Hawkins, Alexander-Oglethorpe County, GA-Will 18 Aug 1804 In the name of God amen - I Alexander Hawkins, Senr of the county of Oglethorpe and State of Georgia being weak in body, but of sound mind and memory,... as it has pleased God to bless me with some of this worlds treasures - Shall dispose of it in manner & form following viz I give & bequeath to my son Nicholas Hawkins one negro man slave, WILL, I give and bequeath to my beloved son John Hawkins one negro man slave named DAVID, one negro man DAN, & one girl named NELL, all my blacksmith tools, & cooper tolls, and one waggon and gear, I give and bequeath unto my beloved son Alexander Hawkins four negroes, (to wit) one negro man PHIL, one boy, JOE, one white negro girl named PENELOPE, & one boy GUY I lend to my beloved daughter Mary Legett one yellow negro girl named BECK during her natural life, & at her death to be equally divided between my three grandsons (her & her increase if any) Viz - James, John & William Braughton to them and their heirs forever In Testimony whereof I have hereunto subscribed my name, with my own hand & affixed my seal to this my lst will and testament. This eighteenth day of August in the year of our Lord Eighteen hundred & four. Alexander Hawkins
From Will of Alexander Hawkins, at AfriGeneas: African American & African Ancestored Genealogy
See also: Voyages of John Hawkins, at History 395/495: The Atlantic Slave Trade at the University of Virginia.
I've decided to finally make a serious effort to find out how my family got stuck with the last name of the man who began English involvement in the transatlantic slave trade.
I'm fairly certain I'm not going to like the answers.
And once I know, I think I'm going to ditch the wretched thing once and for all.
*round, anime eyes*
Wow.
I've just come off an hour of researching; and having read about how a woman was miraculously freed from the overwhelming desire to kill her dead infant daughter's wetnurse with her bare hands (through the intercession of St. Dalphine), I kept thinking, 'I totally GET that. The dead are not so far off, even if it's been a thousand years.'
The dead are not far off, indeed.
How terribly painful.
Finding out thangs ain't always fun. But you do it anyway.
I've found out how I got the last name of TWO Confederate heroes. Including one that reported directly to Jefferson Davis, a Brigadier General.
Yow. What will you use instead, out of curiosity?
--Kynn
Garrity, sorry to hit you with more Disturbing Shit after the research. And you've piqued my curiosity about St. Dalphine. . .
P6, that sounds like an interesting story. D'you have that posted on your site somewhere?
Kynn, I really haven't decided yet. "X" seems like such a cliche, and "Africa" is silly since I'm (probably) triracial.
Maybe Blank. Like Reg, not Hanne or Jerri.
Or maybe I'll find something fitting along the way.
Dalphine (or Delphine, in modern French) was a fourteenth-century noblewoman whose husband was also the focus of a cult. I'm not certain if she was ever actually canonized; I'm reading her canonization dossier, compiled by the Vatican in 1363. The miracle I mentioned above just kind of hit me becasue I can really appreciate, as a mom, how it would DEFINITELY require a miracle for me to leave off my murderous rage if I thought that someone in particular was responsible for my baby's death.
But see, that's the thing. Murderous rage is one of those emotions that stays pretty damn fresh even when you're reading very old documents. So do grief, fear, and joy. It's a product of basic human sympathy: no matter the cultural difference between us and people a thousand years ago, they aren't all that different than we are. It's kind of freaky.
(Yet somehow, most folks don't get that these emotions reverberate basically for ever. But then I suppsoe I should not be surprised. They don't get the basic emotions of the people they're abusing in the present, either. Iraqis don't have feelings! They're all two inches high and they live inside my TV!)
At least in the records I'm reading (miracle stories), everyone always gets a (sort of) happy ending. Yours are a hell of a lot more distressing. You owe me no apologies whatever. It was just odd how congruous our mornings seem to have been.
i salute you regarding finding a new name. if you are unsuccessful in discovering a name out of your ancestral past, or just not interested in going down that particular road, i think if i were in your position [but then i am of course insane] i would give myself a name out of literature, like "aaron von doom" or something like that. a good name should have a lyrical sound as well as strike fear in the hearts of one's enemies. good luck!
"aaron von doom"
I think clearly you should open it up to your blog readers as a contest.
--Kynn
The story's not on the site. There's an outside possibility I may post it one day. Probably apply for a position of honor with the Sons of the Confederacy just to fuck with them.
Hawkins is my mother's maiden name. Damnit, now everybody can get my personal info...
I'll share my last name with you, Aaron.
Which, now that I think about it, would give us the same initials, at least as far as first and last names go.
Hmm.
. . . are you proposing to me?
Whee! You just made me the happiest girl in the world! God, there's so many plans. Where should we have the wedding? Should we invite all the regular posters from both our blogs? This is gonna be a logistical nightmare.
Dwayne, think you're safe. From what I've seen, very few people (on the 'net, at least) are capable of spelling "McDuffie" correctly.
Kynn, I have a bad feeling about this. . .
P6, please go for it.
r@d@r, I feel even more justified about that bad feeling.
garrity, thanks. You're definitely invited to the wedding.
Aaron, you have finally cracked. Congrats. hah.
I vote for Aaron von Doom. Or Aaron von Death. How about Aaron the Great? Aaron Flavored?
Consider yourself crossed off my bridesmaids list, Dru.
Ooh! Gotta pick a dress for them. Wonder if Peach Berserk has anything good?
It has to have a bow on the butt. It's traditional.
More like offering to adopt you, but hey, I've gotten married for flimsier reasons.
Ahem.
Also, the bow on the butt of the bridesmaid's dresses has to be large enough to be seen from space.
It's traditional.
As the Onion says, Holy Fucking Shit!
From a google search, I see that John Hawkins came to a bad end in 1595 before an attack on Puerto Rico (see here.) If he died at someone's hand—and I were in your shoes (which of course I'm not)—I'd take the name of the man that killed him.