New trim paint in the east parlor, General Thomas Allin House. My grandfather’s framing hammer is holding up the sash on the left.

Last night, on the cusp between Father’s Day and Juneteenth, I took a closer look at my male-line ancestors. I knew they had enslaved people in Kentucky, and before that in Virginia. But wills and inventories had told only part of the story. For example, Richard Taylor, who fought in the Revolution, died intestate in 1843, and no inventory survives for him. Richard’s father, Harrison Taylor, who died in 1811, bequeathed in his will a Mulatto woman, Charlotte, “during her servitude,” and Charlotte’s son James, both under some pre-existing term-limits to their enslavement.
Richard’s son Blackstone Taylor (1806-1870), my great-great-great grandfather, died after Emancipation, so his will and inventory do not include enslaved people. But I’m not sure why I never looked for him before now in the Slave Schedules of the 1850 and 1860 Federal Censuses.
In 1860 he enslaved seven people, ages 29 to 2 years, the 15-year-old boy an “idiot” (1860 U.S. Census, Slave Schedules, Deckers Dist., Ohio Co., Ky.). So many people with names and stories to seek.

Working through footnotes for the current issue of The American Genealogist and stumbled on this rare appearance of heraldry in a probate register: arms of John Agmondisham, Esquire, of Rowbarne, parish of East Horsley, Surrey, in the registers of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury for 1572. [In the new style, this is TNA PROB 11/55/103; in the old style, this is 7 Peter, f. 51r.]
Maybe the copyist sensibly presumed we would have trouble with his odd surname, so helpfully drew his coat of arms?
I’d love to see other examples of heraldry in probate registers!

One more Memorial Day post about Lt. Chedel, the young Civil War casualty who lived in our house. He was brought home and buried in 1866 in his family’s plot in Providence’s North Burial Ground — an amazing place despite its current bad luck to lie next to Interstate 95. Anyhow, Findagrave has three photos of a gravestone for him: one from 2006, showing his original marble stone in reasonably good repair (visibly reset in a concrete pad); one from 2012, showing the same stone lying flat in the grass, presumably having been broken off at the base; and finally one from just a few months ago showing, not the same stone re-erected, but a replacement stone in a more generic historic-military style. I am glad that the grave has been tended and restored, but I wonder whether it was truly impossible to preserve the original stone — which, after all, was chosen and erected by his own parents?
Not sure I like “refreshing” gravestones like this — if the originals are discarded.


On Friday, Mike Carroll, president of the Barrington town council, asked me for some background info. as he was preparing remarks for our Memorial Day observance. He was interested in Barringtonians who had made the ultimate sacrifice in military service — especially those from long ago. I looked through the Revolutionary and Civil War service records summarized in Thomas W. Bicknell’s 1898 History of Barrington. We had two men who may have died while serving in the Revolution, including Winchester Bicknell, who died in 1782 of disease contracted while imprisoned on one of those infamous prison hulks off New York, and Ebenezer Adams, who died at West Point in 1782, either during or shortly after completing a tour in the Continental Army.
Working alphabetically through the longer list of all who served in the Civil War, I found eight Barrington men who were killed in action or died in the field from injury or disease. The first, alphabetically, was 2nd Lieutenant Joseph Allen Chedel Jr., 1st Rhode Island Cavalry, killed in action in Virginia on 18 June 1863, two weeks before Gettysburg and six days before his 22nd birthday. The name struck me because he lived in our house: his father owned and occupied two thirds of it from 1854 until 1873. Joseph Jr. lived here only for four years, as a teenager. After finishing high school in Barrington he moved out on his own in Providence, where he was working as an apothecary’s clerk and apprentice when he enlisted, serving initially as a hospital steward. Showing promise, he was commissioned a 2d Lieutenant in the field in January 1863.
In Joseph Chedel’s honor we mounted a new flagpole on Saturday and are flying the colors here today.

Here is Joseph A. Chedel’s sketch from Memoirs of Rhode Island Officers Who were Engaged in the Service of Their Country During the Great Rebellion of the South (Providence, 1967), p. 440:
https://archive.org/details/memoirsofrhodeis00bart/page/n517/mode/2up
Here’s a photo of my current obsession:
This man outlived his leg almost 47 years, and is buried far away. I’m putting together an essay on the man, the leg, and what it all means.
I’ve been asking around: does anyone know of other similar stones?
One of my engrossing summer projects has been updating the website for the American Society of Genealogists, fasg.org. Well, it has been up (and stable) for a few days now. I have learned (and re-learned) a lot of new web skills, and might even use some of them on this site — who knows?
That’s what my four-year-old said when I told him (somewhat apologetically) where we were going. A chance encounter had led me to discover four new ancestors of my wife, who lie in the small burying ground by the beautiful Bradford Center meeting house in Bradford, New Hampshire, only five miles (by a dirt track through a beaver bog) from our idyllic getaway home in East Washington village. So I took our youngest along for a visit. At four years old, he already has a vast experience of visiting churches, graves, and archives; he is not shy with ancestors:
Jonathan Knight was, as his stone states, a Revolutionary soldier. The raking light on the unusual sandstone, long broken but strongly repaired with iron, makes a dramatic sight.
This graveyard is lovingly tended, and all the old Revolutionary soldiers in it are carefully marked with flags. Nearby lie my son’s other ancestors, Josiah and Mary (French) Rowe:
In this part of the New Hampshire hill country, the once-bustling farms have almost all grown up into quiet woods, so sometimes it is easy to forget how thickly our ancestors lie all around us.

