An Unexpected Reunion

Today’s date is April 9, 2015; the 150^th anniversary of the signing of the southern surrender of Confederate forces at Appomattox, and the date generally regarded as the end of the American Civil War.

Interestingly enough, (at least to me) is the fact that one of my distant ancestors was there, on the scene, when Robert E. Lee surrendered his army. My ancestor’s name was General (and subsequently, President of the United States) Ulysses S. Grant.

In spite of my Yankee connections, I am a southerner by birth, several members of my family fought under the rebel flag, I am a member of the fraternal organization, “Sons of Confederate Veterans,” and I recognize that there was more to the Civil War than what some people try to make of it. Interestingly enough, neither Robert E. Lee, nor the President of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis, were ever tried for war crimes, nor for the illegality of the South’s secession from the United States. There is every reason to believe that had either been brought to trial, given the presence of a fair and impartial jury, both would have been found to be innocent of such charges. After all, each and every state in our Union joined that union voluntarily; with the implication that said state would retain the right to secede in the future; should there be some cause to do so. And of course, our very Declaration of Independence speaks of one people’s right to throw off the bonds which bind them to another. (The implication of this phraseology might include a colony, region or state which previously owed allegiance to another entity.)

Having said all of the above, I abhor the notion of one group of people being enslaved by another. In this, the South was dead wrong. Having made that statement, I readily admit that some of my ancestors owned slaves. I have a great deal of documentation to that effect. I like to think that my ancestor’s slaves, at the very least, were treated well. To my knowledge, they were.

My 2x great grandfather William McDonald, (same name as me) and my first native born McDonald ancestor, “owned” slaves. (Can any man rightfully be said to own another human being?) He also owned a gold mine in Dahlonega, Georgia; which, no doubt, the slaves “worked.”

There is a family photo (circa 1910) of my great Grandfather John McDonald standing with his wife and family in front of a Georgia homestead. (The tall young man happens to be my grandfather, Webster.) On the extreme right of the picture stands a lone black man. It is thought that this unnamed African-American male is a freed slave of William, John’s father, who agreed to stay on after the Civil War, and sharecropped the same land he had previously worked as a slave.

My father, Henry, traveled to Dahlonega, Georgia, perhaps three decades before he went on to his reward, in an effort to locate William’s defunct gold mine. While the mine had long since collapsed under the weight of time, the manager of a carpet factory on the site agreed to show my dad what remained of it.

While daddy was in the area he met several black men who lived nearby who bore the last name, “McDonald.” (Many of you may know that freed slaves often took the surname of their former owners). Comparing notes, it soon became apparent that these black men were the descendants of William McDonald’s slaves. It must have been a poignant “reunion.”

While I detest the realization that some of my former ancestors owned slaves, I cannot “own” their decision to do so. At the time I was, after all, just a twinkle in my great grandfather’s eyes, (as they say.) Nonetheless, as I have previously alluded, I hate the very notion that anyone related to me might have ever made the choice to withhold freedom from, and dominate the lives of other members of God’s creation.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Concepts, Teachings, Practicalities and Stories"