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The Rogerenes

Posted in Family History, Marie's Musings, tagged Congregational Church, David Rogers genealogy, Elizabeth Griswold genealogy, Family Heritage, Genealogy, Gurdon Saltonstall, History, John Rogers genealogy, Mather Byles, Montville CT, New London CT, Puritans, Rogerenes, Rogers Cemetery #5, Seventh Day Baptist Church on May 22, 2020| 7 Comments »

Last November, when my sister Sue and I were doing genealogical research in New London, Connecticut, we stumbled across a curious religious group known as the Rogerenes. John Rogers, son of Connecticut founder James Rogers, organized the Seventh Day Baptist Church of New London in 1674. The sect survived into the early twentieth century.

The Rogerenes were sometimes referred to as Singing Quakers, Rogerene Baptists, and Quaker Baptists, although they were neither Quakers nor Baptists. Like Quakers, they believed in peaceful non-resistance. Like Seventh Day Adventists, they observed the Sabbath on the seventh, not the first, day of the week. Much like Christian Scientists, they believed in healing by prayer.

Sue and I were trying to track down our great-great-great-great grandfather, David Rogers who was born around the time of the Revolutionary War. All we knew about him was that his wife was named Mary and they had four children die in March of 1823. We don’t know why they died. In those days, diseases such as Yellow Fever would periodically ravage communities and take out families, but we haven’t found any evidence of an epidemic that year. The children ranged in age from eight to fifteen. Son David G., from whom we’re descended, was six at the time and, of course, survived.

Rogers Cemetery #5

The children were buried in Rogers Cemetery #5 near Montville, Connecticut. We knew that because their graves were recorded on Find a Grave. Finding the cemetery would have been nearly impossible without the help of the local historian, Jon Chase, because there are a good half-dozen Rogers Cemeteries in the county.

Children’s Graves

Other than approximate birth and death dates, we knew little else about David and nothing about Mary. Family lore held that David had been an English captain on a whaling ship and had sailed around the world three times, but family lore can be more fictional than factual. My great-great Uncle Will had our family history traced to the Mayflower, but that document has been lost. Neither Sue nor I have found a connection between the Mayflower Rogers and ours. We spent four days combing through records in Connecticut libraries and city halls. At one time, Connecticut must have had more Rogers than roaches, and many were named David. We kept finding references to the Rogerenes.

Many colorful stories surround the Rogerenes. John Rogers married Elizabeth Griswold four years before he started his church. She not only failed to join his congregation, she felt humiliated by his conduct and sought to divorce him. She described him as a “queer creature who behaved not as other men.” He “entertained strange religious beliefs.” He worked on the Sabbath, refused to pray aloud, and “would not take the noxious medicines prescribed for the ills of Puritan flesh.” The divorce was granted.

The Rogerenes were devoutly Christian but rabidly anti-clerical. The Congregational Church was tax supported. John believed that ministers should not be paid—and certainly not supported by taxes. When they refused to pay taxes, the Rogerenes were heavily fined, and thus had to pay twice.

John Rogers’ House

John Rogers believed one should worship God in a scriptural manner, not by ecclesiastical dictum. “All unscriptural parts of worship are idols and all good Christians should exert themselves against idols.” The Rogerenes didn’t believe in the sanctity of the Puritan Sabbath, holding that since the death of Christ, all days were holy. After church services, they would go about their day like any other. On Sundays, they’d intentionally work where church-goers would see them. If that didn’t get enough attention, they’d march through New London, noisily proclaiming that they were working on the Sabbath.

They’d enter churches of other denominations with their hats on. Sometimes they’d burst in, shouting and disrupting the proceedings, and argue theology with the minister. The women would bring their sewing and knitting to church. Their peculiarities of belief and conduct provoked persecution which “left them neither liberty or property or a whole skin,” according to one chronicler. They were frequently fined, imprisoned, tarred, whipped, and thrown into the icy river for their impudence, but that didn’t change their ways.

The Rogerenes never violated civil laws, only ecclesiastical laws that they believed infringed on their rights of conscience. They fought for religious liberty, against the tyranny and bigotry of the Congregational Church.

