches from their noses.


Door Knocker
They had no other available choices; they continued south on Division Street towards the hospital. 

Then it happened again; cracks, thuds, short shouts, swiftly becoming louder.  This time they were forewarned.  They stumbled as quickly as they could to the side of the road.  The same crazy carriage shot west off of Chatham Street galloping towards them up Princess. 


"Whoa, Whoa,” the cabby shrieked at the horses as they reared almost out of control.   The insane driver pulled the horses to a stop on the corner directly in the brothers’ path.   The carriage door flew open and out leaned their brother-in-law and David John's employer, wealthy lumber merchant William McRossie (1839–1896).  Wild, fierce, frowning and Scottish, William hailed them, waving them to the carriage. 


Angry Scotsman
"Red Scottsman" by Craig Elliot, contemporary
"Get, in, Get, in ya' disheveled vagrants.  David, donna' ye' 'ave a brain?  Ya' left de front door of t’office unlocked when ya' left!!"
 
Oh, mental agony.  David had known he had forgotten something.  This put him even closer to the breaking point.  Thomas knew it.
 
"Leave David alone, William. He's been through a hard day.  And did you know that you near killed us racing up Princess Street?  You almost ran us down.  Are you mad?" 


William was brooding and silent as the brothers climbed into the carriage.  Then he motioned the cabby forward, yelling 'to ta’ 'ospital, man,’ and he snapped shut the carriage door. 
 
"Sorry," William muttered.  More silence enveloped as the carriage rocked and bumped full speed towards medical help.  But William just couldn't keep quiet. Dramatically rolling his “r's” he proclaimed,
 
"I been oot checkin' on everyone. I just was at your house, David, not twenty minutes past.  My Eltea (Elthea Annie Hersey McRossie, 1843–1904) is with your 'Lisabet (Elizabeth Kells Hersey, 1845–1931) now, David, an' your children."
 
Oh, praise God, William.  Thank you," said David, gratefully.
 
William struggled to keep his thoughts to himself.
 
"Lisabet's a wreck, David.  How could’a leave her alone with da children?  And ye boys outside in da rain muckin’ in as much mud as t’ey could.  Really, David!  Canna' ya’ control t’ose two renegades?"
 
At this, David finally blew his proverbial top.  He yelled at the top of his voice:

 
"So what, William.  Why shouldn't they play in the rain?  What is so sinful about that?  Why shouldn’t the two get as much enjoyment out of life as they can? There surely is enough pain and grief for them later in life." 
 
David's voice rose higher to shriek level.  "And you know perfectly well that my daughters are very capable and able to take care of Elizabeth when her panic takes over.  I knew exactly what I was doing leaving Elizabeth in their care." 
 
The shriek acquired a jeering quality.   "And would you rather we left father in the rain, on the roof, screaming to God for all the neighbors to enjoy?"
 
For at least the third time that day Thomas rolled his eyes.  "Settle down. Settle down.  We are all brothers here.  We are each trying to do our best."
 
With these words an egalitarian silence surrounded the three for a few minutes. But William could not restrain himself.
 
"All right, all right, keep ye hats on," he muttered.  Unable to stop, William pursued the attack.  "T’at certainly brings to mind, David, what in ta name of God did you do to ya suit?  Where in tarnation is ya right boot? You look like a corpse just climbed from a grave.  So much money spent on fancies just to ruin t’em!"
 
With this, all civility exited stage (or carriage) door left.  The three rode on, yelling at each other all the way to the hospital.
 
In time, the trio arrived at Kingston’s City Hospital to receive the needed medical help.  The flooding was over.  The night cleared.  Most was forgiven. William McRossie, thinking what a fool family he had married into and satisfied that everyone was properly looked after, rode his two brothers-in-law home, bringing David John’s Flood Run to an end at last. 
  
End of David John’s Flood Run. 



Notes:
  • When David expelled the words "They should get as much enjoyment out of life now; there surely is enough pain and grief for them later in life," he knew well the truth of the statement. But he knew not the bitter prophesy of coming events these words would prove to be.
 
