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Maj. Richard Ireland Jones
Genealogy is first and foremost the story of a family. True, there are names and dates to find, but genealogy is so much more than a mere compilation of data. Each individual, each family, has its own unique history. The genealogist is the one who gathers the information and presents it in a meaningful and accurate way.
I began my love affair with genealogy long before it became fashionable. In fact, I began to delve into family history at the age of seven. I was very fortunate to have known all four of my grandparents, and growing up on a rural Southern Kentucky farm in Monroe County helped me value the stories and traditions of my family’s past.
In the late 1950s and 1960s, there were not as many things to distract children as there are today. One of the most enjoyable times I had as a child was to listen to older people talk about the past. I passed many long evenings listening to my grandparents talk about relatives that had long since passed away. I had seen their names engraved on a marble or granite tombstone, and written in the family Bible, but after hearing the wonderful stories told about them, their names actually meant something to me.
One story that my grandmother Bryant told me on a warm spring day in 1974, led me on one of the most interesting and fulfilling genealogical quests of my life. My Grandmother, Locie May Strode Bryant (1908-1978) had recently recovered from a bout with cancer. She had undergone radiation treatments and her mind had not been very clear for some time. That afternoon she seemed to be her old self. I took her out on the porch to sit in the swing to enjoy the fresh air.
As usual, our conversation turned to family history. She told me stories that I had heard a thousand times before, but I still felt a thrill at their retelling. Grandmama (as I called her) again told me about her childhood, and about her father and mother. This time, however, she added another family tidbit that I did not remember. She began by telling me how her mother, Vestina Ellen McMillin Strode (1868-1935) kept a “colored” picture of someone on the mantelpiece.
I listened to my Grandmother tell me that this color picture was in a small gold frame, and that her mother highly prized this picture. At first I thought that perhaps Grandmama’s mind had begun to wander again or that she had mistaken an image cut out of a mail order catalog as something that might be of some importance. She informed me that the picture had been give to her younger brother, Alvin, and that he probably had it in his family’s picture box. I continued to question my Grandmother about the picture, but she had grown tired of the conversation and wanted to go lie down. With the conversation over, I went about my business, and the strange “colored” picture was forgotten for the time being.
A few months later, my Grandmother felt well enough to go and visit her brother Alvin. I had all but forgotten about the picture until then. As the conversation began to die down, I recalled my Grandmother’s fascination with the “colored” picture. I asked Uncle Alvin if he knew anything about such an image. He stunned me when he nonchalantly replied, “Of course I do. I think it may be somewhere in the picture box.”
My heart skipped a beat. My curiosity had been aroused. As Uncle Alvin retrieved a large pasteboard box from a cabinet, I watched as he shuffled through dozens of old photographs of McMillins and Strodes, and seemingly endless other relatives. Exasperated he handed me the box and said, “I thought it was in there, keep looking.”
I began to sift through the fading images of overdressed babies, somber men and women, and school pictures. I saw family group photographs taken in some studio with fake scenery backdrops, and uncomfortable black walnut, excessively carved furniture. I chuckled when I observed one family photograph taken at the family farm. The children (and there must have been a dozen or more of them) squirmed in their shoes, and looked miserable in their heavily starched Sunday best. The parents looked grim and determined as if they knew that this was their one chance at recording their existence for posterity.
As I rummaged through these memories I at last found what I had been looking for. In a corner of the picture box was a small red case decorated in gold stencil work. Uncle Alvin noted that was indeed the picture that I was looking for. As I opened the case, I took a deep breath. This looked old, and it looked like the case for a miniature portrait.
My genealogical spirit soared. There before me was a
miniature of an older gentleman dressed in black, with a black cravat held with
a large gold pin with a small chain hanging from it. The man in the picture was
not a catalog cutout, but a man whop obviously had “been to the manner born.”
His features were refined, and aristocratic. His small gold spectacles gave him
a scholarly look as well.
