Stevens? Stephens? Anybody?

 

In an era during which spelling mattered much less than it might today, a thirty one year old man left County Mayo in the northern reaches of Ireland, journeyed to Liverpool, England, where he obtained passage—likely on the cheapest ticket possible—to New Orleans, Louisiana. From there, he completed his journey up the Mississippi, then by its tributaries to Lafayette, on the Wabash in Indiana. According to his report recorded on his First Declaration, he arrived during the last month of 1852.

The name he gave was Stevens—Hugh Stevens—but it could just as likely have been spelled Stephens. In fact, looking at passenger records for New Orleans, I was just as likely to find entries for "H. Stephens" as for a man spelling his name as Stevens. Besides, who are we kidding here? Hugh Stevens signed his First Declaration with a mark, not a signature; he likely had no idea at all how to spell his own name.

So, taking that question one step further, I took one last peek at the records drawn up—and thankfully still in existence—back in his home location in County Mayo. For this, I first visited the website Ask About Ireland, where their search of Griffith's Valuation yielded me one solitary household in County Mayo listed under the surname Stevens: the family of Michael Stevens.

Ah, then, the question becomes: could this Michael have been the father of Hugh? Or even of his possible brother John? Looking back at John's family where he settled in Lafayette, Indiana, I can see he had three sons named James, John, and William. No Michael. Can I trust that Irish immigrant to follow the tradition of his forefathers and name his firstborn son after his own father? If so, that father wouldn't have been named Michael.

What can be learned about the parish in which that Michael Stevens was said to have lived? Griffith's Valuation showed Michael Stevens to have lived in the civil parish of Killasser. Taking that question to the search engines led me to a newsletter published for what appears to be the church parish by the same name. Still, it provides a usable description of the rural location for someone as far removed from the scene as I am, as does another entry I found on the near-defunct old RootsWeb site. Townlands.ie fills in some of the blanks about the many townlands within that civil parish, but as I'm at a loss as to where to turn next, the information is currently of no use to me.

Could that surname have turned out, rather, to be spelled Stephens? Trying this second option back at Ask About Ireland, I found thirty six entries in County Mayo, including two with the given name John. Prominent among the many given names listed were Patrick and Michael, but no James, the name of John Stevens' firstborn son. And not a one of those thirty six was named Hugh, making me wish all the more that Hugh had not disappeared—not, at least, until having fathered a firstborn son and followed the traditional Irish naming pattern to give me some help with that question.

Until I find more clues to help with this puzzle, I doubt I'll be able to move forward with this month's research question. With that, I'll fold the file up and put it back in its digital place. If any major discoveries of further records surface in Ireland—or a long-lost distant cousin and descendant of our missing Hugh Stevens decides to take a DNA test—I'll be happy to revisit this research question. But for now, it's time to move on. There are other research tasks to tackle.

Overused Cliches and Doing Things Over

 

If doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result has become a cliche—try this cataloguing of the famed "definition" attributed to a really brainy guy—then I guess I won't write any more to litter the literary landscape. That said, I still did try my hand—again—at looking for Hugh Stevens' arrival in New Orleans in December of 1852. 

And the result? This may come as a surprise, but it was the same outcome as the last time I tried to find him. Despite what he insisted to officials when he arrived in Lafayette, Indiana, Hugh Stevens' name wasn't on passenger lists in New Orleans during that supposed month of his arrival. Or that page (or two) is still missing from the records which have been saved for all these years.

I did find some near misses. Using the search mechanisms at FamilySearch.org, I filtered out all passengers born in places other than Ireland and Great Britain, but somehow managed to include all the spelling variations for the Stevens surname. The closest date of arrival I could find was for a Stephens in 1851.

Moving to Ancestry.com, their search process yielded twenty four possibilities arriving in New Orleans for the search term "H. Stevens," including spelling variations. Two of them even arrived in 1852—a promising sign that those dates weren't totally lost from the record—but they came much earlier in the year.

Despite those disappointing results, I did notice one detail that might turn out to be helpful: many of the ships arriving in New Orleans listed their point of departure as locations either in the Caribbean or in Central America. Only four of the arrivals listed came directly from Liverpool, Hugh Stevens' supposed originating point.

That said—and this will come as no surprise to you—it's time to stop doing the same thing over and over again in the hopes that this time, the result will be different. Though signs of Hugh Stevens' origin was my slated research goal for the month of July, we'll wrap up a few other futile searches on his behalf this week, and then move on to another more pressing investigation. 

Time for Comparisons

 

Now that I've got a copy of the actual First Declaration for Hugh Stevens, it's time to compare his answers to those of earlier arrival John Stevens. Since Irish immigrant John Stevens was my husband's second great-grandfather, I had made sure to get a copy of his record when we visited his newfound American home in Lafayette, Indiana, years ago. Now I'm wondering whether comparing the two Stevens men's answers will reveal anything.

Since I've written about John Stevens before, I simply turned back to that blog post to revisit the wording on John Stevens' First Declaration. For John, let's put the data in a simple outline:

• The document was dated August 4, 1851.
• He gave his age as twenty seven.
• He sailed from Liverpool in 1850.
• He arrived in New Orleans during December of 1850

From that information, we can extrapolate that John Stevens was born about 1824.

What about Hugh? Here's what the recently-received document revealed about that second Stevens immigrant to Tippecanoe County, Indiana:

• The document was dated October 10, 1854.
• He gave his age as thirty three.
• He sailed from Liverpool in 1852.
• He arrived in "Orleans" during December of 1852.

From that information about Hugh Stevens, we can assume he was born about 1821.

From birth dates that close together, one could presume that Hugh Stevens and John Stevens were brothers. After all, they both were born in County Mayo, Ireland, and both immigrated to the same rather small city in Indiana. What are the chances? But we need to be aware that they could just as easily be first cousins. Or more distant relatives. Or not related at all.

With this small set of data, there isn't much we can say at all—but we can consider it an indication of a F.A.N. Club at the very least. The similarity of travel routes, down to the same month of arrival, is a tempting indicator. That they both chose a city of barely over six thousand people to settle in can seem a compelling detail. That they both chose a destination other than the main immigration ports on the east coast—far easier for travel—is also a tempting confirmation.

Now that we have the actual dates for Hugh Stevens' arrival in New Orleans, we can take a second look at passenger records to see whether any "H. Stevens" passengers did show up in Louisiana in December of 1852. Better yet, let's take another look at a wide set of records to see whether there is any sign of a Stevens family containing both given names.

