Aunt Sally Stone @ St. Clair's Defeat

 

Priscilla Stone married Amos Kuykendall in 1850 in Conway, Arkansas.  Their third child was my great grandfather Adam Franklin "Frank" Kuykendall.  The Kuykendall's had been in Arkansas since 1808; migrating out of Kentucky about that time.  Priscilla and Amos were the products of classic American frontier families.  Their people picked up and broke out for the west in the early days when it was considerably dangerous and risky to do so.

Priscilla was born in Pennsylvania.  Her Stone family lived on Whitely Creek just off the Monongahela River about 40 miles south of Pittsburgh. I've traced the Stone family back to the 1685 birth of 7th great grandfather, James Stone, of Herefordshire, England, a county just north of London.  James is one of my immigrant ancestors.  Coming to the colonies as a married young man around 1705, he landed in Pennsylvania, raised children and passed away there some time after 1712.  No records exist of his death or specific burial location.

James Stone's son, James Jr., who was born in Bucks County, Pennsylvania in 1710, was baptized on August 24, 1712 at the Reformed Church of Bensalem and Sammeny at Churchville, Bucks County, Pennsylvania.  That record is found in the U.S. Presbyterian Church Records 1701-1970 of the Presbyterian Historical Society.  

James Jr. later married and had several children.  The family then acquired property on Whitely Creek in Greene County where Priscilla was born four generations later.  We don't know the name of James Jr's first wife but she bore him at least one child, Elias Stone, my 5th great grandfather.  A second wife (name also unknown) produced five or six children.  Much of what we know of this family is mostly thanks to a newspaper article that appeared in the July 23rd, 1819 edition of the Susquehanna Democrat out of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.  

This really interesting article depicts the story of one of James Jr's youngest daughters. She would have been about about 47 at the time she had the article published.  It was an effort to locate and reunite with her Stone family relations.  She had been separated from them for almost 30 years.  So she enlisted the help of the newspaper to find them.

Her name was Sally Stone and she was born about 1772.  Her father, James. passed away while she was still young.  As she was Elias Stone's sister (actually half sister), she is my 5th great aunt.  Now widowed, her mother buried her husband James (likely) on Whitely Creek and subsequently married a man named Peter Walden. 

The new couple and the younger children (including Sally) moved west to Post St. Vincent (or Vincennes) on the Wabash River in what later became Indiana.  Elias Stone, who was much older than his sister Sally, did not move west but stayed in Pennsylvania.  He is documented as founding and laying out the town of Greensboro, Pennsylvania on property his wife had acquired during this time frame.  But that's another blog post.  

Back on the Wabash, things didn't go so well.  Peter, the newspaper indicates, was "killed by the natives" in the territory and Sally's mother married again to a man named Lewis Surveyor.

No specific dates are provided for their time in Vincennes but we know that General George Rogers Clark, accompanied by other family-- 5th great grandfather, Tobias Brashear and his brother Richard, took the town from the British in February of 1779.  I assume, Sally and family came along shortly after the Revolution had ended in 1782.  

Sally would have been of marrying age by about 1789.  She did marry at Vincennes to a local man named James Fullen.  I don't believe they were married long but it is noted by another source she had two small children by him.  

The newspaper article  says at the time of St. Clair's Defeat (Nov 1791) Fullen was dead and Sally was taken captive by the Indians.  The other source, a book called Heroines of Methodism published in 1857 states on page 192 that Fullen fell at St. Clair's Defeat and Sally as a young wife and camp follower, present at the battle, was captured by the Indians.  The book implies that Fullen may have been a civilian camp follower as well but I imagine he would have served the militia during that time.  On the day of the battle, however, they were all (men, women, and children) unwitting combatants.

The battle was an unmitigated slaughter.  St. Clair's Defeat or The Battle of the Wabash, is characterized as the most decisive loss in all of US Army history.  The casualty rate was 97.4%. 

 The following paragraph is taken from an article called "The Battle of the Wabash: The Forgotten Disaster of the Indian Wars" by Patrick Feng found here...  https://armyhistory.org/. 