On the back of the oval gold frame that held the portrait a name had been engraved. “R.I. Jones;” I had never heard the name before. Who was he? “Oh he was some of our Mother’s people,” said Uncle Alvin. “But that was a long time ago. I only know that some of our Mother’s folks thought a lot of themselves.” From that moment on, I was determined to find out more about this intriguing gentleman in the miniature portrait.
Strange how one event can spark so many other events. Stranger still, how the awaking of a long dormant memory can shed an abundance of light on a dark corner of a family’s history. Much like the proverbial snowball that keeps getting bigger and bigger as it rolls down the hill, so it was with my mystery man in the miniature.
The pieces of this genealogical mystery fell together more easily than I could have ever hoped for. When I first saw the name on the portrait case was “Jones,” my hopes of a quick, and painless research project seemed to be dashed. However, as soon as I began asking questions of older family members, I soon began to find out more and more about the aristocratic-looking gentleman in the miniature.
After talking to family members, and do some rudimentary research in the census records, pieces of the puzzle began to fit together. I learned that the man in the portrait was named Richard Ireland Jones. He had never lived in Kentucky, but had lived in Maryland. He had a daughter named Emily who had somehow moved to Monroe County, Kentucky and married James A. McMillin (1821-1888). Emily and James had one child, a son, Richard Ireland McMillin (1848-1910) who married Mary Elizabeth Hancock (1846-1921). This couple produced a large family, one of whom was Vestina Ellen McMillin who married Charles Thomas Strode (1856-1939). Their youngest daughter, Locie May Strode married Will D. Bryant (1901-1969). They had one child, Archie Lovell Bryant (1925-1979) who married Clove Dell Fox (1923- ), the daughter of Frank E. and Bessie F. Boone Fox. I am their youngest child, Ron D. Bryant.
The story of Richard Ireland Jones and his daughter Emma (or Emily as she is often called) is one of high adventure, and tragedy. Their lives play like a contrived stage production once so popular during the nineteenth century. Richard Ireland Jones (1770-1844) was born in England, the son of Arthur and Anne Fischer Jones. He was christened in St. Olave’s Church in London in May 1770.
Arthur Jones had been born near Riegate, Surrey on an estate named the Priory. He later owned Kinnersley Manor, another Surrey estate that had belonged to his wife’s uncle, Richard Ireland. Jones studied law at the Middle Temple in London, and became a barrister. One of his children Marianna married into the Eden family. Her brother-in-law, Sir Robert Eden served as the last Royal Governor of Maryland. Arthur Jones and his wife Anne are buried in the vault of St. Olave’s.
Marianna Jones Eden’s marriage played an important role in Richard Ireland Jones’ move to America. As a youth, Richard I. Jones studied law, and served as a midshipman in the British navy. He probably would have ended his life as barrister or an English country gentleman if the American Revolution had not occurred.
When the American colonies declared their independence, huge British investments and property became subject to confiscation. One of the largest losses of British property involved the Calvert family. As hereditary Lords Baltimore, the Calvert heirs had been given title to the Colony of Maryland. Although the family had been challenged on their ownership of the colony, they retained vast amounts of property there. The American Revolution ended their practical claims to Maryland, but in their opinion, not their legal claims for compensation.
The Eden’s family connection with the Calverts and their connection to the Jones family would mesh with young Richard Ireland Jones. After the close of the Revolution in 1783, the Calverts and the Edens wanted a legal representative to pursue their American claims. They chose Richard I. Jones. He had not reached his twentieth birthday, but already he had attained a serious nature regarding business and the law. Equipped with legal documents and a solemn promise to do everything in his power to recover the Calvert fortunes in America, Jones set sail for Maryland in 1787.
Upon arriving in Annapolis, Maryland, Jones set about trying to establish legal claims to Lord Baltimore’s confiscated properties. However, the young Englishman soon became the center of Annapolis society. Ladies thrilled at his elegant manners, and elegant clothing. Gentlemen found his company entertaining and informative. Before long, he became enamored with one of the belles of the area, Susanna Tilghman. She was the daughter of one of the wealthiest and most influential men in Maryland. The Tilghman family had resided in Maryland since the seventeenth century.