First, the Transcription

 

Years ago, I had discovered the Tippecanoe County Historical Association included a genealogical records section called the Alameda McCollough Research Library. You can be sure that every time my travels called for me to drive from Chicago through Indiana, I found a way to make a stop at that repository. Since I have no travel plans slated for that direction any time in the foreseeable future, I was ecstatic when I discovered, earlier this month, that they now can provide researchers with near-instantaneous gratification—so I ordered a copy of the First Declaration for my possible Stevens relative, Hugh.

Now that I've gotten the digitized document in hand—so to speak—let's take a look at the transcription. That, after all, will be my first step before determining what else we can discover about this Irish immigrant. Here is what the form stated.

To the Judge of the Tippecanoe Circuit court, in the State of Indiana:

Hugh Stevens, Being an Alien, and a free white person, makes the following report of himself; upon his solemn oath declares that he is aged 33 years; that he was born in the County of Mayo in Ireland, that he emigrated from Liverpool in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty two; that he arrived in the United States at the City of Orleans in the State of Louisiana in the month of December eighteen hundred and fifty two; that he owe allegiance to Victoria, Queen of Great Britain + Ireland and that it is bona fide his intention to become a citizen of the United States of America, and to renounce forever allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty whatever; and particularly to Victoria, Queen as aforesaid, of whom he is subject.

The document was completed on the tenth day of October in 1854. Hugh Stevens signed on that day with a rather weak cross, noted as "his mark."

And from then on, he simply disappeared—but we know that that can't be the rest of the story. Though the document only gives us a few clues, let's see whether they can give us any guidance.

Thinking Creatively While Waiting

 

There is nothing that frustrates me more than having to wait. In this week's case, I'm waiting to learn just how to proceed with ordering a second copy of the First Declaration signed by Hugh Stevens, some time after his arrival in Lafayette, Indiana, in the early 1850s. Yes, yes, I know: if I had gotten the record copied and carefully preserved the first time, I wouldn't have to wait a second time. Such is the story, sometimes, of genealogical guinea pigs like me—always a test case, and sometimes a messy one.

While waiting, I thought I'd try to be productive by considering how else I could solve my research problem. You see, I'm stuck with my husband's second great-grandfather, supposed Irish immigrant John Stevens, whose own First Declaration tells me he emigrated from County Mayo in Ireland, via the port of New Orleans, up the Mississippi and its tributaries to arrive in Lafayette sometime before the close of 1850. The problem is: I have no idea who his parents might have been, back in Ireland.

Come to find out there was a second Stevens man—you guessed it, Hugh Stevens—who took the same route at about the same time, only a year or two later, and I'm wondering whether John and Hugh were related. Perhaps brothers? This could lead to an end run around this Stevens brick wall, I am thinking.

While I am waiting for Hugh Stevens' own naturalization record, I'm wracking my brain for ways to find any sign of Hugh in other records. Up to this point, I've had no luck. I checked for city directories online at Ancestry, but discovered there are pitifully few records of any kind specific to Tippecanoe County, location of the city of Lafayette. Besides, the dates are long after Hugh's arrival, with the collection beginning in 1885.

Looking at quick sketches of local history, though, I find an encouraging sign: Wikipedia's entry for Lafayette indicates that "in its earliest days" the place was considered a "shipping center" on the Wabash River—a detail which has long since changed, due to soil erosion impacting the river's navigability that far north in its course. At one point, the nearby Wabash and Erie Canal work undoubtedly was a draw for immigrant labor, particularly the Irish, who also flocked to other such projects—but this, too, would be before the time of Hugh's arrival.

One final thought is to revisit the passenger records for ships arriving in New Orleans. I've checked those records in the past with little success, both for the Stevens men, and for John's Kelly in-laws. It seems our ancestors always arrived in the very gaps currently existing in the preserved records, an unfortunate scenario for researchers like me. But perhaps things have changed, or more records have been discovered. It is, while I'm still waiting, a reminder to go take a second look. Maybe this time....

More or Less, Still Moving Ahead

 

It is really hard to predict, over a biweekly period, just how much progress I've made on my family trees. Sometimes, it seems like I am flying through the records, easily finding source after source to build that line. Other times, it takes a massive struggle just to complete one relative's timeline.

I had thought this past biweekly period would have been one of the times when scores of ancestors would have been added to my in-laws' tree, but that was not the case. I did manage to support adding 220 more names to their tree, which now contains documentation on 35,810 individuals. Yes, that means I'm still moving ahead, more or less—but it was far less than I had expected. I've certainly seen busier weeks.

Part of the slow-down is due to this month's research proposal: to locate a Stevens immigrant from County Mayo, Ireland, who seemed to vanish into thin air, the minute he set foot on land in his newly adopted home in Indiana. This month will likely add up to a lot of searching with very little positive traction to move me forward.

There is, however, other activity to propel those numbers onward. Though not part of my Twelve Most Wanted goal for this month, other questions pop up. Some of those are inquiries from DNA matches—always gratefully received—which lead me to double check my work, realizing as I revisit the data that there are portions that I left undone, the last time I had wandered in that research direction.

Other occurrences tap me on the shoulder and redirect my research, even to trees I haven't selected for this month's research goal. Newly discovered obituaries, for instance, demand follow-through with addition of information to the appropriate tree, an incident in the past two weeks which led me to add another thirty six names to my own parents' tree. Though I won't be returning to work on that tree until the fall—at least, according to my research plans—that unexpected detour last week pushed that tree up to now number 38,405 relatives.

As I check ThruLines results at Ancestry for each of my monthly research goals, that process also leads to new discoveries. That became the impetus for most of my progress on my in-laws' tree in the past two weeks, as I moved from June's research goal on the Metzgers—with lots of ThruLines discoveries uncovered—to the scant few DNA matches I've found this past week as I shifted to the Stevens ancestry goal.

There are just some research goals which seem to produce an abundance of results, while others take patience and endurance while yielding precious little, other than general knowledge to enrich my understanding in future efforts. The patience, however, is certainly worth the effort, and I look forward to having a better understanding of the times when Hugh Stevens arrived in Lafayette, Indiana, in the early 1850s. What a different world that must have been than the assumptions I'd otherwise be tempted to overlay upon his immigrant story.

