Sunshine Girl

Maddening Moseman Mystery: The Sequel

It may be laid down as a primary position, and the basis of our system, that every Citizen who enjoys the protection of a Free Government, owes not only a proportion of his property, but even of his personal services to the defense of it. ~ George Washington

Almost a year ago, I wrote about the family tree frustrations I was going through, particularly the issues that I had been having trying to track down and sort out various branches of the Moseman family tree.

My chief frustrations lay around the tantalizing prospect that the Revolutionary War Captain, Marcus Moseman, of the Westchester County Militia, 2nd Regiment, may have been a direct ancestor of mine. The earliest known Moseman ancestor in my tree was one “Elisha Moseman”. Elisha’s birth year established the distinct possibility that he could be the son of the Captain, but proof of this relationship was eluding me.

I should probably stop here and explain that I am not only a part-time genealogist; I am also a bona fide history fanatic. Go ahead and say it, you won’t hurt my feelings - I am a history nerd. I love history in general, but ever since I was a child I’ve been somewhat obsessed with American history, particularly American colonial history. In retrospect it seems to me that perhaps I was predestined to uncover this part of the past as it relates to me.

Fast forward to December, 2007. I was killing time with one of those endless Google searches that I do on family names, when no other clues to the puzzle seem to present themselves. I found a web query that was recently posted by a man who was also researching the Moseman family of Westchester County. I looked up the man’s family tree file posted on the Ancestry website, and found that his Moseman family tree not only went all the way back to Marcus, but it also showed that Elisha was indeed one of Marcus’ many children!

It was a real shock to me to be confronted with this information. I had spent years, literally, looking for a family connection to Captain Marcus Moseman, and here it was, complete with names and dates in a database. It was one of those moments that stop you cold, dead in your tracks. I could, finally, in a clear lineal descent, march my way down the chart, from my grandmother, born in 1909, to Captain Moseman, born in 1748.

Here’s the basic path:

Augusta Wilhemenia Moseman (my grandmother)
Nathaniel Green van Buren Moseman
Willett William Moseman
George Washington Moseman
Albertson Moseman
Elisha Moseman
Captain Marcus Moseman

I’ve been trying to imagine what Marcus’ world would have been like, and what issues he might have been confronted with. He would have only been 28 years old when the Declaration of Independence was signed; a man in the prime of his life, with a wife and five children to provide for. What implications would the signing of the Declaration have had for him? Was it clear to him that in a short time he would be required to take up arms and defend his home and his family? And did he foresee that beyond being a militia “Minuteman” that he would ultimately serve in the fledgling Continental Army, and later be taken as a British prisoner of war?

It’s difficult for me to perceive the drastic change in Marcus’ circumstances; normality one moment, chaos the next. Historically speaking, Westchester County during the American Revolution was the picture of chaos.

In 1776, George Washington’s troops retreated through Westchester after their defeat on Long Island. Washington’s main headquarters was at Continental Village, just north of Peekskill. The British established their headquarters in New York City. Westchester County became the “neutral ground” between the two camps.

As serene as the words “neutral ground” may seem, for the inhabitants of Westchester County it was anything but. For the entire course of the war, the citizens of Westchester were subject to raiding, pillaging and mayhem by both the British and the American camps. For Westchester, the American Revolution was truly the first “civil war” – families with divided loyalties were literally split apart by the terrible circumstances.

I don’t yet have much information regarding Marcus Moseman’s military service. I do know that he is listed on the muster rolls of both the Westchester County Militia, and later the Continental Army. He is shown to have been a prisoner of war, from November 20, 1780, to April 18th, 1781.

But I digress.

Having discovered this direct link between Elisha and Marcus, the next important step was to try to establish whether or not the information that I had found was actually correct. I needed to find any source files that might exist to support the family connections. My single-mindedness in this endeavor has revolved around a sole purpose: to gather enough evidence to be able to join the Daughters of the American Revolution.

Side note: I have no great interest in tea parties or white-glove meetings; my interest in the DAR is simple - as a fanatical closet historian, to find that I have a Revolutionary War patriot in my lineage is just plain cool. I want to celebrate it. I would feel the same if I found a Civil War veteran in the family tree, just as I feel the same pride in my Dad’s military service during World War II. I suppose I love my country, and I’m proud of its heritage, as unfashionable as that may be to admit in 2007.

