Postscript

It seems scarcely of any importance for me to write of the days after the close of the War. My dear Cousin Minnie had married soon after the War began. The very first mail that came to Petersburg after the War had brought me a letter from her, begging me to come on to see them right away; that they had all been so glad to hear that we had been "for the Union" always. I wrote that we were too poor just then to come, but that it was a mistake to think that we were Unionists, that all true Virginians believed in the rights of a state, and when Virginia seceded, we went with her out of the Union.

Mr. Samuel Donald, a cousin of Father's had come to Petersburg while we were living at West Hill, had gone afterwards to Missouri and prospered, then had come back to Petersburg to live. When he paid a visit to his old home in Derry, Father asked Mr. Donald to "look into the matter of his (Father's) property in Derry." Mr. Donald did so, and on his return to Virginia reported to Father that he had interviewed the man who had married Father's half-sister, and the man had stated to him that "No power on earth could get that property from him," that he had an Act of Parliament passed "confirming his title to all that property." We were then too poor to fight for our rights and there was nothing more done.

Townsend family But, though we then knew not why such an injustice had been done, after many years, I had indirectly an explanation of the matter: Mr. Eugene Davis was born in Cork, Ireland, but when he was quite young his father came to Montreal. At sixteen, Mr. David was a clerk in a grocery store, but studied shorthand at night. At the time when I knew him, he was one of the very best court stenographers in New York City, and was in every respect a courteous and highly educated gentleman.

We were talking one day about Ireland, and in the course of the conversation, he said: "Why Mrs. Townsend, the people of America have not the slightest idea of how the English Parliament rules Ireland. For every trifling little change in laws, for every little local improvement, they must have 'An Act of Parliament.'" He then cited a case which had come under his knowledge: a man owned property on both sides of a road running between two towns, which had recently grown wonderfully. But the road was an old one and had a curve which made the distance three miles longer from town to town.

"The owner of the property was glad to give the townspeople the right to change the line (to be still on his own land) but they found that they must go to Parliament to ask permission, and 'going to Parliament' was an expensive business. The grafting lawyer was usually the man who had influence in such matters, and he would delay as long as he could." Then I, for the first time, understood the matter of "An Act of Parliament" confirming an illegal seizure of another man's land! Mr. Donald also reported that what had been a country estate was "now covered with brick houses!"

The clerk whom Uncle Henry had given a partnership in his business, and who had taken the benefit of the Bankruptcy Law, had said that he was waiting for the passage of a bill regarding claims for lands evacuated by the Indians, when he would promptly pay the heirs. When Uncle Hannon inquired about the estate of Mother's Uncle Henry Peters, the senator in charge of the matter answered that he knew nothing of Mr. Watson's private affairs. A bill was introduced in Congress just before Florida seceded from the Union, but after the War we were told that "southern claims had no show in Washington," and nothing has since been done by our family.

I write all this from what I remember of family conversations. There were bushels of old papers and letters in trunks in our big attic on Bollingbrook Street, many being letters from Germany and many from Uncle Henry from North Carolina and Florida. Also from Alexander Watson, the young Scotch boy, Uncle Henry's clerk in North Carolina and whom he had taken with him to Florida. Our house was torn by shells, the fourth (or attic) story left for nearly a year to the mercy of the elements, and cartloads of very old books and (perhaps valuable) papers were sent to the paper mill, from which we were glad to receive one cent per pound.

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