Spoke Too Soon

While it is true that my qualification to become a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution lies with the history of one man named Zachariah Taliaferro, I had stopped just one generation shy of my proper target. Yes, Zachariah Taliaferro—the one born in Virginia about 1759—was himself son of Zachariah Taliaferro. That Zachariah—the father, born in Virginia about 1730—was indeed the man I’ve been searching for.

Thanks to my Genealogy Angel, I already know the D.A.R. Ancestor Number of the right Zachariah Taliaferro. Thanks to the D.A.R. Genealogical Research System—open online for anyone wishing to explore it—the ancestor search index to their extensive set of patriot names (as well as descendants having already stated their genealogical claims) served to set me straight on just who I needed to honor with my application.

In defense of my hasty assumption, young Zachariah was of an age to have served, himself—barely. I’ve read many a history of the time including vignettes in which boys attempted to join themselves to the fighting ranks. But for sake of expediency, it will suffice to stick with the established records and proceed with my application linked to the proper Patriot. The senior Zachariah it will be.

May it also be noted (as I am rather miffed at myself for such a hasty conclusion, and in need of self-justification here) that there are innumerable Taliaferros of an age to be part of the action, winding their way through the Virginia territory. One may find, online, quite a few details on their genealogy—of which I, predictably, take much interest.

The younger Zachariah, it turns out, was the second son of the elder Zachariah. Thankfully, I’ve long since drilled into my mind a tactic to keep the identity of the namesake separate from that of his father: remembering the name of each one’s wife. Father Zachariah claimed as his bride Mary Braxton Boutwell. Son Zachariah was eventually wed to the former Margaret Chew Carter, related somewhat closely (her paternal grandfather’s first cousin) to the Virginia land baron known as “King” Carter—but that’s a bunny trail for another day.

And yet, somehow I missed that generational step. Not good for a discipline so detail oriented. Which makes me quite grateful for that D.A.R. index. It’s always handy to have an authoritative resource for double checking that work.


Above right: Watercolor, circa 1910-1920, by Charles M. Lefferts depicting various Continental Army uniforms; from the Anne S. K. Brown Collection at Brown University, courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain. 

The Last Link

This whole pursuit of the Broyles family was started with the purpose of completing an application for the Daughters of the American Revolution. While I have some details to attend to with each generation, looking over the broad picture, the scene took us from my maternal grandmother in Florida, through her own mother, Sarah Ann Broyles McClellan, to the same Thomas Taliaferro Broyles of Civil War times we’ve been discussing. Though there is a lot more information I’d like to retrieve on the lives of each of these ancestors—particularly my great-great-grandfather, with both his war experiences and his medical training and experience—the time has come to move on and connect with my goal. That goal is to find a link to an already-established patriot record.

With the life of T. T. Broyles, I’m actually one step away from that goal. That is because Thomas was the son of a doctor in the county of Anderson, South Carolina, named Ozey Robert Broyles. Dr. O. R. Broyles took as his wife Sarah AnnTaliaferro—the same “Mrs. S. A. Broyles” as was listed on the envelope we mentioned the other day. Sarah Ann, in turn, was one of the daughters of Zachariah and Margaret Chew Carter Taliaferro of Virginia.

While I still have my work cut out to obtain documentation for each of these generational steps, I’ve already discovered that Zachariah Taliaferro is my target ancestor. He is the one in my mother’s line who qualified as a patriot within the parameters established by the D.A.R.

Of course, I won’t be satisfied until I can learn more about this man—and I’ve already found interesting stories about this family in privately-published genealogies from many years past. That, however is a task I need to do only for myself. I’m a story seeker. I thrive on getting to know the person, not merely the vital statistics.

For now, though, it will suffice to complete the application and submit it to the proper address—and then wait to receive the results.

Above right: The well-known oil on canvas by A. M. Willard, originally entitled "Yankee Doodle," but now generally called "The Spirit of '76," circa 1875; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain. 

