John Robert Colvin, Sr. and the Pilsch’s of Maryland.

1880 U.S. Federal Census, Washington, D.C., showing John R. Colvin and his 1st wife, along with their son, as well as John’s mother-in-law, Lucinda Knox.

The lines of descent from James W. Colvin continue to fascinate me. Recently I researched the heirs of his eldest son, John Robert Colvin, Sr., who married into the Pilsch family of Maryland.  Seeing  his original  ”mulatto” designation made me wonder how many generations it continued. Turns out, it ended abruptly upon his marriage to Fannie Knox. Yet this sudden change point out how sometimes genealogy is a study in sharp contrasts, sometimes occurring as rapidly as within the same generation. While John Robert’s sister, Catherine “Katy” Bell Colvin married into the Tapscot line and continued a mulatto line for several generations, such was not the case for her brother.

Elizabeth “Lizzie” C. Pilsch was born in Maryland in 1871 to Jacob Pilsch, Sr., and Elizabeth Edmeads. Her parents were of a split heritage; her mother was born in England, having immigrated with her parents aboard the vessel “Independence” in 1847,  and her father, Jacob Pilsch was from a more established line of Pilsches of Maryland. In the 1880s, just prior to marrying John Robert Colvin, Sr., she lived at home in Baltimore where her  father, Jacob, was an established grocer. At that time, her family consisted of her parents and seven siblings – three brothers and  three sisters, among whom she was the third eldest child, and  the first daughter. They resided  at 475 North Gray Street.

Elizabeth married John Robert Colvin, Sr. in 1892, according to the 1900 census. By that time, John had fathered four sons with his previous wife, Fannie Knox, who he is believed to have married between 1870-1879. However, by 1879, following the birth of their last son, Thomas S. Colvin, born in August 1879, in Washington, D.C., Fannie no longer appears in the records and is presumed deceased.

John Robert Colvin, Sr., was born in 1853 on the  Fauquier County, Virginia homestead  and was the eldest son of James W. Colvin. He was the first born of  seven siblings, which consisted of  (like Elizabeth’s siblings,) three brothers and three sisters. Like his other siblings, John Robert Colvin is first found in the 1860 census in the Preston household with his father, and is enumerated as “John Preston’;  he is likewise enumerated as “mulatto.” This racial designation remains in the 1870 census, by which time, however,  his surname has changed to Colvin and his father, James W. is heading the household, His mother is listed as Alethea. An earlier investigation has determined that Alethea Preston, a mulatto, was the mother of all of James W. Colvin’s children. This is the last census where John R Colvin or any of his heirs are racially identified as “mulatto.”

By 1880, John R. Colvin, Sr., was living in Washington D.C. working as a carpenter, heading his own household which consisted of his wife, Fannie Knox, and their first son, as well as his mother-in-law, Lucinda Knox. In this census, John’s racial classification has changed to “white.” Between 1882-1889, Fannie bore another three children. Though exactly when and where she died is yet unknown, it may be she died giving birth to her last son, Thomas S. Colvin born August 1889, in Washington, D.C. What is clear is that by 1892, John had re-married to Elizabeth Pilsch of Maryland, although where they married is yet unclear. Nevertheless, in 1900, they told federal census enumerators they’d been married eight years. John gave his occupation as boat laborer. By now, too John had fathered two addition children, a son and daughter born between 1894-1898. And they’d relocated to 637 8^th Street Northeast. By 1910, John and Elizabeth had increased their family with two addition sons and two daughters, born between 1901-1909, bringing them a total of  6 children, and making John the sire of  ten heirs between two wives.

By this time, too, John’s  eldest daughter, Columbia F. Colvin (born January 1892, in Washington, D.C., while her father was still married to Fannie Knox,) had married into the Pilsch clan also. She married Jacob Pilsch, Jr., (born February 17 1880 in Maryland) the brother of her father’s second wife, around 1905, an estimation based on their claim in the 1910 census that they had been married “5” years. In fact, the pair can be found under John Robert Colvin, Sr.’s roof in that Washington D.C. 1910 census, along with their first three children. John Robert Colvin, Sr. gave his occupation as “laborer,” and his son-in-law stated his occupation as “machinist” at an iron works plant.

