Weird things. . .
The first. . .
Due to a lack of information, I had decided to put Abraham Hammatt in the business of rope-making. Plymouth was heavily dependent upon cod fishery for its economy and I didn't want to make him a fisherman, but something in support of the fishermen. I could just as well made him a carpenter, a blacksmith, a cooper, or even a wig-maker. But a rope-man is what I decided he would be.
On Amazon.com I found this book by Jane Austin: Dr. LeBaron and his Daughters. Since one of those daughters, Priscilla, actually married Abraham Hammatt (son of my rope-maker), it took me only two seconds to decide I had to have this book.
I got the book. According to Jane Austin Abe was a sailor, captain of a ship called the Dolphin. Fine. I can change my story slightly and make him a sailor so my story follows hers. No big deal, it's a minor change.
Then I get to page 202. Dr. LeBaron's daughter Bess is getting married to Ammy Robbins and his family is coming over to tea, sort of like a "farewell party". His other daughter Priscilla suggests that the Hammatts come along too. The doctor was unhappy about losing his daughter Bess to marriage. . .
. . .nor was this sorrow mitigated by Priscilla's bashful suggestion of adding the Hammatts to such a party, for although the child was still short of her sixteenth birthday, people married young in those days, and the friendly village voice already coupled Priscilla's name with that of Abraham Hammatt, whose father, prospering on the sea, had established a ropewalk under charge of his son, where, for many years to come, cordage and cables for the Plymouth shipping were laid with the skill and conscience of men who felt that other men's lives might depend upon the honesty of their labors. (my emphasis)
He was a rope-making man!!! How weird is that?!?!?!?
The second. . .
Because I haven't been able to find out anything about the actions of my hero's younger brother William during the Revolutionary War, I decided to make him one of the thousands of young men who joined privateer ships. I decided that he would be captured by the British and meet W. W. Parsons, whose daughter Esther would one day marry William's nephew. (Parsons really was captured in 1779 by the British. His father Samuel was a general in Washington's army.) Together they would plan a dramatic escape for William who would probably not be part of a prisoner exchange, but more likely hang for piracy.
Anyway, as I'm merrily researching which ships were doing what, I discover that Consider Howland was in fact captured and made a daring escape attempt. (Unfortunately, he was recaptured.) He was William's maternal uncle.
That's the irony, I'm fictionalizing something for Lucy's son that really happened to her brother. (I've decided to mention Consider in the story.)
Isn't that weird? You can read about Consider Howland at this link: Sailing Off
The third. . .
I needed a name for the captain of William's ship and decided Captain Coyne sounded good. In the story, Coyne and his men turn pirate. As privateers they were supposed to attack British shipping and turn their prizes in for a share of the money. As pirates they would attack anybody and everybody and keep all the money for themselves.
The plan is to have them capture a Dutch ship loaded with Spanish gold, the sight of which makes them decide not to let her go. (As a neutral country, she was supposed to be off-limits.)
So I'm reading another book called Sea of Glory by Nathan Miller where I come across a Captain Coyningham who's crew actually did turn to piracy on the high seas, taking a Swedish ship carrying Spanish goods. Coyningham, however, did not condone the behavior of his men and they actually gave him a written statement absolving him of blame.
How close is Coyne to Coyningham, with similar stories as well?
The fourth. . .
One of my research assistants and I took a field trip to Burial Hill in Plymouth, Massachusetts where several Hammatts are buried. At the Plymouth Library we looked up the locations of their graves in a book called Burial Hill in the 1990's. We printed maps of the area as well. After searching and searching all over section H (which is very large) we were beginning to despair when I realized I was standing right in front of Captain Hammatt's grave. It seemed as if the man himself had said, “Look down, here I am.” The stones are very old and hard to read but I could clearly make out "Hammatt". Next to him is his wife Priscilla and it didn't take long to find his parents Abraham and Lucy after that. I didn't actually hear voices, but it was a strange feeling. Somebody put my feet where they needed to be.
The fifth. . .