About Hugh

 

What I know about Hugh Stevens: nothing.

Well, that is not entirely true. I do know a few things. Those few things are not very useful, however, but a researcher has to start somewhere. This is my start.

The little I do know about Hugh Stevens is that he took the exact same route in arriving in Lafayette, Indiana, as did another Irish man by the same surname. That man was John Stevens, my husband's second great-grandfather. Oddly coincidental details about the two Stevens men make me wonder whether they might have been brothers, such as their place of origin—County Mayo, Ireland—and the route they took from Liverpool to the port of New Orleans. Even their date of travel was during the same month, only separated by a year's distance.

I found all that out by comparing notes on two slips of paper, each the Declaration of Intention or "first papers" signed to begin the naturalization process as an immigrant to the United States.

I've written about John Stevens' First Dec before—ten years ago on the eve of our trip to Ireland, in fact, posting a copy of the original—and revisited my Stevens research quandary a couple years after that. John had made his journey, according to his declaration, from his home in County Mayo to the English port city Liverpool, where he boarded a ship taking him to New Orleans. From there, he had taken another vessel up the Mississippi, then along a tributary river until he arrived at Lafayette, Indiana. 

According to the immigration record, John Stevens arrived in New Orleans in December of 1850. As I remember it, the curious detail about Hugh Stevens' First Declaration was that he, too, arrived in December, following the same route, but his arrival was a year afterwards. I can imagine the one Stevens man, John, sending a message back home to the other Stevens man, Hugh, in County Mayo, telling him it would be to his advantage to follow that same route.

Apparently, Hugh did so, for there is a document demonstrating his arrival and his specific route, but where he went after that point is still a mystery to me. That is what I'm hoping to set aside this month to discover. 

Huge Project — or Huge Mistake

 

A thought which in the malaise of midwinter seemed a good idea might not, in midsummer's sweltering heat, bear out as a productive move.

Last winter—on New Year's Day, in fact—I had pondered which project might have been the best choice for July's research efforts, the year's first attempt at pushing backwards on my father-in-law's line of Irish ancestry. In the case of immigrant ancestors like last month's exploration of Michael Metzger, and even more so for my husband's Stevens line, crossing that watery boundary to the immigrant's homeland doesn't always go as well as hoped. Especially for Irish inquiries, I am beginning to wonder whether it is possible to make any further progress at all. In the post-holiday haze, selecting a Most Wanted target for far-away July, I decided to focus on a Stevens collateral line, in hopes of making an end run around a research brick wall. In retrospect, I now see that that will, at the very least, become a huge project—or it will turn out to be a huge mistake. Now that July is here, we'll have thirty one days to decide which of the two this task will be.

The focus for July will be the supposed brother of my husband's second great-grandfather John Stevens. The man's name was Hugh Stevens, according to the one slip of paper upon which he made his brief appearance in the United States in the 1850s. After that statement, I lost any sight of him at all. Poof—gone, as if he never even existed.

The choice was whether to tackle this task at all. Hugh Stevens was a collateral line, after all. But what else did I know about his brother's origin, if not for that and a very few other records? With the decision to chase Hugh Stevens back to his supposed point of origin in County Mayo, Ireland, came the choice to broaden the search to take in more general information.

This month's project will be a series of discoveries about generic topics having much to do with how the Irish came to America. Since Hugh followed John Stevens' footsteps (so to speak) from Ireland through the port at New Orleans, I want to learn about that specific shipping route—which ships traveled that route and why. Since passenger lists for that route seem riddled with gaps in dates, I want to learn more about whether the missing records have since been preserved, and if so, where they can be accessed. On my last research attempt, guess whose arrival fell in those gaps?

While I would love to identify exactly which ship carried both Stevens men to America, even if that is no longer possible, there are far more details to pursue. Both men ended up in Lafayette, Indiana; could there have been a history of Irish men heading there in response to advertisements for laborers? Checking into local history resources may tell the tale—if not specifically about any Stevens relatives, at least this will be an effort broadening an understanding of the experience for Irish immigrants to Indiana in general.

Another avenue I have used to learn more about each of my Twelve Most Wanted has been DNA testing. However, in the Stevens case, matches—whether for autosomal connections or through Y-DNA testing—have been rare and uninformative, so while I'll keep an eye on matches during the month, this will not be an area likely to produce answers.

As always, the initial research questions will lead me in a general direction. As more clues pop up, they will hopefully lead farther still into more detail. Hopefully. I am certain there is an untold story in this Stevens line. Finding it will be the challenge.  

Ancestor #7: What Happened to Hugh?

 

Among the tools added in the past year at Ancestry.com, one I appreciated the most was their beta offering which included the option to view a family tree in "fan view." Just changing the way the pedigree chart looked helped me spot areas in my trees which needed more work. I took that viewing option one step further, and made a fan view version for each set of eight great-grandparents for my parents and my in-laws, and posted then on my desktop for instant reference (and hopefully, inspiration to get busy on needed research projects).

Some of the diagrams were indeed perfect for that inspiration, such as the diagram for Thomas Taliaferro Broyles, my mother's great-grandfather whose diagram I shared in a post when Ancestry unveiled that beta version back in September. You can easily spot those empty family branches screaming for attention. But today, as I shift focus on my Twelve Most Wanted for research projects in 2024 to those missing ancestors in my father-in-law's roots, the diagrams I spot for his family look more like what I call "egg-head" drawings than the half-eaten pie-shaped diagram for someone like ol' Tom. How do you plan a year's research strategy from hint-less diagrams like those Irish ancestors in my father-in-law's roots?

There was one exception, thankfully. I had entered an unnamed father for my husband's second great-grandfather, John Stevens. The reason for that unnamed entry was that I had found an immigration record for a man named Hugh Stevens—a man who had taken the exact same route from Ireland's County Mayo to Lafayette, Indiana, as John Stevens had done at almost precisely the same month in a previous year. While I had no idea of the relationship, the coincidence was almost begging me to assume they were brothers, and that was exactly where I placed him in my father-in-law's tree, after creating a place holder for the two brothers' father.

The only problem was that almost immediately after Hugh arrived in Lafayette, he seemed to disappear. What happened to Hugh after that point?

