1816 Survey of Sodus Bay

The day that Henry Brother and his father Valentine completed their land survey contract for Sodus Bay, New York, they determined to stay over a few more days to sleep long hours before the trek back home. The disorientation of getting gup after sunlight made them both think it was the Sabbath. They took in the view of Lake Erie and its shoreline entertainment, provided by ships dropping anchor with goods exactly right for their celebratory moment.

Henry announced that if the cargo was only barrels of apples, he was quitting. Valentine declared that if the ship brought no whiskey, he was dying.

Sketches of the various Societies of Belivers [i.e. Believers] in the states of Ohio & Kentucky. To which is added a slight sketch of Sodus Bay in the northern part of N. York.

The view was spectacular and humbling. If the ships did not bring the right supplies, both father and son could hardly complain because their satisfaction was real: they could now go into partnership for any other venture in a heartbeat. Surprisingly, they had been paid in full, despite the agreement that accounts were to be settled only after they submitted receipts in Albany.

Valentine said, “These ships will pour in goods to our homes, farms, villages, and our labors now setting the road nicely for that store. You should take this money and open one with Dudley. I am giving you more of my share.”

“Dudley will drive that way,” He said, pointing south with this apple core before sending it flying the same direction.

“No matter. You have to go and bite it off now – this is the time now. We shouldn’t even be staying long here, for some other bloke will do it before you.”

Soon their eyes landed on a few of the shoremen arguing over spilled trunks. The debate between the men grew into a crowd. Valentine stood up for a better view, but Henry laid back and closed his eyes, happy to have a break in lists or calculations for a few days.

The man with papers finally arrived and broke up the scene and Valentine focused on the Merchant, still flapping arms about the spoiled goods, probably refusing to pay. He asked his son, “You trust Dudley, do you? He a mason?”

Henry didn’t answer. He was again asleep; but Valentine determined he’s send Taylor to track Dudley’s reputation for staying put once he got back to Bath.

1815 Valentine Surveys

Maj. Frederick A. De Zeng (1757-1838) from Grip’s Historical Souvenir of Clyde, NY

Grips’ Historical Souvenir of Clyde, NY

Henry Brother, the father of Civil War Marine Charles Brother, was so excited that he could not sleep. The next day he would go with his father up the creeks and rivers to haul their equipment for his first survey, hoping they could just keep going north to the big, great lake, which he had dreamed about ever since he saw his first map. How can you know how big something is and then carry that emotion of vastness, feeling so small compared to God, on paper? Coloring the lake blue must have been the final stroke of the artists brush, he thought, as he faded off to dreams, in a wash of paint sinking in.

Loading up the gear before sunrise, Henry thought that his father Valentine seemed more quiet than usual, but they left according to their schedule. Finally, Valentine spoke up and advised Henry not to embarrass him in front of Major De Zeng’s men. They may use curse words, but he is not to slip into trying to be like the cool kids, drinking and spitting. He must be of the highest quality and clean the measures and chains promptly, drying them thoroughly. If there is down time, then clean them again. Make sure the men see you working, inventorying, checking the math and calculating.

When they set up camp, Henry used the trunk lid to lay out his equipment on top of the blue linen his mother had given him that morning, along with some unnecessary tears. The remnant matched one of her best coats and he thought it was odd that she would take such a fine sample to hold tools, which would need oil applied, no doubt spilling and staining it permanently. But as he set the chains down, he reasoned that the blue cloth would set his tool pouch apart from the others. When he cleaned his tools, he washed the fabric, too, its pockets and string fasteners, appropriately spaced, as if an artist had devised some remedy, lock, or switch, but still allowing the blue dye, somehow, to extend beyond its stitching, so that he didn’t mind touching when it was time to unwrap or air out the day’s labor.

1812 Shipbuilding

By the time Henry Brother, the father of Civil War Marine Charles Brother, was about 12 years old, he was none too pleased that his dad was elected one of three commissioners of common schools in Geneva, New York.

Father and son had made a deal that, should the boy’s school marks be of quality, Henry could take the summer’s off to go with Valentine to his land surveying treks. But what was, technically, the calendar that Valentine was going to suggest, in the end, with his political friends, as the best for the proper education of youth in these modern times?

There was talk of adding more buildings to their Geneva Academy, but this was no interest to Henry, who just wanted to hit the road, even if it was to build the road. As soon as school was let out, he met with the boys by the lake and jumped into the water and watched the shipbuilders shape wood and bolts to make the “Robert Troop”. It was the largest vessel ever launched on their shore, a 50-foot keel and ready to hold 60 tons.

At supper Henry asked his father about this Mr. Troop and how he got a ship named after him. But Valentine wanted to drill Henry about the school master’s report about Henry’s wiggles, in general, lack of focus, and his muddy boots left at the entrance of the chapel, where Mrs. Whiting tripped and cracked a tooth.

From Penn’s Tree via Library of Congress.