He Really Was There

Truth be told, as a high school student, I could not boast that the highlight of my academic day was the subject of history. There might have been an infinitesimal edge to my preference for European history over American history, but all told, neither rated much above the bottom of the stack for my class preferences. The Civil War, in my mind, was a hazy blur of dates, innumerable unrecognizable names and titles, and military minutiae beyond my grasp.

History fared not one bit worse in my college years—nor one whit better.

And here I am now, trying to fathom the names of battles, dates of campaigns, and geographic descriptions of a region of the country I’ve rarely visited—all for the sake of uncovering any trace of ancestor involvement.

It took my husband—the war history enthusiast—to point out the obvious to me. Here I’ve been posting links to listings of military companies, being sure to scour the long readout of names for that one that makes all the difference—the name of my great-great-grandfather, Thomas Taliaferro Broyles. I’ve found records of his enlistment close to the beginning of the conflict. I’ve found listings including his name toward the end of the hostilities.

And yet, I didn’t get it. It didn’t dawn on me exactly what to be present at Appomattox actually meant. The statement, “Paroles signed by Col. A. C. Haskell, 7^th S. C. Cav.” didn’t translate in my mind into what had actually taken place under the guise of those words. I just didn’t get it.

“He was there,” my husband incredulously explained to me, not sure why I couldn’t comprehend, “He was there!”

“So he was there when they had to admit they lost?” I can be dense about such things, but perhaps it’s because I really hate losing.

My husband assured me it was a big deal—a really, really big deal. Those in attendance actually made arrangements to buy—or swipe—furniture from the site of the actual formalities, I’ve read, because of the historical significance of the day.

While my Thomas T. Broyles wasn’t at the actual meeting between Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee at Wilmer McLean’s front parlor on April 9, 1865, according to records, he was present at the surrender at the Battle of Appomattox Court House. For this, he and his comrades were spared the disgrace of imprisonment or prosecution for treason. Allowed to keep their horses, their side-arms and their personal baggage—though surrendering their government-issued arms—the men were provided with food rations with which to begin their journey homeward.

While in my mind, this would not be seen as a notable time for those who were defeated, I guess I can admit that this was, no matter which side a man fought on, a moment of great, historic import.

No matter how my ancestor might have felt that day, knowing that I can trace my roots back to someone who stood in that very location at that precise time is an eye-opener to me. If nothing else, it does bring me to the point where I can see history—especially military history—in a much different light than before.


Above right: Lithograph, 1867, "The Room in the McLean House, at Appomattox C. H., in which Gen. Lee Surrendered to Gen. Grant." Print commissioned by Wilmer McLean; at Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D. C.; courtesy Wikipedia, which includes a listing of identification of each subject present; in the public domain.

A Beautiful Find

While casting about for more substantiation regarding which colonel my great-great-grandfather served under during the War Between the States, I received one of those emails that simply and elegantly changes everything. Somehow, I’ve always needed my history to become tangible—something that receiving items like the photographs and letters to Agnes Tully did to my appreciation of my husband’s family history.

This email provided me with my “touchable” piece of history. The email itself was simple. The subject line bore the first hint with three exclamation points leading the header. The body of the message was as straightforward: “I found a website selling an envelope…”

One of the readers of A Family Tapestry—known here as “Iggy” for the title of his own blog, Intense Guy—enclosed with that email a couple clickable links. The links were to an online business selling historic stamps and other philatelic collectibles. The business specializes in Confederate Postal History.

There on the first link—you can see it here up until the point at which the item is sold and removed from the listings—is a description for item number 5929:

Soldier’s (due) 10 marking from Army of Northern Virginia, neat encircled rate mark on homemade cover to “Mrs. S. A. Broyles, Anderson C. H., So. Carolina” with mandated soldier docketing of “T. T. Broyles 7^th S. C. Cavalry” with further received docketing up the left side “Recd while at Pendleton by the hand of Dr. Mullen Harness Thursday 17^th Nov 1864 at Mr. Taylors.” Military records show him as in “B” company, enlisted as a private, but no other details. Regiment was in numerous famous battles including New Market and Appomattox. Bit of black flaps missing, otherwise Fine.