Of course, it would be redundant to say he died; people traveling anywhere in the world in the 1850s would be dead by now. But how soon after his arrival would that have happened? Did he acquire a malady from his trans-Atlantic passage and collapse shortly after greeting his relative in a new world? Or could he have moved on, perhaps marrying and starting a family of his own before his demise?

I have ulterior reasons for wondering about these questions. Even though I attempted this same research poject two years ago, I still can't place the Stevens family's specific townland of origin in County Mayo, and hope to trace Hugh to discover more about John's roots. In addition, it would be doubly helpful to find any DNA matches from another branch of the Stevens line. Right now, there only are three matches from John's line but nobody else—not even guesses as to who might have been in the previous generation. Finding any sign of Hugh might be very helpful, indeed.

Collateral Damage

 

If the term "collateral" as applied to family history means the siblings of our ancestors, then genealogical collateral damage must be what happens when the paper trail for relatives disintegrates. That, at least, is what appears to be happening to the paper trail of possible connections leading from John Stevens, the Irish immigrant we've been tracing from County Mayo.

Depending on whom you consult, the term "collateral line" can take on various shades of meaning. Alas, the oft-consulted FamilySearch wiki seems to lack an entry standardizing the term's definition. If we take the approach of assembling a number of online resources discussing the term, though, we can piece together a mosaic of just what collateral lines might be.

For some, collateral research can be limited to "tracking laterally closest living relatives," while for others, the term signifies the "relatives of someone who married into the family" as well as "distant cousins along your direct line."

To be specific about the definition for a collateral relative, you might say "any blood relative who is not your direct ancestor"—or, to put it another way, any relative who is not directly related to you, but with whom you share a common ancestor. In other words, these are the relatives who share the same ancestry as you, but not always the same direct line of descent.

Some people, in planning what aspects of their ancestry to research, choose to pursue only their direct family lines—as we see in many of our DNA matches' displayed family trees. Others only later have realized the benefits of adding collateral members of their family tree—or felt a tug on their heartstrings when they've lost a much-appreciated distant cousin who served as an older family research partner.

You know me, of course: I see collateral research as my bread-and-butter of envisioning connections with those thousands of DNA matches in my family lines, so I still say a hearty "amen" to the observations on the usefulness of collateral lines made years ago by another genealogy blogger. Going both deep and wide has enabled me to figure out many genealogy puzzles.

And yet, here we are with John Stevens. It's not very deep on the Stevens family tree that we've ventured—after all, he was only my husband's second great-grandfather. As for John Stevens' only (possible) blood relative, a man named Hugh Stevens who followed his exact immigrant pathway from County Mayo to Lafayette, Indiana, the man seemed to disappear shortly after his arrival in America. Even pursuing John's in-laws' history didn't seem to unearth any clues as to his origin and extended family members.

That, of course, should only be the start of a pursuit of information on collateral lines. But that is where I get into collateral damage. 

For instance, one excellent resource for connecting the dots for on-the-move ancestors could be the records kept by the Catholic Church. I have often seen marriage records of Catholic ancestors with notations added about the bona fide baptismal status of the intended marriage partner coming from another location—a wonderful way to reach backward in time on that person's story. In John Stevens' case, though, an inquiry as to the records of the Catholic church in existence at the time of his arrival in Lafayette drew up a blank. Lost? Damaged? According to the reply to my inquiry, it seems the early records of that parish were not preserved to such an extent as to provide me such coveted clues.

In many cases, letters sent to and from family left behind can provide wonderful tidbits of information. But when you realize that many of the Catholics in Ireland during the famine years did not even know how to read or write, the probability of receiving a letter from back home shrinks to near zero. Another potential avenue to discovery of collateral lines wiped out.

One other possible route to learning more about John's family might have been through any will left at his passing in 1893. After all, his second wife Eliza Murdock was listed as owning their home free of any mortgage in the 1900 census; perhaps there might be a will showing, in addition to the disposition of the home's ownership, names of other family members. But even that would be a slim chance—most family members named in these less well-endowed cases are descendants, not siblings, and certainly not parents or even cousins.

As opportunities to examine John Stevens' past through exploration of his collateral lines seem to dwindle, I end up with yet another foray into this challenge coming up empty-handed. Yes, if baptismal records from the Catholic parishes near his possible townlands in County Mayo become available to researchers in the future, I may have another opportunity to delve into this question about his roots. Until then, though, we'll likely have to put this pursuit on hold for at least another year.     

Clues from a Spouse

 

While it helps to glean hints about brick-wall ancestors from collateral lines and even the "F.A.N. Club" of other associates, those clues need to be read carefully. In one connection to John Stevens, the Irish immigrant ancestor we've been chasing throughout this month, I nearly read those resources incorrectly.

We can sometimes read volumes into the choice of a spouse. In the case of John Stevens' second wife, Eliza Murdock, that was exactly what I attempted to do. After all, who in the 1860s would not have carefully selected a bride based on similar background, tendencies, and preferences? In some cases, the choice of a spouse could point to a long line of clues about an ancestor's extended family.

With widower John Stevens' second wife, we see a woman whose surname—at least to me—seemed more Scottish than Irish. Though Eliza and her family were, like John Stevens, immigrants who settled in Lafayette, Indiana, on account of her brothers, she could claim a family name which was significant in the local community.

Eliza's brother James had a story which sounded like an echo of another immigrant's rise from humble beginnings to incredible success: the story of Scottish immigrant Andrew Carnegie. Indeed, in one county history book published in 1909, Past and Present of Tippecanoe County Indiana, the entire second volume opened with much space dedicated to businessman James Murdock's portrait and biography.

While the surname Murdock—as well as its more well-known variant, Murdoch—does have some roots reaching back centuries in Scotland, it is primarily a Gaelic surname. Though at first I was concerned to see John Stevens choosing to marry a woman whose name seemed to indicate a Scottish, rather than Irish, heritage, I was relieved to see that surname history. Once again, my doubts had surfaced about John Stevens being the person he claimed he was.

As it turns out, James Murdock—John Stevens' brother-in-law—was apparently born in County Sligo, Ireland. That, at least, was what was reported on James' 1908 death certificate. If indeed that report was correct, it is reassuring to find that County Sligo bordered on the county of John Stevens' birth, County Mayo. While admittedly, those more northern regions of the island of Ireland did have displaced peoples and migration from other parts of the British empire, that is a story from a far earlier history than the years of John Stevens' own residence in Ireland.