Burial Hill in Plymouth again. My girlfriend and I went to visit the Hammatt graves in August. We were in town for the Gala Preview of the Hedge House (Built by William Hammatt in 1809) Saturday night and before leaving on Sunday we went up to the hill. But first we went on a fruitless journey searching for flowers and then took a tour of the First Parish Church. (The folks there were kind enough to give us some flowers.)
Finally we made our way up the hill and left flowers on a some of the graves belonging to Hammatts and Howlands. Susan was tired and went to sit down while I poked around section H for a while. Because of the direction she went, I assumed she was looking for the LeBarons, Priscilla's parents, so I showed her where they were.
While I was standing there, a woman asked if I could help this couple who were over from Germany, looking for their ancestors. The last name they were searching for? LeBaron! The man's name is Ulrich Graeter and he is descended from the LeBarons through Priscilla! She and Abraham had a daughter named Elizabeth who married Isaac Goodwin. The Goodwin's daughter Elizabeth Mason married Franz Graeter and went to live in Germany.
If we hadn't spent time looking for flowers and touring the little church, we wouldn't have been where we were at the right time. If Susan had gone in a different direction to find a place to sit, we wouldn't have been over by the LeBarons' graves. If that woman hadn't asked for our assistance or the Graeters had given up their search (they were getting ready to leave) we wouldn't have met them. If they had been looking for any other family I wouldn't have been able to help them. (Burial Hill is vast.)
Strange how folks trying to find these families seem to get the help they need.
The sixth. . .
After almost two years working on this project, I finally found out what happened to young William in Australia. Some time ago I learned that he'd sailed on the Plymouth Rock from Boston to Melbourne, arriving at Port Phillip in May of 1853. From his memorial marker in Maine, I knew that he died in that distant land in February of 1854. I suspected that he'd gone in search of gold, discovered there in 1851. This suspicion was strengthened by a journal entry written by a passenger on the same journey, recorded on the website, Era of the Clipper Ships.
Thursday Feb 24th Lat 35° 20' N Long 56° 00' W
Wind SSW Fine breeze, and the ship bounds nobely on her way going at the rate of 9 1/2 knots as hour. Towards night it thickens up and looks like a fresh breeze and rain. The light sails are taken in at 9ock PM. We have been from Boston Light one week. And are distant from the same about 900 miles. Which is not bad going; and neither is it very good considering the chance (winds) that we have had. Finished reading the history of Gold. (my emphasis)
Now I've learned another American was there and recorded William's death. The record survives in a collection of letters published as:
Train, George Francis. An American Merchant in Europe, Asia, and Australia: A Series of Letters from Java, Singapore, China, Bengal, Egypt, The Holy Land, The Crimea and its Battle Grounds, England, Melbourne, Sydney, Etc. Etc. G. P. Putnam & Co., New York, 1857. p. 419-420
Mr. Train has this to say:
Mr. Hammatt, a young American, of Bangor, Me, and Wallen, a young Englishman, long residing in Philadelphia, have gone to their long home; and distant friends will join me in shedding a tear for the fate of those two youths, of fair prospects and good name, who wanderd so far away for gold and found a grave!
Young Hammatt came passenger in the Plymouth Rock, and brought me a letter of introduction from Mr. George McLellan, of the Boston custom house. He has been battling with fortune at the gold fields, and for many a long day has been drooping with that ruthless destroyer, consumption, brought on, no doubt, by exposure in the mines and the mutability of the climate. He died at Sandridge, where his companions from Bangor did all they could to smooth his dying pillow. But yet he was far away from home, no loving mother, no gentle sister, no relative, none near and dear to soothe his fading moments and hold the taper that lights the dreary pathway to the tomb!
The weird thing isn't really that Mr. Train was on hand, he was one of the most influential Americans in Australia at that time. It's not even odd that William held a letter of introduction from another Bostonian. William had relatives in Boston who may have known George McLellan. The weird thing is that Mr. Train recorded William's death and that this particular account survives 150 years later and has been digitized so that I could find it through an internet search.