  • I must repeat myself: You should be able to tell that I am very fond and partial to my great, great, great uncle David John.  This story is, of course, fiction.   But the people, their dates, and occupations are accurate.  There was a flood on Thomas Hersey's property in February 1878 as you can read  in “Ducks in a Millpond.” The particulars of each personality are out of my imagination.  However Thomas Albert and David John Hersey both had distinctive scars, as you can read by scrolling to the end of “David John’s Flood Run Part IV.” The scars on David John's head seem unusual for a book-keeper.  I am guessing that Thomas Albert was left handed because of his rather upright signature and his scar on his right thumb. 
1 Comment

David John's Flood Run Part VII

6/11/2016

0 Comments

 
Edward Atkinson Hornel Portrait of an old man in a scarlet tunic, 1881Picture
Portrait of an Old Man in a Scarlet Tunic Edward Atkinson Hornel - 1881
Evening, February 22, 1878

Things were improving; Father was out of the rain and down from the rooftop.  There were, however, a few loose ends for perusal.  Still to address was the gaping cut in Thomas Albert's right thumb.  And still to ponder was the comical condition of his Brother David’s (1846– to about 1900) clothes.  Thomas, who had sliced open his thumb while attempting to rescue the carpentry tools from the flooded basement of his house thirty yards up hill, was not quite clear on how his brother had managed to ruin his (very expensive) suit.  David also had some cuts on his scalp and around his eyes.  He had wrapped a scarf, mumps style, around his head.   What remained of his clothing was bloodied, muddied, and ripped.  One of his boots was missing. 
 
In spite of the brothers' condition, all attention was pivoted towards their father, Daniel Hersey (1797-1879).  Thomas's second youngest son, Ernest (1870–1939) had managed to coax the old man off the roof, through the attic cubby hole, and down the stairs to the main part of the cabin.  Daniel was seated in one of the wood chairs, head in his hands, trying to muddle through the events of the last hour.  Daniel was suffering from Alzheimer's disease and, of course unknown at the time, had only one more year on this earth.  His face was clouded with bewilderment and confusion, trying to remember how he had become soaked with rain and why his voice was hoarse.  Very gradually, it was coming back to him.  Ernest, age six, was helping him remember.
 
"You were high on the roof, Grandpa!!!  You were magnif’cent!!!  You were singing and yellin’ and callin’ to God to stop the flood.  And it worked!!!  The flood is almost gone!!!  There is almost no more water on the cabin floor.  You were just like Noah!!!"
 
Clarity began to surface on the old man's face.  Ernest could see his grandfather's look of embarrassment and humiliation.
 
"Oh Grandpa, you were won’erful!  I wish I could be on the roof in the rain!  It looked so fun!  Can we do it together tomorrow?"
 
The others in the cabin managed a smile at Ernest.  The boy was so simple and full of life. 
 
There were two Thomas Alberts in the cabin that evening; Thomas Albert Senior (1839–1910) and his namesake son, Junior (1864-1956).  Thomas Senior was adept at getting things done. But it was inter-personal actions that stymied him.  Both Thomases had receded into the kitchen area of the cabin and were being served pastry made fresh by the mother, Daniel's wife, Mary (1808–1888).  It was David who excelled with people.  David was the caretaker of the family.  And Thomas was very happy to leave his father in Ernest's and David's hands at this awkward juncture. 
 
David hovered over his father.
"Everything is fine now.  You are safe"
"Was I really on the roof yelling?"
 
David paused.
"Well, yes," he said softly.  "But no one noticed," he lied.
"Are you certain no one noticed?"
 
Ernest had a puzzled look on his face.  Uncle David was incorrect here.  The whole street had noticed.  Ernest opened his mouth to deliver the correction, but his uncle gave him a warning tap on his back-side.
 
"No one noticed, Father. How long has it been since you shaved or cleaned up?"
 
Daniel’s perplexed look answered the question.
 
