Kentucky Quit Claim Deed: Fill & Download for Free

I’m a bit saddened reading through this. I am an American. And it’s quite obvious by my last name, that I am from Irish decent. And very proud of it. My great Grandfather left Kerry in 1902 and first settled in Indiana, then Kentucky.I’ve always grown up learning about my ancestors, hearing glorious stories of my forefathers, the Isle, the mystique,the wonderful way of Irish life. I was taught that living in a land of immigrants, one should be proud of their roots.Yet all i see on here are mostly rude, snobby, unfair, and dubious claims of Americans. I realize we tend to be the target for most of the world for one reason or another. I am an American, but I am of IRISH decent, and many of us are. Why are all of you mad that we carry that banner with pride? Is it a sin to be proud of the ones who came before you? A sin to wonder in astonishment of their sacrifices and deeds? Is it wrong to wonder in amazement about the land your people come from and to be proud of it? Are the Irish upset that Americans are proud of Ireland?Its discouraging to see some of the remarks on here. We know who we are. WE ARE AMERICANS! Home of the free,land of the Brave! But we cherish and celebrate our roots and our Irish heritage immensely. Why do any of you feel threatened by us showing pride in you!?Perhaps it is you who have run to judgment or have been quick to change?Is it an envy that you don’t pride yourself in your Irishness the way we do?I don’t know?You like to imagine parents are proud of their children. You would think a parent would feel gratitude for the child who celebrates the parent…not contempt.

You are probably not old enough or familiar enough with American music of the folk age, but a popular band of the day was THREE DOG NIGHT. The connotation of the phrase that sometimes, even into the 1970’s, homes on the frontier were not insulated enough for comfort, thus they coined the phrase ‘three dog night’ to describe nights so cold the family needed three dogs in the bed with them, just to keep warm! Practical alternatives were 1) a wood-burning stove, which came along with its own problems: stinky smoke fumes and CO emissions; smoke draws human visitors, some of whom may just want to rob and kill you in the wilderness; fire. 2) mud and clay stuffed into the cracks in the log cabin openings. On the prairie, early settlers made sod houses, which were quite efficient, albeit dank. Animal skins provided clothing and blankets, as well as wall coverings. Glass windows were a prized possession. Keeping the rain out or melting snow soaking everything was a constant vexation to the settlers’ spirit.Just for clarification, make a distinction between explorers, pioneers, settlers and later day ‘come-eers’. Early explorers in search of riches (pelts, valuable metals, land deeds, etc.) cared little for creature comforts. The prize was riches of some kind and the cost was being butchered by the natives, frostbite, wild animal maiming or death. Later came the pioneers (think wagon trains wending down the Oregon Trail to homestead ‘Out West’. West was Kentucky, then Ohio and Indiana, then Missouri, then the mountain states and California, finally Alaska. Settlers followed and had an easier time of it, despite the new obstacles of claim jumpers, outlaws and criminals of all kinds. The last were the people who expanded urban areas, set up old fashioned businesses to service a new population, using skills learned ‘back home’ and adapted to a new life.For further research, expand your knowledge base by studying to what extent did those explorers, pioneers, settlers and come-eers learn from the indigenous peoples of the land. I would be fascinated with your conclusions.

