by Gail Lukasik
As fascinating as the dit name is, it’s also a nightmare for a genealogist, who’s been searching one surname and is unaware of a dit name.
The translation of the French words heritier de supports my hunch about an inheritance and clarifies the type of sale’s transaction. Heritier de means “heir to.” It’s clear that the sale involves property that was inherited. But who is the inheritor: Ursin or Piernas?
What I discover next about Ursin and his parents sends me reeling. My husband’s dogged persistence and hard work has unlocked the secret to Ursin’s parentage, adding another chapter not only to the Frederic family saga but also casting light on another little known or forgotten piece of American history. All because of the two words: “dit Lestinet.”
That afternoon I order copies of the notary documents of the two sales transactions from the Notarial Archives Research Center in New Orleans, requesting digital and paper copies. It takes the archivist several days to email me the digital copies. They’re in Spanish. Judy Riffel agrees to translate the documents.
In less than twenty-four hours, I have proof of Ursin’s paternity. But it’s not the paternity I expected. But nothing has been as I expected since I started investigating the Frederic family, those many shaded characters of history, popping up in the most unlikely of places with the oddest tales to tell. Ursin, especially, seems as if he was challenging my detective skills, saying to me, “Did you think this would be easy?” Going against the genealogist credo: The ancestors want to be found.
On May 14, 1827, Joseph Ursin Frederick dit Lestinet sold to John Gabaroche land and buildings bequeathed to him by Mr. Joseph Lestinet, his father.
The document reads: “The lot and buildings here above described and sold belong to the vendor [Joseph Ursin Frederick dit Lestinet] for having been bequeathed to him by Mr. Joseph Lestinet, his father.”
I linger over “his father.” Finally, after more than six months of searching, I know who was Ursin Frederic’s father.
The details of the sale line up perfectly with the names and addresses found in the 1811 and 1822 New Orleans city directories. The property, which was purchased for $4,150 (about $100,000 today), was left to Ursin in Joseph Lestinet’s will dated 1811 and is located on Rampart Street and St. Philip Street. This is the same address cited in the 1811 New Orleans city directory, which listed J. L. Frederick as owner. The property also is the same one in the 1822 directory listing Ursin Frederic as a cabinetmaker and owner. J. L. Frederic is Joseph Lestinet Frederick.
“I feel fairly confident we have the right man. In many ways, it’s good we went through this exercise. Your persistence paid off,” Judy adds.
She was so excited about the news of Ursin’s paternity that before emailing me the notarial translations she embarked on her own hunting expedition, tracking down Joseph Lestinet.
Joseph Lestinet Frederique was a soldier in Hallywl’s Swiss Regiment, Fourth Company, formerly known as Karrer’s Regiment. Hired by France to guard the garrisons in the French colonies, the Swiss regiments were mercenaries, owing no allegiance to France other than a monetary one. They were supplemental to the French soldiers stationed in the colony and by all accounts superior to them.
Though the Swiss regiments occupy a brief footnote in the French colonial period, these soldiers had a reputation for valor, physical maturity, and a penchant for hard work. The Louisiana contingent of the Swiss regiments fulfilled a contract struck between the French monarchy and a military entrepreneur under the command of Colonel François Karrer, who was required by the monarchy to supply four, later five, companies of troops for colonial service.3 They were professional soldiers.
In 1719, the first regiments of the Swiss Company were raised for colonial service and based in the French colonies of Saint Dominique, Martinique, and Île-Royale. Joseph Lestinet was not among these regiments. It wasn’t until 1731 when the Company of the Indies tenure was ending in Louisiana did political conditions allow the consignment of Swiss soldiers to the Mississippi region.
As professional soldiers, the composition of the Swiss regiments drew from a variety of European regions: Germany, Denmark, Sweden, Poland, Luxembourg, Comte Chiney, Alsace, Lorraine, Savoy, Baillage de Gen, and all of the allies of the Swiss cantons. About 40 percent were non-Gallic.4
Joseph Lestinet was one of the non-Gallic soldiers. A native of Lestat in Alsace, he was born around 1743 in Brisach, Germany, just across the Rhine River from Neuf-Brisach in the department of Haut Rhin, France. Lestate in Alsace is likely the place called Selestat in Haut Rhin, France, not far from Brisach. Although not one of the German Coast Frederics, Lestinet was German. His death record also attests to his German heritage, stating that he was from Brisac, Germany.