John Rogers clashed for years with Reverend (later Governor) Gurdon Saltonstall, who was intolerant of divergent Christian sects. One time, John placed his hand on his heart and stated, “This is the humane body of Christ.” Blasphemy! His sentence was to stand on a gallows with a noose around his neck for 15 minutes and pay a 5 pound fine. Further, he had to post bond of 50 pounds to guarantee his future good behavior. It did no good. John spent nearly four years in prison.

Governor Saltonstall

After Saltonstall was elevated to governor, he had John declared insane. As a result, the windows of his jail cell were blacked out (common treatment for insanity at the time). But John’s friends rioted and had the boards removed. In another incident, John was punished for helping a young man escape from prison. When another Rogerene was imprisoned for failing to keep the Sabbath, her supporters removed the doors from the New London jail.

There are several versions of a story about a Rogerene couple who paid a visit to Rev. (or Governor) Saltonstall. He was either dining or relaxing with his cigar when they arrived. They boasted that they were married in the Rogerene tradition, outside the church and the control of civil authorities. They demanded to know what he was going to do about it.

The good Reverend (or Governor) said to the man, “You mean you are cohabiting with this woman?”

“That’s right,” the man said.

“Madam, you are living with this man as his wife?”

“Yes,” she said, just as proudly.

“Then, by the powers vested in me by the Colony of Connecticut, I pronounce you man and wife.” Then he went back to eating (or smoking his cigar).

Rogerenes wouldn’t say grace at meals. They believed all prayers should be said mentally unless the “spirit of prayer” compelled the use of voice. They believed infant baptism was wrong and practiced adult baptism by immersion. Many of their beliefs sprang from a literal interpretation of Bible passages. The Rogerenes believed that Communion, or the Lord’s Supper, should be celebrated only in the evening.

A few years after Governor Saltonstall departed Connecticut to join his Maker, Reverend Mather Byles, being only in his twenties and no match for the Rogerenes, became their target. It got to the point that if he saw them, he wouldn’t leave home to walk to church. If they came to his services with their hats on or asked him questions, he’d discontinue the service. As soon as he could, he left for a church in Boston where he enjoyed an illustrious career.

Rev. Mather Byles

Our ancestor David continued to elude us, but hardly a source we looked at failed to mention the Rogerenes and their antics.

At one point, Sue said, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we found out we’re descended from them?”

Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, check out my book Trials by Fire, available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.

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Purdue Hill, Alabama

Posted in Marie's Musings, Travel, tagged Claiborne AL, Ghost town, Historical buildings, Historical Courthouse, History, Marquis de Lafayette, Masonic Lodge, Purdue Hill AL, Purdue Hill Industrial School, Travel, William B. Travis on May 31, 2018| 2 Comments »

You’d be surprised what interesting bits of history you stumble across when you’re trying to avoid the interstates. On one of my trips to Arkansas, traveling on US 84 in rural southwestern Alabama, I crested a hill and encountered a picturesque group of white clapboard buildings.

Masonic Lodge 3

The largest had a historical marker in front. I’d been driving for a while and it was time to stretch my legs, so I slowed down and looked for a good place to pull over. A couple of cars were parked across the road from the building and a small group of people were checking it out—fellow tourists. I parked beside them.

Masonic Lodge 2

I had come across the little town of Purdue Hill. The two story building that caught my eye was the Masonic Lodge, the “oldest building in Monroe County.” It was built in 1824 in nearby Claiborne and moved here sixty years later. Like many buildings in small communities at the time, it served more than one purpose. It was once the Monroe County Courthouse and also used as a town hall, school, and a Baptist Church. The Masons met on the second floor until 1919. Famous people connected with the building were William Barret Travis and the Marquis de Lafayette.

Masonic Lodge sign

Purdue Hill is located at the junction of US 84 and County Road 1. It boasts of a gas station and a post office, but it seems to have always been a modest community. According to the 1880 Census, it had a population of 110. Ten years later the number had risen to 282. That was the last census recorded. It probably has fewer people now.