Just as the entry explained, the envelope was indeed from a T. T. Broyles to a Mrs. S. A. Broyles. It aligned so perfectly with the information stored on my family history database: Thomas Taliaferro Broyles, son of Sarah Ann Broyles who lived in Anderson, South Carolina.

Furthermore, I’ve already uncovered records showing this T.T. Broyles to have served in what became the Seventh South Carolina Cavalry. Everything was matching up perfectly to what I’ve already documented.

“So?” you might be thinking, “What’s there to get excited about? There is no new information. We already know this.”

True. Or, I should say, in my mind I know this. But getting to see a token of that reality, transported for me through all the time since the date of that letter in 1864—that’s one hundred forty seven years of time travel—is a totally different type of knowing. Perhaps that’s why some of us thrive on going to museums: it transforms our head knowledge of history into reality. Not that, before this point, the event didn’t happen. It’s just that, once seen, once (in a docent-permitted environment) even possibly touched, it takes on a new kind of realness. That’s a touchable reality, one that holds me in awe of where we’ve all been because of how we connect with our past.

I’ve never taken a fancy to “stamp collecting,” and I don’t suppose I’ll change my ways, even now. But I’m so grateful for the opportunity to have at least laid my eyes on a photograph of this little bit of history—my history—and made a personal connection with the past.

Photograph and item description courtesy of Patricia A. Kaufmann, Professional Philatelist; permission to reprint given in private correspondence October 16, 2012.

In the Cavalry: Getting Down to Details

Perhaps every mother needs to face up to the fact that her son entertains dreams of glory which may find their way out into reality when he enlists in the army. I don’t know how young men’s dreams took shape in the 1800s, but as soon as he could after the 1861 start of hostilities, Thomas Taliaferro Broyles grabbed his chance to turn his own dreams into reality. On September 5, 1863—supposedly as soon as he could after school graduation—T. T. Broyles enlisted at McPhersonville, South Carolina. Lieutenant L. J. Walker did the honors, enrolling him as a private in Company A of the Rutledge Mounted Riflemen and Horse Artillery.

At some point, Company A combined with Company B, Seventh Regiment of the South Carolina Cavalry, as noted on Thomas Broyles’ service records:

            The 7^th Regiment South Carolina Cavalry was formed by the addition of five independent companies to the five companies of the Cavalry Battalion, Holcombe Legion, South Carolina Volunteers, by S. O. No. 65, A. & I. G. O., dated March 18, 1864.

Shortly after that date, on May 27, 1864, newly-promoted Colonel Alexander Cheves Haskell assumed the responsibilities of the Seventh South Carolina Cavalry—a position which he held through the remainder of the war. Haskell’s appointment there replaced the command of Wade Hampton III, ironically later becoming the South Carolina Governor who subsequently saw to it that Haskell received a position as justice on the state supreme court. With his many significant roles in South Carolina military and political history, as well as commerce and transportation, a sizeable collection of Haskell's papers have been preserved and housed at the University of South Carolina library.

While notes concerning the Haskell Papers provide an overview of conditions of war under his command—and thus a bird’s eye view of what my great-great-grandfather may have also been experiencing in part—they, combined with sections of Thomas Broyles’ obituary, serve to introduce some doubt in my mind as to the reliability of the statements contained in that memorial.

I noticed, for instance, the report in the introduction to the Haskell collection:

            Haskell graduated from South Carolina College on the eve of the Civil War, second in his class, and immediately volunteered in the First Regiment…

Tell me, where have I heard such a line before? Could it be that statements like that in Thomas’ report are a popular romanticization of the time period?

            Thomas Broyles graduated from the University of North Carolina at eighteen years of age, and three days later was in the saddle as a member of Heiskell's Cavalry.

The parallel is too uncomfortable for me. Was it just fashionable to say one was so committed to this war that he could hardly await the chance to serve?—well, after graduation from college first, of course.

