Is the name Bryant or Bryan?

[L Verge]

I found what I believe is the origin of the story of Mrs. Quesenberry's carpetbag:

This is lengthy, has some questionable details, but is interesting. Extract from Genealogical Memoranda, by A.C. Quisenberry, 1896
The following account of Mrs. Quesenberry’s brush with history was published by a family historian in the year she died; although rich in detail, it may contain embellishments best taken with a grain of salt.

Nicholas [Quesenberry], son of George, owned an extensive plantation on Machodoc creek, one mile from the Potomac river, in King George county, where his son Nicholas lived until his death in 1864. Nicholas married Miss Rose Green, of “Rosedale,” between Georgetown and Tenallytown, in the District of Columbia, and her brother was the original owner of “Oak View,” or “Red Top” (adjoining “Rosedale”), which was subsequently purchased by President Cleveland as a residence.
One of Mrs. Quisenberry’s sisters married a son of the Emperor Iturbide, of Mexico, who was a student at the Catholic University at Georgetown, D. C. Mrs. Iturbide’s son, Prince Augustine Iturbide, was the protege and declared successor to the ill-fated Emperor Maximillian, and is now the only legitimate heir to the throne of Mexico in case its present republican form of government should be abolished, which, indeed, is probable enough in that land of revolutions.
Another very interesting incident connected with this Mrs. Nicholas Quisenberry was recited at length in a letter from George Alfred Townsend, the great newspaper correspondent, published the Cincinnati Enquirer of August 1, 1884. From this letter such portions are here extracted as cover the main points of the story.
After the assassination of President Lincoln, in April 1865, John Wilkes Booth, the assassin and his confederate, Herold, fled together, and at Port Tobacco, Maryland, they crossed the Potomac in a boat, for which Booth paid twenty dollars in gold, and landed in Virginia on the farm of a man named Bryan, a near neighbor of Mrs. Quisenberry’s. Mr. Townsend [ ] then tells the story as follows: Herold wanted to buy two horses, one for himself and one for Booth, and Bryan rather demurred to selling his, but said that Mrs. Quisenberry, who lived close by, had several horses, and wanted money. Herold therefore set off to this lady’s house, about a mile and a half distant.
Here a word about the topography of the country. The Potomac, opposite to Pope’s creek, Maryland, is only three miles wide, but both above and below it is much wider. Mr. Jones, in Maryland, had directed the two fugitives to enter Machodoc creek, and find the house of Mrs. Quisenberry. Machodoc creek is about a mile wide, and the first house on its northern bank is the lady’s mentioned.
Bryan, in his little hut, had no slaves, but Mrs. Quisenberry had a delightful cottage, and was highly connected, and would have been a superior woman anywhere. She was the daughter of a Mr. Green, of Rosedale, an estate between Washington and its suburb of Tenallytown. Her sister had married the son of the Emperor Iturbide of Mexico, and Mrs. Quisenberry’s nephew was, at the very time Booth stopped at this house, a protege, and perhaps adopted son, of the Emperor Maximillian. This little incident seems to connect, in some measure, the fates of two distinguished men, one of whom speedily followed the other to a violent death. The Emperor Iturbide’s son had been a student at Georgetown College, in the vicinity of which Mr. Green lived.
Mr. Quisenberry had been a Virginia planter, with slaves and good connections, and his house was not many miles from Washington’s birthplace. The house was a beautiful cottage, trellised and ornamented, and with a lawn in front of it reaching to the wide creek, hardly fifty yards distant, and on this lawn, among other cabins, was a small schoolhouse, fitted for the education of the children of the family who had a governess by the name of Miss Duncanson.
During the war the rebel government had established on Mrs. Quisenberry’s farm their permanent signal station to communicate with other rebels in Maryland, and hold open their mail route to the North and Canada. The signal officers, as a rule, were genteel men, and they all thought highly of their hostess, who was then about fifty years old. They occupied the schoolhouse, at least two of them did, and one of these was a Maryland gentleman named Thomas Harbin. This man was one of the original confidants of John Wilkes Booth in the scheme to abduct President Lincoln. Having been several times in his company, I can say of him, as of his brother-in-law, Thomas A. Jones, who “held the fort,” so to speak for the Confederacy, on the other shore — that while they do not conform to my ideas of politics, they materially softened my feelings on the subject of Mr. Lincoln’s abduction by the frankness and fidelity of their character. Harbin was a representative-looking Marylander, tall, almost gaunt, yet supple, with a smile ever on his countenance; dark-brown hair, high cheekbones, with somewhat sunken cheeks; but cautions, and thoughtful, and tender to women. He had as much respect for Mrs. Quisenberry and her family as if she had been the wife of Jefferson Davis. He took intense interest in the Southern cause, reported at Richmond, and was entrusted with the business of opening a mail route to the North.
