Connecting the Dots

On Saturday, January 26th, 2009 I paid my father’s cousin Hazel, and her husband, Eli Rico a visit in Chula Vista. Over lunch, I revealed the little bible to them, and we commenced to sort through some old family photos handed down by her father, John “HENRY” Banks. Uncle John was brother to my Grandmother, Mary Banks-Enyeart-Felch. 

My Gr Gr Grandfather, David Irish Banks, brother of Henry.

Shown here surrounded by his grandchildren, including my grandmother,  
Mary Almyra Banks-Enyeart-Felch (far left)

One of the photos featured an elderly man surrounded by 11 children. On the reverse side, someone had written all of the children’s names, and “Great Grandfather Banks”. That would be my great-great grandfather, David Irish Banks. 

Hazel’s sister, my Father’s cousin Pat, published Banks family history in her 1979 book: “Roots that Bind” which shows July 24th, 1889 as Henry’s dod, but it did not mention where he was buried. There were numerous pages of photos, letters, and historical accounts of all of siblings, except for Henry Ira Banks. Although, he was mentioned in a letter written by his niece, Annie L. Banks of Sea Cliff, NY, with concerns about the locusts. (Referring, I’m sure to the Rocky Mountain Locust Swarm of 1874, which devastated farms across America) She wrote: “…what fearfully horrible things those grasshoppers must be to destroy so much. I feel very sorry for Grandmother, Uncle John, George, and Henry, but we must expect to meet with disappointments in this world.”

Devastation map of the 1874 Locust Swarm
(Note the green area over Kansas which represents
the area that suffered the most damage)

A recent episode on The History Channel came to mind, and a cross-reference with answers.com confirmed my supposition that Henry and his brothers had most definitely been victimized by the locust plague of 1874.

 July 20–30, 1874. The Rocky Mountain locust, long a pest in the American Midwest, became an even bigger threat in the summer of 1874. Beginning in late July, the largest recorded swarm of this insect descended on the Great Plains. It is estimated that 124 billion insects formed a swarm 1,800 miles long and 110 miles wide that ranged from Canada and the Dakotas down to Texas. Contemporary accounts said that the locusts blocked out the sun and devastated farms in mere minutes. The swarms continued in smaller size for the next several years and caused an estimated $200 million in crop destruction.

Further research revealed Henry Banks, Farmer from New York, b: 1838 in the 1880 census, age 42 living in Pleasant Valley/Saline, KS married to Tilla Banks, b:1832 from Pennsylvania.

In April of 2009, I was invited to my grandmother Alice’s 100th birthday party in Edmonds, WA. I struck up a conversation with my cousin, Ken VandenHoorn. He had recently retired, and had spent a great deal of time and energy researching family histories, including that of the Banks family. He shared with me an interesting internet entry that he stumbled upon which read:

Henry Banks. Born: Feb 17, 1838 in Oblong, Duchess County, NY, Died: 10:15 pm Wed, Jul 24, 1889 in Baird, Callahan County, Texas, Buried: Ross Cemetery, Baird, Texas.

I contacted the poster who lived in Newport, WA via email. Her entry happened to be an excerpt from a Christmas letter which had been written, and distributed to family members by her uncle in 1940. It included a carefully written “Bowlus” family history. It turns out that Henry Ira Banks was married to an Emma Bowlus for about a year, before he died at the young age of 51 in 1889. The poster sent me a copy of the letter. She took an interest in my research, and shared with me another random posting which was from a woman who was sifting through some old “Baird Star” newspaper clippings from the 1800’s, and posted them online. 

Here is what she transcribed:

Baird Weekly Star - Thursday October 10, 1889

NOTICE OF PROBATE:

to the Sheriff or any constable of Callahan County Greetings:

You are herby commanded to cause to be published in some newpaper publhed in said oucnty once a week for four consective weeks, revious to the return day herefof the following citation:

The State of Texas:

To all persons interested in the estate of H I Banks, deceased, Emma Banks has filed in the County Court of Callahan County, an aplication to probate the nuncupative will of said H I Banks, deceased; said application alleging in substane, that said H I Banks died in Baird on the 24th? day of July AD 1889, leaving real and personal property of the estimated value of eight hundred dollars, and a nuncupative will duly executed; that the testamentary words of said will were in substance as follows: I bequeath al my real and personal property to my wife, Emma Banks that the witnesses to said testamentary words were Emma Banks, * W H [William Henry] Bowles [Bowlus] and Mrs. W H Bowles; that all of said witnesses to said will reside in the county of Callahan and State of Texas; that said H I Banks at the time of his death resided in Baird, Callahan County, Texas; that Emma Banks, the applicant is the surviving wife of said H I Banks and resides in Callahan County, Texas; that no executor was named in said will; that the names and residences of the heirs at law of the said H I banks were unknown to the applicant Which said applicaton will be heard at the Novembe term 1889 of this said court, to be holden on the first Monday in November, 1889 at the Court House thereof, In the town of Baird, at which time all persons interested in said estate may appear and contest said application, if they are proper. Herein fail not, under penalty of the law and of this writ make due return.

Issued the first day of October 1889 Witness L N Jackson clerk of said court and the seal therof at office in the town of Baird the first day of Octboer 1889 J N Jackson clerk County Court Callahan County the foregoing is a true copy of original citation, I certify. J W Jones? Sheriff Callahan Co. TX Oct 2, 1889

from the poster:

Note: I am not related to this family, I just found this in newspaper

The "poster" of this entry certainly must have had a lot of time on her hands, but I was grateful that she took the time to transcribe Henry's Probate Notice. She acted on some premonition that someone might find this information useful, as RANDOM as it was.

