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My McMillan History

Staff December 26, 2017 0
My McMillan History

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Knowing the stories of our precursors influences them to come to life for us. Isn’t this one of the best bits of genealogy world? They pull at our creative energy and motivate our profound respect. For without their mind-boggling boldness, we would not be our identity. We have stories passed down of fascinating, unpredictable, sad, even scandalous relatives. In any case, what many of these stories face is the examination of genealogy research. Among my companions in the genealogy world, I found that not half ended up being valid.

Three years prior, I got a concise family history from a McMillan cousin. It contained six handwritten pages covering more than one hundred years. The overview was of the family’s movement to Colonial America and resulting settlement. This history contained two beautiful stories.

The first story included a War of 1812 occurrence. Ananias McMillan, an officer, lived with his family at Detroit. With his 12-year-old child, Archibald, they went to get their dairy animals. One night Ananias was shot and scalped by Indians, who at that point seized Archie. Months later, the U.S. Army rescued Archibald and returned him to his mother. The record had adequate names, dates, and places to decide its veracity.

The second story was from Sophia McMillan (1843 to 1909).  It composed only four sentences about her incredible granddad’s grievous entry from Ireland:

“Begun to this Country with his widowed Mother and her Infant angel, when he was 14 years of age. They were wrecked in transit. His mother-like is getting a handle on the circumstance, gave her shot of life to her child, hurled her Purse to him, Bade him God Speed should he achieve this nation. A couple of minutes after the fact he saw two Pieces of the Ship meet up, Crushing Mother and Babe, and sink to rise no more.”

I have heard my grandma say he observed that sight when he shut his eyes and the ocean’s thunder was ever in his ears.

These two stories made me reject that they were myths told around the fire at night. I confirmed the Detroit story with city and district histories. My mind then went back to the wreck. Not at all like the first story, this initial one appeared to need more research. No date, no ship’s name, no area of the catastrophe. Be that as it may, the age of 14 turned out to be the key. Knowing the demise date and age of Sophia’s granddad, Jonathan, I could settle the wreck at around 1737. The area must be off the shore of New England since Jonathan had survived and ended up in Maine.

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