The battle raged on for four hours. Women who accompanied the army fought desperately alongside the men and were also among the slaughtered. St. Clair finally ordered the camp abandoned, leaving behind the badly wounded and supplies, and led a breakout charge. Those who survived headed for Fort Jefferson. The rest were scalped, tortured, and murdered, including women and children. Of the 1,400 regulars, levies, and militia, 918 were killed and 276 wounded. Almost half of the entire U.S. Army was either dead or wounded in the aftermath of St. Clair’s Defeat.

The Indian combatants at the Wabash were a confederation of nations including Miami, Shawnee, Delaware and Potawatomi.  Descriptions of this battle stress an extreme level of callous brutality.  Custer's last stand did not happen for another 85 years and did not account for a 1/3 of the lopsided losses experienced at The Battle of the Wabash.

Sally was quoted by the newspaper saying she "believed her husband was dead."  This speaks to the chaos of the battle. She never saw his body.  Or if she did, she didn't have time to confirm if he was alive or not. No doubt all her efforts were focused on protecting her infants and herself.  She and one child survived the battle.  It is not known what tribe took her but she would spend many anxious months in captivity.  Her only remaining child did not survive the ordeal in the wilderness.  

After wandering the back woods with her Indian captors for 11 months, the party crossed paths with a French trader named Te Bo who paid a ransom for Sally and brought her to his home in Detroit where the Heroines book says she was "kindly treated."  Eventually she was carried East to the State of New York.

In New York she apparently was able to pick up life as usual.  She married again on the 13th of November, 1793 to a man named John Jay AcMoody.  They had three boys and one daughter before his death in 1806.

When she reached out to the newspaper in 1819 about finding the family of her childhood she was still living in Elmira, New York with a third husband named Tobias Gearhart and three additional children by him-- a girl and two boys aged 11, 9 and 6.  All her living children were born in Elmira.  She had 7 children between the ages of 25 and 6;  not counting the two she lost in the west.

I don't know if she found any of her Stone family as a result of her inquiries.  It's not clear if any of her full siblings were alive in 1819.  Her half brother Elias Stone was alive and still in Greene County, Pennsylvania according to the 1820 US Census.  I hope she was able to reconnect.  He passed away in 1823 at the age of  83.

Sarah died in Elmira ten years later at 60 years 9 months and 21 days according to her tombstone.  It's nearly unimaginable the things she experienced in her lifetime.  What a difficult world she knew, yet she persevered and was able to raise two families.  The Heroines book says this about her...

It is simply stated that for a number of years she was a believer in Christ; knew the power of the Gospel; loved the house of God; loved devotion, and died in the triumphs of faith.

Those words are reminiscent of the syrupy platitudes often found in older obituaries and books like this, but certainly there is truth in them.  This lady endured unspeakable horror and no doubt lived with it the rest of her life.  I'd say she had super-human inner strength. In my mind it could only have been divinely appropriated.

Here is the newspaper article as it appeared in the July 23rd, 1819 edition of the Susquehanna Democrat:

Here is Sally Stone in my Tree at Ancestry...

https://www.ancestry.com/family-tree/person/tree/47397879/person/192346095959/facts

A Memorable Sipsey Wilderness Trip

February 16, 2017 marked my 49th birthday.  It was a great week culminating with an enthusiastically anticipated trip to the Sipsey Wilderness Area in north Alabama with several guys from Church.  Sipsey has been a favorite hiking destination since I became familiar with it during my three boys’ scouting days.  I am not sure how many trips I had made to Sipsey before the ill-fated one described here– at least five.

Sipsey is beautiful.  The internet says it is 25,000 acres.  Located within the larger Bankhead National Forest in a hilly portion of northwestern Alabama, it certainly is wilderness.  There is no cell coverage within the whole network of trails.  But the hiking is great.  There are hardwood forested rocky hills, clear streams and a few waterfalls.  Arguably, it is the best hiking within a four hour drive of Jackson, Mississippi.