January 6, 1911To my dear children—I have watched over you from your birth with a father’s loving care, and ever sought after your good. But the drums of war are beating now, as they once did when I was but a callow youth, and the terrible sound of trumpets calls to you as it once did to me. While I still serve my dear home city of Columbus, Mississippi as constable, my vigor fades. Man that is born of woman liveth but a little while, and all flesh is as grass; I do not know how much time I still have on this Earth. I write this account while my eyes are as yet not too dim to read, nor my hands too quivering to write it. I pray that you will take counsel from it, as in your younger days you took counsel from me not to steal apples from the tree in Mr. Cornell Franklin’s yard. (I trust I shall not have to use a peach switch to apply this counsel now.)Well do I recall the heady days of the spring of 1861, when news of secession set the state ablaze. So many of us young men—ah, so young we were! such dreams we had!—so many of us young men were all afire to enlist. It seemed that every stripling in Noxubee County flocked to the banner of the 19th Mississippi Infantry, and soon we had to turn recruits away. As if it were yesterday, I call to mind Colonel Mott’s voice barking present arms! order arms! ground arms! raise arms! fix bayonets! I grew heartily tired of forming line of battle, then right wheel or left wheel, into columns. Yet we grew into soldiers, and the day came for us to march forward to take the field. We did not march, at first; we traveled by rail to Richmond before we had to march. But we arrived too late for the Battle of Manassas, when our Southern brethren sent the Yankees running for home with their tails between their legs. We were rather put out at having missed the circus, and hoped awfully that we would ‘see the elephant’ soon, as the saying was in those days. Yet like good soldiers, we encamped and awaited the day of our baptism of fire.And then—such news! A lone assassin sympathetic to our cause had struck down both Lincoln and Hamlin at a ball! With one stroke the hated Yankees were decapitated; like a snake, they still writhed, but the mind that directed the slithering, and the fangs that dripped with venom—those were gone! Rumors flew through the camp—we would march on Washington—the Yankees were begging Jeff Davis for mercy—the old Union would be restored on our terms—the Yankees were at each other’s throats deciding who would be President—for the Constitution made no provision for what to do in the event that both the President and Vice-President were to die at once. Our mortal foes were crushed with scarcely a shot fired! Victory was ours!—and yet disappointment as well, for we’d had no chance to unsheath our own steel. All that we could do was await orders.As we later found out, the President pro tempore of the United States Senate, Solomon Ford, with the blessing of the Supreme Court, summoned the Electoral College back into session and bade them choose a new President. President Stephen A. Douglas was duly sworn in, and perhaps he would have carried on the fight, but our armies by this time were surrounding Washington, and the enemy generals were bitterly divided over the legitimacy of the new President, their Commander in Chief. Given the precarious nature of his position, Douglas could do little else: he agreed to an armistice, with peace talks to follow. The Treaty of Hagerstown was signed in the spring of 1862, and we young soldiers marched away to the rail depots for the long journey home to Mississippi. We were mustered out of service exactly one year after entering it.In August of 1862, we were abruptly called into service again. The Treaty had fixed the boundaries of the Confederacy along the northern borders of Arkansas and Tennessee. The USA had claimed Kentucky, Missouri, and Kansas as their soil, and the hated Republican Party had lost no time abolishing slavery there. The rich bottomlands of the Mississippi River were aflame, as men protecting their property clashed with bands of ruffians, while ‘Bleeding Kansas’ continued to bleed. Furthermore, while the Treaty had mandated that slaves captured on Union soil were to be returned to Confederate hands, in many areas this provision was not being enforced by corrupt Union sheriffs and local magistrates. Indeed, there were several parts of our own territory where the populace lacked enthusiasm for enforcing the laws concerning runaway slaves. The mountainous parts of our country—the Ozarks of Arkansas, the Piedmont of north Alabama and Tennessee, and the Appalachian Mountains from the Carolinas to western Virginia and onward into Union territory—were rife with persons who felt no pressing desire to support our peculiar institution, and the mountain valleys formed a conduit for slaves escaping to the North—in many cases onward to Canada. While we were a part of the Union, at least we could demand support for our property rights in Congress; once separated, we found no recourse.Our regiment