Richard I. Jones and Susanna Tilghman married in 1799 two years after Jones had become a naturalized citizen of the United States. The reasons for his applying for citizenship had to do with economics, as well as patriotism. Richard and his brother Dr. Alfred Jones had become a part of Maryland society. Both were doing well financially, and both America congenial to establishing their own dynasties instead of losing lands, and money to the primogeniture system of Europe.
As part of a dowry, Susanna Tilghman Jones brought with her the ownership of a 500 acre estate located near the Chester River in Queen Anne’s County, Maryland. Jones now had become part of the landed gentry of Maryland, and he decided to build a manor house worthy of himself and his bride. Over the next few years, he had constructed a five-part Georgian style mansion house. He named the house and the plantation, “Kinnersley” after his ancestral home in Surrey, England.
Life as a country squire suited Jones. He became well known in the business community of Maryland. Before long he established a ferry on the Chester River, and purchased a sloop to carry cargo in the Chesapeake Bay area. At Kinnersley, he carried on a grand manner of life. His hospitality became legendary. He also became known for his concern for the poor. On more than one occasion he made provisions for those less fortunate. He imported Merino sheep into Maryland noting that the unemployed could harvest the wool, and make clothing.
In June 1812, war broke out between the United State and Great Britain. The “second” war for American independence placed America at a disadvantage. As President, Thomas Jefferson had reduced the size of the army and navy rendering the U.S unprepared to face one of the world’s greatest powers. Furthermore, America was far from united in its war effort. The New England states knew that they would suffer economically from a disruption of trade with not only Great Britain, but with other European markets.
Although Jones was a native Englishman, and still worked for the Calvert family, he enthusiastically supported America’s entry into war. The War of 1812 gave him a chance to evidence his loyalty to his adopted state country. He put himself and his fortune at the disposal of the governor of Maryland for the defense of his state. Jones formed a regiment that he named the Queen Anne County Republican Blues. He designed the uniforms and paid for the outfitting of the entire regiment.
Jones attained the rank of major during the War of 1812. However, his new military status did not occur without some rancor. Another officer in Queen Anne County had been given preference in obtaining a commission over Jones. Outraged, Jones wrote to the governor of Maryland that his regiment was better prepared, and had knowledge of the use of the sword as well or better than any other individual in the county. Several members of the military, and the local gentry supported him in his protest.
When the War of 1812 ended with the Treaty of Ghent in 1814, Major Jones turned his attention to his plantation, and his many business interests. Known as a “wheeler dealer,” he invested heavily in land and slaves. Kinnersley Plantation prospered, and Jones became a very wealthy man. But what the gods give with one hand, they take away with the other.
Jones’ marriage to Susanna Tilghman had produced one
child, a son named Arthur (below, left). Young Arthur was the apple of his
mother’s eye. His father had great hopes for his son. Spoiled, and demanding,
Arthur grew into a melancholy, and hopelessly inept adult, wasting much of his
talents and
money. He married Caroline Hollyday (at right, as a child), a member of one of
the most prestigious families in Maryland. However, Arthur continued to squander
money and time. He made plans that never came to fruition, and soon he had
gotten deeply into debt. Aristocratic, and vain, Arthur evidenced the worst
traits of the privileged class. He began to drink heavily, and sank into deep
despair.
Major Jones wrote to his brother, Dr. Alfred Jones, bemoaning Arthur’s dissolute lifestyle. “His plans of today are but his dreams of tomorrow.” The Major bitterly added, “Only his use of whiskey keeps me think from thinking him unbalanced.” By 1820, Arthur Jones’ indebtedness amounted to some $70,000 (over a million and half in today’s money). The sheriff sold his wife’s inherited slaves to pay some of his debt. After the death of his mother, Arthur then tried to purchase his father’s life interest in Kinnersley so he could sell the estate. He succeeded in obtaining the plantation, and his principal creditor, and wife’s kinsman, Henry Hollyday II, bought the property. Tragically, Arthur would later die in an asylum in Philadelphia.
