I came across this letter written by George Blackburn Williams, son of Thomas Trevor Williams and Annie Atha Blackburn. There is quite a bit more information here about these two wonderful ancestors. Thought you might enjoy reading it.
Copy
of a letter from George Blackburn Williams to his great-grand niece, Janeil
Fugal.
Oceanside, California
5 May1958
Miss
Janeil Fugal
480
East 4th North
Pleasant
Grove, Utah
I was only six years of age when my father
(Thomas Trevor Williams) passed beyond this mortal coil and but twelve when my
mother (Annie Atha Blackburn) also went to her reward. I believe that I was something like five
years older than my brother (your grandfather (John Trevor Williams) which, if
so would only make him seven instead of nine at the time. That is, of course, of no considerable
comment or perhaps importance. I do
remember that my mother was an exceptionally beautiful penman; even though
somewhat of an old English style, almost Spenserian perfect. I was told that she was a very accomplished
grammarian; highly tutored by special, private teaching; also that she never
combed her own hair or dressed unaided until she was twenty-one years of age;
raised, as it was said in a privately tutored accomplishment; also I was told,
by, I believe her foster sister (Auntie Dayton who came to live with our family
from Chicago, when her husband passed away, and was, more or less part of the
family until my mother passed away.)
Also, same source that even though my mother’s father (Joseph
Blackburn), inherited Van Deman’s Land, Australia) he together with all his
accomplishments, riches and all became lost from his posterity; killed in the
Bush it was said, just before time set for his return to England and his child,
my mother, and his people. Lost record
presumably.
My dear, my dear too bad that you did not
ask you grandfather the questions unanswered in your mind, rather than me as he
did keep a record, at least to a considerable extent, but could have answered
many, many of the questions which now intrigue your mind, too bad, I am sorry,
that I cannot seem to respond inquiries, besides so much of which would come
from hearsay and as that does not constitute a sufficiently reliable source to
become absolutely dependable, however, I had undertake to pass on to you, in response to your
request some of the things which did become my information one way and another.
I do deplore the fact that there could
have been so much more satisfaction in personal conversation, but that being apparently out of the immediate ability
of rendition I shall just peck away on the typewriter and jot down some of the
things which come into my mind in memory review.
Yes, my dear, my mother did have the most
magnificent eyes that I ever saw; kind, generous in expression, still
penetrating even to the effect that no child punishment (in my case, needed
perhaps), even the switch, the strap, or anything became so effective as did
her hurt eye look impression.
Oh! Yes Janeil, dear, I do remember much,
up to twelve; six of which when she was alone (a widow) after my father passed
away, but and two too sad, very sad years, after she became the wife of another
man in marriage, and which was far more impressive to me than any because I
seemed to have suffered too along with her –the increased sadness in those
magnificent eyes, penetrated my very soul and became an impressive and
horrifying memory, least I say too much on that score please let it pass
without further comment. On one
occasion, I well remember when I became somewhat obstreperous and threatened to
leave home and proceeded to do so; my mother went along with me to the front
gate and instead of saying good bye my boy, she said you know that I could send
the officers for you and bring you back but that I would not do that as I would
not wish to so embarrass you; I went back with her to the front door and went
in with her etc. I was told that she at
one time was quite an accomplished singer, that she had on one occasion sang to
Jenny Lynn; also that her voice became strained, when singing on the stage in
Minneapolis, I believe, at any rate thereafter, she almost quit singing
altogether and whenever attempt was made her voice was of a hoarse nature. Also I remember when once I was rolling on
the carpeted floor with a distressing tooth-ache; she was ironing and when I
asked her to sing for me “The Little Ship”, and she responded and when part way
through the song her voice returned, and
she was singing in the most beautiful to me voice of my song memory; the
tooth-ache left at any rate and most astonishing, when I looked out through the
door there stood the neighbors listening in rapt astonishment, as was mine,
they had caught the song as it floated out through the ether. I believe that she was invited several times
to sing to congregations and I do remember that she responded until the last
two years of her life when she never sang or even smiled more; too sad even for
memory’s review. A beautiful refined
highly cultured woman, to say the least, no less a lady, in her own right. I believe that I also was told that she had
never even cooked or done any sort of house work until she met and married
Thomas T. Williams in Duluth, Minnesota.
Now about my father, Thomas Trevor
Williams), as I recall, some of which, even most of which from hear-say. Yes I do remember him personally and
definitely, not vaguely, at least on one occasion when and while shaving, at
least the razor strap was handy, as it came into occasion; it appears that,
that once I had it coming very definitely.
