#52 Ancestor Challenge 2019, Week 24, Dear Diary

#52 Ancestor Challenge 2019, Week 23

DEAR DIARY

By the Rev. Dr. Cynthia Forde

            

            Imagine!  Tap into the creativity of your mind and share my experience of joy upon discovering stories about my ancestors in a diary written during 1852-1852.   I was transcribing Martha Brooks’ Diary for inclusion in my book, The Spirit in the South, when I had a happy encounter reading about my fifth great grandparents, Lawrence Bankston and Nancy Ann Henderson who were Martha’s great grandparents. Martha writes about visiting Great Grand Pa and Ma Banxton.   

            Martha kept a diary during the two years she met and dated her future husband, Patrick Stevens.  During that time frame, she describes a ‘frolic where Nicholas Jarrett over-imbibes and embarrasses his sister Rebecca Jarrett Sappington; Martha denounces him with strong words.  Rebecca is another fifth great grandmother.  In the same diary entry, comes the news of how Rebecca and Nicholas’ brother-in-law, John Weaver, died; 

            Martha’s Diary revealed three fascinating pieces of valuable information that produced three essays by Jarrett descendants to include in my book. While I am indeed grateful Martha kept a diary, I don’t know if I can commit my deepest thoughts to perpetuity.   How about you?

MARTHA’S DIARY

1852–1853

Edited with a foreword by Patrick Stevens II. 

All Rights Reserved 1950.

Foreword

100 years after these chronicles and with humility and feelings of inability mingled with pride and affection I undertake this prelude.

Martha was born 1830. Her mother, Prudence Irvin Brooks, died a short while after her birth. She was taken to the heart of Grandpa Isaiah Tucker Irvin,[1]and his wife Isabella Bankston Irvin, who nurtured her through 23 years of her life and gave her in marriage in December, 1853.

Her father, The Rev. Iverson Lewis Brooks,[2]a noted Baptist minister, had taken unto himself during this period two other wives after Prudence; hence Martha missed much of the influence of her pious father, also his intellectual companionship. He taught ancient language several years in Mercer University, then at Penfield, Georgia, and was Principal of the Female Academy; a Mercer Trustee 1840–1845; one of the twenty-six contributors to the Josiah Penfield Fund 1829.

As we read her entries under the successive dates, the human-interest stories of her loved ones, friends, and companions, we find rare trace of ill will towards anyone, and no feeling other than kindness. At her age as she wrote in the privacy of her “Journal” we might expect to find an elated heartbeat when she noted meeting new, eligible gentlemen.

One of the great interests of her Diary is France,[3]a slave girl and her personal maid. France was a big influence in Martha’s selection of a husband near the end of her diary. When she would comment to her friends on her suitors, France would say: “but he is not as pretty as Mr. Stephens.”

Martha married “Mr. Stephens” and took France to Oak Hill. France married Bob Owens and the two helped Martha rear to man and womanhood six boys and five girls, who knew France and Bob only as “Mammy” and “Daddy,” and they, too, had a large family. On one occasion, in the long past remembered as of yesterday, we had a visitor, the distinguished Dr. Patrick H. Mell, then Chancellor of the University of Georgia, a splendid erect, six foot man. Dr. Mell asked to see “Daddy” Owens. Bob was also a big fine fellow. When Bob came in, this followed: Mell extended his hand, “I am glad to see you, and how many and how are your children? I have 13.” Bob answered: “Yassa Master, I’ve got 14 and on the rise.”

Martha devoted her life to the creation of a home for her family. She had the largest selection of beautiful flowers, both garden and hothouse. Her formal garden was a wonder of its day. More than an acre, it had sixteen octagonal beds, each bordered with small boxwood and walks running between all. A large walk around the beds was bordered by large boxwood, and around the whole was a hedge of euonimus (sic). Only traces of this garden now are there.

Martha made Oak Hill the assembly place of the countryside, and now in the garden she lies with her husband and six of her children.

Pat M. Stevens II

Bairdstown, Georgia, September 15, 1950

January 25^thI rode over this morning on horseback to spend the day with Mr. Huguly’s bereaved family tho it is cold, yet it was so bright and clear it was delightful on horseback. I fitted her sacque and a dress lining very nicely. I spent a pleasant day, my little Fanny came back in a rapid lope, leaving Martha [4]who walked way behind. I could scarcely get her to turn out of her course to stop a moment at Mrs. G.’s, whom I wanted to see as she was sick. On leaving little Mary cried to get up behind me and “Fanny” started off so fast, tho Mary fell, yet she would not pause a moment to let me see about it. Marth walked through a nigh way and when I came to the gate, which leads to the house steps, she let me open it for her. Cupid[5]came bounding out wagging his tail to meet me, and Grandpa would have me sit in his room to warm my feet and tell him the news. Grandpa and Ma are talking about getting Mr. Mier,[6]an artist in Washington, to paint their portraits. Dear, good, infirm, old Grandpa, he sent a piece of his and Grandma’s hair and of my great Grand pa and Ma Banxton’s and a piece of sister Lou’s and my Father’s and Mother’s hair to Madison to have me a necklace made.

March 5^th, 1853It is Saturday night and nearly time for me to wash and go to bed. I have just finished Dark Scenes of Historyby James[7] and truly they are dark and bloody scenes, such as make me shudder to read and think of, and yet, as teach us the treachery, meanness and vileness of the human heart, such as puts to examining their own heart.