"Let's get cleaned up."  David helped his father to the basin and took all the shaving items from the small cabinet.  He made several mental notes concerning the need for organization of his father's belongings.  Mother kept the kitchen fair but father clearly needed more care. 
 
David helped his father out of the wet clothes and, after examining the old man for cuts and sores, helped him into warm, dry woolen shirt and pants.  He found clean socks and noted that he should later return to organize his father's clothing and other belongings (David needed things to be well-ordered.)  Looking at his father's feet he realized the nails needed trimming.  David washed and toweled his father’s hair then took the time to trim all finger and toe nails.  He then carefully soaped and shaved his father's face.  Mary cleaned the trimmings and took away the soiled clothing.  Thomas Senior sat at the table, eating donuts and watching his brother's patient, loving movements in amazement.  David was astounding.  The family would not be able to function without him. 
 
Daniel, wrapped in his sleeping jacket and wearing a warm night cap, was being helped into his favorite chair.  He sagged, finally relaxing into the present.  All watched Daniel's facial metamorphosis from confusion to absolute clarity.  A fatherly look of condemnation took in David's appearance.  Daniel snapped at David. 

"What in the name of all that is Holy did you do to your clothing??  How could you let yourself get into such a ramshackle state?"
 
David's countenance froze into redness with this criticism.   The others in the cabin hushed into silence, shocked at the harshness of Daniel's statements.  They held their breath to watch David process the parental judgment.   After a few breaths both Thomases quietly turned themselves slightly away from the others, returning their concentration to the donuts.   Senior shook his head and rolled his eyes.  
 
Ernest, always the one to sugar coat, jumped in for the save and dragged a stool over to his grandfather.
 
"Can I read to you, Grandpa?   I have your Bible here."
"Yes, yes, I would like that."
 
The other characters in the scene, fathers, uncles, brothers, and grandmother watched and listened, enchanted by the moment; an old man under the care of a small boy. 
 
Ernest began.
"I think the story of Noah would be perfect! Genesis 6:9.  'These are the gen…gen…' what's this word Grandpa?"
 
"Generations"
 
Ernest started again. “‘These are the gen…generations of Noah: Noah was a just man and perfect in his generations, and Noah walked with God.'  That's you, Grandpa!  You walk with God always!"
 
 The child and the old man sat, suspended in timeless constancy. 
 
"Yes," David realized the perfection of the words.  "Father walks with God."  Words David would remember. 


Grandfather’s Prayer, Anker
Grandfather’s Prayer Albert Anker, 1893

Note-Worthies

Daniel Hersey did indeed live only one year and two months after the February 1878 flood.  He died in Kingston on April, 1879 at the age of 82.  The cause of death as stated in the cemetery records is "debility."  The hospital certificate simply states Daniel's cause of death as "Old Age" with the intensity leading to death lasting a duration of ten days.  This does not mean that Daniel suffered from Alzheimer's  or showered the neighbors with public displays of senility.  It could simply indicate old age or weakness.
 
Certainly not a case of Alzheimer's.  Or perhaps yes, a case of Alzheimer's . 
 
However it was David John that signed Daniel's death certificate, which is unusual in that David was Daniel's youngest child.  This and other indicators have led me to the persuasion that David John, irregardless of his birth order in the family, was the individual that tended to take charge in family matters.
 
Another poignant fact is the wording on Daniel's grave marker.  His stone is engraved with the words "He Walked With God."   The stone marking Daniel's wife, Mary, who died in 1888 simply states "Blessed are the Meek."  Eight small words that speak loudly to their natures.


Further Reading:

"Old Names for Illnesses and Causes of Death"
Defines Debility :  State or quality of being weak; weakness; feebleness; languor.