Through this random posting online, I found an accurate record of my Uncle Henry's final resting place. I also found it interesting that Henry’s surviving heirs and their places of residence were unknown to his widow, and I wondered if his siblings had actually ever learned what became of him. Compared to his siblings, there was little mention of him in the Banks family history book, written by my cousin Pat.

Thanks to the benevolence of a pair of individuals who were just as passionate about genealogy as I was now becoming, I was drawing closer to a conclusion. The events of Henry’s life were gradually coming into sharper focus, and the recently garnered information energized me once again to reinstate my pursuit, from where it had since stalled out.

Coincidentally (or not), by the time I had gathered and certified all of this information on Henry’s whereabouts, my wife and I had just recently moved to Austin, TX, due to California’s terrible economy. Baird, Texas was now only three hours away.

I contacted the courthouse in Baird, and was introduced to a man named Tom Ivey, who was the Veteran’s Services officer for Callahan County. He couldn’t believe that there maight be a Union Veteran buried in Ross Cemetery. Nevertheless, he volunteered to walk the property, and look for Henry’s marker. He reported back to me a few days later that he came up empty, but he did find the plot for the Bowlus family, where the witnesses mentioned in the probate letter above were buried.* He also mentioned that he knew of the Bowlus family, and that there were a great deal of unmarked plots nearby. After hearing this, I decided that it was time to pay Baird, Texas a visit.

Face to Face with Uncle Henry

My file folder on Uncle Henry Banks was now bulging at the seams with notes, photocopies, scribblings, and photographs of places, and family members, fellow soldiers and acquaintances that Henry had most likely encountered during his short life. Still, I could not place a face with his name. The description in his ILLINOIS CIVIL WAR DETAIL REPORT: “Age: 24, Height: 5’ 9”, Eyes: Gray, Complexion: Light” was all I had to imagine, but it wasn’t enough to justify my continuation. I would have happily settled for a group photo of the 102nd Illinois Volunteers, which I could study, with the satisfaction that his face was perhaps one of many, posing proudly in uniform alongside his comrades, but despite my many efforts to obtain it, I was denied that wish as well.

Weeks passed, and I had exhausted all obvious avenues of exploration, going as far as to correspond with some of my older relatives, and those who descended from Henry’s second wife, Emma Bowlus through her subsequent marriage. At one time, I had people in four states, simultaneously sifting through dusty photo albums, old family letters, and shoeboxes full of nameless faces, hunting for Henry Banks, but despite their empathetic cooperation and shared excitement, all had come up empty. It was getting more difficult for me to continue my quest without a photograph, and my enthusiasm began to wane. I could conjure only a blurred image of Henry’s face, based on the growing collection of photographs of his mother and siblings, which I had indirectly acquired. It was suddenly, and decidedly evident that the idea of tracing Henry’s steps any further was seemingly imprudent. Though I purported to be an expert in the Banks family genealogy at the very least, my venture to graduate to the rank of author was now under great scrutiny by my worst critic. Myself.

One winter evening, I opened my laptop, and began looking through my expanding family tree on Ancestry.com. It was apparent that had it not been for the discovery of Henry’s bible, I would not have found so many family connections that were now interwoven through branch after branch of the Banks family lineage. With a previous familiarity that was obscured by rumor and conjecture, the details were all falling into place, and I knew exactly how I fit into the big picture. With the help of Ancestry.com, and other sources, I had made direct ancestral connections with two colonial patriots who were documented as serving in the Revolutionary War, a Mayflower passenger, and the daughter of a Mohawk chief.


As I prepared to shut down my laptop, with the intention of setting my project aside —perhaps indefinitely— I responded to a fleeting idea that popped into my head, with a sort of knee-jerk impulse. Remembering that Henry’s mother, Cynthia Banks had been a Quaker minister, I wondered if anything had been published about her online. I typed her name into my browser, just out of curiosity. In response to my query, a brief quotation from an obscure blog stood out from among the other listed results:

“As I've researched my background, I've found fascinating people who lived quiet, yet courageous lives. My great, great grandmother Cynthia Irish Banks inspires me with her ability to keep going after her husband died, leaving her with 10 children, five of whom were dependent on her.”

    —Posted by Mary Emma Allen at 9:35 AM

I quickly identified Mrs. Allen as a published writer living in New Hampshire, who also happened to be my cousin by way of Henry’s older brother, Willis. It didn’t take long to explore her many entries posted online before I finally located her email address. It was attached to a posting of Mary’s that dated back a few years, so it was doubtful that her email address was current. Mine had changed numerous times over the years. Just the same, I fired off an introduction to her, with hopeful anticipation, and staggered off to bed.

Hello Mary.

Before I write too much, I wanted to see if this is still a good email for you. I found your email address in a very old post on the internet.

I too am a descendant of Cynthia Irish Banks, and am in the middle of writing my first book about one of her sons, Henry.

Please contact me, and let me know if you are receiving email here.

Thank you!

Steve Enyeart     

I arrived home from work the following day at about 5pm, and raced to my iMac to check my email. I had been preoccupied at work throughout the day, thinking about the cryptic introduction I had sent to Mary Allen the night before. How fascinating it would be to make contact with another writer in the family, who not only had an obvious interest in her “Banks” roots, but attributed her tenacity to the widowed matriarch, her great-great grandmother, Cynthia.

As all other “coincidental connections,” this attempt to reach out to yet another complete stranger was met with prompt and enthusiastic response. I had no idea at the time how valuable this contact would become, in piecing together the details of Henry’s life, both during and after the Civil War.

