Rash's Surname Index
Notes for Henry B. TAYLOR
MEMOIRS OF HARRY BROSIUS TAYLOR
At the request of my children this story of my life has been written. They know very little of my early life, they having grown up in Mansfield, so I feel that it is my duty to tell them something about the Taylor family, as I remember it.
I was born in Kennett Square, Chester County , PA., On the 12th of October, 1856. I do not remember the circumstances but I think my mother did.
Three Taylor brothers came over with Penn; two of them went to Canada and one settled in Chester County, and from that one sprang the present Taylor family. The Taylor farm was in East Fallowfield. The history of the Brosius family can be found in the Brosius genealogy
Father and Mother were Jacob and Annie Brosius Taylor. My father, Jacob Taylor, and mother Annie Brosius, were members of the Hickside branch of the Society of Friends, the Hickside being the more liberal branch. Father and Motherlived in Wilmington, Delaware, the first part of their married life, father employed in a shipping-yard. Afterwards father took up photography as an occupation, that being in its infancy at that time, and established a studio, or as it was called in that day a photograph gallery, in Westchester, Chester county.
I think as a youngster I was rather precocious and was rather inclined to be what they call a forward youngster.
My first recollection of my mother and sister Annie, who was a year younger than I, was the going away of soldiers on the Philadelphia & Westchester Railroad. I see in my minds eye a long line of cars cattle and passenger cars, being loaded with men in uniform with guns and women crying and hugging sons and husbands who were going off to war. Off course, I knew nothing of what this meant.
Next I formed a very close acquaintance and liking for our milkman, whose name was Burrige. I remember he invited me to go to the farm some time with him and I pestered my father and mother to allow me to go. I remember my mother said (I couldn't have been more than five or six years old) that when I got a new cap I could go. Well, the new cap came and that particular day my father took a photograph on glass, a daguerreotype as it was called then, of myself standing on a chair with the new cap in my hand. My son Harry, has the picture in his possession now. The one thought , after I had this picture taken, was that I was privileged without any further consent of my parents to go out to the milkman's farm. Looking out of the window of the gallery I recognized the milkman's wagon going along Gay Street, and I immediately ran downstairs, out into the street, regardless of the danger of being run over by carts and wagons, and overhauled the milkman and explained to him that now was the chance to go out with him. He picked me up and I went to the farm with the result that all the police of Westchester and my parents and friends were hunting everywhere, thinking I had been kidnapped.
I remember their finding me at the Burrige farm, tracing my whereabouts through some disinterested parties who had seen me with the milkman. It was not until about ten o'clock in the evening that I was found.
My next recollection is going to Kennet Square visiting my grandfather, Jacob
Taylor, who was not what they call a preacher but one who spoke in meeting. I would say here that I am the only living Taylor today who has seen and talked with my grandsire. The Friends are all pacifists, not believing in war, and very staunch abolitionists. This one particular evening Grandfather Taylor took the old tin lantern, one of those old-fashioned tin fellows punched full of holes and lighted with a candle. Lighting this and taking me by the hand he said "Come, Henry. Go with me." He went across the street to the Kennett Square meeting house and there was a meeting of those old Quakers, who, while opposed to war all had sons in the service of the union army and gave their moral and financial support to the cause. I remember the old flat pocketbook coming out and money collected for what purpose I did not know, but one can imagine it was for any families needing help.
My father was one of those convival spirits, pretty sporty, never careful of his
finances. He drove a fast horse and through his carelessness lost his photograph business in Westchester.
My next recollection was living in the Media, Delaware Co., PA. depot, where my father opened a studio or gallery, as it was called. He did a thriving business for a year in taking pictures of farm sites and houses for a real estate firm, which were reproduced and enlarged for prospective buyers. Then about this time the tintype came into use in general photography. He did a thriving business in taking a multiple picture in tintype of soldiers and sailors going to the front.
I went with my father on many of his picture taking trips, coming home many nights very tired but happy.
At this time there were four of us in the family, the youngest being my brother, Alfred, the baby.
I well remember the old swiming hole on Ridley Creek, about quarter of a mile south of Media depot where we lived. Two fingers meant that we would hie down to Buttonwood to the old swiming hole, sometimes youngsters eight or ten; it didn't matter much about the sex.
About a mile south was Glen Mills, where government made the light blue cloth for foldiers uniforms. It seemed as though there were acres and acres of this cloth spread on the lawns to dry.
Jim Burns, the railroad track foreman, had a brood of youngsters about like we were, and during our play we would feel the pangs of hunger and hie to "Mom Burns" house where each one would get a liberal slice of home made bread spread thick with black molasses. How we would enjoy it but you can imagine the faces of the youngsters! All needed a wash cloth.
Jim Burns, poor fellow, had both legs cut off with the cars. I remember the incident very well as I was looking at him when he was struck.
There was another very memorable incident. I had been told frequently that I should be home at a certain time but, of course, youngsters playing dog and deer at night forget about time. I came home some time during the night, I don't know when, and I was told that Harry Taylor had been home a long time and was in bed. I finally convinced my mother that I was the person and I can well remember the licking I got for coming home late.
One thing I remember very distinctly was that well-dressed ladies appeared in large hoop skirts; the smaller thildren, girls especially wore long panties with triming along the bottom and little short dresses. Many times in our evenings play of hide and seek it was a common hiding place under mother's hoop skirt.
Those where the days of wild parties,. Many times in the night we youngsters were awakened by the hilarity of the revelers.
In the building with us lived a family by the name of Camp. Fred Camp and I were quite chums. We had our first experience in the joys of learning to smoke, we being then about seven years old. Our experence, of course, was rather disastrous. Our mothers took different views of our experence, My mother put me to bed and Fred's mother, before putting him to bed, gave him a sound thrashing.
While there my uncle Alfred, who served his enlistment in the Pennsylvania Bucktails, appeared on the scene. I went with him and my father to the Philadeiphia Navy Yard where I went with them on the Monitor, one of the old Yankee cheese-boxes. In my mind's eye I can see yet how the turret looked and the guns on it. Uncle Alfred enlisted afterwards in the Navy and went down in the bombardment of Charleston, SC., the monitor being blown up by a mine. The body was never recovered.
Financial conditions seemed to be getting worse with my father's business and we moved up into town in Media, my father going to Alexanderia, VA where he hoped to get money to take care of the rapidly increasing family. (The reason for my father going to Alexanderia and locating, leaving us in Media, was his trip there to bring back the body of his brother, Jesse Taylor, who was killed at Winchester, my father returning to Alexanderia after that.)
I would say that at this time the mother and children were in rather straitened circumstances, many times going to bed hungry, expecting every day a check
or money from father to help keep things going.
Here I wish to pay tribute to my mother. How she kept us all together and saw that we were well taken care of would seem impossible to a mother of this day and age.
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