The Masonic Lodge is listed on the Alabama Register of Landmarks and Heritage. I walked around the building and peeked in the windows, but it wasn’t open, so I couldn’t go inside.

This website has pictures of the interior as well as additional information on the Lodge and Purdue Hill:

https://www.ruralswalabama.org/attraction/masonic-lodge-3-at-perdue-hill-al-built-1824/

William B. Travis is famous for dying at the Alamo with Davy Crockett. He was born in South Carolina in 1809 and his family moved to Alabama when he was eight. As a young man, he “read law” under a Claiborne attorney and practiced law in the courtroom of the Lodge. He was also a Mason. He taught in a local school and married one of his students in 1828.

Wm Travis Home

Next to the Lodge is a tidy little cottage in which the young couple lived. The house was originally built in Claiborne in the early 1820’s and moved to Purdue Hill in the 1980’s. In 1831, for reasons lost to history, William Travis left his wife and children and moved to Texas. There he practiced law and became involved in politics and, ultimately, the rebellion against Mexico, which cost him his life.

Travis home

You can read more about William Travis and his house at:

http://www.exploresouthernhistory.com/travishome.html

Travis home sign

Lafayette was the French hero of the Revolutionary War, who convinced France to ally with the United States against England. In the 1820’s, he returned to the US on a tour of all the states. On April 6, 1825, among much fanfare, he gave a speech to the people of Claiborne at the Lodge.

Old school 4

I wandered around the grounds and looked at the other buildings. One appeared to have once been a schoolhouse with two classrooms, but I have been unable to find any information about it. Down the road is a charming little church, Purdue Hill Union Church which was built before the 1880’s. I don’t have any photos of it, but the church and the old store sit in their original locations.

Old store 6

The. W. S. Moore Store was built around 1875 as a doctor’s office, and presumably his home. In the 1920’s, it was enlarged and became a general store.

Outhouse

Behind the store is this outhouse.

Inside outhouse

After spending a pleasant time photographing the buildings and reading the information on them, I got back on the road and headed west.

Just down the hill I spied another historical sign and stopped. This was the site of the Purdue Hill Industrial School, which educated African American children from 1918 until it was closed in 1964. All that remains is an open field and the sign, which says the school grew from a one room schoolhouse with 11 students to a 12 room institution with 250. students and 10 teachers. It probably served all the black children in the area before integration.

Site of African Am school

I continued my journey and crossed the Alabama River. I must have passed through Claiborne, which is on the map, but I don’t remember seeing a town. I wondered why the Lodge and the Travis house, two historically significant buildings, had been moved to Purdue Hill. And what about Claiborne itself? After researching it, I learned that Claiborne is a ghost town.

Ghost town? My kind of place! Ft. Claiborne was established in 1816 during the Creek War. Afterward, it grew into a bustling frontier community. It was situated on the Federal Road and was served by steamboats and a ferry on the Alabama River. When General Lafayette visited and gave his speech at the courthouse, the town had 2500 inhabitants. Later it doubled in size and became the first county seat of Monroe County. The county seat was moved to Monroeville in 1832. Later, outbreaks of yellow fever and cholera began the town’s demise. During the Civil War, it was occupied by Federal troops and looted. By 1872, population dwindled to 350. When bypassed by the railroad, its fate was sealed. The historical buildings were moved to Purdue Hill to preserve them.

According to my research, all that remains of Claiborne is one antebellum home built in 1835, three historical cemeteries, and historical markers. This summer, I plan to visit Purdue Hill again and locate Claiborne. Ghost towns can be fun.

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Digging Up Dead Relatives (And Finding a Live One)

Posted in Family History, Marie's Musings, tagged Ancestors, Evsn Hiett House, Family Heritage, Genealogy, Hampshire County WV, History, Kidwell Cemetery, Mary Virginia Kidwell McDonald, Slanesville WV, William Lewis Rogers on February 1, 2018| 1 Comment »

This past summer, my sister Sue and I embarked on a genealogical expedition. Our main focus was Hampshire County, West Virginia where the Rogers family has roots going back hundreds of years. I’d visited this area before but this was Sue’s first trip. We camped at Wapacoma Campground on the South Fork of the Potomac River, west of the county seat of Romney.