Then to some of the other facts: why, for instance, would a publication such as the Confederate Veteran misspell Haskell’s name? Editorial sloppiness? Disinterest in proper spelling? A dreadfully caricatured southern drawl? Or was there really another cavalry leader with the surname Heiskell, who just happened to carry the same two initials as Haskell? Why, then, would records—now preserved online—show company rosters detailed under the name Haskell and not Heiskell?

And then there is this little matter of math. Here, I’m hobbled in that I don’t feel entirely confident about Thomas’ birth date. But if he enlisted in the army in 1863, being eighteen years of age at that point would make his year of birth 1845. The birth date I’ve noted on my records was originally received from a footnote in volume one of Arthur Leslie Keith’s History of the Broyles Family (I've since found corollary evidence in the death certificate—though that only provides me a modicum of confidence). If the date given, October 28, 1842, is correct, an enlistment date of September 5, 1863, would put Thomas just shy of his twenty-first birthday. Not the eighteenth.

Bringing Dr. Keith’s long out-of-print manuscript into the conversation introduces another discrepancy: that same source indicates Thomas graduated from the University of North Carolina in 1860. That’s not exactly just a few days away from that September, 1863, enlistment, now is it?

Whatever the case may be—and especially adding the issue of his missing headstone to bolster my resolve—I propose a lot more study should be invested in sorting out the details of this man’s history.

And, above all, never trust an obituary. If ever there was a time to wax eloquent, it is in eulogizing a loved one recently departed. 

Above right: Kurz and Allison, Battle of Cold Harbor, from the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division in Washington, D. C.; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain. Cold Harbor was one of the battles in which Thomas Taliaferro's commanding officer, Col. A. C. Haskell, was injured.  

The Hunt For More Information

Though the information regarding Thomas Taliaferro Broyles’ burial remains hidden—at least for now—his obituary contains a number of other hints for me to follow. These details, hopefully, will paint a clearer picture of the man.

Proceeding from where we last left the narrative published in the Confederate Veteran in its January 1923 issue, the very next sentence provides enough for two days’ postings:

Thomas Broyles graduated from the University of North Carolina at eighteen years of age, and three days later was in the saddle as a member of Heiskell's Cavalry.

Let’s break that sentence into two parts. I have ulterior reasons for that. First, I’ll have to mount a new learning curve in researching Civil War veterans of that other side of the conflict. I’ve already made the attempt at researching Union veterans when I was working on my husband’s Tully line, coming up with grand family legend but nothing substantiated. In addition, my first foray into searching for the referred-to “Heiskell’s Cavalry” has not proved promising. This, I assure you, will take me time.

As to that first point—regarding educational background—I also hesitate. Today, I think just about everyone knows that the state’s university system is identified by city of campus location. The first thing I thought of when reading this part of Thomas’ obituary was “University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill.” But was Thomas’ campus the one at Chapel Hill? At which campus would I begin my search?

Some people might balk at the statement that Thomas graduated from college at the age of eighteen. I’m aware, however, of several historic figures from the colonial period who had attended such institutions as Yale, for instance, at now-unheard-of early ages. Perhaps even in the 1800s, that accomplishment would not be such an anomaly.

And yet, as if to hedge my bets, I thought I’d take a look to see if the University also hosted a preparatory school. While I didn’t find mention of such an arrangement on campus, in reviewing the state’s history of providing public higher education, it appears that the first campus—and the only one at the time of Thomas’ graduation—was that at Chapel Hill.

That is not all there is, as far as Thomas’ education goes. Thanks to one of the readers here—Leah, whose comment included this helpful link—I now have a clue as to where the good doctor obtained his medical credentials: the University of Nashville Medical School, now merged with the better-known Vanderbilt University.

I’m beginning to wonder whether my great-great-grandfather had an obstinate streak to him, though. When I scanned through the online resources for the med school's alumni listings of that time period, once again I’ve had to face up to that “unable to locate” conclusion. For the time being, Thomas Taliaferro Broyles’ academic credentials are as well-hidden as his headstone.