Hello Steve,

Yes, this is still a good e-mail for me.  I'm delighted to connect with another cousin descended from Cynthia.  I didn't realize Henry Ira Banks had any children.  I'd only heard of the wife he was married to when he died.  Recently, I found some more info about him and it appeared he had a first wife when he lived in Iowa.

What do you have of his early life, Cynthia's ancestry, and Henry Ira's Civil War service?  I grew up in NYS, near where Cynthia was born and lived before she moved to Iowa, after her husband's death.  She was an amazing woman, and I'm researching her with the idea of writing about her...at least for family background.  Whenever I encounter difficulties, I think of Grandma Cynthia and how she kept going midst bstacles. 

I've made contact with descendants of Henry's brothers William and Daniel.  I'm descended from Willis who was my paternal grandmother's father.  The information I have is that Henry Ira is buried in Baird.

Mary Emma


After reading Mary Emma’s cordial response, I smiled, took a deep breath, and stretched out my arms, crossed my fingers, and cracked my knuckles, preparing to type my way into the beginning of a wonderful exchange with my distant cousin. Though I had to correct her misconception that I was Henry’s direct descendant, all the other information contained in the body of her email was dead-on accurate.

Mary Emma...

Thanks for getting back to me so soon.

First, I’m not a direct descendant of Henry’s. His brother David Irish Banks was my grgr Grandfather. David’s son, Willus was my gr Grandfather. 

An item that Henry made while he was in the Civil War fell into my possession, and I could type up the whole story for you, but I would rather just attach a pdf that I prepared a while back when I began gathering facts. (file is attached, along with an excerpt from my first draft of a book I’m writing) 

At the beckoning of friends and family members, I am writing a book about my search for answers. This is my first attempt at writing, and it has really become incredible therapy for me. After looking at some of your work, I’m certain that you understand where I’m coming from.

During my research, I have found photos of Cynthia, a photo of a Sampler she stitched as a teenager, and a photo of the home that I believe was the Banks family residence in Putnam County. I will send these files to you if you wish.

I am VERY interested in the facts that you have regarding the Banks family history in New York, and their exploits as farmers in Kansas, where they settled in the 1870’s.

I’m rambling.

Please see the pdf, and give it a read when you have a few minutes.

So nice to make your acquaintance!

Please stay in touch!



Sincerely,

Steve Enyeart


I exchanged a few more notes with Mary, and finally, we decided to speak on the phone. I called her at her home one evening, and we exchanged notes about our Banks family roots for approximately 30 minutes. I was bubbling over with information, and I was so excited to share it with someone who could relate to, and benefit from it, that I could scarcely get the words out of my mouth fast enough. As I attempted to articulate the numerous connections and discoveries that I had made since Henry’s bible dropped into my life, I was unaware that as I rhapsodized, Mary had been thumbing through a photo album that had belonged to her grandmother. She politely interrupted me, and uttered a phrase that left me dumbstruck.

“I’m looking at a photograph of Henry Ira Banks. It is signed by him, and is dated 1872.” 

I went silent for a few seconds, overwhelmed by the impossible fortuity that once again seemed to grace this quixotic mission of mine.

“And here is another,” Mary pronounced, before I could conjugate a single word. “He is younger in this photo, leaning against a tall table.”

Bonus! “Mary,” I said quietly, and stern, “if I could get copies of those photos, you will be my new best friend.” 

Mary laughed. I remember a familiar tonality in her laughter that I tried hard to dismiss, but I could not ignore the unmistakable lilt in her voice, which echoed with a calm and comforting temperament. We spoke for a few more minutes, promising to stay in touch.

In that same evening when I had considered resigning my position as Henry Banks’ chronicler, I was given a marvelous gift, which was the final missing piece that would enable me to continue. I didn’t need a building to fall on me, or the sky to open up to a chorus of angels and harps. It was incontestable. I was encouraged to finish what I had started, simply because I had to, and though the reasons were vague, I hoped that I would somehow benefit from the experience, or that somewhere, sometime, someone eventually would.

Checking the mail one afternoon, I found a manila envelope nesting the typical stack of bills, catalogs and direct mail ads. Despite the uncharacteristic 90º conditions of a January afternoon in central Texas, I tore open the envelope on the hood of my SUV, because the anticipation was just too much. The envelope was from Mary Allen, and its contents included scanned copies of two vintage photographs featuring Henry Ira Banks.  A broad smile spanned across my face, as I was finally introduced —face-to-face— to my great-great uncle Henry.

I studied the first photograph, which was a full-length likeness, featuring a lean, late-teen, or 20-something, fair-haired, well-dressed young man in a long coat, satiny vest complimented by a neatly-fastened bow tie. Wearing square-toed dark leather boots with a high sheen, both his expression and posture exuded a certain degree of pride, standing tall, resting his right hand on a small table, which was festooned with a garish brocade tablecloth. A simple wooden chair with a shiny varnish was placed halfway into the frame, I supposed for visual balance.  It was difficult for me to discern whether the photo had been taken before, or after Henry’s service in the Civil War. (Though this photo had been labeled with Henry's name, it was later proven to be his younger brother, Egbert.)

The second photograph was a headshot, and offered more detail of Henry’s features, the most prominent of which, were his steel gray eyes. He seemed less alert, and noticeably more tired in the photograph. His eyelids drooped slightly, and his gaze seemingly was fixed on a distant subject. Of course, he was not the agile youngster that he appeared to be in the other photo. He appeared in full, bushy beard, with darker hair than in his earlier photograph. He was dressed again in a suit and vest with a bowtie. Henry’s signature was featured at the bottom of the card that the photo was affixed to, and he had dated the image as 1872, making him about 34 years old when the photograph had been taken. I applauded Henry for placing his signature on the picture, as well as the year. Otherwise, anyone who could qualify to identify his likeness would now be long-deceased.