John Robert Colvin, Sr. is believed to have died in 1929, in Washington, D.C.; his wife Elizabeth outlived him by a few years.  By 1930, she was living in the home of her 2^nd eldest daughter, Mary Dorothy Colvin. She is believed deceased by 1936. Neither her nor her husband’s burial locations are currently known.

Sources:

U.S. Federal census, 1850-1870, Fauquier County Virginia

U.S. Federal Census, 1880-1930 Washington, D.C.

U.S. Federal Census , 1870-1880, Baltimore, Maryland

Pilgrim’s Rest and the Colvins.

Pilgrim’s Rest, 1930s. Image from America Historical Building Survey Collection, Library of Congress

In 1938, Susan Morton, a worker with the Virginia Historical Inventory, a preservation-minded program under  F.D. R.’s  Works Progress Administration,  visited Pilgrim’s Rest, because her agency was tasked with inventorying old properties throughout Virginia. Being one of the oldest estates in the county, dating  to the early 18th century, Pilgrim’s Rest fit the criteria perfectly.  She’d visited and reported on other Colvin estates in the area such as Truro, Hazelwood, and Tenerife — all of  which  belonged to members of the particular  family  I have been studying for some time, but none of those homes, while old and certainly historically valuable,  would make it onto the National Register of Historic Places.

Very recently, as luck would have it, Elizabeth Colvin, grand-daughter of Bruce Steel Colvin, and  great-granddaughter of  Dr. Henry Lynn Colvin, stumbled upon this blog and contacted me with compliments for my efforts and kindly offered to assist if she could.  Offers like hers are always a welcomed highlight of this sort of work, and I am always gratified when this blog get that kind of attention.  That’s because her g-grandfather was the first Colvin to come into possession of that venerable old home which had been in place for well-nigh three centuries. The lands today are highly prized by archeologists for its abundance of pre-historic Native American artifacts.

Pilgrims Rest is significant not only because its architecture represents old Tidewater style, (the double-chimney is a dead giveaway,) but because it sits on land which was once part of the original Foote tract. Those who know Piedmont Virginia history know that Richard Foote and his compatriots (fellow developers, as it were) Robert Bristow, Nicholas Hayward, and George Brent, had received their patents totaling  some 3,000 acres directly from the crown (that’s King James II.) The quartet thought things would work out if they invited scores of Huguenots (outcast French Catholics) to settle in their new idea for a neighborhood to be called Brent Town. It was named after George Brent who was — you guessed it  –  a Catholic from neighboring Stafford County. But things didn’t work out the way they planned. The Huguenots never came, mostly due to terrible marketing ideas in Europe by the four, and competition by others wanting immigrant settlers just as badly, and so, slowly  those huge tracts dwindled either via direct sale or lineal passage to smaller and smaller ones. But the home, Pilgrims Rest, remained, eventually passing – along with some 640-acres –    to Rev. Levi Hazen (a Methodist minister)  who by 1849  re-christen his plantation Mt. Wesley. (After  Methodism founder, Rev. John Wesley,  no doubt) It was the good minister’s grandson, Melvin Colvin Hazen, who acquired the property in the early 20th century and re-renamed it Pilgrim’s Rest.   It was this “Melvin Hazen” who is named in her  1930s WPA report  by  Susan Morton when she was out trekking around old homes in the area during that goliath New Deal historical project. And it was that same Melvin, again, who was visited by folks from the Historic American Building Survey during the same period, and whom, after taking their notes and measurements,  took some of the only 1930s-era photos of the place known to exist and which are now safely housed with the Library of Congress.