Years later, when the Hobart and William Smith College grew out of that little academy, Henry Brother would name his second son after his grandfather and Episcopalian Bishop Hobart, who used the campus to spread his message of virtue and a profound love of Christ. The school wrote to Henry and asked him for a donation. They told him that, from his gift he could have a building named for Valentine or his family. But Henry set his sights on one day building another store or even having a vessel carry his name and, smiling about outrageous dream, turned them down. “I have already committed myself to such an obligation,” he replied, though not being totally clean with them that his promise was to his future children, including one who would become an true admirer of ships–a Marine.

“A fine ship,” Henry repeated at the supper table, getting away from the distraction of his grade and that tattle tale Curtis Whiting, again asking, “Who is Robert Troop?”

1810 Road from Canandaigua

Laws of the State of New York, Volume 1; 1810 - Session laws

In 1810 Valentine Brother got up from his seat in the statehouse and reached over to his George Hornell and Moses Van Campen, who were ready to band together to build the road from Canandaigua to the Olean river. The men stood and shook hands, determined to get work started. Valentine, now 37, was the youngest and understood his position.

Moses van Campen, 53, was well versed in how to respectfully fear the Indians, having been a prisoner of the Seneca tribe. From his brave and heroic confrontation with these warriors and the frontier, his knife and gunshot scarred face provided a reminder to his friends and a backstory for those who were privileged enough to meet him at all. He was practical.

George Hornell, 41, was adamant that his slaves keep up with the plan and while trying to manage their escaping and his road building, he shared with Valentine how he would become, by default of being the first in position and the first to build the road, the first postmaster, first grist mill owner, first saw mill operator, first school builder, first tavern owner, and doing all this while getting back to the New York legislative sessions— first. He was romantic.

As Valentine held his wife and new baby in their warm bed, he watched the surprising April snow out the window in the little pocket of light that flickered by their bedside candle. Mr. Hornell was occupying his thoughts while his loved ones slept. Valentine liked the idea of a new tavern: build in the winters so they are ready by the spring. The spring would be too late. But how could he manage? Valentine blew out the candle. For the night he would hold his baby and know that it was for his family that he would find the stamina to manage.

As the grandfather of Civil War Marine, Charles Brother, he wanted to future generations for how to be the first to pack, the first to build a road, the first to welcome the weary traveler, and the first, with the will of God, to fight.

1808 Entering the Tributary First

Whatever it was

On the move through the wilderness with their pioneering friends, Valentine entered the tributary first. He was caught by surprise to have to discipline the horses causing fits and so could not hear his wife yelling behind him. Even if he had, he would have ignored it, for if he were to bend to her now, he would lose everything for the strong currents. Winded and wet, he finally was on solid footing and turned around. When he saw the gash in her forehead, he pivoted the horses around to a bull’s eye view, alarmed even more so by the catastrophe of her bun and bonnet. Her hair tangled and heavy. He scanned the wagon and began to count. He did it again. For once in his life he wanted to poor at math and memory.

His son Henry was already running the river bank, scanning for his little sister, promising his mother that he would not go into the water if it were white capped, even though she could not hear him confirm he understood the danger. He followed the edge, unaware as to his progress, realizing that he was out of sight of the caravan when he saw her limp body caught in a jam of felled trees. Balancing himself, he determined that he would not allow himself to fall. But to reach Cornelia and get her onto the log, he would have to find a heroic strength in his arms. He did his best to keep them dry. He tried not to look at her sweet, sleeping face and prayed to God for stamina. There they were, together in a holding pattern that he could manage. He held her in his arms the way he wanted his mother to see them when they would be found, as if he was reading to her.

It took a chain of two or three men to wade into the water to turn Cornelia over her mother, who found another reserve of tears.

Henry, though, didn’t need assistance and wanted to be stealth as he quickly found dry pants. Someone would have to dig a grave and he wanted to do it by himself, then he wanted to start the fire by himself, and then he wanted to brush the horses by himself, and then he wanted to trim and twist the grave markers by himself. When it came time to sleep, he dragged his blankets as far from the crowd as possible, inching away more and more, determined that he would not allow himself to fall in for the disturbance trying now to throw him off, wondering if what he experienced that afternoon was the nature of frontier business transactions.

Either way, he wasn’t going to let it make him more wet, whatever it was.

1800 Brotherhood is the Motto

From Charles Williamson : a review of his life by William Main

When Henry saw his father coming home at the top of the hill he dropped his pail and stormed upwards to greet him properly, taking his share of the load, what little he could manage. Valentine burst into song straight away, as was his practice, and together they traded riddles, rhymes, and notes too high for an old man but not a boy. Reporting the birth of a calf and chores undone while embedding it in a silly song was a sharp contrast to the dragging meetings Valentine had with his boss. Because it was just between them, with no ladies around, they used the hymns as a foundation, adding their own color and pace.

Henry asked, still keeping a tune, “How far did you get this time? Did you see Indians? What did you bring me? What’s an arrowhead?”