was ordered to march to Arkansas and aid the State Guard there in capturing runaway slaves, as well as ensuring that the war in Missouri did not spill over into Arkansas. I believe there was hope that we might add Missouri to our dear Confederacy, for the flame of secession still burned in southern Missouri, and there were many that would have welcomed our fraternal aid. But Union troops savagely put down any hope of rebellion at the Battle of Rolla and the Battle of New Madrid. The parallel of thirty-six degrees, thirty minutes—that was to be our ne plus ultra. There is not much to tell of our service. We marched long and weary paths through the Ozark Mountains and bivouacked at the town of Calico Rock; we patrolled searching for Unionist sympathizers and runaway slaves, but found few enough of either one, as most people simply wished, as one old farmer I recall informed us, “t’be let ‘lone t’starve t’death in peace an’ quiet.” After six months, our terms were ended, and we were mustered out yet again. I returned to my beloved Noxubee County and soon married my beloved wife, your loving mother. Upon my father’s death, my elder brother inherited our land, and I moved my family to the city of Columbus, where I joined the constabulary.All seemed at peace for a while. Yankee farmers grumbled about the tolls we charged them on our rivers, but there was little they could do. The scuffles along the border slowly subsided, albeit not without bloodshed. Our proud new nation settled itself, and accepted the diplomatic recognition of the European powers, who remained eager to make acquaintance with our mighty ‘King Cotton.’Yet there was an unseen canker at our heart. Cotton requires fertile soil—and where cotton is grown continuously, the soil loses its fertility, little by little. We knew this, and we knew the remedies for it—of leaving fields fallow, or planting them periodically with clover or alfalfa, which wonderfully restore the soil and prepare it for the coming of ‘King Cotton’ again. We knew the need to dung and marl our fields, and to make a compost for our gardens. Yet many of our planters, though they knew of these remedies, were unable to enact them; they needed money, and growing cotton was the way to get it. Much of Virginia and the Carolinas were no longer suited for cultivating cotton or tobacco, or much of anything else. The planters of Virginia realized that their greatest profit lay in cultivating slaves, and selling them to those who were seeking fertile lands elsewhere. But by 1870, the Confederacy was beginning to run out of fertile lands.The proffered solution was to ‘Go west, young man!’, and indeed many hopeful planters set out to homestead lands in the Confederate West, in western Texas and the Territory of New Mexico. Unfortunately, the dryness of the climate proved poor for cotton cultivation. Yet the climate was not the worst of their problems. The Comanche nation ruled the western plains with fire and blood. Even before the formation of the Confederacy, they had driven settlement from western Texas. The state of Texas had complained that the United States was not sending enough assistance; well, now the United States was not disposed to send any assistance at all. Indeed, it was darkly whispered that the Yankees were arming the Comanche. Certainly the savages seemed to become increasingly proficient in the use of Springfield rifles over bows and arrows.At first, the Comanche would torture, kill, or enslave all persons on a farm or plantation that they raided—but they soon found out that any slaves that they captured were quite willing to show them where the farm’s foodstuffs and hidden valuables were kept, and willing to guide their bands of braves to nearby farms where the ‘pickings’ were rich. The Comanche soon grew willing to ally with the Negroes, and I was told that Negroes of uncommon strength and wits became accepted as warriors and chieftains within the tribe, learning their language and ways. With their strength swelling daily, and with looted money serving to purchase weapons through secret intermediaries, the Comanchería grew increasingly bold. Equally fierce tribes, notably the Apache and the Cheyenne, were impressed by the Comanche’s successes and formed alliances with them, perhaps sensing that here was the chance to end the white man’s threat to their lands. In June of 1874, a mixed band of Comanche, Cheyenne, and escaped Negroes smashed our fortifications in western Texas, wiping out the detachment at Adobe Walls with a savagery unprecedented in our history, frightening many Texans into fleeing eastward. This victory also allowed the Comanche communication with the Indians living in Oklahoma. The more civilized tribes had been allied with our nation since 1861—but even amongst them, large factions felt no particular love for the Confederacy and were willing to win a homeland by bloodshed and fire. Amongst the Cherokee and Choctaw there was wild talk of reclaiming their ancestral lands, or at least avenging their loss, as some of their elders