Part 25

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.