The Women on My Family Tree!

I began my genealogy work in 2000 on Texas slaves and with the exception of one or two instances did I find more than the who begat who type of information.

While on the trail of a man who I thought was my mother-in-law’s great-grandfather, I found an intriguing story. The story included his life on a plantation in Kentucky, about him crossing into Tennessee so that he could join the Union army and serve in the Civil War, about him traveling to Texas and then losing his wife and children in the 1900 Galveston hurricane, about his survival and about his remarriage and life in Houston to a woman with whom he lived for 30 years. But on each census their marital status was recorded as single, divorced and then married, although they were indeed married for the entire time. I obtained his Civil War veteran’s application and read accounts about his life in his own words and in the words of his friends and neighbors who had known him and vouched for him. The final items in his pension application were letters from his daughter appealing to President Franklin Roosevelt for access to her deceased father’s pension. Her letters revealed very much about her life and were deeply moving. I’d found a story so full of detail, pathos and joy. But then I found out that Jacob was not my mother-in-law’s great grandfather. And to me deep sorrow, there was no one from Jacob lineage that survived him with whom I could share what I’d found.

I only recently began to take a deep look into my own Louisiana roots. And I hoped to find something significant along the branches of my own family tree. After looking for 4 years, in 2021, I stumbled across a treasure-trove of information about the lives of my Morgan, Riggs and Gibson ancestors who were slaves on various plantations in St Martin and St Mary Parishes. Interspersed in the letters between John Palfrey father and son about family travels, travails and community gossip, were mentions of Bob, Aimy, Fannie, Mimy, Sam, Jim and other slaves. Words about how they lived, worked, brought forth new life, fought to live and died on the father’s St Martin Ricohoc Plantation. I was often left without words after reading some of the letters and journal entries.

In those letters and journal entries, much was written about the work performed by men. Women were mentioned sometimes in work related tasks or accomplishments. But it was the less tangible things that were written about them that pierced my spirit and spoke volumes about their existence. And so, I want to pull out a few threads about those women; Aimy, Mimy, Sally, Elsey No.2 and Clara. Clara was not a DNA ancestor–her lineage is the Marshall family of St. Mary Parish and Brooklyn, New York. I feel that Clara was something else and I’ll write about her last.

Aimy

Aimy was the mother of Robert aka ‘Bob’ Gibson, my fourth great grandfather; the grandmother of Elsie Gibson, my third great grandmother; the great grandmother of Martha Morgan, my second great grandmother; and my mother’s great great-grandmother.

The first words written about her appear on the March 9, 1811 sale of Relf & Chew to John Palfrey of twenty-one slaves. Aimy, thirty-five and her five children: Tom, Bob, Joe, Ben and Fanny were named. In subsequent letters, John Palfrey returns 8 slaves back to Relf & Chew who in turn sells them to Isaac Baldwin. But seemingly, the family unit of Aimy and her five children stay intact.

The next mention of Aimy comes on June 4, 1833 when she would have been fifty-seven years old. Aimy is mentioned when her only daughter, Fanny, dies. Palfrey’s letter to his son details how Fanny had been somewhat unwell for 2-3 months and was thought to have been suffering from and been treated for cholera. Palfrey writes that the day had been ‘quite warm’ and that it is believed that Fanny who was pregnant may have been more overheated than usual. He wrote that she may have bathed in a clay watering hole in an effort to cool down. Fanny died on a Sunday, “a little before noon, …about twelve hours from her first attack.”

He wrote about Aimy, “Aimy is the picture of woe & a damp appears to be come on the spirits of all…I was afraid that poor old Aimy would lose what little sense she possesses, she came to me shortly after Fanny expired & asked me for a sheet to wrap up her poor baby. With that under her arm she then went & fed the chickens as tho unconscious of what had happened.” He further writes, “I said nothing to her as it was best to let her go on in her own way, she is now much more composed & attends to her usual regimen of work which keeps her mind from being altogether engrossed by her loss, time will I hope alleviate her distress, she sheds tears often which is no doubt is a service to her.”

Aimy’s grief is palpable, even in the words of the letter. She mourns for her lost child, weeps, seeks to care for her burial and then feeds the chickens. No words!

Aimy is next mentioned in Palfrey’s March 17, 1835 letter. He wrote that she had fallen down the corn mill stairs and was injured and was most likely knocked unconscious. Aimy is then bled and confined to bed. Bled! Why! Was she bled to prevent blood clotting problems? In spite of being bled or maybe because she was bled, Aimy survived. Palfrey wrote that she complained of problems with her neck.

Aimy is next written about in Palfrey’s April 14, 1839 letter in which he wrote of his own grief in the loss of his daughter-in-law. He wrote that, “Poor good old Aimy died on the 5th instant (March 5) in less than half an hour after she was attacked, she had been as well as usual for some time past, came down in the morning, attended to her ?? said duties, went to the well brought a bucket of water as far as the kitchen, was led from thence to her cabin & expired in less than 20 minutes, these losses have cast a gloom on all around & everyone seems dispirited.”

Those were the last mentions on Aimy that I’ve been able to find. I just did the math on when Aimy was born–she was born about 1776. Her age was recorded as 35 on the 1811 sale between Relf & Chew and John Palfrey. I can’t move on just yet, I am letting that sink in. Aimy had been doing as well as usual since her fall down the corn mill stairs in 1835 when she would have been fifty-nine. Through the years from 1811 to 1839, she’d been attending to her duties. I don’t know what words were spoken over Aimy upon her passing, but since learning of her, I periodically speak words over her and to her, thanking her for her resolute strength. I am, because of who Aimy was.

Mima ‘Mimy’

Sally Was A Runner!

Best,