While some researchers have suggested that the choice of an immigrant's spouse—having married after arrival in the new homeland—might reveal that the two families knew each other back in Ireland, I don't believe that would be true in this case. Though John Stevens and the Murdock family arrived in Indiana at roughly the same time, their migration pathways were not similar—the Murdock family sailing first to Canada, then migrating in stages through various states before arriving in Indiana. Their acquaintance was most likely made after each party had settled in Lafayette.

Does exploration of a spouse's history help determine more about an immigrant's own origin? Perhaps, in some cases. Not that I can see, so far, in the case of John Stevens. Though hints of Scottish, rather than Irish, roots do show up in the Murdock story—James' father John was said to have been "a Scotch-man by birth"—such details only set my own suspicions about John Stevens resonating; there is no solid evidence to lend me a paper trail, or even point a possible way to fresh discovery. While collateral line exploration may often open up our eyes to possibilities, in this case, it only reminds me to proceed further with caution.  

The one who Refuses to be Found

 

For some of those recalcitrant, brick-wall ancestors, if we hadn't stumbled upon a trace of their existence locally, perhaps we'd never have known anything about them at all. This certainly was true for my husband's second great-grandfather, John Stevens, who may—or may not—have come to Indiana from County Mayo, Ireland. It may be even more true for his apparent relative Hugh Stevens, who followed the same migration pathway, trailing John by almost exactly two years.

Finding Hugh Stevens has proven a far greater challenge than I'm up to, from my long-distance vantage point. I'm well over one thousand miles away from Tippecanoe County, Indiana, and not likely to head in that direction any time soon. However, I did get this one consolation prize from my last trip back east: not only a copy of the Declaration of Intention signed with an "x" by John Stevens, but an almost identical document, subsequently drawn up by local government officials on behalf of someone named Hugh Stevens.

Brothers? Cousins? I can't yet be sure. But there surely is a high likelihood that the two Stevens men are related. I mean, what are the chances that this second Stevens trip in 1851 to tiny Lafayette was a mere coincidence? After all, "chain migration" was one oft-used means of reuniting family among Irish emigrants. Perhaps John Stevens sent money back to County Mayo to bring Hugh Stevens across the ocean and up the Mississippi to join him. Perhaps he sent back a word of advice about that traveler's tip to avoid malaria-ridden New Orleans at all costs, unless Hugh could arrive there in December.

I would love to test that hypothesis—except for one thing: other than his Declaration of Intent, the one sign of Hugh's existence in Lafayette, the man seemingly disappeared. Among other research difficulties, that was one detail which made me doubt that either of the men was actually named Stevens.

Though each journey was separated by almost precisely two years, the two Stevens men both took the same route to get to Indiana—from County Mayo to Liverpool, sailing to New Orleans and then northward on the river routes landing them at or near the river port at Lafayette—and completed the first step in their naturalization process at the same local courthouse. After that, John stayed in Lafayette, but Hugh disappeared. I sometimes find myself blinking and wondering whether I simply imagined that second immigration journey. Whatever happened to Hugh?

Not that his home turf back in Ireland was in any shape to provide supporting documentation. Seldom were there any passenger records at that tumultuous time, back in Ireland, to corroborate what we found on the American side. Nor have I been able to construct any reasonable explanation for where Hugh went, or any logical argument to demonstrate that any other man by that same name might actually have been our Hugh.

Like any researcher would for the others who belong in that circle of friends, family, and other associates and neighbors we dub the "F.A.N. Club," I still keep Hugh Stevens' name and itinerary close at hand. Just in case. One never knows when another page from the passenger lists at the port of New Orleans may show up with his name included.

Clues From Collateral Lines

 

John Stevens, our hard-to-find Irish immigrant from County Mayo, still remains a mystery. Despite finding several Stephens men listed in the Tithe Applotment books for that particular Irish county, I still have nagging thoughts battling with themselves in my mind. I simply have no connection between the records in Ireland and John's sudden appearance in Tippecanoe County, Indiana, after 1850.

Time to look to collateral lines and the genealogical F.A.N. Club for clues. There are several possible resources for these friends and family connections, but even there, I find conflicting leads.

This week, we'll review what I've been able to find on possible connections and examine why they were helpful to find—or, in some cases, why they re-introduced those doubts about John Stevens' supposed Irish roots.

We'll begin tomorrow with an examination of another Stevens man who arrived in Lafayette, Indiana, after having followed the same itinerary John, himself, had reported in his naturalization papers. Following that, we'll launch into exploration of the extended family of John's second wife—a family whose surname made them sound more Scottish than Irish.

True, using collateral lines to help clarify genealogical details may seem more prone to inference than confirmation. Lacking more solid resources, perhaps my only alternative is to see whether I can tease out any leads from what can be learned about these other immigrants. As we close out the month, we'll give this last attempt a try.

When Curiosity Gets the Best of Us

 

Today, I caved to research temptation. Despite the genealogical mantra to "start with yourself" and then move step by step backwards in time through each generation in your family, I got tired of not finding John Stevens. My research goal for August is rapidly running out of time. I'm still hoping to spot a sign—any sign—of my husband's Irish-born second great-grandfather somewhere in County Mayo.

Since so many record types we would normally have used for genealogical research concerning our Irish ancestors had been destroyed during the Four Courts fire in 1922, it turns out that tax records have become a most useful alternative. Keeping my eyes open for both the Stevens and Stephens spelling, I had already tried my best to find John Stevens in Griffith's Valuation. However, if he really did come from County Mayo, given the date in which that county was evaluated—it was completed in 1857—he would have been long gone by that point.

But what about the previous property assessment, found in the Tithe Applotment books? There are several online resources for those tax records. What's more, since the assessment was authorized by the Tithe Composition Act in 1823 to collect funds in support of the Church of Ireland, the process resulted in records spanning dates from 1824 through 1855. That seems a large enough date range to possibly include John Stevens himself.

The records only identified heads of household—and even at that, included only about forty percent of those heads of household. Still, I'm simply looking for confirmation that at least any men by that surname—spelled Stevens or Stephens—actually lived in County Mayo during the years the Tithe Applotment books were being recorded.

Yes, "wild goose chase" it might have been. But it was encouraging to see the roundup of Stevens and Stephens men in County Mayo, according to a search at Ancestry.com, one of the online resources including these records. There was indeed a John Stephens recorded in 1833 in the townland of Foxford, in the civil parish of Toomore.