It was during those New Deal years, however, that three nephews of Melvin Colvin Hazen  first acquired Pilgrims Rest – bringing it officially into the Colvin family for the first time. And in the 1940s, Elizabeth’s great-granddaddy, Dr. Henry Lynn Colvin, a Washington, D.C.-based pediatrician,  bought out his cousin’s shares and acquired the estate and who performed  some restoration and renovations  in 1956 but by 1982 it passed out of the family, sold by Dr. Colvin’s widow, Virginia Colvin [nee Steel] to Dr. and Mrs. Thom Thomassen.  In 1993, the Thomassens, in turn, sold the estate to Dr. and Mrs. Rodney J. Klima, the current owners.   According to his website, Dr. Klima is a Fairfax-based orthodontist.  Nevertheless, by  1989, it had acquired enough historic features to become an applicant for listing with the National  Registry of Historic Places. In addition to helping restore the main house,  between 1996-1998 The Klimas salvaged the 18th–century Kinsley Granary which had languished, dilapidated and  abandoned, near its original site along what had been Broad Run. That water course was flooded in 1968 to create Lake Manassas to expand the County’s water supply. Threatened with submersion, the Klimas bought the structure from the county and had its two-stories worth of stone and beams hauled in pieces to its new site at Pilgrim’s Rest where they restored enough of it to not only re-purpose it as a guest house, (which is not as much of a re-incarnation as you might imagine,) but to included it along with Pilgrim’s Rest in their application to the National Registry of Historic Places.

By 2004,  Pilgrim’s Rest took its honorary place on that valuable directory, by whom it is today protected. The fate of the Granary-turned-guest house is as yet undetermined.

Now you know.

Sources:

Department of Finance, Prince William County , Virginia

Pilgrim’s Rest registration forms 1989, 2004, National Register of Historic Places

Morton, Susan, WPA Virginia Historical Inventory report # 191, Pilgrim’s Rest, 1938

James II: Maria F. Walker death notice found.

Source: Alexanderia Gazette & Virginia Advertiser 29 June 1852 pp 2 col 5.

In my last post, I wrote about the good fortune of becoming acquainted with one of James W. Colvin’ s living descendant who also had images of James and many of his descendants as well as the cabin he built and which he and his  2nd wife, a mulatto named Alethea Preston, called home. In this post, we turn to James’s 1st wife, Maria F. Walker who predeceased James by quite a few years.

Knowing exactly when Maria died has been something of a mystery owing to so little documentation surviving regarding this couple. The census records, for example, tell us James and Maria had been together in 1840 and 1850 and their marriage records tell us they were married in 1836. But the census records are also revealing for what items are conspicuous by their absence  – listing of children. During their time together — some 16 years of marriage, not one heir is listed in the 20 years covered by the two census where they appear together.  To confuse matters further, in the 1860 census, James appears in the household of  Allen Preston where Alethea is also present as are small children — all surnamed Preston. Ergo, without a fixed date of Maria Colvin’s death, it was only a matter of speculation as to which of these children were Maria’s and which were Alethea’s. There seemed no question but that they were James’s since their names and ages fit too precisely with what was already known.  His eldest son, John Robert Colvin, for example,  was born in 1853. But that could mean he was Maria’s, even though he is in the Preston household in 1860, as John Preston, age 6.

With the recently discovered death notice of Maria F. Colvin, the mystery surrounding who bore James’ heirs is resolved. None of James’ children were born during Maria’s lifetime. And now, with the exception of John Roberts Colvin,  the images of every one of the children — four sons and three daughters — are part of  The Colvin Study records,  thanks to their living descendants  who have kept their pictures safe for more than a century and a half.  As a result of  their sense of familial duty and honor this page  of the Colvin family history, seems no longer stained with bigotry and secrecy.

James I: Greetings James.

James W. Colvin, extra-legally m. Alethea Preston 1860-1870, Fauquier County, VA. Their heirs remain in the Fauquier area.
Source: Rene Alston, living descendant.

Received in today’s’ email, this image of James W. Colvin. I recently blogged about James, the ancestor who defied the odds and married outside his race in antebellum Virginia. Then lo and behold, one of his descendants, (I’m guessing she and I are second or third cousins,) contacted me, saying she’d read my blog  and thought I’d appreciate a picture of  James. Imagine the luck!

James’ union with Alethea Preston was either an act of defiance or extreme foolhardiness; there are those researchers who claim his rogue union cost him his family and he was cast out of the Colvin clan. Difficult to say without substantiation. What is known is that when his father, Richard Colvin, Sr. died in 1825 he left some 1,500 acres and numerous slaves to be partitioned off  amongst the heirs and James’ mother, Lydia. James didn’t marry one of  his two slave girls; he married what is likely the mulatto daughter of a WASP farmer like himself — William Preston.