The weather was perfect that weekend.  I don’t know if Billy Dempsey had arranged for that, but he did manage to wrangle the Church van for our trip.  The seven of us headed out for Alabama Friday afternoon.  We overnighted at a hotel that night and landed at Thompson Trailhead about 11am on Saturday morning.  After a little hiking we found one of the preferred campsites along Sipsey Creek and made camp.

 

Jeremiah, Sebastian and Griffin

The next morning we decided to include a side hike to the big tree.  The big tree is supposedly the largest tree in Alabama.  It sits in a ravine or bowl-like area nearly in the center of the Wilderness Area--  a good five miles from the nearest trailhead.  During rainy times, there are a couple waterfalls that make the setting impressive indeed.  It’s a very big tree.  I can attest that it takes 7 scouts with outstretched arms to make a ring around it.

Along the trail

The trail to the big tree was still suffering the effects of a not-so-recent tornado.  There were many trees down across the path.  As hiking goes, it was moderately difficult.  At 2pm we were about 200 yards shy of the big tree.  After the umpteenth log crossing I came to three trees down in my path.  Instead of stepping between them, I ill advisedly stepped on top of one and attempted to hop over the other two.  My foot slipped and I went down pretty hard landing on my back and wedged between two trunks. I was dazed.  I remember looking up at Bill Hatcliff’s face who had been right behind me.  He had a pained look of anticipation as though he was about to hear a blood curdling scream. Stooped over with both hands outstretched he asked if I was ok.  

I remember thinking that I felt ok but something wasn't right.  I was looking at the bottom of my shoe when I should be seeing the laces.  My right foot had bent at the ankle towards the left until it was 180 degrees from normal.  It was obviously broken or at the very least horribly dislocated.  But oddly, it didn’t hurt.  The magnitude of my situation was slowly sinking in.  My head was a blur of,  “no, no, no ,no,  this isn’t happening.”   Before I realized it, my foot was put back in the natural position and sticks were tied to either side to keep it there.  I’m pretty sure Bill did most of that.

The other guys were all around by then.  It was clear our trip was over.  We won’t be seeing the big tree-- I needed medical care.  I felt terrible for bringing our hike to a screeching halt.  But there was nothing to do but face facts.  We needed to somehow get me the 5 miles out to our van at the trailhead.  

The first real pain I felt is when we sat me up to make an attempt at walking out with someone under both of my arms.  We didn’t get 2 steps.  Even the tiniest bit of pressure put on that ankle was excruciating.  I knew immediately that I was not going out vertically. 

There was a lot of discussion.  It was decided that two of our party would hike out and get help.  By then, it was about 3pm.  Billy and Sebastian Bjernegard hiked out.  Billy told me later he hiked about 18 miles that day in total.  It would be nearly dark before they made it to the trailhead and certainly dark for any return trip.  I figured a rescue team would wait for daylight before coming in after me so the remaining five of us got comfortable right there on the trail.  Griffin and Jeremiah made a small fire as it got dark and we ate some of our snacks.  At some point there was a visit from a scout leader whose troop had moved in and camped just down the trail.  They offered help but there was really nothing to do but wait.

It got really dark.  I was feeling pretty good so long as I stayed still. We just passed the time waiting for morning.  With the fire going it was almost like a normal night camping.  Then about 9pm we saw lights coming up the trail.  As they got closer, it looked like an army.  There were 15 or so EMT types climbing the hill.  Headlamps, fireman coats, heavy boots, helmets, radios and other gear.  We were very surprised to see them.  Billy and Sebastian had guided them in.

There was some shuffling around but the crowd seemed oddly quiet.  An EMT bent down and looked at my leg.  Not saying much, he sat down beside me.  That’s when I noticed nearly all of them were either hunched over with their hands on their knees or had sat down on the nearest rock or downed tree.  It dawned on me that they had just hiked 5 somewhat strenuous miles in full gear at night.  None of them had brought water.  None of them were wearing anything close to hiking boots.

I heard one of them attempting to radio back to the trailhead where they had set up a command center.  He gave up and announced there was no communication in or out.  Radios and cell phones just didn’t work this far out.