I thought about some of the old photographs that I had previously acquired from my parents’ photo albums. I recalled one Saturday afternoon, spent in my garage in California, sifting through literally hundreds of their pictures, which were all very interesting, but had no value whatsoever, due to their lack of identification. I wondered if there were other lessons that my encounter with Henry would teach me.

I noticed that Mary’s envelope had a certain heft that begged investigation. Upon inspection, I found a set of stapled pages, which featured neat, formatted text from an inkjet printer. I read the first paragraph, and before I knew it, the sun had set, and I had read all ___pages in their entirety. It was a vast collection of correspondence between Henry, his mother Cynthia, and his brother Egbert. All letters were sent to or from various posts during Henry’s years of service as a Union Infantry Volunteer. Unbelievable!

I placed the photographs of Henry back in the envelope, gathered the rest of the mail that I had strewn across the hood of my SUV, and aimed for home.  I parked in the driveway, grabbed my belongings, and stepped up to the porch. I stopped in my tracks, and peeked around the corner to the dense forest of oaks and mesquite, which flanked the property. A bright red cardinal sat atop an exposed branch, calling out to his neighbors across the wooded valley. His vibrant feathers were amplified by what I refer to as “one of those crazy Texas skies” that sends rosy sunbeams piercing through cotton clouds that roll across the hill country at sundown.

As a random response, I took a seat on the lawn, beholding the technicolor scenery passing before my eyes. Just as I had stood at the end of Market Street in downtown Baird, Texas, imagining the same perspective that Henry would have, when he arrived in 1889, I wondered if a descendant of mine would ever sit in my current spot, and in the same manner, observe this panorama 120 years from now. I wondered if Uncle Henry —as he whittled away on his wooden bible in 1862— ever imagined how far his souvenir would travel, through both distance and time, or the impact it would have on a great-great-grand-nephew. Now that I had finally become somewhat formally introduced to the man, seen his face, identified his birthplace, and his final resting place, it was time to begin filling in the gaps.

Road Trip to Baird, Texas

Due to the significance of the discovery in this particular post, I decided to extract a passage directly from my book.

Magic Hour, Hwy 36 near Cross Plains, TX

It was early Saturday morning, September 6th, 2009, and since Andi had flown back to California to visit some friends the day before, I was on my own for the weekend. Before dawn, I was on the road, bound for Baird. The drive was long, but scenic, over hill and dale through some of the most picturesque landscapes that the Texas Hill Country could offer. Since the hour was early, I had hardly any company on the highway, so I wasn’t modest about negotiating some of the curves beyond the posted limits.  

With some of my best friends in California and Colorado being professional photographers, I had become familiar with a phenomenon they referred to as “magic hour.” This is a window of opportunity that only presents itself shortly after dawn, and just before dusk, offering pristine conditions for photographing landscapes and other subjects dependent on ambient light.  Somewhere North of Cedar Park, magic hour arrived in its prime, and made it difficult for me to keep my eyes on the road. I passed grand old oaks by the score, with their corkscrewing branches twisting in random chaos, and forming perfectly symmetrical canopies of shimmering green. Endless groves of mesquite, prickly pear cacti and sage carpeted the panorama from horizon to horizon. I encountered an innumerable population of deer along this stretch of highway, some standing, some running, and some that unfortunately didn’t make it back safely from the creek. My route led me through a small town that appeared frozen in time, on my way to Baird, Texas called “Cross Plains.” It’s name rang a familiar bell with me for some reason, and as I followed a detour that led me through a somewhat residential area, I spotted a modest, white single-story home with a large sign in the front yard which read: “Historic Home of Robert E. Howard.” I grinned ear-to-ear, and muttered to myself, “no-way.”  

Home of Robert E. Howard, Fantasy Fiction author,
and creator of "Conan the Barbarian." 

As an eighth and ninth grader, I had found Howard’s stories of fantasy swordplay fiction so beguiling, and the characters who emerged from them —larger than life, and formidable— were my heroes, despite their perennial moral complexity. In the 1930’s and 1940’s Howard created an alternate world similar to those of Tolkien, and C.S. Lewis. Howard’s Cimmerian realm however, was much more tawdry and promiscuous, with danger and dread lying in wait around every corner —the perfect combination for an introverted and rebellious teen, hopelessly plagued with creative aspirations. Paired with my admiration for the equally transporting qualities I discovered in the art of Boris Vallejo, and Frank Frazetta, the stories of King Kull, and Conan the Barbarian perpetuated my imagination through my artistic efforts, and my short-lived phase of all-night reading and drawing marathons. As fate would have it, the Howard home was closed, as it was early on a Saturday morning, so I continued North toward Baird, disgruntled, but hopeful. 

After leaving the town of Cross Plains in my rear view, it seemed like I had traveled a hundred miles north via Highway 283 without seeing any sign of life, when gradual hints of civilization began to emerge. Random turnoffs to endless gravel roads increased in frequency. A pair of garishly painted pintos stood like bookends, staring out at me from their barbed-wire barriers, their pasture littered with dozens of classic autos, now rusty deteriorating hulks, sunken partially into the earth.  Finally, a road sign announced that Baird was only a few miles ahead. Along with my Canon G9 digital still camera, I had also packed a small Panasonic video camera, and kept it within reach in the passenger seat, just in case I spotted something worth documenting during my drive. I decided that the trip itself was reason enough, so I passed the time recording a brief narrative on-camera as I drove, chronicling the events, which had led up to the trip. This exercise proved to be an effective method to help me avoid road-coma, and to record details that I might eventually forget, though at the time, I wasn’t sure what I was to do with it all.  