Wapocoma Campground

It takes a special kind of nerd to find pleasure in digging through old documents for clues to our past. We visited the main library and the Capon Bridge branch, both which have historical and genealogical records. I’ve spent many hours in these libraries and always find new treasures, but the weather was too nice to spend all day indoors.

Most of our West Virginia ancestors came from the British Isles in the 1700’s and settled in the vicinity of Slanesville, a small community in the Cacapon River Valley. Daniel and Nancy Slane and their six children immigrated from Ireland in the late 18^th century and settled in what became known as Dogtown because the Slanes had so many dogs. Later it was renamed Slanesville.

Almost Heaven

The Rogers moved here after the Civil War and married into the McDonald clan. After farming in Pennsylvania and Kansas, this part of West Virginia must have seemed like Heaven. For the life of me, I don’t understand why they left this lovely valley for the bitter climate of upstate New York. Not all of them left. William Lewis Rogers remained and is buried in the Kidwell Cemetery.

Sue’s favorite place to look for ancestors is in old graveyards. The Kidwell Cemetery is at the end of a private lane with one residence which is a family day care. In addition to Kidwells, there are a variety of other family names, including McDonald. William Rogers was not related by blood to the Kidwells but through the marriage of his son John Thomas Rogers, my great-grandfather, to Rebecca McDonald. Apparently William got along well enough with his in-laws for them to provide him with an eternal resting place.

Sue meticulously inspected each headstone, deciphering weathered inscriptions, while I took notes and photographed them. I noticed more comings and goings at the day care next door than usual, but I didn’t give it much thought. Finally, no more tombstones to examine, we moved to the nearby Mount Union Church Cemetery. I’d never stopped here, but Sue couldn’t pass it by.

We parked on the dirt road behind the church and found dozens more Kidwells, McDonalds, and other names connected with our family. While we cataloged more possible dead relatives, quite a bit of traffic zipped by on the dirt road, which I thought was strange. Sue went back to my van for something, leaving me to take notes and pictures. When she didn’t return, I went to check on her. I found a pickup truck parked near my van, and a man was talking to Sue.

Apparently, my big blue van with the Florida license tag had attracted attention. The valley was buzzing with questions about who we were and why we were hanging out in these graveyards all afternoon. Hence, the traffic at the day care and behind the church. Finally, this man had the courage to stop and check us out. He had a good laugh. Two ladies doing genealogical research had spooked the whole community! He said we were welcome to visit any dead relatives we wanted to, and he would notify the citizens of Slanesville that we were no threat.

Not only accommodating, but helpful, he said, “You see that house next door? That man knows all about these cemeteries and who’s buried here. Go over and tell him I sent you.”

So we did. I wasn’t sure what kind of reception we’d get, but by now word must have gone ‘round that we were harmless. The man next door didn’t know much about our dead relatives, but he did know some of our living ones. Names like Hiett and Kidwell, previously known to me only from dusty documents and decaying headstones, tumbled from his mouth. He gave us directions and phone numbers. I’d always suspected we had distant cousins here but wasn’t sure how to find them. Could our attempts to dig up dead relatives yield some live ones?

I drove around trying to locate their residences while Sue tried calling them on her cell phone. Country directions being what they are, I couldn’t find them. Sue couldn’t reach anyone by phone and left messages. We headed toward North River Mills in search of the historic Evan Hiett House.

“Evan Hiett House” in North River Mills

On the way, we passed a little church with a cemetery. We stopped and, no surprise, found more dead relatives. While there, Sue received a phone call. One of her messages had reached someone who passed it on to the family historian, Linda, a distant cousin who was more than willing to share her knowledge of the Kidwell/Hiett/McDonald families. We met her for lunch at the restaurant in Slanesville the next day.

Mary Virginia Kidwell McDonald, ca 1930

Linda turned out to be our fourth cousin, descended from Francis Marion Kidwell, the brother of our great-great grandmother, Mary Virginia Kidwell McDonald. Cousin Linda came armed with a wealth of information, including old photographs and family crests.