The guy sitting beside me called another EMT over and told him, “I hate to say this, but I don’t feel so good.”  Some of these guys were bigger than me-- and I’m pretty big for a hiker. I began to worry that my broken leg had fallen a few notches down our collective triage list.  There may be some heart concerns more pressing at the moment.  Our guys began dispensing water to the EMT’s.  We had to filter more out of the creek to keep up with demand.  

After a bit, the group got more talkative.  The reason for the big crowd became apparent when someone said the dispatcher had stretched the truth a little bit.  Speaking of my situation, he broadcasted something about an 18 year old cheerleader stuck in the woods.  That would also explain why they were so dejected at the moment.  

There was discussion about next steps.  Someone mentioned airlifting.  It sounded like a few of them were concerned that there was nothing for them to do. 

As they regained composure, a majority of them began heading back down the trail.  The crowd was thinning.  By 11pm there were only 5 of my rescue army remaining-- the crew with the orange plastic stretcher.  I was thankful because they seemed the most capable of getting my big self to the trailhead and waiting ambulance.  This remaining crew turned out to be the Moulton Alabama Volunteer Fire Department--  and they were a Godsend.

Chief Jolly brought some enthusiasm to the situation.  He was ready to move.  After getting me on board, they arranged themselves around the stretcher.  They used straps with the intent of dragging me down the trail.  One of our guys, Ken Seawright, would be our point man and keep us on the right path the whole way.

The first 100 yards or so were excruciating.  Every 6 feet we had another obstacle for me to go over or get dragged underneath.  I was in and out of the stretcher.  If I couldn't fit under a downed tree, I’d be set on top of it and my legs would get carried over.  Then I’d hobble back down into the stretcher.  Once we finally cleared the “Big Tree Trail” and got on the more traveled path things got better.  The ground was more even and the trail was more clear of obstacles.  

Ken, Matthew, Chief Jolly, Collis, Dwayne
and hiking buddy, Ken Seawright

Moulton can be proud of their volunteer fire department.  They worked extremely hard pulling me through Sipsey.  All of those guys are standouts in my book.  Collis, who introduced himself as “The black lumberjack,” had come straight from a Sunday evening Church service when he got the call.  I remember looking up and seeing his dark slacks and white dress shirt getting more and more dirty as the night wore on.  I hoped he hadn’t completely ruined his Church clothes.

Matthew was the young one.  I remember him debating whether he would go to class the next day.  Dwayne pulled like a madman and Ken would offer me water every so often even though I was doing nothing but watching the trees go by on my back.

They all kept their humor.  I was ribbed for having gone to the center of the wilderness area to break a leg.  “The rocks and trees look just the same at the trailhead. Why do you have to go five miles in?”

As the night wore on, we made some progress down the trail eventually getting within choppy radio contact with the folks at the trailhead.  It may have been about 3am at that point.  I heard the talk back and forth.  Airlift?  No, the Park Service won’t allow it unless it is life and death.  Chief Jolly says, “Life and death?  We could make that argument.”  The group decided to take a break.  We all tried to sleep.

Before daybreak the Moulton crew was back at it.  They were relentless.  I was carried over streams and dragged between boulders and around trees.  We made more progress.  Things felt much better in the foggy morning light.  Another EMT crew met us on the trail.  They had water and snacks. The closer we got, the better the radio reception.  We began hearing a helicopter.  I was not crazy about the idea of a helicopter ride.  How much would that cost?  Can they drop a basket through the tree canopy?

When we were about a mile out, the radio voices suggested that airlifting was now an option.  What did we want to do?  Part of me wanted this over fast but I still wasn’t crazy about getting lifted out in a basket.  Chief Jolly sealed it when he knelt beside me and said his crew had gotten me this far and it would mean a lot to them to carry it through.  You gotta respect a man with a mission.  Carry on!

