CARROLL FAMILY
Extract from the CARROLL Tree by Thomas Henry Web.
CARROLL MOTTO - "Strong both in Faith and War."
EDWARD CARROLL, b[orn?]. 1715 of Trummery, Co[unty?] Antrim, (more
likely Co[unty?]. Armagh or Co[unty?]. Down) Grandson of
L[ieutenan?]t. Col[onel?]. Thomas Carroll, Commander of Carroll's
Dragoons, killed at the Battle of the Boyne, 1st, July 1690, (surely
12th July) whose relative Charles Carroll of Carrollta [Carrollton?],
Maryland, was last survivor of the Signers of the Declaration of
Independence.
BELFAST EVENING TELEGRAPH July 10, 1912.
THE HOME OF HIS FATHERS. AMERICAN VISITOR'S QUEST
A LINK WITH THE BOYNE. BEAUTIFUL VALLEY OF THE LAGAN
Twenty-eight-year-old appreciation
An ancestry that can be traced without a break back to the Battle of the
Boyne, that great landmark in Irish history, aye, and generations beyond
it, is rare even in the North of Ireland, where family tradition is
strong.
Yet, Mr. Frank H. Taylor, an American citizen, closely identified
with Linotype and Machinery, Ltd., of which he is a prominent director,
has got that distinction, and is proud of it. He will be shortly in
Ireland on a visit, he is at present in England, and during his stay
with us hopes to see, for the first time, the home of his fathers.
The house which is the object of Mr. Taylor's pilgrimage, is
situated on the Lisburn Road to Moira, and within 2 1/2 miles of the
latter place. It is at present in the occupation of Mr. John Walsh, one
of the representatives of Magheramesh [Magheramesk?] of the Lisburn Rural
District Council. Mr. Walsh succeeded his father, Mr. Charles Walsh,
on the latter's death, and the joint tenancy of the place has, it is
stated, exceeded sixty years.
In the old farmhouse, which, notwithstanding its antiquity, is one
of the most comfortable to be found in that region of solid prosperity,
the Valley of the Lagan ("A country well worth fighting for," said King
William III of it) there resided several generations of the Carroll
family, which we first heard of in the North after the death of Colonel
Thomas Carroll, who
FELL AT THE BOYNE,
fighting presumably on what the average Ulsterman would describe as "the
wrong side." This Colonel Carroll was the son of Daniel Carroll, of
Litterluna, King's County, where the family had settled in the 13th.
century.
In 1690 the two sons of Colonel Carroll migrated to Ulster, taking
up their abode within easy reach of Lisburn, where the composite
character of the population, descendants of the English, Scotch, and
Welsh settlers who accompanied Conway and Hill, and a strong division
of Huguenots, driven out of France by the Revolution of the Edict of
Nantes, probably attracted them.
One of the sons was the father of Edward Carroll (born 1718, died
1780), who married Sarah Bell, daughter of Archibald Bell, of Trummery,
a name that till comparatively recently was well known in the
neighbourhood, which lies between Magheragall and Moira. Their son,
also Edward, was married in 1775 to a very able woman, Elizabeth,
daughter of Joseph Murray, of Magheragall, her mother having borne a
name which has acquired much distinction in the past century, that of
Hogg, the patronymic of Lord Magheramorne, and in the Lisburn district
still held in affectionate regard by reason of the fact that Mrs.
Nicholson, mother of Brigadier John Nicholson, the hero of Delhi, was a
Miss Hogg.
Trummery was a Quaker colony, and Edward Carroll and Elizabeth
Murray were married according to the rites of the Society of Friends.
Mr. Taylor has a copy of the marriage certificate of Joseph Murray and
Margery Hogg, which, according to custom, was signed by relatives and
neighbours, several Hoggs, Bells, Fletchers, English, John Hancock,
jun., and Richard Steer.
Edward Carroll, like so many North of Ireland men of the period, in
consequence of the unrest at home emigrated to the United States with
his family, one of whom, Thomas took up the profession of Physician in
his adopted country. This Dr. Carroll was the grandfather of Mr.
Taylor, who in his person has exemplified the grit of the Ulsterman, of
which the records of the great Western Republic bear ample evidence.