Calahan County Courthouse

Eventually, I grew tired of listening to my own voice, and pulled off the highway. I drove down a long thoroughfare that led me to an old, 2-story brick building, which I later identified as the Callahan County courthouse. I turned left down Market Street and struggled to locate the “Whistle Stop” café, where I was to meet up with Tom Ivey. I had perused the town’s official website before leaving Austin, and now, as I drove past the nearly abandoned sidewalks it became clear why Baird was known as “The Antique Capitol of Central Texas.” Antique stores lined each side of the street all the way down to its abrupt end where another ominous historic brick building stood. Here stood the Baird Railroad Depot, Visitor’s Center and Transportation Museum. Just like the home of Robert E. Howard, it too was closed.  Denied! Again!

Market Street, Baird, TX

I turned around, and drove up Market Street in the opposite direction, and spotted the tiny sign above “The Whistle Stop Café.”  I entered the restaurant, and suffice it to say, it was exactly how I had pictured it. An elderly gentleman sat alone at a four-top table near the kitchen, and I approached him slowly. He peered over his newspaper, and addressed me in his unmistakable drawl. “You must be Steve.” I shook his hand firmly, and took my place across from him at his table. We ordered lunch, and had a good conversation, in person this time. I was impressed that he respectfully referred to my great-great uncle as “Mister Banks.” We reaffirmed many details throughout our conversation, and when the dishes were cleared, he insisted on treating me to lunch. I obliged, and we made our way out to our vehicles. I followed Tom and his two large canines who rode in the cab of his pickup truck beyond the Baird city limits, and out to Highway 283, which became Cherry Street, after crossing North over Highway 20. It wasn’t long before we turned down a narrow gravel road, which led to Ross Cemetery, where Henry was reportedly interred in 1889. I was surprised and a bit intimidated at how large the graveyard was. Tom assured me that the dates on the headstones followed a chronological pattern, for the most part, and he would lead me to where the dates coincided with Henry’s date of death. We strolled along parallel paths that oddly had street names like “Live Oak”, “Red Bud”, and “Pear”, all along inspecting each headstone for names and dates.

From an old map of Ross Cemetery, dated in the 1940's.

Finally, we reached a large plot with a handful of older markers, which shared the familiar surname: “Bowlus.” We had discovered Henry’s in-laws, who were buried together with other members of the Bowlus family who had lived before them, and after. “Well,” Tom said,  “like I told you on the phone, there’s a good number of unmarked plots in this general area.” “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Banks wound up in one of them.” I wasn’t giving up that easily, and though I nodded in agreement to Tom’s comment, I continued to inspect each grave in the vicinity, until I wandered far into the twentieth century stones. It was a typical September afternoon in Central Texas, and the temperature was well into the 90’s. I walked carefully between plots, both marked, and unmarked, and eventually arrived next to Tom, who was resting on his truck’s tailgate, in the shade with his two panting companions. He was studying a large paper scroll. He slid it over to me, and I recognized it as an old plot plan for Ross Cemetery. “Here’s something interesting.” He said, pointing to a small rectangle on the fading schematic. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Just as each plot was identified with a surname, this small speck belonged to “Banks”. Its proximity to the “Bowlus” family plot, and the similarity in age shared by other graves nearby, made it unmistakable. This had to be where they laid my Uncle Henry to rest! I turned to Mr. Ivey and said, “My God Tom, I think we’ve found him.”  He agreed. 

Uncle Henry's grave, just to the left of the cement footing

I carried the scroll over to the Banks plot. It was a bare, non-descript stretch of sod, and I stood before it with thoughts racing through my mind faster than I could measure. I took an inventory of the multitude of events, which led me to this place, and the years of discovery that culminated to this very moment. I marveled at the coincidental parallel of Henry’s impromptu relocation to Texas —of all places— and my own migration to the lone star state. I was overwhelmed by the chance discovery of Henry’s bible in my father’s study, and the coincidental encounters with perfect strangers who unknowingly guided me, thus far with their helpful assistance and advice. I shook Tom’s hand, and thanked him for his time and efforts, wishing I could repeat the gesture with every one of my contributors. 

I surveyed the area once again, and documented every detail with photographs, in order to keep my facts together for future reference. According to Tom’s schematic, it was unclear whether or not there was once a marker, or headstone present during the survey in the 1940’s. I presented an idea to Tom, who was in absolute agreement. “I think Henry deserves a stone,” I said. “A Civil War veteran, wounded in action should have a bona-fide Union Infantry marker.” 

Veterans Services Officer, Tom Ivey and friends

I only had a photograph of Henry’s small wooden bible to share with Tom while I was in Baird. The relic itself was somewhere safe in our storage unit, back in Austin, or so I assumed. After spending the afternoon at Uncle Henry’s graveside, it became a new priority to locate it. Since Andi and her friends had been in charge of packing up my office in California while I was job-hunting three states away, I assumed it had been stowed safely, but with the slight risk of it being misplaced, or lost while out from under my supervision, I was almost afraid to begin looking for it. Nevertheless, I shared the photographs of Henry’s memento with Mr. Ivey, and we discussed details of what it would take to procure the proper Civil War era headstone from the Veteran’s Administration. Since Tom was in charge of organizing Veteran’s services and the like for Callahan County, he had been through this exercise before. He would draft up the necessary forms for me. We agreed that I had reached the end of my search, and had already collected all the proof that was necessary to appease those in charge at the V.A., but I wasn’t yet satisfied. I wasn’t ready to close the book of Henry’s biography quite yet. I had found the place, which marked his death, yet there was so much more to learn about his life. 