We got off the trail about 10am.  There were numerous emergency vehicles at the trailhead and at least one news van.  We were told the helicopter we had been hearing was a news helicopter, not a rescue helicopter.  I briefly saw the rest of my hiking crew as I was put in the back of an ambulance.  The doors closed and I watched the scene get smaller through the back windows as we drove off.  The EMT slipped my shoe off and started cutting my sock.  The grossly swollen skin on my ankle was every color of the rainbow.  I took a picture with my phone.  

The ride out

As the ambulance maneuvered out of the wilderness and into the land of cell coverage, my phone began to blow up.  I got messages from people I hadn’t heard from since high school.  Apparently, the story had gotten out far and wide.  It must have been a really slow news day because my story made all the newscasts and print media outlets across several states.  Even today, a google search pulls up the story out of the Washington Times.  “Mississippi man rescued in Alabama forest after accident.”

I called my wife and gave her a rundown of the previous 24 hours.  Things were looking up.  My ambulance ride ended at the hospital in Jasper, Alabama.  Billy’s wife, Debbie, was there.  I  think she beat Billy and the guys if I remember right.  It was great to see a familiar face.  A couple x-rays later and I was in the Church van on the road home with a new boot, a pair of crutches and instructions to see an orthopedic surgeon as soon as possible.

In Jackson the next day, I found out I had broken my fibula (the smaller of the two calf bones) and a couple bones in my ankle.  Surgery was scheduled right away.  In the waiting room, I got a text from the wife of one of the scout leaders who had been just down the hill from us Sunday night.  No idea how they got my phone number.  They were thinking about me and wanted an update.  The number of well wishers was humbling and encouraging.  

I don’t remember much of the surgery.  They put a few pins in my ankle and a rod from just below my knee to my ankle.  The leg was closed up with 45 staples and I was scheduled for many months of physical therapy.  It took a full year to get back to normal.

Lot’s of time to reflect.  It’s humbling to be the one who’s down and out. You learn a lot in those times.   I generally don’t like attention.  My comfort zone consists of quietly maintaining the status quo somewhere under the radar and out of the line of fire.  

I was embarrassed at having been the one to ruin a great hiking trip.  Compound the extraordinary effort put forth by my hiking buddies and so many EMT types (some of them volunteers) all solely for my benefit and the crazy news coverage of my plight and you have a perfect brew for an introvert’s nightmare.  

I look back and hope I mustered up enough communicative skills at the time to show my appreciation for all the effort that went into getting me off the trail.  I thought about that a lot after getting back to Jackson.  Back in the surgery waiting room, I looked up the address of Dreamland BBQ in Tuscaloosa.  I had them send a full meal to the Moulton Volunteer Fire Department.  I hope that went a little way in repaying the favor.

Six years later, the surgery scar on my leg is almost unnoticeable and I rarely feel any evidence that there was ever any damage.   I’d call it 100% recovery.  I haven't been back to Sipsey, but I haven’t ruled it out either.

I think I found Polly

 Every now and then, I will check my DNA matches at Ancestry to see who's new.  This morning I noticed  a match from north Mississippi.  It's always exciting to get a "local" match.  My match is an 88 year old gentleman with an associated family tree of only 2 individuals.  We match 24cM across one chromosome segment and have over 100 shared cousin matches.  Thirteen of our shared cousin matches have a known (per ancestry.com) common ancestor with me.  Every one of those are McBride matches.  This is extremely good evidence that the most recent common ancestor shared by me and my 88 year old cousin is a McBride ancestor.  Unfortunately, his less than developed tree wasn't going to tell me exactly how we connect.

As I was up pretty early and had some time to kill, I created my own tree for this new match.  I wanted to find out how he ties into my McBride family.  He has a relatively unusual name so I was quickly able to determine his parents.  From there, I was able to knit together his tree to a great great grandmother on his father's side, Mary "Polly" McBride, born around 1815.   She married a William Hartsfield in Lauderdale County, Alabama in 1834.  There is our McBride match!