still remembered with great bitterness. In May of 1875, allied Indian and Negro forces destroyed our line of fortifications from Fort Sill to Fort Stockton in coordinated attacks. With captured cannons, and—as we suspect—instruction in their use from the hated Yankees, or from Mexicans eager to humble the power that had seized their northern lands in 1847, the Indians swept eastward. The siege and the massacre of San Antonio de Bexar will long live in infamy. All those who heard the gore-drenched tale of what was done to the inhabitants could not bear the thought that they might suffer the same fate, and departed for the east as fast as they could. Raiding parties were seen doing deeds of blood as far east as Shreveport. The Texas militia fought bravely, but too often found themselves outnumbered and outgunned by foes who knew the land intimately, and who never engaged in a pitched battle unless victory was sure; they always seemed to strike exactly where our brave Texans were not.You may well be wondering why all our confederated states did not rise up as one, as we had done before, and sally forth to the aid of our Texas comrades. But recall how, even in the heady days of 1861 when all our zeal was for secession, the governor of Georgia refused at first to send his state’s militia outside of his own boundaries. Indeed, he denounced conscription as tyranny, subversive of the very rights of the states that the Confederacy had sworn to defend. His ideas had found favor in other state houses. Several governors pleaded that they could not send their ablest men to Texas without leaving the Negroes free of supervision and ripe for revolt or escape; others refused to contribute men without favorable concessions in other areas. Arkansas refused to send its men because of fear that the unrest in Oklahoma would spill across its own borders; Virginia feared that moving troops west would invite a Yankee thrust, especially in the western part of the state, which required a sizable military presence to stay pacified. In the end, a few states sent small forces. The brave defense of Seguin by the Louisiana Greys under the able command of elderly but undaunted Col. Kirby Smith will not soon be forgotten. Yet all was too little, too late. By 1877 the Confederacy was forced to negotiate with the surging Indian Confederation, and found to its surprise that the military might of the ‘savages’ was matched by the wisdom and skill of its negotiators; the administrative skills of the Civilized Tribes had merged with the ferocity of the Comanchería. The Confederacy was forced to recognize an independent state extending from the distant Colorado River all the way to the Brazos River, led by President William P. Ross, ably assisted by Generals Goyathlay, Henry Flipper, and Tuhuya Quahipu. The Indian Confederation has proved fractious, and the skills of several able governors and chiefs have not always kept the nation at peace with itself, but as yet it has managed to hold firm. It is believed that the Negroes and various Indian tribes are growing conscious of a new national unity. Treaties signed with the United States have generally kept their northern flank peaceful; the Confederation has relinquished its claim to Kansas in exchange for trade and, as we think, military support.So there we have the situation, and the Confederacy must seem in a right fix indeed. Westward expansion is blocked by the Comanche; thrusts northward are blocked by a strong Union military presence; slaves are escaping despite increased patrols to hunt them down; and the soil is growing increasingly impoverished, as bale after bale of our precious fertility is shipped to the mills of Manchester and Liverpool. Still, we continued on, and perhaps we might have continued on for some time—but we were brought low—though not by the savagery of the Comanches nor the oppression of Union arms. No, what brought us down—and this makes my blood boil to think of it—was a g—d— bug. They say it crossed the Rio Grande around 1892. It is, of course, the boll weevil, or as scientific men call it, Anthonomus grandis. The names that planters call it I must forbear to set down in writing. By 1902 it was ravaging the fields of Alabama and Mississippi. The one lifeline that had been holding up our entire Confederacy was fraying beyond its endurance. ‘King Cotton’ was revealed to be wearing nothing at all, though he marched as proudly as ever. We hoped for aid from Britain, but now that we had no cotton to sell, they proved uninterested in our plight; by this time they had developed enough cotton production in India that they really had no further need of us—a fact that they conveyed, with impeccable politeness as always, to our diplomatic envoys. Revenues plummeted; our richest planters defaulted on their loans and were forced to surrender their estates to the banks, who soon found out that the land was worthless thanks to years of unceasing cultivation. You remember the unrest that convulsed our land; the hunger that stalked Virginia; the riots in Charleston