Smock, 95.
Snyder, 139.
Spaulding, 135.
Spear, 152.
Spencer, 62.
Spinner, 83.
Spoor, 91.
Starr, 177.
Stalford, 144.
Stansbrough, 119.
Stanton, 53.
Stebbins, 28.
Stedman, 120.
Steel, 114.
Stephens, 41.
Stephenson, 61.
Stevens, 44.
Stoddard, 78.
Stone, 204.
Stoute, 75.
Stringham, 79.
Strong, 24, 190.
Stuart, 158.
Studdiford, 139.
Sturdevant, 100.
Sutphin, 168.
Sutton, 134.
Swackhammer, 75.
Swain, 59.
Swarthout, 51.
Sweazy, 75.
Talmadge, 204.
Taylor, 103.
Terry, 11, 67, 68, 69, 70, 74, 75, 80, 99, 185, 186, 199, 205, 220,
221.
Thomas, 164.
Thompson, 219.
Thrall, 204.
Tiffany, 129.
Timlow, 132.
Todd, 96.
Tompkins, 31.
Tooker, 203.
Torrance, 40.
Tower, 134.
Towner, 63.
Townsend, 222.
Trany, 91.
Treadeau, 215.
Trowbridge, 206.
Trumper, 29.
Tupper, 106.
Turrell, 143.
Tuthill, 9, 26, 27, 69, 78, 180, 199, 220.
Twist, 131.
Underhill, 55.
Upton, 111.
Vadenburg, 96.
Vail, 174.
Van Alstine, 136.
Vance, 83.
Vanderslice, 138.
Van Devort, 93.
Van Doren, 75.
Van Duzen, 78.
Vandyke, 51.
Van Heusen, 24.
Van Kuren, 134.
Vanleer, 115.
Van Orden, 111.
Van Ordell, 88.
Van Scoy, 92.
Verder, 56.
Vetter, 138.
Vibbert, 25.
Vogler, 164.
Voltair, 215.
Vought, 62.
Wader, 136.
Wadsworth, 145.
Wales, 215.
Waller, 113.
Warner, 90.
Warren, 50.
Washburn, 103.
Weakly, 153.
Weaver, 202.
Webb, 188.
Webster, 51.
Webus, 31.
Weeks, 55.
Welch, 204.
Wells, 11, 68, 69, 99, 144, 184, 185.
Welsh, 26.
Wesley, 114.
Westall, 157.
Westbrook, 128.
Wheat, 90.
Wheeler, 161.
White, 116, 129, 205.
Whiting, 131.
Wickham, 198.
Wickizer, 113.
Widding, 79.
Wightman, 116.
Wilcox, 178.
Wilder, 96.
Wiles, 107.
Wiley, 75.
Wilbour, 180.
Williams, 218.
Williamson, 98.
Wilson, 208.
Winans, 115.
Winchel, 40.
Wogg, 166.
Wood, 185.
Workman, 95.
Worth, 203.
Wright, 207.
Yeatman, 159.
Yocum, 39.
Youngs, 220.
Zaccheus, 68.
Zimmerman, 202.
APPENDIX.
MALONE, N. Y., _16 August, 1871_.
GEO. F. HORTON, M. D.:
_My Dear Friend_: Your very kind and interesting letter of the
18th inst., came duly to hand some days since. I have often
heard it said that the Hortons of this country sprung from two
brothers, who emigrated from England at an early day, and that
one of them settled in Massachusetts, and the other on Long
Island. My ancestor, Stephen Horton, I think, was a descendant
of Thomas Horton, who settled in Springfield, Mass., perhaps
a son of Thomas. My brother, John Horton, many years since
obtained from Dr. Horton, of Hartford, Ct., the genealogy
that I send you. There was many years since a Dr. Horton who
resided at Springfield, whom my eldest sister visited, and who
was a relative of ours. He had a son who was also a doctor in
New York City, and also engaged in the grocery and provision
business. I think he is dead. I am satisfied that Barnabas
Horton was a brother of Thomas.
Stephen Horton settled in West Springfield, Mass. He had two
sons, Benjamin and Stephen. Benjamin, born in 1720; died at
Brandon, Vermont, 13 Jan., 1803. He left two sons, Gideon and
Moses, also a daughter, who married a Mr. Underwood.
Gideon Horton was born in 1744, in West Springfield, Mass.;
married Sarah Douglass, great aunt to the Hon. Stephen A.
Douglass. He died at Brandon, Vt., 16 Dec., 1801. His sons
were Hiram, Gideon, Jr., and John. Hiram, born 5 March, 1764,
at West Springfield; married Sarah Drury, 16 June, 1785, at
Pittsford, Vt.; moved to Malone, Franklin Co., N. Y., in 1808.