"Causes of Death in the Late 19th Century mentioned in the Register of Deaths, 1893-1907 by Karin L. Flippin, HIS 480, April 23, 1997"
 States: "Debility - Lack of movement or staying in bed"

0 Comments

JFK, Fleischmann's Yeast,  and Jelly donuts

5/28/2016

2 Comments

 
Picture
Donut War Jelly Heart, Acrylic Painting of Dunkin Donuts Jelly by Kelley MacDonald

berliners

No essay concerning any German donut is complete without a mention of John F. Kennedy. 
 
A few decades ago while touring Germany I noticed that the bakeries did not sell jelly donuts.  They sold berliners.  I remember asking a sales clerk why the jelly donuts were called "Berliners."  I was given a look of condescension, most likely because I could only speak English, and was told "because they are berliners."  Fighting back visions of Sweeney Todd, I was seriously afraid to try one, not knowing what it may contain.  The only other time I had heard the term "Berliner" was while watching a 1963 (yes, I am that old) television broadcast of John F. Kennedy in Berlin.  I heard him tell the world "Ich bin ein Berliner."  It was a moving post WWII speech inferring that we, all, are Berliners; from Berlin; we are one world. 
 
Could mass jelly donut consumption be a Germanic celebration of unity?
 
Thinking this was an odd name for a pastry, I asked a few of my more linguistically and gastronomically knowledgeable co-workers the same question: "Why are the jelly donuts called "Berliners?"   I received virtually the same answer from my co-workers, “it's because they are called berliners."   I think it was a cellist who said, "That's right.  JFK unwittingly told the world he was a donut."

 
Spurred by curiosity, I have read various articles debating JFK's "Berliner" statement.   Was it an awkward, near international incident-inciting faux pas?  Or was the statement technically correct in German grammar?  Most arguments seemed to vindicate JFK's usage of the term.   
 
The great JFK debate does not, however, address why jelly donuts are referred to as berliners.


In 2010 Gil Marks wrote in his "Encyclopedia of Jewish Food" that: 
 
"Since at least the early 1800s, Germans had called jelly doughnuts simply Berliners. According to a German anecdote, in 1756 a patriotic baker from Berlin was turned down as unfit for Prussian military service, but allowed to remain as a field baker for the regiment. Because armies in the field had no access to ovens, he began frying doughnuts over an open fire, which the soldiers began calling after the baker’s home, Berliners."
Read more at:

http://leitesculinaria.com/60405/writings-histotry-of-sufganiyah.html
 
Armed with this second-hand information, I concluded that in 1878 Thomas Albert Hersey Junior (1864-1956) could very well have referred to his grandmother's pastries as berliners.

Fleischmann's Yeast

Picture
Charles Louis Fleischmann (1835 – 1897) Baking Hall of Fame from the American Society of Baking
by Brent Engstrom 2008
You may have been surprised to read that Thomas Albert Junior would have known about or made use of Fleischmann's Yeast in 1878.  Undoubtedly an exciting revolution for a young baker like Thomas, It was as early as 1868 when Charles Fleischmann began to market compressed yeast.  According to one of his granddaughters, Thomas Albert Junior, a baker all of his life, was one of the first chefs hired by the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego in the late 1880's.  He first appears as a "baker" in the 1881 Census of Canada at the age of only sixteen.  After a brief try at farming in Fullerton, Thomas Junior and his wife Susan Jane Langford VanSkike Hersey (1861–1942) managed a boarding house in the 1920's on Central Ave in La Habra.  I presume that he did much, if not all, of the cooking.  

Note: Many thanks to Margaret Hall for her assistance with my pig-din attempts at the German language; she offered, however, no insight into the donut debate.   
 