I’m beginning to wonder what else about the man will turn out to be invisible. 

Tale of Two Thomases

While trying to locate the burial place for my great-great-grandfather, Thomas Taliaferro Broyles, I’ve run into helpful hints, kindly souls volunteering suggestions, but no headstone. Well, at least no correct headstone. Thanks to a number of people, I have been referred to a Find A Grave photograph of a headstone in a neighboring Tennessee county. But, as you can see here, the dates are slightly off—not to mention the name of the wife. The Thomas Broyles I’m searching for was born in 1842 and died in 1922; though he married twice, neither bride sported the name Sarah.

As I mentioned yesterday, with a name like Broyles in a locale like eastern Tennessee, the concept of two men having (almost) the same name is not far-fetched. I tread lightly through this tangled family web, though. I need to pay attention and be sure to get it right. I want to take in the broader picture, for at some point, I may need to sketch out the whole family tree.

Someone, it turns out, has already done that. Actually, several someones. Over the years, some of the data has been preserved online. My first such discovery was one I stumbled upon in my earliest computer-aided researching years—also the early years of Rootsweb—courtesy of the advice of online forum members. That discovery was the Germanna site on Rootsweb, which, among other surnames from the Germanna colonies, included a wealth of information on the Broyles line.

With those early affiliations, I also had the privilege of emailing some other serious Broyles researchers and benefitting from their work. Of course, after all those years, now that I’ve turned my hand back to working on that line, new questions are popping up. Basic stuff like: where’s Thomas buried, anyhow?!?!

Lest you assume it would be a simple matter of looking up the information on his death certificate, I need to say here that, for whatever reason, that specific field in the document was left incomplete. (Why? I want to know; the answer to that question alone may be worth the asking.) The absence of both cemetery and undertaker make me wonder whether the good doctor had decided to give his body up to medical science, perhaps at his alma mater. Or that there might have been a private family burial ground on his property—something not unheard of in those earlier years and older regions of our country.

Wondering about the private cemetery situation prompted me to visit the genealogy forums for Washington County, Tennessee, where the Broyles family lived. Surely someone local on that forum would know…I thought.

While genealogy forums can provide some helpful guidance, I’ve learned to be careful in my consideration of all answers and advice offered. My query to one of the forums on behalf of my Thomas, while yielding one of the longest discussion threads I’ve ever been party to, ended up not providing any leads to solve my mystery.

Suggestions included looking at his parents’ family plot in Anderson County, South Carolina (which didn’t yield any results), or where his second wife was buried in South Carolina (again, nothing discovered yet). Someone recommended a link to a cemetery index, which, while I’m happy to see such resources online, would have been quite cumbersome to sift through for my one name.

Finally, I decided to go back to the only obituary I have for Thomas Broyles and read slowly and carefully for any hints. There was a flowery mention of where he was buried. Once again, I attempted the local route, and someone on the forum offered the Find A Grave entry.

Initially elated, then hopes dashed, I went back to the forum to set the record straight—in case any other Broyles researchers follow my path in future searches and pick up some misinformation.

It was there I had the privilege of meeting—or “re-meeting”—the one who maintained the original Germanna Rootsweb site I had benefitted from so long ago. Of course, now there are other websites with that same information—updated and expanded—and I’m following the digital trail with this wealth of Broyles information to its newer digs on sites such as FamilyTreeMaker and Ancestry.com.

It was this Germanna connection who provided me the relationship between the two Thomases. According to “Sarge,” the Thomases are actually third cousins. The other Thomas—officially Thomas A. Broyles—was son of Jacob and Elizabeth Ann Good Broyles. My Thomas—the one with the middle name from his mother’s family—was son of Ozey Robert and Sarah Ann Taliaferro Broyles.

While I now know why the two Thomases will never be one and the same—even in the mind of a hasty researcher—I still don’t know any more than I did before about my Thomas’ final resting place. While that is a moot point in regard to the pursuit of membership in my lineage society of choice, the longer I can’t have that little bit of data, the more I want it.