He was one of the leading men of the county, holding the office
of County Treasurer, and first Judge of the Courts for several
years. He died 5 Oct., 1824.
He owned a large quantity of land, also mill-property, and
several mercantile stores. He belonged to the Presbyterian
Church, and was active and consistent in its duties. He had
three sons and seven daughters. Sons were: Harry, John, and
Hiram, Jr. (myself), all born in Brandon, Vt. Harry, born 22
July, 1796; died in Constable, N. Y., 22 August, 1840. He was
a farmer, a merchant, and a manufacturer of flour and lumber.
He belonged to the Congregational Church. He had two children,
Hiram Safford Horton (married and settled in Wisconsin, and
has a large family), and Delia A. Horton, who married Howard
E. King, Esq., merchant at Malone. John, son of Hiram. Sen.,
born 22 Dec., 1797; died at Madrid, St. Lawrence Co., N. Y.,
14 Oct., 1859, without issue. He was also a member of the
Congregational Church, and followed farming, milling, and
lumbering. Hiram, Jr., born 22 April, 1799; resides in Malone,
N. Y.; married 20 Jan., 1822, Adaline Wead. Has three children,
all born at Malone, N. Y. I. William L. Horton, born 28 Oct.,
1822; died 19 Sept., 1861. He was a lawyer; left two children:
George F. and Anna M. Horton. II. Adeline Mead Horton, born 21
Jan., 1834; married in Oct., 1864, Myron G. Horton, grandson
of Dr. John Horton, who was the son of Gideon Horton, Sen.,
being her 3d cousin. They reside at Malone, N. Y., and have two
children. III. Frederick, born 22 August, 1838, and died 13
April, 1867, childless. I have now named the male members of
my branch of the family, and for the family of Gideon Horton
Jr., I refer you to Dr. Charles W. Horton, of Brattleborough,
Vt., one of his sons, and for the family of Dr. John Horton,
I refer you to his son, Dr. Geo. Horton, Winauskie Falls, Vt.
The Hortons seem to have been given largely to the medical
profession. When your work is accomplished, I shall be glad to
have you send me one copy.
I am yours, truly,
HIRAM HORTON.
Mr. Horton, the writer of the foregoing letter, was a
highly-respected member and Elder of the Presbyterian Church of
Malone. He died 31 August, 1873. He was a dealer in flour, lumber,
and dry-goods, real-estate, and merchandising of various kinds. Mrs.
Myron G. Horton, informing me of his death, remarks that she is now
(1874) the only one of his children living.
* * * * *
17½ WEST 30 ST., CINCINNATI, OHIO, _May, 1871_.
DR. GEO. F. HORTON:
_Dear Sir_: While at Pomeroy a few weeks since on a visit,
my father showed me your letter, requesting information in
regard to our descent, and asked me to answer your questions.
I am not really in a condition to give you any particular
information, for the reason that the notes I once made on the
subject, when, in 1864, I graduated at Dana College, are out
of my reach. A sketch of our genealogy and history had to be
recorded in our "Class Book," and I there broke ground in this
to me until then, unattractive field, in obedience to that
necessity. The main facts that I recall are, however, these:
I did not get very far in tracing my descent. My father,
Valentine B. Horton, was the son of Zenas Horton, who was the
son of David Horton--David was born near the beginning of the
last century; no! in the 2d or 3d decade, and fought in the old
French war, and was also a soldier in the Revolution, and was
killed at Saratoga. He lived in Braintree, Mass. Zenas Horton
moved thence to Windsor, Vt., where my father was born. Beyond
David I did not spend labor enough to penetrate; but I was
rendered nearly certain, I remember, that he was a grand-son
and great-grand-son, respectively, of two certain Thomas
Hortons, one of Springfield, and the other of Charlestown,
Mass., the elder of whom landed in Dorchester, from the
schooner _Mary and John_, in 1633. Barnabas, of Southold, I
remember coming across, but I was obliged, after following that
track for some time, to give him up, and settle upon Thomas,
the ancestor of David.... I shall be glad to communicate with
you further on this subject. My address I have already given at
my office (law), as above, and believe most sincerely yours,
S. DANA HORTON.
I have had some correspondence with this gentleman since the date of
the above letter, but he has given no further information as to his
lineage. The above would run thus: 6. S. Dana; 5. Valentine B.; 4.