Joseph was stationed in Louisiana with the Fourth Regiment of Hallwyl’s Regiment. Though it’s unclear when he arrived in Louisiana, in November 1763 his name appears on a marriage contract. Joseph requests his commandant’s permission to marry Margueritte Daumas/Domas. The marriage contract states that he is a widower. His fiancée, who is a native of New Orleans, is also widowed. On the marriage contract his name is Jean Frederic Listine, son of Jean Frederic Listine and Anne Marie Marie.
What strikes me is his age. Give or take a few years, when he marries Margueritte, he’s between twenty to twenty-three years old and already a widower and a professional soldier living in a struggling colony.
Though little is known about the social backgrounds of the Swiss regiments, army life in the eighteenth century attracted two types of men: those on the social margins and those who saw army life as a honorable profession.5 Which type Joseph was it’s impossible to know for sure. But for all the hardships he endured as a professional soldier, including having to pay for his own food, clothing, and equipment, he married and stayed in Louisiana after the Swiss regiments were disbanded in 1763.
Possibly he was persuaded to remain, because of the inducements the government was offering the Swiss soldiers. Jean Baptiste LeMoyne Bienville, who was the general director of the colony at the time, viewed the retention of the Swiss mercenaries beneficial to the colony. In times of crises, these trained soldiers would offer professional protection with the least disruption. The government inducements were generous. To those soldiers who became farmers or those who were skilled craftsmen the government gave three-year subsidies for food, clothing, ammunition, and exemption from taxes. Marriage was encouraged as well, since the government viewed marriage as a catalyst for permanent settlement.6
Regardless of the government inducements, almost none of the Swiss soldiers remained in Louisiana after the regiment. They were quick to leave the place known as the “wet grave.”
But something made Joseph Lestinet remain in Louisiana. Whether he saw the government subsidies as his way of starting a new life in a new land or whether it was his new wife or maybe nothing waited for him back in Germany.
Whatever his reason, he seems perfectly suited to this place of reinvention and flux. Even the various transformations of his name—Johan Lestinet Frederique, Jean Frederic Listine, and Joseph Frederic—attest to the transformative nature of his life from German mercenary to Louisiana property owner and craftsman. It’s as if he was trying out different personas, searching for the right one.
There’s no record of what happened to his second wife Margueritte Daumas/Domas, but in 1777, Joseph marries Marie Seizen also known as Marie Gautier. For Joseph, it’s his third marriage. For Marie Seizen/Gautier, it’s her second. Surprisingly, while she was married to her first husband, Pontardi, and with her husband’s permission, she had two children with Joseph in 1772 and 1783. Both children are girls: Genevieve and Margueritte. I can’t even imagine how that conversation went. Her first husband’s infertility couldn’t have been the reason for procreating with Joseph, since Marie also had children with Pontardi, the last one born in 1775. After Marie’s husband’s death, she marries Joseph, legally cementing their relationship.
In 1778, a year after their marr
iage, Joseph Frederic and Marie are living together on St. Ann Street, the same street my mother was born on. Fourteen years later Ursin is born, but his mother is not Marie. Ursin’s mother’s story reveals another ignominious chapter in the history of French colonialism in the Louisiana territory and adds an unexpected bloodline to the Frederic family tree.
28
Luison Santilly: Metisse
“Slavery is not an indefinable mass of flesh. It is a particular, specific enslaved woman, whose mind is active as your own, whose range of feeling is as vast as your own; who prefers the way light falls in one particular spot in the woods, who enjoys fishing where the water eddies in a nearby stream, who loves her mother in her own complicated way, . . . who excels at dress making and knows, inside herself, that she is as intelligent and capable as anyone.”
—Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me
IN JOSEPH FREDERICK Lestinet’s will dated 1811, he declares Ursin his natural child and names Ursin’s mother, stipulating her race, and thus clarifying Ursin’s race as well.
Written in French, the translation reads: “I declare that with the metive Louison Santilly I had a child named Joseph Ursin aged twenty-one who was baptized as my natural child and I recognize him as such.” In two years, Joseph will die at the age of seventy.
The word metive is perplexing. There is no corresponding French word. The closest French word to metive is metisse, which refers to a half-breed woman. The word miscegenation is derived from the French word metissage, which means the mixing of Frenchmen and Indians.1 Metisse derives from metisser, to mix. In Spanish mestizos refers to the mixed offspring of unions between Indians and whites.2
Considering the misspellings of names and the inaccuracies of dates on legal documents, it’s highly likely that the notary misspelled metisse, indicating that Ursin’s mother, Louison Santilly, was half Native American or “a half-breed.” Louison was a Creole in its original meaning, created in America, in the New World, as opposed to being created or born in Europe.
The certificate of baptism from the Archdiocese of New Orleans Archives gives Ursin’s name as Joseph Ursino Lestine, a child of Joseph Lestine and Luisa Jantilly. He was born August 1, 1792, and baptized May 20, 1793. His baptism is recorded in the book for slaves and free people of color. Ursin’s half sister Genevieve, legitimate daughter of Joseph from his marriage to Marie Seizen/Gautier, is one of the sponsors. The priest who performed the rite is Rev. Luis de Quintanilla. Joseph Ursino was baptized at the St. Louis Parish Church.
The original handwritten Spanish baptismal record for Joseph Ursino tells a more complicated story. The original entry is a study in the uncertainty of racial identity during the Spanish colonial period in a population where miscegenation was widely practiced.3 In the original entry, after Ursin’s birth date, the priest wrote something, marked it out making it illegible, wrote something on top of that, and marked that out as well. The priest indicated that Ursin is the son of Louison, followed by “free quadroon,” which he marked out and wrote above it “free mestista,” then marked out those two words.
Initially the priest wrote that the father was unknown but crossed that out and wrote “Joseph Lestine” above it and inserted “natural” before son. In the margin he wrote below Joseph Ursino, the name Santilli, then marked that out and wrote “Lestine” above Santilli and “natural” son.
From all the mark outs and added words, it appears that Ursin’s father later acknowledged him as his son and the priest made the necessary changes. During the colonial period, such negotiations between a parent and a priest were not uncommon in determining racial identity.4
The changes to Luisa/Louison’s race are more difficult to explain. Perhaps the priest had no knowledge of her genealogy and he assumed she was a quadroon based on her light skin and facial features. Identifying people of color whose lineage was not known to a white priest was imprecise, erring on the side of African as opposed to Indian. As Stephen Webre points out, whites viewed “a reddish complexion as characteristic of both Indians and mulattoes.”5 Additionally, during the Spanish colonial period, the majority of people of color were of African descent, not Native American descent.
Historian Kimberly Hanger, in her study of the free black society in colonial New Orleans, 1769–1803, concludes that racial identity in New Orleans’ hierarchical, patriarchal society was very malleable and subjective. “A person’s racial designation depended on who recorded it, what purpose it served, and when it was recorded, and what physical characteristics were considered most relevant.”6
Regardless, when Joseph Lestine acknowledged Ursin, the priest felt compelled, maybe by Ursin, to specify Luisa/Louison as Indian as opposed to African. But why did he cross out “free” as well as “mestista”?
It’s possible that the priest crossed out “free mestista” because he may have been indicating that as an Indian she was already free. When the Spanish took over governing Louisiana in 1769, they outlawed the ownership of Indian slaves. Many were freed officially while others were not because they couldn’t prove they were Indian. Even after the Spanish published an edict declaring all native peoples free, in many cases masters didn’t obey the edict.
But why cross out “mestista”? Possibly Joseph Lestine wanted to cover up the fact that Ursin was a quarter Native American. He wanted his “natural” son to have all the advantages of white privilege and none of the stigma associated with people of color, even people of Native American descent.