On the opposite shore lived Thomas A. Jones, at a point where the bluffs of Maryland rise at least one hundred feet high. Jones’ first wife had been Harbin’s sister. It required no Masonic oath to bind these men together. They were the life of the Confederacy in its communication with Maryland and the North. Jones, in the earlier part of the war, had nightly crossed the river with passengers for the South. Arrested once on his return home from Richmond, he was sent to prison in Washington and kept there several months. When he was let out by some jail-opening commission, he returned home to find everything broken up by the war; and Harbin came to him, after he had refused a man named Grimes, and they agreed to keep the ferry open.
Every day toward evening a boat left Mrs. Quisenberry’s place and crossed the river in the gray light to a place where the rebel mail was deposited, under the bluffs of Maryland, in a stump. This mail was taken out, a pouch from the South substituted, and the boat stole off in the gray evening, unobserved, just as the Federal pickets were planted along the bluff, which was done about sundown. If Jones had kept the boat on his side of the river the Federals would have seized and destroyed it. And so the courier spirit lodged all day in Virginia, at Mrs. Quisenberry’s, and flew once, toward night, to Maryland, and silently returned.
Harbin had heard of the President’s assassination on Wednesday, five days after it occurred. He then knew that his friend Booth had done the deed. The family circle at Mrs. Quisenberry’s discussed the matter in all the Christian spirit of a Northern household. Miss Lucy Hooe, an interesting lady, now married, said at that circle: ‘This crime will hurt the Southern people more than the whole war has done. It has no good motive; was the ending of a man probably simple and honest, and its results will fall on us and our friends.’ They little knew while they were talking by the wood-fire that April day that the President’s murderer was steering toward them.
There was a sick person in the house, or neighborhood, and Harbin had taken a boat, in company with one of his military associates named Baden, and crossed Machodoc creek to the fine estate of Colonel Baker, who had hot-houses and raised oranges and lemons to make lemonade. On his return the wind blew up from the Potomac river and made the crossing almost dangerous, so that they had to creep around by the shores; and so they came to the lawn of Mrs. Quisenberry (who, by the way, was known to all the neighbors as Mrs. Quesenberry). Miss Duncanson, the governess, came down to the boat and said: ‘Mr. Harbin, there is a strange man here who has come to buy horses.’ Baden went up to reconnoiter, and returned, saying: ‘He says his name is Herold.’ Harbin’s heart sank a little. He knew Herold, and that he was one of Booth’s conspirators, and that probably the assassin himself was close at hand. He said nothing to the lady, however, but went up to the house, and there he saw Herold covered with dirt, filth and grime; unwashed, uncombed, the picture of a vacant-minded tramp.
He took him apart and asked: ‘Herold, where’s Booth?’ ‘He’s over here at the next farm, and you must go and see him, said Herold. Baden and Harbin took Herold down to the schoolhouse on the lawn, and had him washed and combed and made human. At the time Herold arrived Mrs. Quisenberry was not at home, but had gone on her horse, Virginia fashion, to some neighboring place. She arrived at home, however, while Herold was there, and was disposed to sell him horses, because the close of the war had reduced her to poverty, and she could not keep her horses. Harbin, with his thoughtfulness for the woman, took her aside and said: “You must not sell this man a horse. There are circumstances connected with him which make it my duty to tell you to give him nothing more than something to eat.” If the lady had sold Herold a horse it might have been to the prejudice of her liberty in the subsequent court-martial proceedings. Not a word was said by Harbin to any member of this family as to Booth being in the neighborhood until he had returned from his visit to Booth that evening.
Mrs. Quisenberry was at the time a widow. Her husband died during the war, and was buried at the little church at Hampstead, in the neighborhood. She had two sons and two daughters, all young. The Hooe farm, on which Booth’s boat landed, in the neighborhood, bore the name of Barnesfleld, and that which he had embarked from in Maryland, Brentsfield. The rebel signal camp had been on Mrs. Quisenberry’s farm for about eighteen months. Harbin had not been at her house for some little time, but at the close of the war, when Richmond was abandoned, he had returned there, and was waiting a few days with nothing to do.
Herold arrived at Mrs. Quisenberry’s house at 10 or 11 o’clock in the morning. He and Booth had landed in Virginia before daylight, and had gone quite early to Bryan’s house. About 2 o’clock he departed on foot, having partaken of food, and he carried with him a lunch for Booth. The day had become beautiful, though somewhat windy, and the fields were dry and all the frost out of them. Back of Mrs. Quisenberry’s house extend two large fields, reaching almost a mile, and thus he entered the woods and walked in them to the small clearing around Bryan’s house.
“Bryan told everything he knew in Washington, and Harbin, aware that he had put himself in jeopardy, concluded to stay [ ] at Mrs. Quisenberry’s house and not to run away. The scent came very close to him, but he was so gentlemanly and obliging that the very officers of the law became rather confidential with him.