Kidwell Family Crest

Cousin Linda kept making references to the “tiara” she should wear because we are descended from royalty, specifically the Plantagenets who ruled England before the Tudors. Then she burst our bubble by explaining that many people are of noble descent. We know more about our exalted ancestors because the nobility kept better records than the peasantry. No surprise—we’re also descended from peasants.

Hiett Family Crest

Cousin Linda said the house in North River Mills wasn’t our ancestor Evan Hiett’s residence, that his was up the road from Slanesville. She showed us pictures of his and other ancestral homes. These are on private property and not readily accessible, but she knows who to ask for permission to visit them.

Unfortunately, Sue and I had to leave the following day, so further adventures had to wait. This coming summer I look forward to exploring the nooks and crannies of Hampshire County for more stories about my roots.

Read the story of Linda’s ancestor, our Uncle Frank, at https://marieqrogers.com/2012/12/30/falling-off-dutchess/

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The Jewel of Fancy Gap

Posted in Marie's Musings, Travel, tagged Adventure, Betty Allen, Blue Ridge Mountains, Carroll County Historical Society, Carroll County VA, Courthouse Massacre, Fancy Gap VA, Floyd Allen, Hillsville VA, History, Queen Anne architecture, Sidna Allen on February 28, 2017| 1 Comment »

In Mt. Airy, North Carolina, I turn onto Rt. 52 North. After crossing the state line into Virginia, the terrain changes from hilly to mountainous and the road snakes almost straight up. I grip the steering wheel and press the gas pedal to the floor, urging my van to keep climbing. Good thing there’s a passing lane so the locals don’t get too impatient with flatlanders like me.

The road almost levels out and I breathe a sigh of relief. A sign says Fancy Gap and a stone arch carries the Blue Ridge Parkway over the highway. I love the Parkway, but grandchildren wait on the other side of the Blue Ridge, so I’ll stay on 52 to Hillsville, after which I’ll take a series of mountain roads to the New River Valley.

Fancy Gap is a quiet village, if you stay away from the Interstate that roars through, and the countryside is a vista of rolling hills and farmland. Between Fancy Gap and Hillsville, as I round a curve, I’m treated to a vision that could have dropped out of a fairy tale. On a hill with a magnificent view of surrounding farmland and mountains, sits the Sidna Allen House, an exquisite Queen Anne home built over 100 years ago.

sidna-allen-house

The first time I saw it, I could hardly believe my eyes. What was this jewel of Victorian architecture, with gingerbread trim and stained glass windows, doing here in Appalachia? The second time, I stopped to take pictures and read the large billboard advertising tours. There was no one at the place, so I jotted down the phone number on the sign. But when I called the number, it no longer worked. I pass through here a couple times a year on my way to and from my daughter’s, generally stopping to admire and take pictures, but I always respected the No Trespassing signs and enjoyed the house from the roadside.

I didn’t give up my desire for a tour. I learned the house had changed hands from the family that owned it to, thankfully, the Carroll County Historical Society. Unfortunately, no one was giving tours. But I remained intrigued.

I searched the internet and found a colorful history. Sidna Allen was a prosperous merchant in Fancy Gap. He built the house in 1911 for his wife Betty and their daughters. Sidna spared no expense. He used the best materials and finest workmanship and the house was a showcase in its day. But now it sat empty. Year after year as I drove by, I watched paint peel and the place look more and more neglected. I hoped the interior was holding up better than the façade. Pictures on the internet showed an artfully appointed residence, shining woodwork, beautiful wallpaper. How I longed to see inside.

The history of the Allen family and Fancy Gap is a tale worthy of the Wild West. Many of Sidna’s brothers and nephews were criminals and bullies, but they were either too slick to get caught or in cahoots with the law. Brother Floyd actually served as a deputy. The house of cards eventually collapsed, however. When two nephews were arrested for assault, Floyd waylaid the deputies who were transporting them and freed the boys. He was subsequently charged with battering the lawmen, but he vowed he’d never spend a day in jail.