James, though certainly bold, was hardly unique. There were many such marriages throughout the south, but few scholars have dealt with the subject at length except to examine the socio-economic impact, which is to say how these couple fit into the social fabric, which is to say not comfortably.  I’m working my way through numerous journal articles and another half-dozen books covering the broad topic of miscegenation in the antebellum south (Whew!) in the hope of   wrapping my brain around this topic enough to produce a readable article in the not-too-distant future.

Ulrich Bernhart: resolving an evidentiary conflict.

Ulrich Bernhart is the progenitor I noted in my last post who I’d not gotten very far with. In this post, I’m happy to report  his birth year has been fixed and his burial site has been located and, with the help of a willing newbie to genealogy (whom,  we discovered, is a 2nd cousin — always a plus, ) we were able to resolve an evidentiary conflict which was standing in the way of determining his birth year and burial location.  The evidentiary conflict came because of our sometime reliance on experience and unwillingness to see things with fresher eyes. In my own case, I had overlooked some key evidence, and my cousin was relying on family data that was also flawed. Yet together, we resolved the issue.

How?  Our first step was to go back over the data she’s received from family — some of it dating to 1932 by a cousin who’d compiled a family history using older, but well-known secondary sources and had,  in his compilation,  missed key evidence. An aunt had likewise compiled some data, but it played almost no role in the conflict. Here’s how it played out:

Having reviewed the passenger list from the Anderson which arrived in Philadelphia on August 25th, 1751, I found  our progenitor, Ulrich  and his brother, Hans both listed; to  my cousin, Andrea, ( who already had this data,) she was certain Ulrich was b.  1748.  I was not so sure.  Andrea was sure because, according to a  source used by  another of her cousins, the same birth year was given on Ulrich’s tombstone which he’d found referenced in that  oft-cited 1899 edition by Wm. Egle,  Notes And Queries.  In this entry,  Egle listed some names he discovered after strolling  around the older section of a York County Mennonite cemetery. (A cemetery, I believed to be the York Road Cemetery in Hanover, PA, a belief which turned out — also — to be wrong.) Turns out, it is another boneyard rather similarly named,  though situated in Grove Spring.  Seems the Mennonites insist on naming all their cemeteries in York County Mennonite Meetinghouse cemetary. Silly me for not catching that one.  Ergo,  to my stuffy mind,  the guy buried in the Grove Spring cemetary couldn’t be the same guy as the one who arrived in 1751 because, I insisted,  3-year-olds didn’t sign Oaths of Abjuration.   Ta-da! Besides, unlike my cousin,  who had only a transcript of the signatures, I  had an – a-hem — facsimile of both siblings signatures.  Both were mature hands, you see — or so I insisted.  Brothers you say? Yes. We knew they were brothers because Hans had placed an ad in the March 22nd 1764 edition of the Pennsylvania Gazette, (that’s the Ben. Franklin publication, BTW,) seeking Ulrich by name, and noted that they had been apart since their arrival in 1751.  So I had my evidence. What I was ignoring, and which my cousin deftly pointed out,  was that  Ulrich’s signature contained a big fat “X”  There was no big fat  X in Hans’s name. Big oops!

I was making the same mistake as her other cousin, but in a different way.  He too, thought there were two Ulrichs.  It wasn’t until I re-read a few things that I discovered all oath signatories had  to be a minimum  16 years of age to sign. Otherwise someone had to sign for them but they were allowed to put their mark on the page — an X usually, or some fancier version, if they wanted to be distinguished. Like many of the other oath signatories, Ulrich’s name bore an  X because, unlike his elder brother,  Hans, Ulrich wasn’t  signing for himself.  Duh!!  This meant two things: first, Hans was age 16 or above and two, Ulrich who arrived in 1751  was probably that guy  whose headstone Egle found in his stroll in 1899 as he surveyed the Spring Grove cemetery. Highly plausible indeed.  And thus was  our little evidentiary  knot untangled.   Let that be a lesson to us older trouts.