Baird's Train Depot, late 1800's

Tom and I said our goodbyes, with a promise to stay in touch, and to continue to keep our “eyes peeled” for anything of interest relating to the case of Henry Ira Banks, and his short-lived term as a Texan. I watched in my rear view as Tom waved in my direction. He stood with a garden hose in his hand, watering a tree, which shaded some of the plots that surrounded Henry’s. I noticed one of Tom’s loyal dogs, which had crept up next to him, and sat against his leg, earning the reward of a pat on the head.  Dust which rose from the dirt and gravel driveway suddenly obscured the scene, and I shifted my attention to another long stretch of highway opening up ahead of me. 

Baird's Depot & Museum, present-day.

However, something inside prompted me to choose a detour, and for one final glance, I drove slowly through Baird, past the ancient courthouse, and down Market Street once again. I parked at the end of the empty avenue where the Train Depot stood, stepped out of my SUV with camera in hand, and scanned the scene for photo-ops. As I snapped a few frames, I studied the townscape, mentally peeling away the antique signs, and gaudy, modern facades in order to visualize, and contemplate the scenery through Uncle Henry’s eyes, at the moment of his arrival in 1889. I walked up the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the train depot, the most likely “jumping-off” point for a transplanted Kansas farmer and his new bride, ready to start a new life together in an established, and growing Texas town. I imagined a bustling anthill of activity that once filled, and flanked the street. I imagined a street abuzz with horses, coaches, wagons and folks crowned with bowlers and bonnets, going about their daily exercises fueled by nineteenth-century supply and demand. I strolled for a while, in Henry’s footsteps.

Letters from the Field

It was to my surprise and elation to have had the rare opportunity to behold the actual correspondence between Uncle Henry and other Banks family members during his four years of service with the Illinois Volunteers. This collection was preserved, and shared with me by my cousin, Mary Emma Place-Allen. The letters offered much insight into certain particulars of the Civil War, and the collective concerns among family members as they shared letters from Henry with each other. I found it interesting that the Banks family members still clung to some of the old Quaker-speak, (thees and thous) left over from the old homestead in New York, especially Great-great-great grandmother, Cynthia. Some of the mis-spellings throughout the letters are cumbersome, but charming. Camp life and the aspects and politics of war did not agree with Henry from the very onset of his enlistment. All the while suffering from an acute stomach ailment that would eventually take his life, his attitude, and language becomes more and more antagonistic as he advances from Illinois into Tennessee, Georgia, and the Carolinas. I was proud, however as Cynthia mentioned David Banks, my great-great grandfather encouraging his brother to stay the course instead of risking his life being shot as a deserter, when the going got really tough in the the thick of the conflict. 

Henry's own penmanship

Camp near Frankford ken  Oct 18^th 1862

Dear Mother (Cynthia Banks)

I received thy letter yesterday I was regoist (rejoiced) to get a letter from home for the first time I offand (often) allmost giveup getting one  I am sory Wm is sick  he is so grate hand to work it will go hard with him  still I am in hopes he will get well   I exspect the boys (Henry’s brothers) are bisy making molass and gathering corn I would like to be their to help rather than be here exsposed to the nite air and but a littell to eat   I am in hopes we will now do better   we received our tents yesterday before that we have lade out in the open air uprate (upright)  meny are sick  still we have bin blest by not having eny rain   there has not bin but too rains and them small wones (ones)  they say that there has not bin but a littell rain sens July   I exspect the has received my last letter that I rote th 14 I beleav it was   we are encamped in the same plase yet how long we are goin to stay I can ot tell   we may stay a month and maby not   to days camp life is a shifting life I like it very well iff I could eat entirely well  I have had the diare more or less ever sens I have bin in this camp   this morning when I awoke my hed felt very bad it felt as iff it had bin used for a mall (maul)   I was sory to hear of the deth of  Henry B Wanzers wife. (former neighbors in Fairfield, CT)   he will shurely be fonely glad to hear that gran mother is still smart     the spoke about working hard  the must be carful and not over do  I hope the will succeed in getting some help (on the family farm)  we have a battery to support here of to guns onell (only) I hav  sean nor hird aney thing of the rebels nether do I beleav we ever will   we take priseners ocasionely  they say that brags (General Braxton Bragg, C.S.A.) armey torge (toward) to cumber land gap  I think when he gets their he will meat something  we haf to get up every morning at the fireing of the canon whitch is at fore (4am) and stand in line of battle with our guns until ? ? unless sick.  I told them I was sick and got red (rid) of the job I had   rather be reported on the sick list than stand there   it is a tiresome job spesely for one that is a little sick and weak  tell the some of the boys to write and lett me know how there hogs look and how doing   I hear that they are still ?? with the ?? yet and there corn turns out and all sutsh things   I am glad to heare of eny thing from home   I will now close be causus (cautious?) and of good shear   give my best respects to all I remain as ever thy Sone (son) H I Banks

write sone (soon)

Directions

Con E 102 reg

Ills vol

Care of Cap Likely

By the way of Louis vill

Gallatan Tennessee  Dec 22th, 1862

Dear Brother (Egbert Banks)