and Norfolk; the burning of Tupelo and Murfreesboro. Someone has said that men are always only three meals away from barbarism, and after playing my part in efforts to defend my beloved Columbus from mobs, I must agree. I finally received my ‘baptism of fire’—I finally ‘saw the elephant’—and found that I did not enjoy it as much as I thought I would in the heady days of 1861. In fact, it left me feeling utterly wretched. It is a fearful thing to shoot at one’s fellow men.Only one power was willing to extend aid. The United States government sent secret envoys to speak with our President about reunification. The Confederacy was to be ruled directly from Washington, until such time as new state governments could be formed; we would become a sort of colony. We were to formally abandon slavery and provide our slaves with the full rights of citizenship and grants of land to farm. This rather stuck in our craw, but—with so many of our slaves chancing it in the Indian Confederation or in the Union, and with our agricultural output so low, we had little choice. In exchange, we would receive food aid, as well as construction of new railways and factories. A Negro from Missouri who has somehow managed to receive an education in the sciences will be leading the effort to instruct his brethren in methods of farming that will replenish the exhausted soil. I never thought I would see the day that a Negro would have anything to teach our race, but having inspected my brother’s plantation, and seen the deeply eroded gullies cutting into the barren red clay dirt where once the fields were green and verdant, I must admit that if anyone can restore that land to producing anything of value, I would welcome his knowledge, be his skin never so dusky.I had often wondered why the United States had made no move to invade us. For fifty years they had guarded their border with us, constructing forts from Pennsylvania to Colorado—yet they had never attempted to invade. Now I suspect that they knew our fall was inevitable. The boll weevil only expedited what I fear was our unavoidable demise. Two weeks ago, President George Mason Lee concluded the Treaty of Union, by which the Confederacy shall dissolve. The cause that thrilled us so in 1861 has died from the world, and my heart is heavy for it. Yet I trust—as I must—that despite our sundering fifty years ago, we may once again remember our brotherhood and find a way to live together. I cannot see that we have any other choice.Yet even now, men who were babes in arms in 1861 are rallying the young to their cause. They mean to ride forth and repel the invaders, maintain their ancient liberties with the same might that they showed the entire world in 1861, glittering sabers unsheathed and bugles singing true. Indeed, men shouting the battle cry of “Avaunt Southrons!” and giving the old rebel yell have been conversing long with my son Charles (as I know from speaking with his dear wife May, who I believe has always had rather more sense than he has) and with his brethren. There is talk of raising the 19th Mississippi Infantry again and marching away beneath its old banner; talk of once again taking the fight to the Yankees and sending them running with their tails between their legs.My sons, you are the most precious things in my life, and if I had to lose all my worldly goods to ensure your safety and happiness, I would count it scarcely a loss at all. Do not listen to the d—d fools who speak of past glories that they themselves have never tasted. There are none so blind as those who will not see, and if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch. Indeed, we are all of us already in the ditch. Listen not to those who believe that we can get ourselves out of it with more digging. The path ahead may require humility on our part; yet that is a Christian virtue, and though my heart is weighted down with grief, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. And I humbly pray His blessing upon us as we struggle to earn again the place that we were so quick to abandon in our pride and vainglory, half a century ago. Pray God that pride does not overtake us this time.May the Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon you, and give you peace, is ever my prayer for you.Your dear father,George Nathaniel SmithI wrote this in a sort of wave of inspiration over three hours, without going back and revising. I’m sure that the historians among us will find things to quibble with, and that’s fine; I had fun and thought the scenario wasn’t utterly impossible, but those more learned than I are free to suggest revisions. I hope someone likes this. We shall see.In the real world, George Nathaniel Smith was my great-great-grandfather, he did serve in the 19th Mississippi (and he fought in the eastern campaign, which he never got to do in the story), and he really did return home and serve as a policeman for his town of Columbus, Mississippi. His son Charles would have had a daughter about one and a half years old in early 1911; that was my grandmother.