Everyone at ancestry who has Mary and William Hartsfield in their tree show Mary's father as Thomas McBride born in Tennessee in 1790.  Most then show Thomas' father as Hugh McBride (1770) of Bedford County, Tennessee.  I am familiar with Hugh and have pretty much determined his McBride's do not jive with mine except maybe way way back in Ireland or Scotland.  Previous DNA research has pretty much concluded that on this side of the pond, Hugh's family is not my family.  So, it is logical to me that my new match's great great grandmother's father is not the McBride who people are saying.

I looked at my own tree to see if I had a Mary "Polly" McBride born about 1815.  I did!  The last child of my 4th great grandfather, James McBride, was Mary "Polly" McBride, born about 1815.  My tree showed she did not live through infancy.  So does every other tree that has her.  But, now that I look in earnest, I can't find any record evidence that she died in infancy.  The only real evidence I have that she existed was a letter by 2x great uncle, James Louis McBride (1820-1905).  He names all of his grandfather's children...

...James was my granfather. His first wife was a Brock. She had 4 children before she died, 3 sons and 1 daughter, John was the oldest, was my father, next Sharword then William next Kisey (Kesiah).

My granfather second wife was a Jackson. She had 4 children 3 boys and 1 girl, Daniel, Jefferson and Solomon and Polly (Mary).

There was Polly- right at the tail end.  The letter doesn't say she died in infancy.  Nothing I can find says she died in infancy.  I think she is the Polly McBride that married William Hartsfield and here's why...

1. I have this DNA cousin match who is a descendent of Polly McBride Hartsfield (1814-1901).  He is certainly a McBride family match.  We share 24cM of McBride DNA.  Assuming Polly is who I think she is, my cousin match is a fourth cousin once removed.  Record evidence proves he is a great great grandson of Mary Polly McBride and William Hartsfield.

2.  My evidence for Polly's existence is a letter written by her nephew.  How many nephews would know the name of an Aunt that died in infancy years before he was born?  It's more likely that he knew his Aunt Polly.

3.  Polly married in Lauderdale County, Alabama at the same time (1834) my McBride's were living in Lauderdale County.  Specifically,  they were living 10 miles east of Florence, Alabama on the Tennessee River.  Sherwood McBride (mentioned in letter above), who I believe is Polly's half brother, patented property in Lauderdale County.  That property is now underneath Wilson lake.  Sherwood and Polly's father, James and James' second wife Sarah Jackson, were living on that same property with Sherwood from the 1810's to the 1830's.  

4. Shortly after 1834, the McBride family moved to various locations in Mississippi from Lauderdale County, Alabama.  The father, James and a daughter moved to Ripley, in Tippah County, Mississippi.  A brother, John, moved to what became Holmes County, Mississippi.  At the same time, Polly and her new husband, William Hartsfield, moved to Itawamba County, Mississippi (just across the State line).  By 1839, Sherwood McBride and his family were also living in Itawamba County.

5.  Polly who married Wm. Hartsfield was born at the right time to be the last child of James McBride and Sarah Jackson.  

6. Polly was in the right location to have been born to James and Sarah.  Polly's census records from 1850 to 1900 say she was born in Alabama.  Her marriage record is from Lauderdale County.  It is possible she was actually born in Lincoln County, Tennessee where James and Sarah were living before the move to Lauderdale County, Alabama.  But the move was right around 1814.  So conceivably, she could have been born at either location, but she would only have remembered Alabama, given her age at the time of the move.

7. None of the trees online that show Mary's father as Thomas McBride have any evidence of that relationship.  Thomas did live in Lauderdale County, but so did my McBride's.

8. Update:  Since posting this blog entry, I've found 3 other DNA matches who descend from Polly McBride & William Hartsfield and whose shared matches support the supposition that our connection is along the James McBride line.

So as a result of this foray into the trees of some DNA cousins, I have edited my tree to show Polly did not die in infancy but married William Hartsfield, had ten children and outlived her husband by 30 years.  She passed in 1901 while living with her youngest daughter in Johnson County, Texas.

Here is a link to Polly in my tree...

https://www.ancestry.com/family-tree/person/tree/47397879/person/24016321904/facts