Andrea, if you’re reading this: my apologies,  cuz.   Good call.

Now,  as to who signed for Ulrich? Good question. Maybe his brother, or a sponsor; there’s no evidence among the signatories of a parent aboard that ship. I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

Dr. Steven Deyle & The Bernhardt line.

The two have nothing to do with each other except that both have occupied my time of late — that is to say, since finishing finals.  In the case of Dr. Deyle, I’m enjoying reading his first  book, Carry Me Back,  a very readable scholarly treatment of the Southern domestic slave trade. I chose to try to read it over the school Winter break because I’ll be taking his Junior-level history course, Civil War to Reconstruction come January. As for the Berhardts, that’s my maternal line, and every now and then, I dig a little into it. Have amassed a small collection of worthwhile items and have thus far, traced the line back to Pennsylvania where, in  1794 we find Phillip Bernhardt, my 3rd great (maternal) grandfather, and whose father, according to his Baptism records, was Ulrich Bernhardt. Have nothing on Ulrich yet, but I can say with certainty, these folks were thoroughly Pennsylvanian German.  Found a few obits and grave markers which are always nice finds. My own mother  never spoke much about her German parentage, except to say her father was a strict Lutheran; ( no real surprise there.) and that is was his stern no-nonsense ways that eventually cause her mother (Huberta M. Alexander) to eventually divorce him — Edwards Carlisle “Carl” Bernhardt. What interested me more however is why she always spelled her maiden name Burnhardt, when in all the documentation I’ve seen on this line shows the spelling clearly as Bernhardt.  Seems a small difference, accept when you consider the difference between Calvin and Colvin or Tom and Thom. Maybe it was her small way of distancing herself from an unhappy childhood. We’ll never really know, although my inquiring mind would love to. .

The Bernardo Plantation: diggin’ it.

 

Site of what is belived to be the location of the Plantation's cistern. My classmates and I dig in.

For the past several months, volunteers with Houston Archeological Society along with respected members and leaders in the Texas archaeology community such as Texas Historical Commission, and the Community Archaeology Research Institute of Houston have been spending their Saturdays digging into the vast acreage of what’s known as The Bernardo Plantation in Hempstead. The discovery and subsequent excavation, begun in 2010,  are being hailed in Texas Historical circles as being the most significant archeological find whose historical value is  surpassed only by the much-revered Alamo.

I was privileged to be part of this extraordinary effort this Saturday, manned largely by volunteers on what in clearly a shoestring budget, but whose service to the preservationist cause is admirable if not valiant.

It is one thing, as a genealogist, to understand Texas history from one ‘s own familial documentary evidence; it is another to stand in a place and bear witness to not only  the physical remnants of  Texas history itself — particularly defining Texas history — but to to be fortunate enough to participate in efforts  — to dig the ground — in an effort to safeguard it. I was there with a few classmates from my archeology class, taught by The Bone Detective host himself, (if you watch these sorts of Discovery Channel shows), Scotty Moore, Ph.C., who goes to this project faithfully each Saturday, putting in a full day with the other volunteers.

Thus far ongoing excavations have revealed promising finds: two of  four chimneys located on either end of the main house. In other nearby areas,  digs are underway hoping to uncover what are believed to be, in one location, an outbuilding, and in another, the principle cistern which provided the water supply to the home. In addition it is believed that among the numerous outbuildings,  the home  of the resident doctor who treated, not only  the family, but the numerous slaves, may also be revealed. Needless to say the work is inch-by-inch, with every tiny artifact carefully logged and accounted for.

The Bernardo Plantation’s significance arises from its pivotal role during Texas’s ambition toward sovereignty and war for independence with Mexico.  It was at this site where Sam Houston (with Santa Anna’s considerable army hot on his tail,) encamped with his army long enough to rest and recuperates and to receive the famous Twin Sisters cannons. More regionally, however, Bernardo is also considered the largest cotton plantation in Texas during its reign in the 1820s, comprising some 1500 acres, three miles of which fronted the Brazos River. It is estimated some 100 slaves worked at the plantation. It was truly a privilege to be able to participate in this historic project.