Mr. Taylor has been partly induced to make his present quest by a
fascinating account by a relative of a visit which she paid to the
homeland 28 years ago, and which we are enabled to reproduce at length:-
AT THE OLD HOMESTEAD.
Royal Avenue Hotel, Belfast.
July 13, 1884.
My dear Robert (it was addressed to another member of the Carroll family)
I know that you will be glad to learn that we have found the
old homestead, and in excellent repair, too. I hasten to tell you the
whole story.
We arrived in Belfast about 11.30 a.m. yesterday. Being
advised by the head porter of the Hotel to drive to the police barracks
at Moira, and there ask advice as to the best way to search for the old
house, we secured a jaunting car, and as soon as we had lunched, set
out. We found ourselves in the midst of an enchanting landscape, which
grew in beauty as the distance from Belfast increased, which remark I
feel to be invidious, for the whole country hereabout is so beautiful as
to excite delighted admiration. As we drove south-west from Belfast
over a very fine road, bordered on each side by thrifty hawthorn hedges,
a range of hills bounded the view on the right. On the left the country
spread out indefinitely into country seats and farm, the fields divided
by innumerable hedges, while clumps of trees and small groves, dotted
here and there, added richness to the scene. As we approached Lisburn
the hills were left behind, the view enlarged on the right, while on the
left, in the very far distance, the shoulder of the Mourne Mountains,
clothed in a purple haze, was turned warmly towards us.
The sun shone brightly with a genial warmth. The earth was
teeming with verdure. Little white cottages were scattered along the
roadside, with here and there a farmhouse, while distant villages and
church spires among trees would occasionally glide into the panorama.
When we admired the fine crop of hay, the wonderful wealth of the oat
fields, the perfection of the small amount of wheat we saw growing, and
even the heavy yield of gooseberries, our driver told us that this was
only a second or third-class year because of cold winds in May and want
of rain in June. If such is the case it is scarcely possible to imagine
the fullness of vegetation in a first rate year, Everything grows to a
fine perfection. There is no rank overgrowth, no coarse fibre. Every
leaf seems to be evenly developed and everything is graceful.
Seven miles from Belfast we passed through Lisburn, a long
town, apparently built in one street, consisting principally of
respectable, and, in some cases, rather stylish dwellings, with one very
large and very elegant mansion, The RESIDENCE OF SIR RICHARD WALLACE.
We went by the new Lisburn road to Moira, which is a very ancient
looking village. The police sergeant at the barracks came out to speak
to us and called two or three persons who were near at hand, and we had
not exchanged many sentences when we were put on the right track by a
young fellow, who advised us to call Mr. Isaac Bell of Trummery House.
As soon as father heard the name, he said, "We are all right now."
So we drove back about three-quarters of a mile to Trummery House, where
we were very hospitably received. Isaac Bell is the son of the Isaac
Bell of whom Grandmother used often to speak. I suppose you know more
about the relationship between the Bell and Carroll families than I can
tell you. Isaac, who is sixty years of age has one hundred and fifty
acres of land. He is an exceedingly stringent, orthodox Quaker, a
well-informed man, and evidently held in high esteem in his
neighbourhood. He said he could direct us to the very house where "Uncle
Ned" used to live, but urged us to take tea before starting. It was
five o'clock when we left his house.
James Bell, a lad of about thirteen years, accompanied us to show
the way. As we turned into the old Lisburn Road we noticed that some
dark clouds in the sky portended rain. We drove for a mile over a very
good solid road and drew up before a very substantial stone house, a
storey and a half high, forty-five feet long, and twenty-one feet deep.
The walls are covered with a rough finish of cement and gravel, and
whitewashed. The roof of the thatch is in keeping with the little
old-fashioned windows in the upper storey, consisting of four panes
each. The lower windows are much larger. The entrance, which I can only
describe as an enclosed portico with a tile roof is evidently modern
although of the same material and finished as the house. A tasteful,
well-kept flower garden in front is enclosed by a new stone surrounded,
and a row of very old but well-preserved out buildings stretching out
for sixty feet from the back of the house complete the establishment.