As of this writing I am close to having all of my DAR documents in order. Some other blessed soul, back in the 1940’s or ‘50’s, helped pave the way for me. Her name was Elizabeth, and she was also descended from Marcus, all the way through George Washington Moseman, my 3rd great-grandfather. DAR rules allow me to “piggyback” my application on to Elizabeth’s. Apparently Elizabeth was able to satisfactorily prove the links from George, to Albertson, to Elisha, to Marcus, leaving me with much fewer vital records to track down. Thanks, Elizabeth! I don’t know what joining the DAR meant to you, but I’m glad you did it.

I’ll be a little bit sad when I finally finish gathering all of the documents that I’ll need for DAR membership. I’ve really enjoyed the journey. Fortunately, I have a lot of other patriots lurking in different branches of the family tree, who also will need investigating. Have I told you about Israel Greene? As in, possibly the cousin of George Washington’s trusted general, Nathanael Greene?

Stay tuned!

The Maddening Moseman Mystery

Genealogy can be very rewarding.

Genealogy can be very frustrating.

I’ve been a closet genealogist for a few years now. Being also a closet historian, I find searching for dead ancestors oddly enjoyable. I think it’s the desire to see how I fit in with the events of the past. Until fairly recently, I had no connections beyond a few generations back. My mother’s family came to the United States from Sicily in the early 1900’s, and my paternal grandfather’s family arrived from Austria right around the same time. That left Nana Willie Moseman, whose roots, for some reason, I left unexplored.

I don’t remember why I started researching Willie’s branches; I suppose maybe I had hit a brick wall researching another line, and just needed something to work on. All I know is that in late 2003 I suddenly found myself struggling to remember important conversations with Willie about her family. I had a few tantalizing memories of snatches of conversation to spur me on – the fact that her father was part Dutch, that “his people” were from North Carolina, and that he was part Cherokee Indian. I also had family rumor that we were somehow related to the 8th president of the United States, Martin van Buren.

Slowly, I pieced together the immediate family – her father was a Moseman. I found him on several census forms, from 1900 to 1930. His name was Nathaniel, sometimes spelled “Nathanael”. I found that he had been married twice. His first wife was a woman named Elsie, from Switzerland. With Elsie, “Nate”, as I began to call him, had fathered 3 children, Abraham, Sarah, and Elizabeth. I’m assuming that Elsie died, because suddenly Nate appeared on the census forms with the three children, and a new wife, named Marie. To make matters more complicated, Marie had also been married before. She had 2 children of her own, Martin and Laura. Together Nate and Marie had 3 more children; twins, Augusta Wilhelmina and Grace, and a boy, Herbert. (Augusta Wilhelmina was my Nana Willie.) So far, here is what I knew (Click on the image for an enlarged version):

For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out much else, and I dropped it. The trail was cold, and I was confused. The census data showed that Nate claimed at different times to be born in New York, or in North Carolina.

But I kept wondering. Internet queries on “Moseman” brought back hits on one Captain Marcus Moseman, of the New York Militia in the Revolutionary War. To a closet historian, dangling this type of information out there is like leaving a glass of gin and tonic in front of an AA member. It’s really hard to just walk away.

Then, in late 2006, around Thanksgiving, I traded a few “happy holidays” types of e-mails with my cousin Pat, who still lives in upstate New York. The subject of family history came up, and Pat offered to talk to her father’s cousin Barbara, who was visiting. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were on the brink of huge discoveries.

From Barbara we learned that Nate’s full name was Nathaniel Green van Buren Moseman. Now the glass of gin and tonic was more like a whole bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Pat and I became obsessed, spending every minute we could searching for clues.

After practically no sleep during the entire month of December, we discovered that Nathaniel’s mother Sarah was both a “Green”, and a “van Buren”, and we ended up with a family tree that, at least according to the LDS website, takes us back to the year 800. Yes, that’s 800, with no “1” in front of it. Oh, and let’s not leave out the discovery of the “Mayflower” ancestor in our tree, Degory Priest.

Some lines we could trace back that far, but not all. We’ve not been able to establish any direct connections to Marcus Moseman, Nathanael Greene, or Martin van Buren. It’s maddening – the links are so close – same towns and villages, same time frames, but no discovery yet of any direct ties. I console myself with the fact that even if I can’t figure out the connections to the more famous historical figures, I know that at least several of the people in the tree were militia members during the Revolution.

I really don’t know if I will ever figure out all of the facts. One thing I know for sure; I have no more choice in the matter than the person who looks both ways, then scoops up the gin and tonic and downs it in one gulp. I’ll keep looking.