Zenas; 3. David; 2. Thomas; 1. Thomas. Some links are missing, for
certainly, counting from the first Thomas, S. Dana Horton must be in
the 8th or 9th generation. S. Dana wields the pen of a ready writer,
and he has achieved considerable notoriety in the political reform
literature of the day, especially in favor of so using the elective
franchise as to give increased representation to minorities. Several
of his articles have appeared in the _Penn Magazine_, of Philadelphia.
* * * * *
BARRINGTON, R. I., _March 27th, 1871_.
DR. GEO. F. HORTON:
_Dear Sir_: Your letter of inquiry lies before me, supplying
more information than I shall be able to give you. Ours is a
Boston family, where my father and grandfather both resided.
We were six brothers and four sisters, all of whom lived to
their maturity, but of whom only five now survive. The eldest
of these was Rev. Jotham Horton, of whom you inquire, who died
in Boston, in Feb., 1853. His son, Rev. Jotham Horton, died, a
martyr to freedom, by the mob spirit in New Orleans, some years
ago. Our father's name was Jotham, who was a ship-smith, and
did the iron work of the historic frigate _Constitution_.
Our family being large, my parents allowed me to go into the
country (Worcester County), at the early age of seven. I was
educated a paper-maker previous to entering upon a course
of liberal education. Thus separated from home, I had less
knowledge of our ancestry than might otherwise have been the
case. Supposing that my surviving brother at Mobile has better
information regarding our ancestry than I have, I take the
liberty of forwarding your letter to him, requesting him to
supply any intelligence he may have at hand. He having been
long a resident there, and loyal to the Union, is an ex-Mayor
of the city, appointed by Gen. Pope, and is at present,
happily for him, Judge of Probate for the County. His address
is "Hon. Gustavus Horton, Mobile, Alabama." From him you will
probably hear soon. Wishing you much success in your laudable
investigations, and quite willing to recognize any of our
cousins in the Keystone State,
I am yours, &c.,
F. HORTON.
The Rev. Francis Horton, writer of the foregoing letter, was one of
the excellent of the earth. He was a scholar and quite a poet, and
an able and much loved minister of the Word. He died in 1873. It is
highly probable that he was a descendant of Joshua I.
In connexion with this, we give the following thrilling article,
which was published in the _Boston Watchman and Reflector_, soon
after the barbarous murder of the Rev. Jotham Horton:
LAST HOURS OF A NEW ORLEANS MARTYR.
AN AFFECTING SKETCH.
"Good-by, Emma," he said, "I shall not be gone long. It can't
take more than ten minutes to open the Convention, and then
I shall come right away. Look for me at three o'clock, at
farthest," and the young pastor kissed his wife and hurried
away to the city.
That day was destined to be one among the most memorable in the
annals of human wickedness since the famous St. Bartholomew's.
The members of the Union Convention had looked forward to
it with apprehension. They knew that the spirit of the late
rebellion still survived in New Orleans, and they could not
hope that they should be permitted to assemble without some
molestation from disorderly individuals, but they had no
suspicions that the masses of the city would rise against
them, _organized_ for deliberate bloodshed. They did not know
that all the arms had been bought up, till the gun-shops
contained not so much as a pocket-pistol. They did not know
that the Mayor had telegraphed to the President that there
would certainly be a riot, and had received the assurance that
the military would not interfere with the civil power. They
did not know that the police force had been increased by the
addition of a gang of blood-thirsty men, and that the municipal
authorities had agreed upon signals, and arranged to begin
the riot themselves. Watched by no suspicion, and awed by no
Butler's strong right hand, the conspirators were suffered to
perfect their preparations, and when the morning of the 30th
of July dawned, the treacherous officials appeared at the
station-house fully armed, and waiting the opportunity for
their bloody work.
The pastor of the Colleseum Baptist Church, Rev. Jotham W.
Horton, had been requested to open the Convention with prayer.
Moved by the warmest Christian sympathy for the freedmen,
this young New England minister had gone to the South with
his wife, to give his best energies to their welfare. He was
a man of sincere piety and a large heart; pure as a little
child, self-denying where duty was concerned to an extent that
often made him suffer, and so peaceable that though repeatedly
insulted, and even once fired upon, and though conscious that
he was fatally marked by malignant disloyalists, he would never
go armed.
After taking leave of his wife, Mr. Horton proceeded in the
cars from his residence in Carrolton to the city. Ever apt to
look hopefully on the worst prospects, and slow to suspect evil
of his fellow-men, he had felt no fears of injury for this day,
beyond perhaps a forcible seizure and commitment to the parish
prison.