Granted, if I have the year of his birth correct—reported to be 1813 at the time of his 1893 death in Lafayette, Indiana—John Stevens might have been too young to be the head of household over any property by that point. But it was encouraging to see nine other Stephens men listed in County Mayo as well, including one named James, same name as John gave to his eldest son.

While all that may mean something in our search for our John Stevens back in County Mayo, we don't have enough information yet to confirm or reject any of those ten Stephens/Stevens men from the early tax lists. Still, I know it is at least possible that he could once have lived there. And now the list is narrowed to only eight townlands instead of the possible thirty four hundred I'd otherwise have to wade through in County Mayo. 

Different Than the Rest of the Crowd

 

While most Irish refugees to North America during the years of the Great Famine may have headed to New York or Boston, my husband's second great-grandfather John Stevens had to be different than all the rest. Instead of choosing those typical northern American ports—or destinations in Canada, or perhaps Australia or New Zealand—John Stevens chose to head to the port of New Orleans.

Why he did so has always puzzled me. For the longest time, his stated 1850 date of arrival on his immigration papers was one falling in the gaps of what was available in digitized records collections. Although such online collections are now more complete than when I first began this search, I still haven't located any record that match his details.

With such research trouble, I've begun to wonder whether John arrived from somewhere other than Ireland itself—for instance, traveling through one of the Caribbean islands. Hence, my goal in exploring the background information on the more general topic of Irish emigration itself, especially from John's supposed homeland in County Mayo.

Today, I begin to see some positive signs that he could indeed have arrived through the port of New Orleans. Though some of the statements I've uncovered do not come sourced or footnoted (hey, one is simply an Indiana newspaper), I see them as way-pointers in a long journey to arrive at the truth of this ancestor's travels.

True, both FamilySearch.org and Ancestry.com have digitized copies of passenger records for the port of New Orleans. But let's first look at who might have arrived in New Orleans in general.

New Orleans is situated in what is now the state of Louisiana, located in the deep south of the United States. By virtue of its location at the mouth of the Mississippi River, the port's significance has always been its entry to a vast waterway connecting this Gulf port with much of the American midwest. Indeed, John Stevens made use of that transportation feature by continuing his immigration journey northward to the state of Indiana, where he finally settled.

Apparently, the Irish began arriving in Louisiana from the 1820s, and in increasing numbers during the famine years. New Orleans by 1840 had become the third most populous city in the United States—not to mention, the wealthiest. Perhaps on account of such reasons, rather than simply heading west across the Atlantic to New York or Boston, a significant number of Irish emigrants knew to sail farther south.

According to one newspaper column—unfortunately unsubstantiated—the port of New Orleans was considered "less regulated and more lax in following immigration law" than other American ports, leading some immigrants to "purposely choose" this as their port of entry. One other detail supposedly shared by immigrants was knowledge of the likely times for outbreaks of malaria and yellow fever in New Orleans, meaning those in the know would time their travel to avoid the months between May and November.

This last detail, although unsubstantiated in the newspaper report, caught my eye for one reason: what seemed to me to be the odd time John Stevens selected for his arrival in America. According to his Declaration of Intention, John Stevens arrived in New Orleans in the month of December. Could he have known of this bit of travelers' advice?

While digitized copies of the passenger lists for arrivals in New Orleans are now available for the years 1820 through 1945—and arranged by date of arrival in port—I did notice the collection notes admitted, "Some arrival dates are not represented in the data." True, in the past I had only searched for John's surname as spelled exactly "Stevens" and not "Stephens," so it is worth taking another look. But having his declared date of arrival, I have not been able to spot his entry in past forays into this record set.

However, seeing that mention of travelers' hesitance to arrive in Louisiana during the height of the malaria season does give me a slight glimmer of hope that John Stevens did indeed arrive in New Orleans just when he said he did. Now, it's just a matter of finding the record to have appropriate confirmation of this step in his emigration journey.

Of course, to be able to see that the entry is indeed for a man named John Stevens—and that the name wasn't simply an alias—would bolster my confidence, as well. After all, if he did indeed come from County Mayo, I have not seen many encouraging signs that his was a surname included among the residents living there during famine times.

More About Irish "Population Clearance"

 

Perhaps our doomed "Goldilocks" research review yesterday didn't do full justice to the topic of assisted emigration schemes during the many famine years in Ireland. Let's take a closer look today—but this time, we'll look specifically from the point of view of the county from which my husband's second great-grandfather John Stevens emigrated: County Mayo in the northwest of Ireland.

An academic paper published in 2005 by the British Agricultural History Society in their journal, The Agricultural Review, provided much-needed background information on what author Desmond Norton described as "population clearance" in Ireland during famine years. In his article, "On landlord-assisted emigration from some Irish estates in the 1840s," Norton reviewed the discovery of letters and business records from the land agency firm of James Robert Stewart and Joseph Kincaid.

Most of the letters were from landlords, tenants, or the firm's local agents or partners, providing a specialized glimpse of the workings behind the assisted emigration schemes available during famine years in Ireland. While the information in the Norton paper is useful in a general sense, I need to examine any dynamics which might apply more specifically to John Stevens' case in County Mayo.

As it turns out, information from a website in County Mayo helped provide a more localized picture of how our John Stevens might have left his homeland.

Though part of our Goldilocks research foray yesterday—the part which turned out to be "too late"—mentioned the Tuke Assisted Emigration Schemes, it was interesting to discover that James Hack Tuke did travel specifically to County Mayo, where he observed the destitute condition of the population there, developed philanthropic projects, and organize opportunities for local residents to leave Ireland. All told, over three thousand people from County Mayo took up his offer, sailing from Blacksod Bay in northern County Mayo for either the United States or Canada.

Though in County Mayo the potato was the sole source of nutrition for nine-tenths of the population, the blight did not completely hit crops in that northern region in the first year of famine. The next year—1846—was a different matter. With the county now in the full throes of the famine, Mayo newspaper reports of the time painted a dire picture.

In the face of such desperation, local residents left on ships sailing from the small ports right in County Mayo, including the ill-fated vessel, The Elizabeth and Sarah. Not a lone example of the hazards encountered by those in County Mayo fleeing starvation, conditions in many other vessels crossing the Atlantic brought horrific tales to light. 