They seemed to float back home but Henry knew that when his father made it to his featherbed, he would sleep for several days. Henry figured out that the longer he slept, the longer the next sprint away would last. On the third day Henry carefully opened the door to his parent’s bedroom, trying to find evidence of movement or packing. He was surprised to find his father awake, pulling on his vest. Seeing his son, he waved him in and told him to sit down for a serious talk.

Henry prepared that compartment of his brain for a list of things he would have to do while his father was away, each chore always too ambitious for someone his size. He would agree to do the task, doubting it was possible, knowing his father’s dream life, but not doubting it would be lonely.

Then it happened, Henry could not believe the day had come. They were to be a family again. His father’s instructions were clear, even though he asked him to repeat it three whole times: we are all moving to a place called New York. The road is ready, but they will with the first families to settle. Most important would be to say goodbye to friends and convince the best ones to go with us. Man needed friends and brothers more than ever where they were going. Not fair-weather types but the hearty ones, thick, thin, wet, and dry friends, the ones you lay down your life for. The sort where material things – even food – was not important

Henry never would forget his father’s instructions to hold fast to true friends. In that moment he aimed to be a good companion to those he would want to share that sacrifice with. It was not lost on him—that moment — when he saw the connection: his surname held his life motto.

1817 Business in Canada

Pen and Ink Drawing of Wagon with Horses (William Smock) Library of Congress

On the ride back from their survey of Sodus Bay, New York that autumn of 1817, Henry Brother, the father of Civil War Marine Charles Brother, held the reins to their wagon.

His father, former sheriff, state senator, tavern owner, and now prosperous landowner, slumped to one side and slept, cradling his head on the inside of his elbow. Henry noticed how skinny his father’s legs were and covered them with the blanket next to them, which had attached remnants of grass and apple cores from their lunch. He picked the fragments off.

Henry gave serious thought to his father’s encouragement that he go into busines with that extrovert Thomas Jefferson Dudley, who was sweet on Caroline Howell Buell, the Colonel’s daughter, just the same as Henry was. Well, Henry could get over that—there were plenty of pretty girls—but Dudley was just as driven and energetic as Valentine and the two of them (Val and Dudley) would clash in business approach and calculating risk and routes to take.

When Valentine woke up, he wiped the drool from his beard and rubbed his eyes. “Where are we now, boy?”

“Just a few miles from Lyons.”

Valentine said, “Let me take over before we go too much longer, then.”

Henry gave him the reins. “What do you have against Dudley, anyway?”

Valentine wasn’t planning to have “the talk” so soon but reasoned that it was best to get it over with before the break in quiet, before Lyons.

“Dudley might be is attached to slavery as I was. When William’s father escaped from me and ran to Fort Erie—this was when you were about four, I think—I had to beat him terribly and was pounced by his Negro mob, escaping only with the help of Dudley’s father, so I am terribly indebted to him for helping me get to the Canadian authorities to drag him back.”

“Willie cried a lot, I remember that. And their reunion, I remember that.”

“Right. When we got home that I set them free. Mr. Dudley, who risked his lot for this long, drawn out business, never forgave me. You might run into this old business; you will have to pick it off and find a way to let it go. Dudley wont.”

1796 Valentine & Pulteney Land Co.

From Charles Williamson: A Review of His Life by William Main

Charles Williamson had a huge task to promote the Genesee valley to attract farmers. Working for the best interests of his employer, the Pulteney Land Company, he had to find strong laborers to build roads, probably the Germans who had experience with the Black Forest back home. That would be no problem. Securing merchants to supply those men would be his first task. Who was into adventure, could hold facts to memory, and good at math? Mrs. Brother knew just the man.

When Valentine saw these real estate developers come through his tavern, he didn’t have to nudge his wife to eavesdrop on this day. As she refilled their glasses, she smiled with the words dry road but froze on the word Indians. She heard them talking about supply lists, logbooks, schemes to attract and keep the hired hands on task, including weekend entertainments and horseraces. She returned to the bar to update Valentine. “If we are going to get the best land, you’d better be part of the mappers.” She could manage herself, now that the children are older, so he should apply right quick.

Valentine presented his case to Williamson and in the morning, he headed out with his crew, on a trial basis, to prove his skills.

At night her son Henry, who later grew to be the father of Civil War Marine Charles Brother, made it a practice to crawl into bed with her, promising not to make it wet, and listened to her as she explained, for the one hundredth time, what a land surveyor does. Henry imagined for the hundredth time the direction the road was laid out, thinking that a good father might pave the way in all things, making things tightly squared, framed, and documented so that there is never any dispute. He imagined the boundary breaks leaving enough land for puddles and houses, agreeing not to waste good bedrock.

Henry fell asleep dreaming of his father standing on the hilltop, calculating but not having to write anything down, and folding his chains into his pocket. He dreamed he was his father’s assistant, reciting, “one pole equals 25 links.” Father and son, together, one day, heading north to trade with the Indians. “One pole equals 25 links.”