The trial took place March 12^th and 13^th, 1912. Despite death threats, the judge refused to prohibit firearms in the courtroom. Even the defendant was packing. When the verdict came down—Guilty!—Floyd Allen stood up and declared, “Gentlemen, I just ain’t a goin’.” To this day, no one knows who fired the first shot. Over fifty bullets were later collected and the courthouse stairs still has two holes from Floyd’s last shots. When the smoke cleared, the judge, prosecutor, sheriff, a juror, and a witness were dead, and many, including Floyd Allen, were wounded. The incident went down in history as the “Hillsville Courthouse Massacre” and through the years books and songs and a play have been written about it. Floyd and his son Claud died in the electric chair and other family members went to prison, including Sidna Allen.

Sidna’s involvement in the shoot-out has been debated for 100 years. If not one of the shooters, he was guilty by association. His family lived in their beautiful home only a year. Floyd spent his last free night in the house. This was probably Sidna’s last night there as well. The tragedy changed everything. The family of one of the victims sued and the property was part of the settlement.

On August 22, having spent my summer traveling and visiting grandchildren, I set out for Florida. I gassed up in Hillsville and headed toward Fancy Gap. Driving by the Sidna Allen House, I noticed something new: people and activity. A man sat on the front porch. I pulled off the road and asked if I could look inside.

“Just be careful crossing the road,” he said.

As I climbed the steps to the porch, I heard a noise and looked up. A small drone was flying overhead. How odd.

The man turned out to be Ed Stanley, President of the Carroll County Historical Society. He said I could come in and look around, but they were getting ready to do some filming. A documentary. They were trying to raise money to restore the house. A handsome woman in period costume came to the door and invited me in—Betty Allen herself! She said she had a few minutes to spare and took me on the grand tour. At long last! I felt like a kid at Disneyland.

Not a large residence, it was a palace in its day. Miss Betty is very proud of “her” house and knowledgeable of its construction and what it will take to restore. Despite the tattered wall paper, cracked and peeling paint, and plaster separating from its lathes, the quality remains evident. Floors are oak and white maple. Mantles are cherry and tile. Windows and doors are situated to catch cross breezes in summer. Miss Betty proudly pointed out these and many other features.

She has immersed herself in her character and agreed the story would make a good movie or miniseries. I think part of what makes the tale so fascinating is the characters. Despite being scoundrels, the Allens were smart and resourceful. Sidna was a skilled craftsman. In prison and after, he made beautiful pieces of inlaid furniture.

Sidna and Betty in front of their parlor fireplace. Unfortunately, the historical couple weren’t able to grow old in their home.

I got to meet Sidna briefly and he and Betty allowed me to take their picture in the parlor. I didn’t have the time or opportunity to take more pictures, though, as the film crew was soon ready and I’d promised to be out of their way before they started.

Now the house is being restored. They are still trying to raise money for this expensive project. I can’t wait to see the finished product. For more info: https://www.facebook.com/SidnaAllenHomeFoundation/ This video shows the house’s interior: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoUTz8WGpbw The Ballad of Sidna Allen may not be quite accurate, but it’s charming: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uCwBJNCwPo I look forward to seeing the documentary.

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The Ghost Town that Won’t Die

Posted in Marie's Musings, tagged Civil War, Ghost Towns, Grand Gulf, History, Mississippi River, Natchez Trace, Travel on August 31, 2015| 1 Comment »

A creek runs through my property, a small creek hardly worthy of a name. My front acres are high and dry but I chose to build in the pine flatwoods on the backside of the creek. Why? Because I like it here. Where the driveway crosses the creek I installed culverts. For years, every hard storm washed out my culverts and left me with expensive driveway repairs. Finally, an old farmer suggested that instead of running the culverts straight across the driveway, they should slant with the course of the creek. Now, why didn’t I think of that? My creek and I have coexisted quite well since.

Look closely at a map of the Mississippi River and you’ll see oxbow lakes where the river once flowed. Parts of states remain on the other side of the river, isolated from the rest, where the river changed course after state lines were drawn. Where does an 800 pound Gorilla sit? Anywhere he wants to! And he is capable of crushing whatever he sits on.