We lost but little time before knocking at the door, but alas no
response came. The family were evidently away
CELEBRATING THE TWELFTH
We ran around the house examining its exterior, noticed that
there were three chimneys, one at each end and one in the middle of the
roof, and I will confess to peeping eagerly into the windows, when our
car-driver, much interested in the affair, called us into the road,
saying eagerly, "Here is an old woman who was born down the road; she is
eighty years old, and says she remembers hearing the neighbours talk
about Ned Carroll when she was a child." Well, the dear old creature
invited us into her cottage, and displayed a remarkably good memory.
She gave us a complete list of Ned Carroll's successors, with minute
accounts of the family history of some of them. The old woman once
lived in the house three and a half years herself to take care of it in
the absence of the owner.
At the conclusion of her narrative old Mrs. Bann hobbled back
across the road with us, and we found, leaning against the wall, William
Hannah, father of Mrs. Charles Walsh, the lady whose return we ardently
desired. We told him our story, and he went in quest of his daughter.
At last she came - a cheery farmer's wife - and greeted us with great
heartiness and kindness. We were soon seated in a neat, cheery parlour
in the west end of the house, and were deep in explanations and
inquiries when Mr. Charles Walsh suddenly arrived, and was speedily
interested in the absorbing topic of the hour.
We inquired very particularly after a west window, where my
grandmother used to sit and read, and were told that the west chimney
had taken its place. This with the cutting of the upper window in the
east end to a larger size and the modern entrance in front are the only
changes that have been made in the outer walls. They are two feet
thick, and as good now as they were a hundred years ago, and father says
that I will not exaggerate if I say that they are good for a hundred
years to come. West of the house a few old apple trees stand where was
long ago, an orchard, but a vegetable garden now occupies the ground.
Mr. and Mrs. Walsh, were exceedingly hospitable and made us go into the
dining-room and have some refreshments, and we were all very happy and
jolly. They invited us to spend two or three days with them, and they
were sorry we could not accept. When at last we mounted our car to
leave the dear old place the rain clouds had passed away, and we paused
to dwell a moment upon the landscape. The old house stands in the midst
of the loveliest view we had seen all day. The country stretches away
in all direction to the distant horizon in gentle, wavy undulation. As I
have said before, the green hedges divide the land into a multiplicity
of rather small fields, the different crops give diverse shades of green;
these, intermingled with the yellow hayfields with their stacks, and
here and there strips of up-turned soil, rich and brown; all these
patches of colour, varied by the deeper shades afforded by groups of
foliage, gave the whole country-side the appearance of an immense
living, lowing mosaic, as for a gem, I thought, as this earth could
possibly afford. Away in the remote distance, looking in as it seemed
from outside the horizon, stood one lone summit of the Mourne
Mountains, shrouded in purple mists. The sun was setting, but there was
no brilliant glory in the sky, only a clear, gentle light. We start for
Cork to-morrow morning, and will sail for New York on the 15th on the
City of Montreal on the Inman Line.
Your affectionate cousin,
ATTIE WHINNERY.
The house was Hollymount, Creenagh near Moira a two-storey house with a
porch at the front door.
Richard Bell - Born 1657 - married. Elizabeth
| daughter. of
|--------------| Stephen Atkinson
| | lived at Trummery
| |
| Deborah Bell married Edward Carroll 1727
| |
Jacob |
born |
died 1808 |
married Frances Gregg |
| |
| |
| |
Richard born 1747 --Sarah Carroll married Richard Bell 1770
died 1813 January 21 | 12th January
|
|
|
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| |
| |
Isaac Bell Born 1773 July 27 Edward Bell
of whom grand- Married 1797 Frances Green Born 1791
mother used (died August 9 1862)age 81 Married Mary
often to speak Died 1860 March 22 McDonnel
| April 15 1831
| Died 1854
Isaac Bell
Born 1819
Died 1899 |
Married 1867 |
Sarah Bradshaw Bell Alexander Bell
| Born 1835 April
| Married Turtle
| |
| |
Anne Abigail Bell Edward Gilbert Bell
Born 1874 Born 1866
Married Ed Gilbert Bell 1895 Married 1895
Died 1916 Died 1945 |
| |
| |
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|
Isaac Edward Bell
Born 1900
Married 1926 Mary Allen Richardson