A heavy soft snow, made a little more pliable for snow ball making, but
the radiant sunshine; a place had been shoveled off in front of the chick coop
and the ground had become warmed for the chickens to bask in the sunshine and
would have especially enjoyed except for me and my snow balls; I would let them
gather, in flock, while I made up an armful of snow balls and then the
bombardment would make them fly, even out in to the snow, to get away from the
pelting; my father had seen the action and came out and warned me; I forgot to
remember the advice, and when I manufactured another lot of snow balls and the
chickens had again gathered in flock I let fly again and up and out they went
and out came an exasperated father and the razor strap came into play and
instead of the chickens it was the bombardier who felt the sting. Yes I recall that instance and I believe it
constitutes the only punishment I remember from my father. Indeed I do remember a surprising lot,
especially for a child of four, five, and only becoming six on March 19th—when
my father passed away April first same year.
Recorded in my memory are some details,
mostly hearsay, I guess, but pertinent, at least to cherished memory, mainly
this—it appears that my father was a graduate, along with his cousin William
Jones, both Welshman, from a school of mines in Wales; that they both, when
they receive their Honor graduation, which was not as does graduation obtain in
America, i.e. a Pig Skin, there an apprenticeship; they were sent to America,
and was customary by the English Government who adopted the science of sending their
Honor Graduate out into the whole world,
wherever minerals were being discovered to become exploited by her Majesty’s
exploitists; on this occasion these two young men were sent to America as
mineral had been discovered in Minnesota (The Calument and Hecia became the
name for this enterprise), but when they arrived at Philadelphia the Civil War
had just come into being and they were advised by their advance agents that it
would be preferable for them to volunteer into the Union Army and help win the war,
thus protect, along with other and perhaps more important things, the mineral
acquirement of the English Syndicate. I was told that my father served with
distinction and became an Officer in the Pennsylvania Regiment. He was, I believe a troop soldier and on one
occasion when he was riding and taking his Regiment on a march, (Raiders
Brigade, I believe) to join Sherman’s army, in the march to the sea, as
recorded in history, he was shot from his horse (the impact of the bullet which
hit in the leg above the knee and became embedded against the bone, was so
great that it knocked him from is horse.)
I was told that it was customary at that time to amputate as the medical
skill had not advanced to the technique of probing for the bullet as was later
done and thus prevented amputation. I
was told that in his tent that night when the doctor was to amputate that my
father had pledged certain of his comrades, (lieutenant perhaps), not to allow
the amputation. I believe it is true
that he carried this slug to his grave many years after, which together with
increased lead poisoning from so called leading, by working in the lead mine at
Bingham, Utah became the eventual cause of his early demise. I was told that also certain of his then
comrades followed him to Utah later and was working with and or/for him at the
old Telegraph Mine, later which became the Bingham Galena. I was told , or seemed to get the further
information(just here let me caution that much of this is hearsay and might not
be genuinely correct, but might be, in the main, and since my intentions are
only to pass on that which became mine from hearsay and naturally might have
been glamorized for personal wishful thinking).
At any rate it does make semblance of truthful commitment of that which
passed and became to a greater or less extent fact. It was said that after the war Jones was sent
to the Calument and Hecla to take superintendency and my father was left a
Delaware Gap and for a time became superintendent of a slate quarry there and
that later became a railroad conductor; also that when the emigrants had wended
their way westward and to Salt Lake city, Utah , and that mineral had been
discovered at Bingham Canyon out from Salt Lake City, Utah, that Jones had been
sent on from the Calument and Hecla and to Salt Lake City and that my family
had wintered at Duluth, intending to go down the Mississippi River in the
spring and then from New Orleans, sail back to their home in England; meantime
the family fortunes had become upset but according to old Auntie Dayton
reasonably true. At any rate my father
and mother became engaged and were married at Duluth; then they proceeded to go
to Salt Lake City taking with them the Foster Mother, and her foster sisters;
that my father went out to Bingham Canyon and went to work, and I believe that
he was given credit of putting or helping to put the first collar set in Utah’s
first mine. He moved his wife and one
little boy (William) my oldest brother, to Battle Creek, after became Pleasant
Grove, your hometown. That while living
there the little fellow became ill, beyond the aid of the local doctor and that
someone advised calling in the Elders, which was done and after anointing with
consecrated oil and administering when he opened his eyes and asked for a drink
of water, thus a powerful demonstration of what God can do and does when
prescribed by proper authority.