After selling Kinnersley, the major moved to Annapolis. There he bought one of the finest mansions in the town. Known as the Upton Scott house, the stately Georgian mansion still stands on Shipwright Street. Built in the 1760s, the Major’s new home reflected the taste and position that had become so much a part of Jones’ life in America. His new home had quite a history. Sir Robert Eden had died in the house. Francis Scott Key, author of the “Star Spangled Banner” had also lived there.
With
a new home, Jones, who had become a widower, also wanted anew wife. He married
Elizabeth Bowie Chew, member of an old and aristocratic Maryland family. He
fathered children by her, thus establishing a second Jones dynasty. However,
Elizabeth died, and the Major, never one to be alone, looked for another wife.
The cotton boom of the first two decades of the nineteenth century had inspired Jones to invest heavily in the potential cotton lands of the Deep South. He traveled to Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and Tennessee, looking for lands to purchase. While stopping over in Lincoln County, Tennessee, he met a teacher from Kentucky named Lurectia Ball. Records do not indicate how the two met, but before Jones left Lincoln County he had married Lucretia. No longer young, the Major nonetheless wanted to have another family. His third dynasty would consist of three children who reached adulthood. William Edwin Ball Jones, Ada Nina, and Emma C., became his last family. He sent William to St. Johns College in Annapolis, and his two daughters to a nearby Catholic Convent school.
Unfortunately for the Major his third marriage was not a happy one. He and Lucretia did not get along. She came from an old Kentucky family with strong Virginia roots. Her grandfather, Edward Ball had come to Lincoln County Kentucky as a pioneer in 1783. Her father, William Ball had married Lettice Smith in Lincoln County in 1790. Lucretia had her own mind, and she did not hesitate to let her thoughts be known. The marriage between the major and Lucretia lasted until her death on August 10, 1840. During their time together, the Major’s fortunes took a dramatic turn for the worse.
Along with many other American businessmen, Major Jones had invested heavily in the cotton market. He also had spread his investments far too thin in other business ventures. Due to President Andrew Jackson’s political war with the Bank of the United States, and the subsequent financial crisis that occurred during the presidency of Jackson’s successor, Martin Van Buren, the economy of America was on shaky ground. In 1837, the nation’s fiscal stability collapsed. Businessmen lost their investments, thousands of workers lost their jobs. The Major’s finances collapsed along with most of the nation.
To pay his debts, the Major sold most of his lands and slaves. He had even brought some of wife’s slaves from Kentucky to assist with his household. Although Lucretia had come from a well-to-do family, she did not have the resources to offset the panic of 1837. With his third wife’s death, the Major found himself beset with creditors who demanded their money from his dwindling resources.
Faced with lawsuits, and insolvency, Jones began to make plans for his youngest children, and for himself. Never one to give up, the Major decided to recoup his fortunes by marrying a wealthy woman. His new prospect was a rich, and socially prominent spinster, and former belle of the county. Miss Sallie Harris of Bloomingdale Plantation delighted in the attention of the urbane Major Jones. He would visit her so often that Miss Harris instructed her cook to always prepare the Major’s favorite dish, a leg of lamb. For dessert the Harris cook made five rice puddings for the Major to consume.
Desperate to marry Miss Harris, and recoup his fortune, Jones asked for her hand in marriage. In asking Miss Harris to marry him, the Major confided to her, “I have been married thrice; once to the world, then to the flesh, and at last to the devil.” Miss Harris declined his offer of matrimony. Major Richard Ireland Jones had at last run out of luck.
Now elderly, and in declining health, Jones sold the house on Shipwright Street, and moved in with Marianna Paca, his daughter by Elizabeth Bowie Chew. On May 27, 1844, Major Jones died at the age of 73. He had made arrangements to send his three youngest children by Lucretia Ball to her relatives in Kentucky. William read law, and became an attorney, eventually moving to Tennessee. Ada Nina married Dr. Amos Hancock and also moved to Tennessee. Emma married James A. McMillin, a wealthy farmer of Monroe County, Kentucky. Emma and her husband lived on a large farm in the Big Sulphur Creek area of Monroe County. Born in Annapolis, Maryland, well educated in a Convent school, Emma found herself living in an area only a few years removed from a wilderness.