This mixing of Native Americans and Europeans in large part was the result of Indian slavery. By the Spanish period many Indian slaves were mixed race, the offspring of unions between Indians and whites. In Louison/Luisa’s case, she was white enough to be viewed by the priest as three-quarters white. There is no indication on any records which tribe she was descended from.
All this finagling over racial ancestry demonstrates the legal and social taint associated with African ancestry, which plays out well into the twentieth century in Southern states and with the legalization of the one-drop rule.
A case in point of how crucial it was not to have any taint of “colored” blood in any ancestral document is the infamous reign of Naomi Drake and her list of “flagged names.” Drake headed the Bureau of Vital Statistic in New Orleans from 1949 to 1965. She kept a list of “flagged names” that she deemed were the names of Negro families. If she could prove African ancestry, however distant, however small, she would change that person’s race in the official records of the City of New Orleans from white to black. Even a church document dated 1793 that racially identified Ursin’s mother as a quadroon, even though marked out, would be suspect and possible proof of African ancestry. And disproving African ancestry was next to impossible.
The 1982 case of Susie Guillory Phipps, who sued the State of Louisiana to have her racial classification changed from “colored” to “white” demonstrates how tenacious the state was in maintaining a person’s given racial designation.
When Phipps applied for a passport, she was turned down because her race on her application (White) was different than the race on her birth certificate (Colored).
Phipps’s response to the “colored” designation on her birth certificate was, “Take this color off my birth certificate. Let people look at me and tell me what I am.”
To substantiate the “colored” designation, the state of Louisiana traced Phipps genealogy back to an eighteenth-century enslaved female ancestor, Margarite.7 Although Phipps wasn’t able to get her racial classification changed from colored to white, her case shone a national spotlight on Louisiana’s history of racial discrimination and racist culture and was responsible for the overturning of the one-thirty-second rule.
The letter I received from the State of Louisiana in 1995 when I questioned my mother’s “col” racial delineation is reminiscent of the Phillips case. “If you consider your genealogy different or more specific to one race, you may submit a request for change of racial designation. You will be
required to submit information, which shows a preponderance of evidence to support this. We will be happy to review it.”
Of course, in 1995 I had no idea of the racial fluidity of my mother’s paternal heritage. Nor of my own DNA, which would prove a preponderance of European ancestry. But my mother’s DNA could have told a different story of racial preponderance, leaving her race as “col” on her birth certificate.
Joseph Lestinet couldn’t foresee the future ramifications for the Frederic line of his son having a mestista mother as opposed to a quadroon mother. Whatever his motive was in compelling the priest to clarify his son’s race, he understood the importance of erasing any smirch of African ancestry on a legal record. And if Ursin’s service in a white regiment during the War of 1812 is any indication, he succeeded. Nowhere in any official record, except his baptismal certificate, is Ursin referred to as a free person of color.
Regardless of Joseph Lestinet’s motives, Ursin had other ideas about maintaining a “white” bloodline and the importance of removing perceived racial taints. All of his sexual liaisons and subsequent offspring were with free women of color, from the emancipated slave Marie Polline to Roxelane Arnoux with whom he had four children, one of whom was Leon Frederic, my third great-grandfather. All of Ursin’s children’s baptisms are recorded in the book of slaves and free people of color. Clearly this is where he drew his racial line.
Thinking about Ursin’s various liaisons with women of color, it hits me that although almost 129 years separate Ursin Frederic’s birth from my mother’s birth, he, too, had to decide which side of the color line he was going to live on.
They share other similarities as well. Considering the circumstances of Alvera and Ursin’s lives, in some sense their fathers abandoned them. Though Ursin’s father acknowledged him as a natural son, bequeathing property to him, even donating a slave named Alix to him in 1803, Ursin was still illegitimate. Taking into account the high preponderance of unsanctified unions in the late eighteenth century of all races, Joseph Lestine/Lestinet did marry Marie Seizen/Gautier, a white woman, and had four legitimate children with her. Ursin was his only bastard son.