I resived your letter last weak with pesure   glad to hear that you wer all well  I am getting better slowly  I had a letter from  mother last weak they wer well  She wrote that she was no going east on the account of it costing more than she expected  she sed she was going back home and take another start  I rote to her and directed it home  she sed she wold be home by the time my letter got there so I directed it home  write and let me know the particulars about it  I suppose you have got dun picking corn by this time   we are going to make our winter Quarters here  we do pickitt duty and garding   that is all we are worth  we are in camp close to the brest works that commands the town   I think of no particular nuse at present   we have not had no fiting yet to do & another thing   I don’t belive we ever will   there is more than half of our men sick   hardly enoff to stand guard   Will Torbart is beter but stil keps weak has the rumitis(m?)  Will Stuard has bin complaining but getting better   James Lee has bin sick but is getting better   he looks bad   Harve Lafferty keeps strong and ruged as a bare   the wether is fine here & dry   we are gont to have bred befor long  There is an oven making   I am tired of the darned crackers and sowbelly   we now draw flower but have nothing to coock it in   we get nofe to eat if we had something to coock it in   that is the gratest difficulty here, camp life is a hard life take it all in all but I am goin to try to stick it threw long or short   I hope it will be the latter   I send my best respect to you all   I remain as ever your Brother

H I Banks

Tennessee

To E Banks

(Assumed that the above letter was sent by Henry and Egbert’s mother, Cynthia Banks to their older brother, Willis and his wife Olive, since the original was found without envelope in a family album belonging to Ella Banks-Place, Willis Banks’ granddaughter)

Gallatin Tennessee  March the 27, 1863

Dear Mother (Cynthia Banks)

I received thy very welcome lettuer to day   I was very glad to hear from the & the wrest of my friends & brothers   sory to hear that Willis was not well   I my self have the hardest cold that I ever had in my life & a sore throat with it   I was so hores long at first that I could not hardly speak above a whisper but I feal very smart otherwies.   I have had a little cold all winter this is a hard place to get wred of a cold   one is exposed so mutch in being up nites on guard wrain or shine heat or cold and then make his bed on the hard ground or in the open are (air) every fellow it seams has to look out for him self hear in the army   I got a letur from Lyda Jane (sister) last weak they wer then all well   I have not hird from the boys (brothers) in some time   they were then all well the ??  they saw uncle Jonathan Dorland & family (Quaker relatives in Dutchess County, NY)    I wod to God that I could have bin their to enjoy time with them and the wrest of my dear friends that I soften think of down hear in Tennessee in the land of blood shed and vengeance   I would to God that this war woud soon come to a finell close so that this nation coud live once more in peas & enjoy the comforts of life but the prospects that is now before us looks dull in my eyes   Still I live in hopes   If I dident I woud dy in despair   I must now quit writing for I am cauld out in fatigue duty to dig out treas and stumps in our camp   there is a detale of a bout 100 men made every day   we haf to dig them up one thousand yards from the fort   I think we have got a summers job of it   well I must go write away   This evening I set down to finish scribeling theas treas are dug up so the wrebels cant have a chance to dog behind them  we are now under a different Curnell a Jenerral to & what we have bin   our curnells name is Smith (Franklin C. Smith) and Jenerral Sweat (Benjamin J. Sweet)   he has ordered the fort to be made stronger & all theas twreas  to be dug out   the prospect is we will stay hear all summer to hold this town and fourt   drill and stand guard   this town is on the Louisvill & Nashvill RR & I  have come to the conclusion to be wresind to my lot to stay until the ware comes to a close   for I see no way of getting out afit (of it) unles you are nearly ded   I theank of no more nuse (news) at this time   write often and give my love to all indqvering (inquiring) friends I wremain as ever thy Son

Henry. I. Banks

(This letter was enclosed in one of Cynthia Banks’ letters to son Willis H. Banks written while she was visiting son Daniel Banks in Roslyn, NY in March and April 1863.    She had come from Illinois to visit family in the East and previously had been visiting Willis & Olive Banks in Pawling, NY. )

I have another letter from Henry Ira.   I feel much discouraged about him   somehow I all the time thought he had gone only for 9 mo. And now he says he had made up his mind to try to stand it till the war was over   oh dear when will that be   goodness alone knows   I will send his letter with this and will give thee directions so thee can write to him   I suppose a letter does him great deal of good   

Henry I. Banks

Company E 102 Reg.   Ill. Volunteers

By the way of Louisville Tennessee

Care of Captain Likely

From Cynthia Banks to Henry’s older brother, Willis H. Banks

From North Henderson, IL dated: 22^nd of 6^th mo. (June) 1864

It is as I think a long time since I herd from Henry Ira  if I do not get a letter every other week I get over anxious and he is so far off that it takes a letter a great while to get here   Oh dear what do I think  shall I ever see him again  can I give him up a sacrifice in this cruel and most unrighteous war it seems not I cannot give it up  I do think that it is nedlesly purloinged by cruel rulers that care not for the government only to make money and get military honors   if everyone was of my mind their military honors would be laid low  there is no need in my way of thinking of having was all this time to put down a rebellion there is no good men  if their was difficulty could be settled for there is such a thing as overcoming evil with good but they have to much pay and the poor soldiers are dried(?) and slaved about worse or as bas as southern slaves well there is just God to whom all will have to give account of their acts?   Sooner or late and how can they keep hardening their harts, and that continually.