During the Civil War, she endured frequent invasions of her home by both Confederate and Union troops. On more than one occasion, her husband and son had to flee into the woods to avoid capture or conscription by marauding soldiers. Emma would stand on the porch of her home, and offer her hospitality to the invaders. If she had food, her “guests” would have food.
In 1848, at age sixteen, she had given birth to her only child, Richard Ireland McMillin. Naming her son after her beloved father helped keep his memory alive. She also had brought with her a possession that she cherished above all else—a miniature portrait of Major Richard Ireland Jones enclosed in a red case with a lock of his hair carefully preserved in back of the portrait.
How many times she must have told the story of her father. The names and places she mentioned must have seemed as if they had been on the dark side of the moon. London, England, the Priory, Surrey, St. Olave’s, Lord Baltimore, Sir Robert Eden, Annapolis, estates named Kinnersley, Redbourne, Bloomingdale, and all the rest. After a few years of telling, and retelling, the stories must have become as if they were fairy tales. Monroe County Kentucky was a hard and demanding pace to make a living. There were no times for governor’s cotillions, and nonsensical aristocratic pretensions.
The hardness of life in rural Kentucky did not deter Emma Jones McMillin from remembering her roots. When her son married and fathered a large family, Emma carefully told her grandchildren of their unique heritage. One of her granddaughters, Vestina Ellen McMillin embraced her family history with a passion. Many of the McMillin’s neighbors noted that “Dick McMillin’s family seemed a trifle “stuck-up.”
Vestina (known as Vessie) married Charles Thomas Strode. She gave birth to over a dozen children. Although she lived on a hard scrabble farm on Little Sulphur Creek, she never forgot her ancestors. She endeavored to inculcate her children with her grandmother’s memories of the Major, and Kinnersley.
As Emma grew older and began to suffer from ill health, she wanted Vestina to have the portrait of Major Jones. In 1888, James A. McMillin died leaving his wife all of estate. He provided that his son could work the land that he lived on. At the death of Emma, Richard would inherit all the property and monies that had been accumulated. However, after James’ death, Emma’s heath began to decline rapidly. She suffered a series of strokes that left her for a time completely incoherent.
Richard McMillin decided that his mother had lost her mind, and that he should have the full control of his father’s estate. In 1895, he took his mother before the Monroe County Court to have declared an “imbecile.” The Court agreed, but Emma recovered enough to go back to Court and have the decision reversed. Richard was not to be outdone, soon his mother relapsed, and he took control of her estate.
In the late nineteenth century, insanity, and imbecility in the family caused shame. No one knew the causes of these problems, and so the best thing to do was to hide the unfortunate victim away from prying eyes. After 1895, Emma C. Jones McMillin disappears from the official record. In the McMillin family cemetery on the Big Sulphur farm, a marble tombstone stands guard at the grave of James A. McMillin. There is no tombstone or maker for Emma. What happened to her? As one elderly relative curtly said to me, “She died, and that is that.”
Some relatives whispered that Emma may have been committed to an asylum, like her half brother Arthur. Others say she was kept out of sight on the farm, locked away, until she died. The mystery remains.
No matter what the fate of Emma, her legacy lives on. Her love and respect for her father was transmitted to her granddaughter, Vestina. She in turn passed it on to my grandmother, whose memory of those wonderful stories became more vague as the years passed by. Not until that day in 1974, did my grandmother remember the “colored” picture on the mantle piece that her mother seemed to so revere.
Yes, genealogy is the story of families. It is a wonderful pursuit. It brings out of the shadows the good and bad, the happiness and the sadness of a family’s struggle for continuity. The thrill of just finding one more ancestor will always be the devoted genealogist. To me, however, finding out the story of a family’s journey through history is the most gratifying of all. Thanks, Grandmama, for that chat on the porch swing so many years ago that led me on a journey of genealogical and historical discovery that I will never forget.