In considering the dire straits faced by the emigrating Irish, it is perhaps difficult to simply point a finger at those devising "assisted emigration schemes." True, some of those financiers behind paid passage opportunities had hidden motives—"population clearance" perhaps being one of them. But when you consider that it might take an unskilled laborer upwards of six months to earn enough money to pay for his own passage, it becomes clear that those who needed help the most had no other option.

In this exploration of conditions specific to County Mayo during famine years, one additional detail became apparent: not all Irish emigrants had to make the long journey to ports like Dublin or Queenstown (Cobh) in order to leave in hopes of a better life elsewhere. Desperate people left when they could and where they could, including from ports in County Mayo itself. While this may in one way seem to be good news for a researcher, in other ways it introduces a research problem. Since John Stevens undoubtedly left his homeland for America due to famine conditions, from which port did he sail? And which set of records might reveal this information?

Complicating matters is the port to which he headed, once leaving his homeland: the port of New Orleans. Tomorrow, let's examine what can be found of passenger records in that location.

  

The Means to Migrate

 

Living on an island can be limiting. When hard times hit, few options are available for impoverished residents seeking to escape their plight. The ocean does not make a compassionate partner for those desperate to leave their problems behind. Those who need to leave must first find a suitable form of transportation.

For the Irish, the specter of famine was a cyclical occurrence. The Great Famine of the late 1840s was not the first time the Irish felt the multiple pressures of poverty, hunger, and accompanying disease. It certainly was not the first time it occurred to Irish residents that the only way to find relief was to leave home. With no means to flee from their predicament, though, it took the help of others to provide a way of escape.

Those others, it turns out, had vested interests in ridding their property of the least productive, or those more likely to become a burden upon landlords or Poor Law Unions. Some of those landlords, having paid the way for tenants to leave their property—and thus, their obligation of support—kept estate records which can now be accessed by researchers.

Over the years, famine after famine, it turns out that there were several programs established to aid the destitute of Ireland in finding a better life somewhere else. One example that springs to mind is the series of programs encouraging immigration to the British colonies of Australia and New Zealand. 

There were, of course, other programs established, sending Irish residents far across the globe. One such "assisted emigration" program, sometimes referred to as the Tuke schemes, sought to provide transportation for western Irish families to the American and Canadian midwest. Descendants of those emigrating families can trace their ancestors' progress through preserved records of that era. That funding program, however, was established in response to a famine subsequent to the Great Famine of the 1840s.

Given that the focus of our study—the emigration of John Stevens from County Mayo about 1850—would not have been in Ireland during the time period of the Tuke schemes, he certainly could not have availed himself of such assistance. That, however, doesn't rule out other assisted emigration programs.

The first such assisted emigration program I became aware of was that of Peter Robinson, Canadian politician and Commissioner of Crown Lands. The Ontario city of Peterborough is named after him. Long before the time of the Great Famine in Ireland, Robinson proposed moving a select group of people from the area around County Cork to land near what is now known as the Ottawa Valley. Robinson's program had stringent requirements: all Irish emigrants had to be Catholic peasants younger than forty five years of age. Three hundred families were selected to participate in the program, each family receiving seventy acres of land, necessary supplies, and tools for building and farming.

In all, eleven ships sailed from Queenstown (now Cobh) to Ontario, from 1823 through 1825. As the next few years mark the hundred year anniversary of that project, people are now beginning to share stories of their Robinson scheme ancestors. Fortunately for descendants of those emigrants—and those descended from the relatives left behind—Robinson kept good records. Lists of the emigrants can be found (or referred to) in various articles online, as well as a list of the ships used in the project.

Once again—beginning to sound like a Goldilocks story—this emigration scheme occurred not too late for our John Stevens, but too early.

There were many other emigration schemes, though. Because it was far easier for destitute Irish to pour across the channel between Ireland and Great Britain, that is exactly what many emigrants did—to the dismay of British politicians concerned about the impact that movement would have upon the labor market closer to home. That, more than the condition of abject poverty itself, may have been the impetus for development of several other schemes—some partially successful, others not as beneficial.

FamilySearch provides a listing of the top ten landlords devising assisted emigration schemes in the nineteenth century. Reviewing this list, I see not one name mentioned having oversight of properties in County Mayo. Not that there weren't others, of course, but the possibilities are becoming slimmer that such a deal was offered to our John Stevens. However, taking a look at the long list of estate rentals in County Mayo now held by the National Library of Ireland, with a lot of diligent cross-referencing, it still may be possible to find any such schemes offered in John Stevens' homeland.

In the meantime, there are other details to consider in the story of John Stevens' travels from Ireland to Indiana. We'll explore one of those clues tomorrow.   

A Reason to Set Sail

 

When it comes to mid-nineteenth century Irish immigrants like my husband's second great-grandfather, John Stevens, it is not hard to understand why they wanted to leave their homeland. John Stevens, who arrived in America in the early 1850s from his supposed native County Mayo, most likely left because of the desperate conditions created from years of the Great Famine.

That, however, did not by itself provide the reason to set sail. Whether in good years or poor, it takes money to travel. That fact was not any different then than it is for travelers today. No money; no ticket—unless, of course, there is an alternate plan available.

In an article at FamilySearch.org, "Ireland Emigration and Immigration," the informative wiki provides a long list of clickable resources for tracing Irish ancestors through passenger lists and other documentation. One subsection of that wiki is worthy of our attention at this point of puzzling over the lack of records for our John Stevens' travels from County Mayo to the state of Indiana. Under the heading, "Types of Emigration from Ireland," there are four categories of emigrants listed for the years 1780 through 1855, categories including most of the people who left Ireland during that time period.

Let's take a look at each of those four categories to examine which one might best fit John Stevens' possible condition at the point of his emigration.

The first of those categories we'll consider is that of military personnel. While I have harbored a suspicion that John Stevens might have been a deserter from military service, this category of emigrants usually included those men who were currently in service. Those were the soldiers who were offered inducements to remain settled in the British colony in which they had been serving at the point of their discharge. While this might have seemed an attractive offer, it was generally employed in the case of those serving in Australia, Canada, or New Zealand. Of course, the United States had long since ceased to be a British colony by the time of John Stevens' arrival in Indiana. Although the colony of Georgia might have been such an example in the early seventeen hundreds, we can nix that category in the much later date of John's case.