From Cynthia Banks to Henry’s older brother, Willis H. Banks

From North Henderson, IL dated: 18th of 11^th mo. (November) 1864

My Dear Son Willis

I hve had it on my mind to write to thee for some weeks and a multitude of business and things to prevent and I do not feel much like it not so much so as I did this morning a neighbouring woman came in and staid most of the forenoon and in a little time the boys came to dinner and so on and brought me two letters from Egbert one the 31^st of Oct. and the other 8^th of Nov.  he was at or in  camp in Merrietta Georgia  the first one he wrote they had a tegious march of 16 miles and made him sore and did not feel as well as he had done and in the last was well but had been troubled with a diare the consequence of their march he wrote but I thing more like it was in condequence wof the unstidiness of their meals and difference food  he wrote he was better of it than he had been  I knew he would have that complaint and if he don’t get into a hospital I shall miss my opinion of his case   Oh my son how I do miss him  he was the oldest of the boys here and was steady and religiously inclined and could not have thought he would have gone unless he was oblig to   so it is I miss him more than I did Henry   neither of them was oblige to go   both volunteered  but Henry has been the homesickets  fellow that could be by what he wrote to his brother David and indeed David said he was really aferead he would desert but he encouraged him to not do any such thin for he would be certainly get killed   then in his last letter to me he said 9 months more and his time would be out and they might whistle for all he  cared   he would not stay any longer & he writes he enlisted to fight in the cause and for the good of my country not for swine  he thinks it an awful corrupt ware to use his own words   the worst war that ever corrupted Gods earth   officers that do not care only to make and get money they care not for government   one man that went as captain from his neighbourhood (possibly Captain Likely) has come back was discharged and has turned out be peace Democrat and he is despised by all union men  he only went to get about a thousand $ of government money and now find fault with President Lincoln and run out against him because he has not ended the war and such like stuff thee knows enough such without my writing   

Henry Banks’ Civil War Correspondence:

Hardeesville  January the23   1865  In Camp Northwest of Savannah

20 mi South Carolina

Dear Brother (Willis H. Banks)

I now take the opertunity to write you a few lines once more in the midts of the calametey of ware  here in the tretchereous state of South caroliney.   I received your very glad welcome leture yesterday dated the 6.   I was very glad to receive one for it had bin so long sins I had received any   the last one that I received from anyone before yours was from Mother and it was written the 18 of November last.   I am well and enjoying good health here in the swamps & mud & mire of south caroliney   well time roles on with traters in our front redy to oppose our progress with couradise (cowardice)  it loocks so sensive have enterd south Caroliney   I had to laugh one day at them when we wer out foraging we run on to a large squad of Johneys to se them run as same as we or they saw us one day while we wer out we run out to a squad we fired at them they toock to flite like wild deares without fireing a shot with the exception of one riding a creame colored hores   he stopt his hores  & fired & then put spur    the bullet past over our heds whisseling   they were on the other side of a river called the Red river & we on this side couredly traters, run from us when we coud not get any nearer to them for they had burned the bridg a crost it   I reley beleave they are afraid of Shurmons (Sherman’s) armey & men.   I want to se every thing in this state burnt level with the urth where they first egg of treson was lade & hatch & this army is the army that can do it & will if they get the chance to this town of Hardeesville that we are now in camp in every hous except a few that the offesers has there hedquarters in have bin toren down or burnt & made in to shanteys for the men to stay in there was a very fine Chirch standing in this town when we came here but now it is no more it was tore down the evening we came in here of the 7 of the month it fell level with the ground what out a solzer doo   I thout to my self when I saw it falling it loocks most to bad to tore a chirch down but I suppose there has bin a grate deal treson preached in it but it was not bilt nor desined for that   I don’t suppose if the confounded rebells don’t give up a come back in less than 5 or 6 months Shurmons armey will have this state & north caroliney cleaned out.   The repart is now that there is to be 40 days armistice  if that is the case we will not have any more fiting to doo but I am afraid there is nothing of it  but if the rebells come back to the Union it will be the best thing they can doo  it will save millions of dollars worth of property & thousands of lives & millions of money and time with all.   There is no use of there fiting eny longer for they are over powered & whipt & that badley.   But they are gritey & determined not it seames untill they get there states all destroid & they wiped from the fase of the urth no more to be hird of onely by past history.   You spoke in your leture that Old Jeff was sick   I never wished eny one to dy but I hope he sone(soon) may   it has bin reported here that he was ded & all so that he had run a way I woud sooner believe the latter we have had the nuse here that Fort Fisher & Williamton were oures but not offishely.   You say you milk 32 cows it muss keap you very bissey but I judg you are well pade for it for I suppose milk is a good prise   I am sory to hear that your wife is not well    I hope these few lines will find you all well & enjoying the plesures of this world.   Well I don’t think of mutch more nuse time wares a way sloweley a littell over 6 months more then gud by to the serviss by me I shall think I hav done justice in surving my perishing country in the time of nead if I am spard & we are musterd out of the surviss in the field I shall probely make you a call   I have a small black finger ring that I found in a hous here while helping to tare down   I send it in this leture for your boy (William G. Banks b: 30 Mar 1857, d: 19 Jan 1929) well I don’t know whether the mail will gou out tomorrow or not   I will close & if the mail dose not gou out to morrow I will write sumore.   Write sone   with love to you all & all inquireing friends

As ever your brother

Henry. Ira. Banks

Private Egbert Banks abt 1863

Finally, a small envelope in my cousin Mary's collection contained a brief, faded scrawl from Egbert announcing to his big brother Willis Banks that he was coming home from the war. 

Louisvile, Kent

July 8, 1865

Dear Brother

I take this opportunity to let you now that I will leave in 3 or 4 days for home as far Davenport Iowa to be discharge I am very well I suppose you have herd of Gen Sherman visit to our army on the 4 of Ju I herd him speak four times  we are all tired of the service and anxious to get home 

thy Brother

Egbert Banks

Give my love to all inquiry frends

Also enclosed within that same small envelope addressed to Willis Banks was a small photograph, and after careful examination, it was decided that the likeness was that of Henry's younger brother, Egbert. 

In a letter previously sent to Willis, Cynthia Banks had mentioned a "likeness" that Henry had sent to her while in the service. This image has yet to be located, yet Cynthia described the photograph as follows: 

He has send his likeness to us and he looks old and very much altered   has not been in any battle yet and hopes he will (not) be in any...