The Slaves of Joseph Jamieson

Having roots in Mississippi, slavery is something you tackle early on when you do your genealogy. You know that most of your ancestors, if not all, are Southern.

But what do you do with that information? It really isn’t your family. Even as a professional genealogist, slave genealogy is something I’ve steered clear of because, God knows, I didn’t want to encounter the possibility that the slaves my ancestors owned were related to people I know now. I didn’t want anymore awkward situations, even if they were only in my head. I would know and it would be weird for me. I know, I know. That’s wrong of me. But it’s honest.

I guess I’ve just sat on the information. So when the Slave Name Roll Project popped up on my Facebook feed, I was intrigued and immediately started thinking how I could properly contribute.

Then I remembered Joseph Jamieson, my fifth great-grandfather. He was a Revolutionary patriot who died in York District, South Carolina on 26 September 1853. I don’t know exactly how many slaves he owned. I only know the ones listed in his will, an excerpt of which I have quoted below:

“And to my son Allen Rowe Jamieson I give and bequeath  the remainder of the said tract of land which I now reside upon after the bequest to my son Joseph located, and to my said son Allen Rowe Jamieson I give and bequeath my negro boy Humphrey hoping believing that the said Humphrey will be kindly and tenderly raised and humanely treated according to his station. I further will and order that my negro woman Dorcas be sold and the amount of the sale be equally divided between my said son Allen Rowe Jamieson and my daughter Barbara Chambers share and share alike. And to my three sons James, John, and Milton Jamieson (all absent). I give, allow, and bequeath the sum of twenty dollars each to be paid at any time after my decease if applied for. I do give and bequeath to my little granddaughter Eliza Ann Jamieson, daughter of Allen R. Jamieson and Nancy Jamieson, my Negro boy Amzi vesting said boy Amzi solely in her the said Eliza Ann Jamieson and the heirs of her own body.”

So at least three slaves: Humphrey, a young boy; Dorcas, a grown woman; and Amzi, another young boy. I don’t know about their ages, because little to an 89 year old man (which Joseph was) is different than mine: Eliza, the granddaughter he names, was 20 in 1853. I have no clue to whom Dorcas was sold. I’ve tried to look for her, but I don’t even know where she went. All I know was she was Dorcas Jamieson in 1853.

Allen Rowe Jamieson moved to Tippah County, Mississippi by 1860. In the slave schedule of that year, he was listed as the owner of one 27 year old male slave. I’m surmising that this is Humphrey, since Amzi belonged to Eliza. I also have not found a record of Eliza’s marriage, so I don’t know what happened to Amzi.

I feel like this hasn’t been much help, but I’ve tried to make three people become more than names on a page. There could be someone looking for Dorcas, Humphrey, and Amzi from the other end, working backward from 1870, and this could be the piece of information that helps.

It’s more than what was out there before and that’s all that matters.

The Future of Genealogy

Seems ambitiously titled, no?

This post came about on another sleepless night when I sat in bed pondering what I felt went wrong with my local historical society. While I don’t pretend to have all the answers, I know when something is wrong.

Don’t misunderstand me, the historical society has done some great things, two volumes of a county heritage among them. But lately, lately, it just seems like the society has gone down.

I want a historical and genealogical society to do two things for me: push me as a researcher and give me great historical background on the people I’m researching. I also want them heavily involved in preserving the local history. Our society has had maybe two genealogy workshops in the last decade and the monthly meetings have, for the most part, turned into “what life was like in the 30s” talks. That’s only interesting to a point.

But then it kills me when they complain about membership not growing. Well, they don’t do anything. They talk. They were doing a great thing restoring our original local jail and turning it into an archive for the rescued materials from our courthouse. And then for reasons I do not understand, they stopped being involved and wanted to create another building that housed society materials. It had something to do with the county development people wanting the archive to house only those rescued courthouse materials and not photographs and personal histories. Basically, someone got their feelings hurt.

We have a population of maybe 22,000 for the entire county. That’s really not a lot. We already have a genealogical room in our main library, the county courthouse, a museum, and now the archives. When people in town or even out of town come to do research, it is ridiculous to demand them to go to several different places all within a short distance of each other and all with differing opening days and times. It cuts the throat of the society and the local economy.

While I’m glad they rescued the older materials of the courthouse and created an archive (that’s only open two or three days a week, four hours a day), when the Mormons came to town to help microfilm records, those are the records they filmed. I can read those valuable materials seven days a week, twenty four hours a day in the comfort of my home, rain or shine.

That’s the future of genealogy: more and more documents online for anytime view. It’s the job of the societies and archives to have unique files if they desire foot traffic. If not, start scanning. You’ll be done in a few years.

But do something. Anything at all will do.

Why I Write the Way I Do

The more genealogy blogs I read, the more I feel that mine is unique. Not better, because it’s not, just unique.

I don’t think a single one of us got into genealogy because of names and dates. We got into genealogy because of the stories and the mysteries. But names and dates have become almost the genealogical standard.

We are so much more than that. I love history as much as the next person, maybe more. I can rattle names and dates off the top of my head like the complete nerd I am. But what intrigues me are the stories, the answer to the Whys and Hows, and not so much the short answer questions.

I abhor crafting sentences that start with “So and so was born on X date to Y parents.” My writing style has never been short, choppy sentences. I adore commas.

But most of it has to do with how I wish to be remembered. I don’t want to be known to my family as that boring, nerdy genealogist. I want to be the one known as the fun, engaging story teller.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t like or desire facts. I do. I just try to turn those facts into an engaging story of what probably happened. The records leave me clues to extrapolate into a story.

It took me a long time to find my voice on this blog. I called it “Adventures of an Untameable Genealogist” for a reason. It’s just as much about me and my reactions as it is about the people I’m researching.

I’ve gotten an email or two about the way I describe ancestors dying. Needless to say, they weren’t happy. They think I’m morbid and have a preoccupation with death. I hate to tell you this, but anyone who does genealogy deals with 99% dead people. I just think we all have this idea of people dying a long time ago by just closing their eyes and souls peacefully leaving bodies.  Hate to tell you, but that’s not what happened.

Death is an important part of life and it’s my job to make that as real as I make their marriage or their day to day activities. Truth is, people suffered needlessly before modern medicine. That suffering influenced the survivors and, in children, how they turned out. Our ancestors saw things that changed them and the people they would eventually become.

There is a reason why we do the things we do and that is what I’m interested in. I want to know what motivated the soldier to enlist and go far from home. I want to know how someone died, not just when. I want to know why Tilby Smith had his wife murdered. I want to know what it was like to watch your mother give birth multiple times only to lose her life after one too many. I want to know what churches our ancestors prayed in when hope was almost gone. I just want to know.

I hope you do as well.