Well the week is passed and how little I have accomplished. Not a human soul has been here to interrupt the quiet of us three. Yesterday Mr. Barrett, the tax collector, and Mr. Gilbert came to see about painting the house, but they are no company for me. During the first three of four days I did not wish to see anyone. I had the carpets taken up and dusted and the beds scalded, drapery, curtains, etc. washed and now everything is clean, nice and tidy and I feel so comfortable and fixed as I walk about—but alone, utterly alone! Sometimes such a feeling of desolation steals over me for I am naturally of a social and active disposition. If I only had one congenial spirit to loveand to love me—to live for!—I fear such will never be my lot. But as Byron[8]says—None find what they love or might have loved, though accident blind contact and the strong necessity of loving have removed antipathies—we wither from our youth—we gasp away—sick—sick—unfound the boon—unslacked the thirst, though to the last in verge of our decay some phantom lures, such as we sought at first. But all too late—so are we doubly cursed—love—fame—ambition—avarice—’tis the same—each idol, and all the same. For all are with different name, and death the sable snake when vanishes the flame. If I never realize that kind of love, I would that I had a true friendwho could realize my situation and who would sympathize in my joy and sorrows. I had one, but she has gone before, yes—pure and sainted Mary Dallas Lamar[9]you were a friend after my heart. How sweet and pure my thoughts of you sometimes and how refreshing the tears that flow, unbidden, when I think of the peculiar tie that bound us together—now broken forever!!!! Can I ever hope to have such another friend? Cousin Belle might beall my heart can wish, and was, long ago, before her Mother and Grandpa between them caused her to be estranged and suspicious of me. She suspects me of a disposition that I am as far above as you blue skies from me. The fruit of this suspicion causes her to make remarks to me that wound oh, so deeply! I sometimes think Aunt Mary has succeeded at last in making her care nothing for me, and I am her best friend, but as it is, “Thou shalt have no other God but one.” Wherever our minds are too much placed we receive a blight in some way and are taught to not love too much anything earthly. I have many friends whom I love but Mary and cousin were the light of my soul. Mary is no more and cousin tho in this troublesome world yet—is no more to meand I alone, alone, alone—if I only could love Jesus! So Webster said, “Faith in Jesus is all that is worth a thought.”

Sedentary duties, but before we drove off Grandpa observed I had on only a sacque and shawl and remarked I would be cold—called to Babe and sent her for another shawl and made me rap it round close and tight, saying tho I felt warm coming from a warm room, it would be cold enough before our return. He stopped the carriage now and then to tell the hands something who were working on the way. We drove through the large new ground and it seemed almost a mile long, with the logs and brush piled ready for burning and the hands hewing away. Grandpa (Isaiah Tucker Irvin) made Uncle Joe drive round to the Johnson andWeaver old place, and asked Gramma (Isabella Bankston) if she would have known theplace—a mulberry tree, here and there a stray fruit tree (I shall remember the Kell pear treehe pointed out)—lilies and a rose bush—showed man once lived there, but the houses are all raised to the ground and the spot will soon be plowed up, by the plough man. Grandpa then showed me the place where Mr. Weaver was killed as he was returning home from his sons—a windy March day—a tree fell on him and crushed him to death,[10]and at Mr. Johnson’s[11]house Gramma remarked, “I have been to many a frolic here when I was young,[12]and remember well when Letty refused to dance with Nic Jarrett and his sister [13]went out and cried—not because she was hurt with the young lady, but because her only brother had conducted himself so as to be openly insulted—he was very handsome and showy—but dissipated and descensious.”

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[1]Isaiah Tucker Irvin, Martha’s maternal grandfather.

[2]Iverson Lewis Brooks: the son of Martha’s half-brother William Walker Brookes.

[3]France: Martha’s servant (slave).

[4]Marth: a slave, evidently.

[5]Cupid: Here we learn that Martha’s Cupid is a little while poodle, “Cupe.” I wonder whether the artist sketched Cupid?

[6]Mr. Mier: an artist who indeed painted them and the paintings are still with the Irvin family in Washington, Georgia.

[7]Dark Scenes of Historyby G.P.R. James was published in late 1849. 

[8]She is quoting from Lord Byron’s gloomy cantos 124 and 125 from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage:

124 We wither from our youth, we gasp away-

Sick: sick—unfound the boon—unslacked the thirst,

Though to the last, in verge of our decay,

Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first-

But all too late,—so are we doubly curst.

Love, fame, ambition, avarice—’tis the same,

Each idle—and all ill—and none the worst—

For all are meteors with a different name,

And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame.

125 Few—none—find what they love or could have loved,

Though accident, blind contact, and the strong

Necessity of loving, have removed

Antipathies – but to recur, ere long,

Envonomed with irrevocable wrong;

And Circumstance, that unspiritual god

And miscreator, makes and helps along

Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod,

Whose touch turns Hope to dust,—the dust we all have trod.

[9]No record found of Mary Dallas Lamar, Martha’s fast friend.

[10]John Weaver died in March 1803. He was the husband of Elizabeth Jarrett, whose brother was Nic Jarrett.

[11]Nic Jarrett married Elizabeth Johnson 18 February 1800. Elizabeth was a daughter of the Johnsons.

[12]Isabella’s sister, Martha Bankston, was the daughter-in-law of Rebecca Jarrett Sappington, a sister of Nic Jarrett.

[13]It is probable that “Nic” Jarrett’s sister, Elizabeth Jarrett Weaver, was the sister. The Johnsons were neighbors of the Weavers.