The hour arriving for opening the Convention, and Mr. Horton
having entered the hall, stood up to offer prayer just as the
clock struck twelve. Strongly and fervently his words came
up, breathing petitions for the peace of his country and the
deliverance of the oppressed. God heard him, but with that
prayer His servant's work ended, and then He gave him for a
little while to the cruel wrath of his enemies, that He might
make that wrath praise Him. Immediately on the sounding of the
stroke of noon from the city clocks, and simultaneously with
the opening of Mr. Horton's prayer, the armed police filed out
of the several stations, three hundred strong, and marched
toward the Institute. Some of them entered the hall during the
prayer, a mob in the meantime rapidly collecting round the
door, and hardly had the good man uttered the closing "amen"
when a miscreant fired a bullet at his head.
There could be no longer any doubt of the intentions of the
officers and the mob. The latter assailed the windows and
crushed in at the doors. "Kill him! kill him!" they yelled.
"Shoot every cursed Yankee in the house!" Just then all the
bells in the city began to toll. It was the preconcerted signal
of slaughter, and now the horrors of the day began.
The disloyalist ruffians rushed in with pistols, knives and
clubs, and commenced their appointed work of murder. Resistance
was hopeless. The Convention broke up in the wildest confusion,
some of its members falling dead, and many mortally wounded in
the hall, while a few who could, fled. The Union men saw that
they were doomed. Instead of protecting them, and arresting the
rioters at the firing of the first shot, as with their force
they could easily have done, _the police headed the attack_,
and there is reason to believe that one of their number fired
the first shot.
Mr. Horton received five balls in his body, and fell. These
balls were fired by policemen. Not satisfied with their
work, they seized him, battered his head with their billies,
stabbed him, kicked and dragged him on the pavements to the
first station, the mob following behind, cursing, beating and
trampling him with their shoes. Thrusting him into a cell, he
was left mangled and senseless.
Meantime the shopkeepers of the city had closed their stores,
and strolled about, gratified spectators of the fiendish
carnival, greeting the murderers of Horton, and every squad of
policemen that passed them dragging a bleeding loyalist, with
shouts of "Good! good! Kill the white nigger."
Around the Mechanics' Institute and in the adjacent streets
upwards of one hundred negroes lay weltering in their blood,
and the dead carts drove by loaded with warm corpses and
bodies of the wounded still writhing with life, all tumbled
indiscriminately together.
In one of these carts the mangled Horton was flung, after lying
awhile at the station-house, and under a stifling load of dead
and wounded negroes, his stomach crushed in by a blow of a
heavy plank, he was taken to the Marine Hospital.
Furious with the taste of blood, the police and their fellow
Thugs raged up and down some of the streets of the city,
calling out the names of well-known loyalists, declaring their
intention to slaughter every Union man in New Orleans. In the
midst of the excitement and carnage, the bayonets of Federal
troops appeared, and further murder was prevented. The mob
dispersed, and the blood-stained streets, and battered windows,
and muffled groans from distant hospital wards alone testified
to the horrors of the 30th of July.
As the hours of that bloody day passed, the wife of Mr. Horton
waited at her home, five miles distant, for his return. Three
o'clock came, the limit he had set for his absence. She looked
long and anxiously to catch a glimpse of him approaching along
the familiar street. He did not come, and her anxiety grew into
alarm. To add to her terror, a breathless messenger arrived
at her residence, and warned her that she would not be safe
there that night, for trouble had happened at the State-House,
and the secessionists were searching for all the Unionists in
the city and suburbs. Hastily summoning the negro servant, she
told her to bar the doors and windows, and with a few hurried
preparations then set off for the city, to learn the fate of
her husband.
Having formerly boarded with a Mrs. E----, she took her way
first to her house, and made known her anxious errand. She was
told of the riot and massacre, and at once feared the worst.
Several young men who boarded at the house volunteered to
search for Mr. Horton. They returned late in the evening, but
could give her no news, save that he had been badly wounded.
They dared not communicate their own convictions of his fate.
Only the darkness of the dangerous streets and the restraint of
friends prevented the almost distracted woman from going forth
that night to continue the search herself. As it was, the night
brought no sleep to her eyes, and as soon as it was morning she
started on her sad errand.
Information had been received through the city papers that Gen.
Baird, the military commandant, had released all who had been
arrested and confined by the police, giving the name of her
husband among the rest, and stating that he had returned home.
Acting on this representation, she went alone to Carrolton,
but only to return by the next train. He was not there.
Without waiting for breakfast she set off for Gen. Baird's
headquarters; a young Methodist clergyman, Mr. Henry, one of
Mrs. E----'s boarders, insisting on being her company.