In the previous post I figured out that my ancestor, Benjamin Allen of Salisbury and Rehoboth, was actually my neighbor for ten years when I lived by the Newman Cemetery in Rehoboth (now Rumford, RI)—and his gravestone may be extant, though misidentified in the RI Cemetery Database. On a sunny day last month I was able to find and photograph it. The headstone is split and flaked, almost completely gone, and no legible inscription remains on it (just a fragment of verse from well below the information on Benjamin himself). But the footstone, deeply incised, does survive:

Below the name is (as is the style from the good stones from the 1720s surviving in this ground) simply the year of death. The footstone is now split, though, and only the first half of the year remains: “1 7”; the “2 3” are now gone as well (it is the “1723” which was misread as “1793” in the transcription which is now in the RI Cemetery database, but the head and footstone are obviously of a style of the 1720s, not the end of the century). As with many of the stones in this section of the ground, the footstone has long ago been moved so it is up against the headstone. Here are the two stones in situ:

And here is a close-up of the front of the headstone, bearing the remaining visible fragment of verse inscription, and a tiny bit of what must have been a handsome floreate border flanking the inscription. This is seen on a couple of other stones in this yard which I had admired for years — never thinking my own ancestor may have had a similar stone nearby:

I am glad finally to meet my ancestor and my neighbor! I have not yet found the deeds by which he came to own land bordering the Runnins River at Nockum Hill in Barrington, but I am getting closer, now that we have access to the 17th-century Swansea Town Records on microfilm. But the answer to this may lie in Rehoboth town records – that is our next target.
Two weeks ago I attended my first annual meeting of the American Society of Genealogists, meeting several of the other Fellows for the first time. Five days after coming home, I was in the dim, cavernous basement of the Registry of Deeds of Bristol County, Massachusetts, when someone approached me to fight over an index volume I was hoarding — and it turned out to be another Fellow, Fred Hart of North Guilford, Connecticut, whom I had met only the week before!
I was in Taunton on behalf of the Barrington Preservation Society, to research the chain of title for an eighteenth-century farmhouse on the other side of Hundred-Acre Cove, long held by members of the Allen family — not the Allin family who built my farmhouse in West Barrington. I had presumed the house belonged to a branch of descendants of John Allen of Swansea (d. 1683), an early Baptist follower of Rev. John Miles, whose first meeting-house lay next door to this Allen homestead. But instead, I was surprised by the revelation that the deeds for this Allen house led back not to the Swansea Baptist Allens, nor to the West Barrington Allins who built my own house, but to yet a third Allen family in the neighborhood, and moreover, to someone who was actually one of my own ancestors: Benjamin Allen (1652-1723), of Salisbury, then Rehoboth. I have lived in this corner of the Plymouth Colony for twelve years now, but only now feel like less of a newcomer, with this realization that an ancestor of mine settled in the same place 300 years ago! My next task is to locate his gravestone, in the Newman Cemetery where I walked my dog every day for years, without an inkling…
UPDATE, the morning after the election: After a blustery hour walking the Newman Cemetery, I went inside and checked the RI Historical Cemeteries Database Index. Benjamin Allen’s gravestone is not extant, nor for either of his wives: but I did find the group of stones for one of his children, David Allen (1707-1751), and his family. David, who is my ancestral half-uncle, lived on the parcel just north of the target of our house-research, which was his brother Joseph’s homestead. David’s land spanned four towns and two colonies, much to the consternation of anyone looking at his deeds! Here are David Allen and his wife Hannah:


SECOND UPDATE, Friday of Election Week: Turns out that Benjamin Allen’s gravestone was extant into the early 20th century, though no longer. A 1932 alphabetized typescript of Newman Cemetery inscriptions (alas only abstracted, not preserving original inscriptions), lists him: “Allen, Benjamin, Sept. 30, 1723 in 71 yr.” (this is Marion Pearce Carter, “The Old Rehoboth Cemetery, ‘The Ring of the Town’, at East Providence, Rhode Island, Near Newman’s Church” [Attleboro, Mass.: the author, 1932], 58 pp., at RIHS Library), p. 1. I wonder if his is one of the many stones still standing, but with inscription completely obliterated? His may be the gravestone listed in the more careful transcription by Robert S. Trim (“Gravestone Records of Old Rehoboth, Massachusetts: Newman Cemetery,” compiled 1978/9, 230 pp. plus index, at p. 176), which records “Benjamin Allen . . . 1793 (Footstone): Headstone badly chipped and unreadable.” Since Trim notes that Mrs. Carter’s transcription did not include any stone for a Benjamin Allen in 1793, I wonder whether Trim misread 1723 for 1793? I will need to go find this myself. Trim’s transcription is done in some sort of perambulation order and lists this after a set of Butterworths (including Lieut. Noah Butterworth, d. 1736), and a Thomas Hawkins, “Born a slave in Kentucky”, d. 1863; and before Benjamin Rand, d. 1736 age 11; an undated fieldstone, and a stone for Jael wife of David Saben, d. 1726. So, maybe I can find this stone? I’ll try again on the weekend — supposed to be warm and sunny.