Nathaniel and his children, Herbert, Abraham, Sarah, Elizabeth, Augusta and Grace, somewhere around 1915.

Whether or not I can claim it, here's a piece of the big picture: Download WillieTree.pdf

"I See Dead People"

I’ve always been a history buff. Julius Cesar, Alexander the Great, the ancient Assyrians – I devoured them all in college. Couldn’t get enough. No matter how dusty and remote the past may be, I love exploring it. I’m not sure why. I recently helped my son write a paper about the benefits of learning history, and I had a hard time convincing him that what happened fifty years ago was relevant, much less beneficial to him. All I can say is that it excites me. I’ve also always loved working on puzzles of all kinds; jigsaw puzzles, word problems, or other kinds (exception: Rubik’s Cube, which is just evil). Throw a good puzzle at me, and I’m up for the challenge. Lately, I’ve put both of those passions to use, trying to piece together some family history.

Some of it has been fairly easy. The families that have been on American soil for more than a hundred years have left more of a trail for me to follow than the folks who hailed from overseas. In a couple of instances I can trace back to the American Revolution, while in others I can only get as far as looking at the ship’s manifest from Sicily. For one branch of the family, I have priceless black and white photos dating back to the 1930s. For other branches, I have census records dating back to the mid 1800’s. This family tree business is a puzzle lover and history buff’s dream. But there’s something about this history that’s different; it haunts me.

The faces in photos stare back at me, almost as if they were inviting conversation. Just today, for instance, I was studying an old photo of my grandparents, taken on their honeymoon in upstate New York.
I was captivated by the expressions on their faces. It was almost as if I couldn’t recognize them, familiar and dear as their faces are to me. My grandfather was around thirty. He stared into the camera with the most confident look I think I’ve ever seen on him. Bare-chested, holding his wife, he looked like he’d just caught a treasure that neither man nor beast could wrestle away from him. His expression reflected a man who was secure in the knowledge that he could handle whatever life was going to throw at him. My grandmother, also around thirty in the photo, looks as serene and content as I’d ever seen her. Completely relaxed, with a halter-top and a pair of flowing pants gracing her tiny figure, she was the picture of youth, beauty, and happiness. What were they thinking? What were their plans? What had they done that day, and where were they going for dinner that night? I silently beg the picture to tell me more.

The census images intrigue me as much as the photographs. Bits and pieces of information are given, but never the whole story. I can see whole families listed, their ages at the time of the census, their occupations, where their parents were born, even how old they were when they got married. But there is so much more that I want to know! Why did they move from state to state, or from country to country? Why would anyone in his right mind settle in Wisconsin in the 1850’s? How were these women talked into leaving comfort and family and heading to the frontier, or in some cases, to another country altogether? How did they decide which of their possessions to take along, with super-sized moving vans not yet in existence? Did they realize that they might never see their families again? Night after night I pore over the census images, hoping to find clues that will lead me to a deeper understanding.

A few days ago I was thumbing through a family photo album from the 1970s. The pictures all possessed that slightly orange tint that seems to be common to photos from that era. Absent-mindedly, I flipped through the pages until I was forcefully struck by one photo. It was a picture of my two great-aunts and great-uncle, along with my sister and me, standing in front of a giant palm tree that served as the centerpiece of my grandfather’s front lawn. My aunts and uncle were smiling broadly (obviously having the time of their lives) and waving with outstretched arms at the camera.
I felt as if they knew that I was looking at their picture, some thirty years later, and were trying to capture my attention like Rose Bukator trying to flag down a lifeboat. Visions of angels from heaven watching me passed through my mind. Is this what the natives were afraid of when they refused to let the white man take their pictures, for fear that their souls would be stolen? It’s almost as if each photo possesses a tiny bit of the spirits of the people frozen in that moment in time, and sometimes they seem to have a message that they want to send to me, for posterity’s sake. As the one documenting these memories, it’s my job to figure out what that message is. And so I continue probing.

Each puzzle has its allure. My determination to figure it out, the concentration required to piece it together, and the satisfaction of eventually finding a solution, combine to keep me going. But there’s more that leads me in my quest for answers to unsolved family questions. It’s personal this time. This is my family. The Kemp family name is spelled out on the century old census documents; my likeness, and my son’s, is reflected in the faces in the photos. I know there are many answers that I will never find, no matter how hard I search. In a way, this is the ultimate puzzle – one that is ongoing, immensely challenging, and historically interesting. I congregate with souls as I go.