No sooner did Gen. Baird see Mrs. Horton and knew who she was,
than he expressed much surprise that her husband had not been
seen, and told her he had ordered his release. Perhaps she
would find him at the City Hall. To this place she immediately
went, but she searched in vain. He had not been there. She then
hurried to the First Police Station, determined to wring from
the brutal officers a confession of what they had done with
her husband. Entering the office, she forced her way within
the rails, and asked of the clerk what had been done with her
husband. The man declared that "Preacher Horton" had been sent
by him to Charity Hospital, and she at once hurried thither.
Again she was disappointed. He had not been seen there! (The
truth was, the cart which carried Mr. Horton's body had stopped
there, and been sent away, as it appeared to be occupied only
by blacks.) The horrible idea now suggested itself to the
afflicted woman that her husband had been conveyed away with a
load of dead bodies, and had been buried alive, but, as a last
resort, she determined to visit the Marine Hospital. This was
in a low and distant part of the city, and devoted entirely to
negroes, and she could not have believed he would be carried
there by his worst enemies, but at a friend's suggestion she
sought the place, still accompanied by Mr. Henry.
Arrived at the gate, she was refused entrance, but catching a
glimpse of Dr. Harris, the head surgeon, whom she knew, she
called to him, and asked him if her husband was there. Dr.
Harris could give her no positive assurance, but immediately
ordered the servant to admit her. Forgetting her weariness
in her joy that her long quest had at last succeeded, the
faithful woman bounded up the steps, and without waiting to be
directed, rushed in among the patients, found out her husband,
and sank exhausted upon his bosom. What a spectacle! The form
she loved a bruised and helpless mass of flesh and blood, his
head swollen to the size of two, his left arm useless, and his
right shattered and mangled. He moved perpetually about with
the restless, nervous gestures of a dreaming infant. So badly
trampled and beaten was his head and face that his eyes were
blinded, and a painful retching, produced by the injuries to
his stomach, obstructed his breath and speech. But through all
the anguish and darkness of his wreck he knew his wife. That
she should have recognized him is a miracle to all who do not
understand the inspired sagacity of a wife's affection.
"Wipe my face, Emma," he gasped, as if she had been bending
over him ever since he fell.
Worn and broken-hearted, the poor woman sat down by her
husband's side, and tried to strengthen herself for the task of
soothing and comforting his last hours, for she knew too well
that he could not live. Nineteen long hours she had searched
for him, and now to find him thus!
Few comforts were to be found in that hospital, though the
attendants, seeing her distress, evidently meant to treat
her kindly. Up to this time the wounded man had lain in the
warden's room, but on the next morning, which was Wednesday,
he was removed to a more airy apartment. The operation of
trepanning was then performed on his head, though with little
hope of permanent benefit. When this was over, and the burden
upon his brain was thus relieved, the sufferer looked up and
repeated,
"When I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,
I'll bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.
"Should earth against my soul engage--"
Here weakness prevented him, and he whispered to his wife,
"You finish it."
He slept a good deal, but seemed always conscious of his wife's
presence, frequently putting up his restless hand to touch
her face, and remind himself, in his blindness, of her loved
features. When he talked, it was of his unfinished work, his
conviction of the justice of the cause in which he fell, his
anxieties for his wife, left alone in a cruel world, and of his
enemies and murderers always forgivingly, as if they knew not
what they did. At different times, too, he spoke of the riot,
relating facts and incidents as I have set them down.
It afflicted him much to leave his wife penniless. He had had a
little money in his pocket when he came to the Convention, but
that, with the gold studs in his bosom, had been plundered by
some of the ruffians who took part in mutilating his person.
Thus he lingered until the sixth day after his injury. When
the morning of Sunday, the 5th of August, came, he remembered
that he had an appointment to exchange pulpits with a colored
brother in the city, and said,
"Emma, we must send word to Bro. Miles that I can't come. I
don't feel quite well enough to preach."
As time went on, his mind began to wander, and he fancied
himself in his own pulpit. He invoked the Divine blessing, he
gave out a hymn and sung, wounded and suffering as he was;
his wife, who wept as she thought of the melody of his own
fine voice, joining him at his request, half choked by her
tears. Then he prayed with her, sung again, and preached,
taking for his text, "Out of the abundance of the heart the
mouth speaketh." After these exercises, he expressed his wish
to close with the Lord's Supper, and immediately began the
beautiful ceremony. His wife, anxious to gratify him, skilfully
aided with such meagre conveniences as were at hand, to carry
out his touching fancy. He partook with her what seemed to him
the symbolic bread and wine.
"We both drink from the same cup, Emma," said he.
Another hymn, a benediction, and the sufferer began to grow
weak, as if, indeed, his work was done.
"I am going now, Emma," he whispered. "I'm sorry you can't come
with me. In the fall you'll come."