It was said that my father belonged to an
athletic family of renown; that he as an almost unbeatable athlete in some
demonstration of physical force and activity; that on one occasion at a picnic
celebration he won the spring race etc, and that after he was thrown in
convulsion etc., he never even limped until, and only when tired. It was said that he was very very generous
(big hearted so to speak). On one
occasion, Mr. Eli B. K. Ferguson, a not far away neighbor, told me that he came
to my father and asked could he borrow his plow, surely and in welcome, he even
assisted him in loading it onto his wagon; that he noticed my father’s team of
horses, all harnessed standing near, also the double trees there and later he
noticed my father plowing up in his field and found out later that my father
had loaned him (Ferguson) his plow and then had gone to another neighbor, a
mile or more away, and had borrowed his plow.
Mr. Ferguson and my father apparently were fast and fond neighbors. Mr. Ferguson was the source of much of my
information concerning my father and his family. The Government had opened up the old Indian
Farm Reservation, some six miles west from Spanish Fork and on the west side of
the Spanish Fork River and on to the west mountains and to the mouth of the
Spanish Fork River, that my Father used his soldier’s privilege and together
with one of the old comrades, a Mr. Dan Plummer, who I believe was a comrade,
or perhaps a lieutenant I the Civil War, they went and took up a soldier’s
claim; I was advised that it had to be done in my Father’s right and they found
an eighty acre block open for entry and my father filed thereon later having to
divide with Plummer, thus each having forty acres of land. My father still continued to work in the mine
at Bingham Canyon, but did build a farm house on the entry and moved his family
there to prove up on the entry. His
wife, my mother, and their then only child, William; in due course I, George
Blackburn was born and was said to be the second white child born on the
Reservation; Betsey Furguson being the first, it is said.
It appears that my father working in the
mine, had a little more ready cash with which to buy farm and household
necessities, than many of the other settlers and this gave him an opportunity
to be generous in his loans, etc. Also I
was told that he said never allowed a tramp to pass by, probably hungry, that
it might even be one of your own relatives, at least some of Mother’s son to
call them in and feed them; it was done.
Mr. Ferguson said that often when my father came home from the mine,
Bingham, Canyon, he in turn would take his back always in a wagon, sometimes covered
etc. On one occasion he said when they
started out a young chap asked them to give him a ride to Bingham Canyon. Enroute
and in conversation it was learned that this youngster thought that he
was a foot racer and boasted that he was going there to make some easy
money. Mr. Ferguson said that my father
advised, the better was to be sure about getting some money would, or might be
to earn it honestly etc. In fact he said
I will make you a proposition i.e. we will get out and step off a certain distance
and I will run in my stocking feet and if I beat you then you must agree to
give up the foot racer idea and go to work for me in the mine. It was done and my father out ran the
youngster and that he, Mr. Ferguson believed that he did go to work for my
father when they arrived at Bingham Canyon.
I remember that the last winter my father
lived was said to be the bad winter and that he told me to throw corn fodder
over the fence to starving stock hovering around just outside the enclosure. I surely remember doing so and even though
just coming six, still I remember that I was the main man, then at our house,
as my father was confided to his dying bed, and while there he called me to his
bedside and taught me the Lord’s Prayer, again I say not belonging to any sect
or religion specifically still of a religious turn of mind. My mother was an Episcopalian, or belonging
to the Church of England when a girl, etc. and that after coming to Utah and
settling on the old homestead she took up with the so called Presbyterians; at
any rate when she moved to Spanish Fork after my father’s passing and having
rented the farm, she put me into Mrs. Pearly’s school, a private school, and
while there I was presented a New Testament by Mrs. Pearly and on the front page
she had written “Remember now thy Creator, in the days of thy youth.” It probably was a good thing that this
presentation was made before I was presented with a nice new, sharp pocket
knife, with which I managed to clip off the top corner of the pickets from
the entrance gate down to the corner of the school lot. Of course I was
sufficiently chasticised and punished for the crime and later on forgiven, I
believe, but with a restoration of some sort on the part of my Mother.
I also remember going to my first dance
with my Mother, as her so called escort, the dance was at Benjamin, at the old
Stewart Hall, and there it was I met, for the first time Henrietta Hone who
afterwards became my dutiful and magnificent wife. Oh! Janiel I could go on and on endlessly but
why further impose. Sometime, perhaps in
conversation much much more.
Lovingly
Uncle
George