For further reading:

The history of the Jelly Donut

Doughnut vs. donut

Berliner (doughnut)

JFK: "I Am a Jelly Donut" ("Ich Bin ein Berliner") 
From the Urban Legends Mailbag

 The Real Meaning of Ich Bin ein Berliner From The Atlantic



Victorian Chromo-Litho Trading/Advertising Cards:

2 Comments

David John's Flood Run Part VI

5/22/2016

1 Comment

 

OMA

Evening, 22 Feb 1878
 
Junior (Thomas Albert Hersey Junior, 1864–1956) deftly maneuvered the oars of the small row boat to the front window of the cabin.  It was still raining, but not as hard as in the previous twenty-four hours.  A torrent of unexpected rain had flooded much of Williamsville and nearly all of his father's (Thomas Albert Senior, 1839-1910) property.  What a day!!!  Junior's father had been yelling orders and directions to him the complete thirty yards from the main house to the cabin.  Junior was well practiced at ignoring his father.  In fact, he was the only one of the ten children that could handle his father.  It was his happy little secret.  He was able to ignore his father while simultaneously portraying abject loyalty.  
 
Junior and his family lived up the hill in the main house while Oma and Grandpapa lived tucked into the little cabin downhill.  Well, Grandpapa was usually tucked into the cabin.  This evening he was on the cabin.   He was on the roof calling to God and Noah to stop the flood.  Grandpapa (Daniel Hersey, 1797–1879) often imbibed in amusing behavior now that he was in his eighties. 
 
Junior and his younger brother Ernest (Ernest Francis Alfred Hersey, 1870–1939) had rescued their father and Uncle David (David John Hersey, 1846–1900) with the rowboat. The elder Herseys had been trying to make their way through the flood to the cabin.  Really, the two of them were adults but…they were hopeless!  Father had nearly severed his thumb in the process and Uncle David looked like a water demon; he had cut his head in several places and had tied a scarf around his head to stop the flow of blood, making him look as if he had the mumps.  This was nothing compared to the look of what remained of his suit.  How had he managed to get his suspenders wrapped around his left leg?  Oh, this was great fun! 
 
Ernest, being the smallest, handed Junior the lantern and began to climb his way through the window.
 
"Hoy!  Oma!!  How be ye?"

Their Grandmother, (Mary Ann Smith Hersey, 1808–1888), laughing, pulled him into the cabin. 
 
"Oh Ernest!  What a day!"
 
Junior, climbing through without help, had already noticed the aroma coming from the wood stove.
 
"Oma!  Berliners?"
 
"Oh, ja, Pfannkuchen  und Pumpernickel  mit raisons und maple sirup."
 
"MMmmm!  Did you use the Fleischmann's yeast I bought for you?"
 
"Oh, ja, ja!"  The two of them left the others to hover over and analyze the bread. 
 
"Junior!!" His father barked.  "We are not here for a baking lesson!  You are carpenter, not a cook!!" Thomas Albert Senior and David John had struggled to get through the window.  David had somehow managed to land upside down on his already bruised and cut head.
 
"Oh yes, father, I am a carpenter!  Just like you and Grandpapa.  But I'm doing as you said; I am calming down Oma."  
 
David, still upside-down in front of the window, actually smiled; but silently and to himself.  He loved hearing his older brother being angled.  Right-siding himself and carefully entering the conversation, he asked, “Mama…have you noticed that father is on roof?"
 
"Oh, ja, ja!"
 
Thomas interjected.  "Mama!!  Did you try to get him down?"
 
Mary's face took on a stern look.  In perfect English she said, "Thomas, only once, twelve years ago, I made a suggestion to Papa.  I have never done so again."
 
Thomas and David paused and mused.  Yes, they remembered that series of incidents. 
 
Mary added, pointing behind them, "Schau hinter dich."
 
Both brothers turned their heads behind in curiosity.  David screamed in shock.  Thomas took three steps back quickly.  Their father had been standing inches from them holding the lantern. 
 
"What??  How did…?"  Thomas stammered.
 
"I went up the loft and told him God said it was time to come inside," piped Ernest.  "I helped him in through the cubby hole."
 
Oma, all smiles, proclaimed "Lasset die Kindlein nicht...sie sind alle Engel!"
 
Yes.  God bless the children.  May Heaven be filled with the likes of little Ernests. 

