Finding Hattie/ In Which An Obscure Poetry Site Yields An Answer And A Tombstone Disappears

 

     Eighteen forty-nine was a cholera year.  From Ireland, where nearly 600 people perished in Ballinasloe workhouse in a single week, to Europe and America, the pandemic immured the world in misery.  A dangerous, highly contagious disease, Asiatic cholera first arrived in the United States at port cities like New York and New Orleans, rapidly spreading death along inland waterways and the burgeoning railway system.  Desperate communities were easy pickings for swindlers promising cures and preventatives.  In the spring of 1849 at Rochester, New York, a Mr. M. O'Brien was manufacturing something he called, "Cholera Candy", while Dr. Ripley was hawking a vegetable compound claimed to be infallible if taken in the first stages of illness.

     Not far from Rochester, the town of Phelps, New York lay between Flint Creek and the Canandaigua Outlet making it prime mill property.  It's location near the two waterways also made it prime property for numbers of travelers to be passing through.  My third-great-grandfather Russell Galloway operated a grist mill in that place during the late 1840's.  He and his wife Harriet B. Moore arrived in Phelps from Wolcott, New York sometime around 1845, settling on the banks of the outlet with their family.

     In researching the Galloways, I came across a site containing inventories of cemeteries in Ontario County of which Phelps is a part.  I was surprised to see listed in Pioneer Cemetery in the village of Phelps, Harriet P. Galloway, daughter of R and H B, aged 2 years.  Without that information I would never have known of little Hattie's existence; being born in 1847 and passing away in 1849 meant she was not enumerated in any census.  I have an aunt who lives a block from Pioneer Cemetery, so we set out one hot, humid day to find Hattie.

     Pioneer is not a large cemetery so we split up and did our best, but we could not locate the grave.  Discouraged, we walked back to my aunt's home to cool off and plan our next steps.  We called the village clerk who informed us the cemetery was cared for by the town.  The town had no maps of burials, but they too began searching other records and lo and behold, found a photograph of the stone, not in their files, not on a cemetery site, not on a genealogy or history site, but on one called Poetrex.  A poetry site.

     

Harriet P. Galloway died May 18 1849 2 yrs 2 mo 21 days

     That photograph left us puzzled, the inscription appeared so deep and clear.  How on earth did we not find it?  Reinvigorated by this new information, (and a glass of chilled prosecco), we returned to the cemetery confident we would locate it this time, but the results were the same as before.  Retreating once again to my aunt's air conditioning we studied the photo for clues.  There weren't many.  A few fallen leaves near the stone gave some perspective as to its size and at the top, part of a small flag decorating another grave could be seen in the background, that was about all.  After enlarging the photo for a closer look, it became apparent those white marks near the bottom were in fact gashes, the base was quite damaged.  It appears the stone was originally white, and now I wonder if it didn't topple at some point.

     While disappointed that I may never know where Hattie rests, at least there is a photograph of her tombstone.  I also don't know if Hattie was a victim of the cholera epidemic raging in New York that May of her death, but I think there is a fair chance she was.  I plan to make one more trip to the cemetery, on a cool day, to check for fallen stones but even if I don't find her, Hattie's all too brief life is recorded, she is not forgotten.