The next category to consider would be that of transported prisoners. While my father-in-law did have some relatives in his family who were threatened with a sentence of transportation, that case was usually employed only for shipment to Australia by the time John Stevens left Ireland. Once again, this would not provide the reason for him to set sail to America.

Of course, the third category could likely include a story like John Stevens' means for leaving Ireland: as a free emigrant. It is true that many emigrants left Ireland to seek a better life for themselves and their family. But while they were seeking opportunity in a new land, this story line requires one additional condition: the means to leave. Those poverty-stricken, nearly-starving Irish peasants with the greatest reason to leave often were the ones with the least means to do so.

That leads us to the fourth category of emigrants: those who needed to leave, but lacked what it took to make that trip happen. Thus, the category of "Assisted Emigrants" became an alternate way for those who so desperately needed to find a better life to actually achieve the means to do so.

While assisted emigration required the largesse of others—a limiting factor in a place experiencing such dire conditions overall—it was more widespread than one might think. Tomorrow, we'll examine some examples of assisted emigration and consider the possibility of whether our John Stevens might have benefited from such an offer.

 

What was so Great about the "Great Irish Famine"?

 

Anyone seeking to discover more on their Irish ancestors surely knows about the one main impetus for their forebears leaving their native home: the Great Famine, cause of the death of an estimated 100,000 in County Mayo alone. With a population already impoverished in that northern county—nearly ninety percent in County Mayo were said to be dependent on the potato before the crop failure occurred—it is no surprise to realize the sense of "total misery and despair" pervading the region.

The Great Famine, which generally was pinpointed to begin in 1845, was not the only famine to have devastated Ireland. During the earlier parts of that same century, periods of famine were a common occurrence in Ireland. However, none was as severe as the one providing the motivation for so many to flea their homeland, thus providing an odd spin to the term, "Great Famine." The 1845 famine wasn't the only one—it was just the biggest, most tragic one yet to strike the entire Irish populace.

Zeroing in on famine conditions in County Mayo helps us see what life might have been like for my husband's second great-grandfather, John Stevens. Though it was unquestionably the famine which provoked his emigration, my question is: just how bad was it there in County Mayo? Since John Stevens apparently made the journey to America alone, what became of his family? Did they stay behind? Did they survive remaining in Ireland? Or did they, like another line of Stevens ancestors from a more southern county, see one sibling take flight to America while another departed for New Zealand?

While the "Great" in the Great Famine for most people might be translated as the "Awful" famine, or the "Widespread" famine, could the idea of the famine as the biggest yet in a series of unfortunate events mean that John Stevens was not the first in his family to have left his homeland? Could John merely have been the next one in a line of family members who had begun leaving Ireland during an earlier, though lesser, famine? Could the start of 1845 have caused him to think, "Here we go again"?

Though there are many reasons over time prompting the Irish to leave their homeland, there is one question plaguing me: if the people in County Mayo were so impoverished in the years leading up to the famine, how did they manage to scrape up enough money to pay their passage out of there?

As it turns out, there were forward-thinking—though not necessarily altruistic—men already prepared to address that predicament. Whether that was how our John Stevens secured his transportation on the rather unusual route through New Orleans to America's midwest, I can't say. But it wouldn't hurt to examine the options open to those destitute residents of County Mayo in the aftermath of the famine. We'll review some possibilities next week.

Research, Dennis the Menace Style

 

There is a fabled vignette in which Hank Ketcham's cartoon character, Dennis the Menace, asks his harried mom, "If I can't have a horse, can I have a cookie?"

I say "fabled" because I have no access to the actual cartoon strip itself, but I know the story has been shared by—even analyzed by—many others. While Dennis wryly reflects afterwards on an "invisible horse who's worth his weight in cookies," I'd like to borrow Dennis' original plea for an impossible desire of my own: not for a horse, but to somehow access the truth on John Stevens' origin in County Mayo, Ireland. Hopefully, after all is said and done, I'll end up with at least a cookie.

Is hoping for a research breakthrough on my husband's second great-grandfather as impossible as Dennis' wish for a horse? With what appears to be a dearth of actual records in support of John Stevens' existence back in County Mayo, perhaps that is the case. But there is one small observation to be made, perhaps along the lines of another apocryphal story about a child's Christmas gift of a pony which "must have gotten away": there must be a "pony in here" somewhere.

Take my one and only clue that John Stevens came from County Mayo: the statement he provided on his Declaration of Intent, years after his arrival in Lafayette, Indiana. How do I know that? I had to travel to Lafayette myself to look for—and thankfully retrieve a copy of—the document.

This was not a record I could obtain from any online source—at least, not at that time. Now, there are several online resources for retrieving copies of such documents. But that doesn't make the process easy—or foolproof. The "first papers" in this naturalization process could be filed at almost any time after the immigrant settled in the United States. And that's the problem for those of us chasing that document decades—or over a century—after the fact. An immigrant could have filed two years after arrival—or twenty. If he moved while in the process of establishing citizenship, his papers could have been filed in two different jurisdictions, perhaps located hundreds of miles apart.

Even if the location of the application was certain—in John's case, that would be Tippecanoe County, Indiana—knowing where the document is stored now could also be challenging. Depending on the time frame, the process could have been recorded at the Northern or Southern District of the U.S. District Court in the state of Indiana, but the actual naturalization proceedings could have been conducted at local or state courts, as well as the federal court system. And different courts handled the matter, depending on the year the request was processed: circuit court, probate court, court of common pleas, superior courts, or even the Indiana Supreme Court.

Fortunately—though I say this tongue in cheek—there is an online resource for retrieving such records from Indiana, in case you don't have the means to whisk yourself away just now. The virtual records are currently available online through FamilySearch.org, though I don't know whether that availability is merely an artifact of the pandemic lockdown. But don't be in too much of a hurry to locate your ancestor's naturalization records from this Indiana collection just yet; apparently the collection is only browsable—sorted by alphabet and date, but in no means organized alphabetically. Hence, hunt and peck. This process may take some time; it may be quicker to fly to Indiana.

That said, that little slip of paper—John Stevens' Declaration of Intention—was the only way I could learn of his Irish origin. And that is the problem I referred to at the beginning of this post. Consider this: if that bit of intel was only available in one hard-to-locate document, what else could be lurking out there in the ether, somewhere between here and County Mayo, Ireland?

Do I see anyone smirking yet? You know I'd be saying this: there must be a "pony" in there somewhere!