Grandpapa

Picture
"Old Man" Oil on leather "painted by some painter while in solitary imprisonment; not a good person." Click to read.
1 Comment

The Primitive Methodist Church                                   

5/18/2016

0 Comments

 
Picture
Engraving: Methodist camp meeting 1819, Library of Congress
“Do all the good you can. By all the means you can. In all the ways you can. In all the places you can. At all the times you can. To all the people you can. As long as ever you can.”
― John Wesley
Readers, please forgive me for making use of the Hymn "O Sacred Flood" (David John’s Flood Run Part V).  This Hymn is not contained in the June, 1898 Primitive Methodist Hymnal.  In fact, it appears to have been composed by Ohioan William Augustine Ogden (1841-1897), and was popular from about 1875 - 1940.  Whether the hymn made its way north to Canada and into the rather rigid Methodist congregations remains any hymnologist's puzzle.  

London brothers John (1703-1791) and Charles (1707-1788) Wesley, the patriarchs of Methodism, were fairly rigid in their hymn singing expectations.  John's 1761 "Directions for Singing" is filled with (at least to the modern vocalist) humorous musical and behavioral dictums. 

Nomenclature involved in the term "Primitive Methodist" appears somewhat jocular in its primeval associations, bringing a variety of puritanical punishments to mind.  In actuality the term "Primitive" in the religious sense refers to a return to origins, or the purposeful practice of a belief system as it was originally intended. The
Canadian Encyclopedia defines Methodism thusly:

 "Methodism...encouraged personal holiness and a disciplined (hence "methodical") Christian life. It was distinctive in its Arminianism, the belief that individuals are free to accept or reject God's grace, and that it is possible to attain 'perfection' (the overcoming of a will to sin) in this life."

Primitive Methodism seems to have been a working-class revival in the early 1800's. Although Methodism first appeared as a schism from the Church of England, typical Methodist political tendencies leaned towards Toryism, royalism and away from rebellion (3). 
This came in very handy for the protestant Loyalists in Ontario, Canada and elsewhere.  In addition, the temperance movement was a strong part of Primitive Methodism in the New World. 

According to several Canadian censuses Williamsville Village in the city of Kingston was the location of the homes of Daniel Hersey (1797-1879) and his son Thomas Albert (1839–1910), and Primitive Methodism was certainly listed as their religion of choice.  When Daniel Hersey left Cayuga County, New York and arrived in Ontario, Canada in approximately 1830 he very likely attended church in a private home, barn, or an open outdoor camp meeting led by a travelling (circuit rider) minister.  His first church meetings may have been in Cataraqui at the location of the original cemetery, or in nearby Waterloo Village.  I speculate on Waterloo Village because one source has indicated it to be the burial place of Daniel’s first wife, Mariah Acker (1795-about 1834) (1 page 34.){Please note there are a few date issues in Stephen E. Hersey’s account, some of which I will visit in later writings}.

I was very pleased to spot the former location of Kingston’s Primitive Methodist Church on 20 Brock Street near corner of Brock and Barrie streets; the third lot from Barrie street directly across from the Bishops Palace and caddy-corner to the lavish St Mary's Cathedral.  Its undoubtedly traditional simple Primitive Methodist structure must have been an amusing contrast to the cathedral and a comment on Christian spending. Closed in around 1922 (2), the location now sports a series of lovely brick row houses. 
There are still practicing Primitive Methodists today:
PrimitiveMethodistChurch.org


An extensive essay on Primitive Methodism history  in Canada written by Reverend J. Cooper Antliff, D.D. can be found at Centennial of Canadian Methodism; Historical Sketch of the Primitive Methodist Church in Canada.


In addition, an interesting history of the Methodist Church in Canada can be found at the blog "Fadedgenes". 

One can also find "Old-Time Primitive Methodism in Canada" in Google Books.

Picture
Whitby, Ontario Methodist Church – 1875 (136 miles west of Kingston on Lake Ontario)
0 Comments
<<Previous
Forward>>

    Author

    Right now - I'm just Ella Rebecca...

    Archives

    March 2018
    July 2017
    October 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    September 2015
    August 2015

    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly