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Note: s listed in this database. For some reason, the FTM software shows her as their child, but will not recognize them as her parents, when one tries to navigate in the other direction.
LEGGETT, JENNIE M
Date of death: 11-Jul-1874
Ledger Page: 11
Record Number: 91
Place of death: Waterford
County of Death: Oakland
Sex: Female
Race: W
Marital Status: Married
Age: 35 years
Cause of Death: Dropsy Of Lungs
Birthplace: Mi
Occupation: Farmer
Father's Name: Whitehead, Almeron
Father's Residence: N Y State
Mother's Name: Whitehead, Annie
Mother's Residence: Not Recorded
Date of record: 25-May-1875
Names are in the form last name, first, middle. The notation Not Recorded or NR above indicates that the ledger page was left blank in that spot.
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Continued from the notes for Jane's husband, Mortimer Allen Leggett, the author of these letters.
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Now listen! One day I was not feeling well so I stayed in the house with Mother and I always felt that it paid to be a little sick for such a privilege. She was sewing carpet rags and I sewed too. We were having the best time a boy could have when Mother said she would have to go upstairs. I kept at the rags and got them all sewed, wondering why Mother stayed so long. I got my flute and played away little thinking what was taking place upstairs. Hours passed and I was getting anxious. At last Father came down and said Mother wanted me. I was soon by her. There she lay in bed and looked so pretty and happy I leaned over the bed and kissed her. When she threw down the covers and there lay the sweetest and dearest little rosy cheeked baby I ever saw [Anna Seaman Leggett, born 19 April 1848]. I can never forget my happiness and surprise for I had never dreamed that such a thing was going to happen. Well this little baby was your grandmother-to-be. And, as she grew, she developed into the dearest little girl and how we loved her. We called her Mamie and she was, always with us boys and it was a delight to have her. [Your] Uncle Percy always claimed her as his girl which made [your] Uncle Billy [William Haight Leggett, 1840-1921] and me a little jealous.
The friends that Mother had the greatest regard for were Mr. and Mrs. William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878; poet and editor of New York (Evening) Post]. They were a lovely couple and so kind.
Cedarmere, located on Bryant Avenue in Roslyn Harbor, was the rural Long Island home of William Cullen Bryant from 1843 until his death in 1878. He purchased the house as a retreat from the pressures and congestion of New York City. The oldest section of the house was constructed in 1787 by William Kirk, a Quaker farmer. Bryant greatly enlarged the original farmhouse, renovating it several times. Following Bryant's death in 1878, Cedarmere passed in turn to his daughter Julia and his grandson Harold Godwin. Mr. Godwin added such features as the stone bridge and Sunken Garden to the landscape, and rebuilt the house following a major fire in 1902. The seven acre estate was left to Nassau County by Harold Godwin's daughter Elizabeth to preserve as a memorial to William Cullen Bryant. http://www.nassaulibrary.org/bryant/cedrmer.htm
They came to our house very often. Mr. Bryant spent the week in New York coming home on Saturday and generally bringing some illustrious people with him and Father and Mother were always invited to meet them. Mr. Bryant often stopped at our house and would play for hours with the little girls. Your Grandmother has been tossed by him many times. He would lie down on the floor, take the girls on his knees and give them a toss in the air. (He) was a regular boy. Mrs. Bryant was a lovely woman. She had five daughters, Fanny, who married Park Godwin, a very brilliant man, and Julia never married, who lived at home. Mr. Bryant is buried on Harbor Hill and thousands of people visit his grave each year. His house partially burned a few years ago and has been restored to its former beauty. This old house at one time belonged to one of our relatives, but I have forgotten the name [Kirk]. It was hard for Mother and Father to have left such friends when we came west and they had hosts of other congenial friends. I think it was a disappointment that mother never recovered from and that was in not meeting Margaret Fuller [1810-1850; women's rights advocate, writer, foreign correspondent for New York Tribune]. She was coming with her husband and son from Rome and in sailing along the Long Island Coast, the ship struck a rock and went to the bottom. Margaret Fuller was recognized as one of the great minds of the world and was coming to visit a Mrs. Moullin [?-?] in Roslyn and Mother was invited to meet her there. Her death was considered a national loss.
About this time father began to talk of the West. He had such a family that he thought we ought to have a broader field to work in. And as Father and Mother had so many rich relatives in New York who were everlastingly visiting us and eating us out of house and home. So the folks came to the conclusion to go West. Thus it came about that Father advertised to trade his farm for western property. Now it so happened that a man from Michigan was coming to New York and while in a harbor shop read Father's advertisement. He came right to our place, liked it, whereupon Father and Grandfather went to Michigan to see the property he wanted to trade. This consisted of a comfortable brick house and twenty acres of land in Pontiac, a large flour mill, a saw mill, three cottages and two hundred acres of land. Well they traded even. And when he got home all was excitement and the stories that Father told of the fine farms surrounded by lakes that were running over with fish and ducks and how the boys would work, one in the mill, another in the saw mill, while I was to be the farmer. And the wonderful things that were coming out of our work made us boys think that we were on springs and could jump into Michigan.
I think I must tell you a little about New York as it was when I was a boy. The streets were cobble stone pavements, even the great Broadway and they were so muddy that little girls would sweep a path across the street so that ladies could keep their shoes and skirts clean. There the only mode of conveyance was the omnibus. The city was lighted with little oil lamps on poles about five feet high. There were new high buildings then and the lower part of the city was the residence section. My mother was born in Beekman Street and lived there until she was married. Now that part of the city has great business blocks. At that time there were but two ferries that crossed the East River to Long Island
and [now] to look across four suspension bridges, and subways under the river. In fact under the Hudson River and under the city. So when you took a train in the Pennsylvania depot you rode under the East River to get to Long Island, or if you wanted to go the other way you would go through a tunnel under the Hudson River. And what depots the Pennsylvania and New York Central have. They are works of art and as for size there seems no limit. I can remember when the Harlem railroad had no depots just dropped their passengers in an open piece of ground near the opening of the Brooklyn Bridge and such hotels as are there today, compared to my boyhood days. I remember when the Astor House was built [unlikely; built 1836, razed 1913] and the people thought it could never be surpassed. I stayed last year in the Pennsylvania hotel [built 1919] a couple of nights. This hotel has twenty six hundred rooms and a bath in each room and every comfort, a telephone, all kinds of railroad guides, needle and thread, and should you want your linens washed, you could just put them in a little receptacle and your shoes also. Then in the morning your linens would be back laundered and your shoes shined. Every morning a paper was shoved under the door and a great dining room was attached. This was some building. Don't you think so? [Mort's grandfather, William H. Leggett, provided land for and was an investor in the nearby St. Nicholas Hotel:
In 1852 the St. Nicholas, at Broadway and Spring St. was opened. It was built in marble, and in that respect was an architectural innovation, so far as New York hotels went. This house was the largest and finest hotel in the country and remained such until the erection of the Fifth Avenue in 1859. It was very sumptuously furnished, of solid rosewood and had double the capacity of the Astor House. The mirrors alone cost $60,000. It is said that the furniture cost more than the furniture of the Waldorf-Astoria. (The Architectural Record, Vol. XII, No. 5, Oct. 1902) Razed; Deforest Building, 513-517 Broadway, built on the site in 1884.]
In my young days, a round building up Fifth Avenue was the water works and the Croton River furnished water for the city. Today the water comes from the Catskill mountains sixty miles away and costs more money than to build the Panama Canal. What was country in my young days is solid city today. I remember Central Park when it was a barren waste, a mass of rocks with squatters' shanties on it and pigs, goats and geese farms dominated now one of the beauty spots of the city. The place I enjoyed the most was the Battery. Here I could spend hours watching the boats. Here is where the two rivers meet, the Hudson and the East. The latter going to Long Island Sound and the Hudson to the ocean. In fact both go to the ocean. It is so interesting to watch the tides, at one time the water is going upstream and a few hours later going downstream. And the current is very swift on the East River, hence the name of "Hell Gate." Here we crossed to Long Island and sometimes the current would take the ferry boat two miles downstream before she could turn and work up into her stop. I got off of my track. I am talking of the Battery and what a joy it was to see a great boat sail in that had crossed the ocean. All the time I am speaking of there were more sailing vessels than steamers and to watch them coming up the "narrows" with all sails set was a sight never to be forgotten. And then to see them land and the passengers coming off, and the anxious look for friends, they expected would meet them and the poor immigrants when they would walk down through the lane of people that came to meet them as they expected and found none, to see friends who do meet and the affection shown melts you and you can almost tell the good news and bad news they are giving. It really is about as sad to see a ship come in with its great load of human beings as it is to see one go out.
The time has come [1852] for us to start for the West and there was great carrying on at Rose Bank (the name of your great-great-grandfather's home) and the packing up things and getting all the young folk ready and then the many consequences to take us to the city. Now I will tell you all that came with us. My grandfather and grandmother, my mother and father and us eight children. Then my Uncle Sam and his two children and nurse girl, another two servant girls, Uncle Sam's colored man. Father's farmer, his wife and four children all had to get to New York to take the boat for Albany and at four o'clock we were all on board and soon we were starting up the Hudson River. And we all had a good cry as we bid good-bye to the dear old city that had given most of us birth, but young folks cannot remain sad for any length of time and the beautiful sail with those grand palisades on one side and the city and many towns soon took our minds off of leaving New York. It took us until seven o'clock next morning to reach Albany. The last time I went up in six hours. Well it was a delightful sail and the youngsters thought it was heaven. At eight o'clock, we took the New York Central for Buffalo. Here was another great treat going through the beautiful state. Everything was a joy to us, the rocks and forests with now and then along the Erie Canal the boat drawn by horses. At this time, the Central Railroad was a single track road and it was fun to go on a siding and see another train fly by. We reached Buffalo at ten o'clock that night and were hurried to the boat to take us to Detroit. I was sitting with the driver on the back. When we came into a drove of cattle, he gave me his whip and told me to get down and try to part them so he might drive through instead of driving the cattle. They drove me and I got lost but happily I found the folks and all was lovely. The boat at that time was small compared with the boats of today and this boat (the Ocean) had twelve hundred passengers on board besides all their freight and good luck would have it the lake was still but in order to keep the boat on an even keel the sailors kept rolling great barrels of sand from one side to the other. At that time, there were but a few state rooms and a sister of the Captain gave Mother her room, while we boys found a bunk down in the hold. We had two nights and the most of two days in reaching Detroit. The Captain said it was the largest load he ever carried. Boats now make the trip in sixteen hours with every comfort known. When we landed we were taken to the Michigan Exchange, an old hotel way down Jefferson Avenue which has long since been torn down and a great wholesale building put up. At that time (1852) Detroit was a small town, not a paved street in it, a plank road through the middle of Jefferson and Underwood Avenues. And when you got to Grand Central Park you were in the country with heavy woodland to Royal Oak. At that time there was but one small theater in the city and the City Hall was a small brick building with a market below. There were but two railroads. One to Pontiac, the other to Jackson. In fact, these were the only roads west of Buffalo.
After staying a few days in Detroit, it was hurrah for Pontiac. At that time the depot was where the opera house now stands and the train we took was called the "Tri weekly," for they tried weekly to make the trip. It was composed of a luggage car and one passenger, and both of these cars would not be as large as a modern car. The engine was in keeping with cars ...had no cab for the engineer and no tender. The road bed was the strap rail. The way this was made, two square timbers were laid the middle of the track then a strip of iron was spiked to the outer edge. And as new wood is of equal hardness, the iron would soon sink down in the soft parts and remain solid on the hard so it was like riding over a country road. And should two soft spots be opposite and as the little engine had but two
drivers, when, and if, these two wheels got into these little holes, the train would come to a stop and the passengers would have to get out and take pinch bars and pry the wheel out. The only place the engine had for wood was on the step that the engineer stood on so he had to stop often for wood and also for water and often the engine could not make the grade then the passengers would get out and push. The seats in the car were benches running across the cars with a narrow way on one side and broad strips of leather for the back. The windows were very small and one had to stand on tip toes to see out. The man who named this road was Alfred Williams (better known as Salt Williams) [?-?]. He was a witty chap and a great stutterer. At one time a man was appointed to find out the casualties on the two roads. He came to old 'Salt' who said he could only recall one and this was a middle-aged couple boarded the train in Detroit for Pontiac and died of old age at Birmingham.
Now our trains had brought us safely to Pontiac and when we stepped out of the car it seemed as if the infernal region had broken loose. Criers for the three hotels, and for the stages. Some for Saginaw, Flint, Lapeer, Rochester, Milford. These were the four horse stages and there were two horse wagons that carried passengers. We finally got in a bus for Hodges House. Our bus was a farm wagon with planks on the sides for seats. We were surprised to find so large a hotel and so nicely kept. We stayed here for a week as our goods had not arrived by this time and we were all crazy to get in our new home. So the old bus took us all up and although we had but little in the house. Although Father had traded quite a bit of furniture and the neighbors found out our predicament, sent in many loads of everything, food and bedding and we soon found out that we were among the nicest people. Martin Welsh [?-?] and his family had gone up to the farm and were in one of the cottages. It was not long before our goods arrived. As they had come by canal it took time. The first Sunday, the boys were so crazy to see the farm and mills that we walked up. It was a pretty good walk, six miles up there and it seemed about twenty back. Well we got there and how I cannot tell now for of course we knew nothing of the roads. And the roads at that time were very different than now. They ran through the woods often and not where they do now. We were going along through the woods and were walking up a hill when all at once we came upon the prettiest lake (Silver Lake) and we were overjoyed with its beauty and we went wild in walking along its bank to see the water alive with big fish. They came almost to the bank and as far out as we could see. I have never seen the same thing since. We kept on walking and pretty soon came to two other lakes. Never saw anything so beautiful as they were to me on that beautiful Sunday morning. We kept on going, not knowing where, when as we rose a little hill, the great old mill came in view. We then knew where we were. We met a lot of boys who had heard that the mill and farm had changed hands. So they were very kind, showed us the farm, the cottage and the flour and saw mill. We were highly pleased with everything and especially the boys who were so good and we were soon acquainted. It was now time to start back and we hated to leave the boys. Our walk back did not bother us as we knew the way, but four little willies got pretty tired. Of course we had a wonderful story to tell Father and Mother and told how delighted we were and knew we would be happy there for they were the nicest boys.
Of course, our desire now was to have the family there, but the trouble was that we would have to have a house. So we all began to plan a house. I was sent up there to help Martin Welsh draw stone. In the meantime, Father had bought a team of horses and a yoke of oxen. So we were prepared for work. Martin drew stone and I drew lumber and it was not long before work began on the house, I boarding with Martin and going home Saturday nights. The house was to be a big one 40 X 40 and a wing 20 X 40. The main building was three stories high with a cellar under both main and wing. In order to get a site for the house, Father had to buy one hundred acres of land. Of course as soon as the house was finished we wanted to live there. So Father sold the Pontiac house to my Uncle Sam [Samuel Mott Leggett, 1820-1883] and that made the coast clear. We moved up into the new house in May 1854 and how happy we were. But for all this we were all a little home sick for the friends we had left behind. Now it so happened that Father and I were in Pontiac one day and a friend that we had made said that we should meet a family that lived at Elizabeth Lake by the name of Whitehead. They were from New York and while he was talking, he said, "Why there is Whitehead out there on a load of produce and I will take you out and introduce you." So we walked to the wagon and he gave the introduction. Mr. Whitehead said, "Is your name Gus?" and Father said, "Is your name Al?" They both said yes and grabbed each other's hand, for they had known each other in their young days. My! What a meeting that was and it was soon agreed that the families should meet. So it happened that Mr. Whitehead and wife called and Mother and Mrs. Whitehead knew each other as girls and went to the same school at Greenwich, N.Y. What a joyous meeting. Thus a life friendship soon grew up. We were soon invited to their home and what a home it was. Eight young people and we had the same number. Well a friendship soon grew up and we were all so happy. At that time one of the daughters was with her aunt in New York and would soon be home and of course the boys were crazy to see her. For we knew she must be nice as they all were. Time did not drag after this. We were either over there or they would be at our house. At last the sister came from New Jersey and of course we were all anxious to see her and when we met we found her a charming girl and it did not take me long to know that she was the one girl that I ever met that I loved and so it happened that one day we took a horseback ride. We rode to the bank of a beautiful little lake in the woods. We stopped to take in the beauty of the place and we were on a little farm that belonged to me. I thought now is my time to find out if she cares for me, but with all the courage I could bring to bear I could not say the words. So we rode on up to Lake Angelus and down in a hollow surrounded by beautiful trees and on the bank of this beautiful lake I was brave enough to ask her if she would be mine and she looked me in the eyes and said that joyous word, yes! My! But I was happy. And going back home we took our time for we were in no hurry. Well this girl was to be your Aunt Jenny [Jane Mais (Whitehead) Leggett, 1839-1874] and a lovelier woman never lived than she. This was in the summer and the next spring [7 April 1858] we were married and started housekeeping in one of Father's cottages. Here we lived for several years. Cousin Will was born here [William Haight Leggett, 1859] and we were so happy but one night trouble came for the mill dam had broken
and all the water ran out of the lake. This was a great loss and it cost two thousand dollars to fix it up besides all the work.
About this time there were rumors of the Civil War and great was the excitement. Boys began to enlist. Cousin [no, he means "your uncle"] Perce came to me one day and said, "I am going to enlist but I want you to stay home for you have a family and besides you must take care of Mother and Father." Well, he went and gave his life. Johnny Cooper who was working for me at the time enlisted and left me in the harvest field and nearly all the young men went. And what an anxious time for us at home. Never knew what minute news of the death of some boy.
Your Uncle Percy Seaman Leggett proved himself a brave soldier (really too brave). He went into the army, as a private and in less than a year he was a Lieutenant on General Kilpatrick's staff. At one time Kilpatrick called for a man to cross the Rappahannock River and go into the Rebel lines. Uncle Percy said he would go and go he did and got valuable information. Of course he was a spy and would have been shot if caught. Another time he and four orderlies were reconnoitering ahead of his command. His men stopped at a house to inquire and Percy rode on. He came upon a rebel picket of five men who shot him to death. If he had waited for his men, it might have been different. He was over-brave, poor fellow. He was a noble man and we have always felt his loss not only as a brother and friend, but as an advisor.
I want to tell you of your great Grandmother Eliza Seaman Leggett [1815-1900], for she was a very great human. She was a great prohibitionist [abolitionist, women's rights advocate and general social reformer] and was in touch with such workers as Randall Phillips [?-?], Lucretia Mott [1793-1880], Elizabeth Cady Stanton [1815-1902], Julia Ward How[e 1819-1910] and Anna Dickerson [?-?]. She was intimate with all of them and she visited many of them and many of them came to see her. She was interested in the underground railroad, as it was called, worked was as follows: A slave runs away from his master. He has been told what to do, he is to get to a certain house where he will be kept until night. Then the man of the house will take him to another place where he will be kept until night and then forwarded to another friend until he reaches Canada. We harbored many a poor runaway, although it was a prison offense to do so.
Grandmother was a very learned woman and had for her friends such men as Bronson Alcott [1799-1888] and Walt Whitman [1819-1892], Louisa Alcott [1832-1888], and any number of others that I cannot recall. Had Grandmother not been hampered with a large family and a lean pocket book, she would be in the hall of fame in Washington after the Civil War and the slaves had been made free. Why the poor things had no money, no nothing so Mother set herself to work to see what could be done. And she started in Detroit what was known as the "Freedman Bureau." She was made president and she appointed people to solicit and the meeting place was at her home, 169 Elizabeth Street. It was a great success. Several thousand dollars was raised.
[Perhaps Mort means she raised funds in Detroit under the aegis of The Bureau of Refugees, Freedman and Abandoned Lands, often referred to as the Freedmen's Bureau, established in the War Department by an act of March 3, 1865. The Bureau supervised all relief and educational activities relating to refugees and freedmen, including issuing rations, clothing and medicine. http://www.freedmensbureau.com/]
Mother then got up a fair in Chicago [he means the 1893 Columbian Exposition] with even greater success than in Detroit. Then she started sewing clubs and made great quantities of clothing for the poor things and this was taken up through the community so that they were soon in comfortable condition. Mother was the instigator of many reforms in Detroit. Dr. Farrand [?-?], a prominent man and health officer of Detroit, told Mother he would carry out anything she might suggest. At one time Dr. Farrand came to the house and told Mother to get on her things and go with him. He took her to the city prison and had her locked up in a cell with Sophia Lyons, a notoriously bad woman. Mother had a good time with her, heard her story and when she got back in the carriage with the doctor, she asked him why he did such a thing. "Well," he said, "I wanted to see the worst woman in the city and the best woman in the city locked up together." Mother gave all her energy for women's rights and how happy she would have been could she have lived to see it brought about. [No doubt a reference to women's suffrage, and the 19th Amendment to the Constitution in 1920.] With all of Grandmother's literary work and reform work she never neglected her family. She was the most devoted mother to them and would sacrifice anything for them. "Blessed Mother."
Your Grandmother Randall [Anna Seaman (Leggett) Randall, 1848-1934], as you know, lived in Drayton Plains and I am going to tell a little story. One time there came to this house three of the dearest little children and we all loved them, but one day in the cold winter, the two little girls were taken sick which made me very unhappy. They had a poor cold kind of a doctor who was giving them no help. [Your] Cousin Kate [Mort's daughter, Catherine, 1866-after 1924] caused Dr. Bird of Pontiac to come and see them. He said he was so busy he could not. Cousin Kate said to him, "You come and come quickly for we cannot let these dear little girls and boy die." He came and he helped you and you began to gain one cold night. Cousin Kate said to me, "You go and hitch the horses to the bob sleigh and put lots of straw in the box and all the robes and blankets you can find for we are going up to Aunt Annie's and get those children and bring them down here for we will have a warm house and plenty of little things that might tempt their appetite." And then the little family was brought over to Uncle Mort's as fast as the horses could come. The change seemed what they needed and they were soon on the way to recovery. Blessed little children. Can you guess who they were? (Ferris, Elrose and Anita, circa 1919 or 1920)
Now I am going to say something of your Grandfather Randall. [Corrydon Chandler Randall, 1846-1907] I was very fond of him and always enjoyed a visit with him. He was a highly well read man and had the brains to take in what he read and give it to others and I always felt well repaid to spend an evening with him. He had a wonderful sense of humor and would tell some of the most outlandish stories and would tell them in such a way that he would convince you that you knew all about the affairs. One time he told of a man that had committed some crime being chased into a swamp some thirty miles away. He made it so clear to me that I remembered it perfectly well. They surrounded this man in the swamp and he climbed a tree which he pulled up after him and was never seen after. I think I was sold. At one time when they were all living here, he would bring out a great roast of meat from Detroit. He said to me that it was strange that the Detroit meat was so much better than our country meat. I said of course it was, for the pasture was so much better in the city and I wanted him to ask his butcher which Avenue, Woodward or Jefferson, raised the best cattle. He cocked up one eye and said, "Oh! Well it had never occurred to him that all the cattle came from the country." (There was) Nothing he liked better than to get out on the little lake and get sun-burned.
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Continued under the notes for Mort's grand nephew, Ferris Seaman Randall, Jr., the firstborn of the recipients of these letters.
Note: The parents of Jennie (Jane) are Ameron and Mary Ann (Mais) Whitehead, a
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