Grand Gulf, Mississippi was once a boom town. In my travels I picked up a flyer on Grand Gulf and this summer I paid a visit. Not far from the Natchez Trace, Grand Gulf Military State Park offers both history and camping. A small museum exhibits, among artifacts from pre-history to the Prohibition, a letter written by George Washington himself. The grounds display a collection of historical buildings that have been moved here: a church, a dog-trot cabin, and a grist mill, as well as cannons from the Civil War.

The only original house is the little Spanish House built in the 1790s. You see, officially, the town of Grand Gulf no longer exists. But its history is fascinating.

Native Americans, the Natchez and lesser know tribes, lived in the area before Europeans arrived–DeSoto, the French, the Spanish, and the French again. After the Revolutionary War, settlers from North Carolina traveled to what is now Claiborne County and, in 1828, laid out the 80 city blocks of Grand Gulf. During the hey-day of King Cotton, Grand Gulf became an important river port. Steamboats brought theater companies and shipped out cotton. With a post office, newspaper, taverns, churches, a school, a hospital, and several stores, Grand Gulf grew to be the third largest city in Mississippi. By the late 1830’s the town had over 1000 inhabitants. Then its luck changed.

Grand Gulf was named after a great whirlpool in the river. That should have been a clue to its eventual fate. Yellow fever decimated the population in 1843. Nine years later, a steamboat exploded, destroying the docks. The following year, a tornado devastated the town. Then the Gorilla shifted his weight. The Mississippi began to eat away at the town. By 1860, over 50 blocks had been washed away, obliterating the business district and whittling the population to 158 souls.

During the Civil War, this was a strategic location for the defense of the Mississippi. On each side of the town, the Confederates built forts which frustrated the Union’s attempt to gain control of the river. I won’t go into the details of the battles of Grand Gulf. You can find that information elsewhere. Suffice it to say that what little remained of the town was destroyed and it was not rebuilt after the war.

On the way to Grand Gulf, I passed a nuclear power plant and hoped this does not spell the town’s final tragedy.

As I drove to the park, on my left mud flats extended to the river. On my right rose the bluffs where the park is located. The charming Sacred Heart Catholic Church shone like a jewel halfway up the hill. This building was moved here in 1983 from Rodney, another victim of the Mississippi, a port town whose history parallels that of Grand Gulf, except that its demise occurred because the river moved away from the town.

Ft. Wade is located on the north side of the park. Behind it sits the Spanish House which miraculously survived the war. Uphill beyond the house is the old cemetery, most graves dating to the 1800s. Wisely, the townspeople buried their dead on top of the bluffs. Otherwise, the cemetery would have suffered the same fate as the town.

After touring the park and spending the night, I asked the museum staff exactly where the town had been. “Down the road about a mile, near Ft. Coburn.” The lady shook her head. “There’s nothing left.”

Expecting just that, to my surprise I found, certainly not a bustling town of 1000, but a community that refuses to die.

An old store building still stands. Grand Gulf Business District Empty paved streets lead to an ancient, falling-down church. DSCF7557 The road continues uphill past Ft. Coburn and a few modern (occupied!) houses.

But the amazing thing is, between the paved road and the river are at least a dozen mobile homes and a handful of campers. And I never saw the like—the house trailers were set on stilts! Many had screened porches. One sported a sign declaring, “The Smiths—Soul survivors of the flood of 2011.” The trailer of a neighbor, whose loss that year probably made him more gun-shy of the river than most, perched on two stories of metal supports.

So Grand Gulf is not inhabited solely by ghosts. It has been rebuilt, destroyed, and rebuilt again. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Gorilla still has unfinished business with this town.

What makes people so stubbornly defy fate and the elements? Some day I will go back and ask the residents why they insist on living here. But I expect no better answer than I’d get from a homeowner who builds on the other side of the creek, when it would be less trouble to build elsewhere.

For more about Grand Gulf, visit:

http://www.grandgulfpark.state.ms.us/

http://www.legendsofamerica.com/ms-grandgulf.html