When he had returned from his last farewell with Booth he told the folks at the house who their caller had been, and they conferred together. After Booth had been killed Lieutenant Baker and a detective and some soldiers came to the place to make inquiries for Wilson (Harbin’s assumed name). Harbin kept out of sight as much as possible. The officers said it was necessary that some one person should go up to Washington to testify before the Judge Advocate. Harbin rather pressed that he should go, though the contrary was his design.
Mrs. Quisenberry said she couldn’t go on account of her children. Baden quietly dropped the remark that he had an old mother in Washington whom he had not seen for four years, and the humane officers took him along instead of Harbin. Baden’s reward, however, was to be sent to prison for about six weeks. A steamboat came up Machodoc creek not long afterwards and Mrs. Quisenberry was informed that she would have to go to Washington. She demurred, but was told she could take her children along, and that her expenses would be paid by the Government; and she was allowed, while in that city, to stay at the home of her childhood, Rosedale, but came into the city every day to be examined.
The boat in which Booth had crossed the river was seized by the Government at Mrs. Quisenberry’s, and it is not known what became of it. Mr. Harbin says that Booth, in his belief, was never in Richmond during the war.
The rebel mail service which Jones conducted was almost as efficient as the United States mail at the present time. Washington, Baltimore, and New York papers were subscribed for by different [ ] individuals in the vicinity of Allen’s Fresh, the subscription price being paid by the Confederacy, and one person would go and call for the mail of all the neighbors. These papers would be deposited in the stump under Jones’ Bluff, and then the boat would come over, as described, in the gray of the evening, and leave rebel mail and take the papers out, and the next morning they would be in Richmond, going by way of Port Conway, Port Royal, and [ ]. This became the great route for blockade-runners and go-betweens, and finally Booth’s route.
Nicholas Quisenberry assured the author of this history [ ] that this account of the affair, so far as his mother was concerned in it, is substantially correct, except that Herold, when he came to the house, was almost in a state of physical collapse, through fright, and blurted out his whole story to those of the family who were at home, and even in the presence of the colored servants. When Harbin and Herold went to rejoin Booth in the wood, Nicholas, who was then quite a young boy, went along with them; and they carried an old-fashioned carpet-sack which his mother, out of humanity, had filled with food for the fugitives. Mr. Quisenberry said that they “found Booth sitting under a walnut tree in the woods — the wildest-looking maniac I ever saw.” Booth gave the boat in which he and Herold had crossed the river to young Nicholas. It was afterwards seized by the Government detectives, who paid him for it. It was taken to Washington and deposited at the Navy Yard, but for some years past has been one of the attractions at the National Museum.
When Booth and Herold, a few days later, were cornered in a barn at Mr. Garrett’s, in Caroline county, Herold proposed to surrender after the barn was fired, and Booth cursed him for a coward, and asked permission to shoot him. This Herold declined; and Booth then pushed him to the opening, saying: “Quarter for this man, he surrenders,” at the same time shooting himself and dying by his own hand. This story is somewhat different from the accepted version, but Nicholas Quisenberry had it from Mr. Harbin, who had it from Herold himself, during his imprisonment previous to his execution. Mr. Harbin was subsequently for many years a clerk at the National Hotel, in Washington City, and died at his home in that city in 1891. Before Booth shot himself he threw into the fire of the burning barn the carpet-bag which Mrs. Quisenberry had filled with food for himself and Herold, thinking, no doubt, to destroy it, and thus, almost with his last act, endeavoring to shield the charitable lady who had fed him in his need, for her name was embroidered in full on the inside of the bag. The bag, however, was rescued from the flames, and was the cause of getting Mrs. Quisenberry into what might have been serious trouble, from which she was rescued only by the strenuous efforts of her brothers, who were among the strongest and most influential Union men in the District of Columbia. Mrs. Quisenberry is still living and resides in Texas with her daughter Alice, who was married in the Oak View Manor, then the property of her uncle, Mr. Osceola Green, afterwards that of President Cleveland.

A.C. Quisenberry, Genealogical Memoranda, 1896

As a side bar: The house named Rosedale may sound familiar to those of you who followed current events about a dozen years ago. The six-year-old boy (whose name I can't remember) from Cuba, who was sent back to his father by order of Attorney General Janet Reno, was held at Rosedale outside D.C. until the dispute over custody could be settled. It is ironic that Mrs. Quesenberry's sister - who had grown up at Rosedale - had a son involved in an international dispute south of the U.S. border also...











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