Gibson Girl

One of my fifth great-grandmothers was a Gibson. After months of research, I traced her family back to Virginia, right around the turn of the eighteenth century.

Once I found that information, I found even more stories about the Gibsons of colonial Virginia. One of the most fascinating stories involved an ancestor named Elizabeth.

She saved one of her young sons from the misery of indentured servitude. That boy’s younger brother was, according to certain genealogists, my tenth great-grandfather.

I read the story of Elizabeth and her sons again, and again, and again. The story appeared on genealogy sites and in two separate books, both of which were published in the twenty-first century.

These books were published by reputable publishers. University presses, which (from what I understand) make a point of publishing works that are thoroughly researched.

Hubbard — who would’ve been my tenth great-grandfather, if the information I’ve found is correct — eventually moved from Virginia down to the Carolinas. Ultimately, the Gibson family spread its roots all across the South.

The family was identified, by both their contemporaries and by present-day historians, as free people of color. That much is known. But the family’s history is a bit complex. Family researchers, historians, and amateur genealogists have differing views on the family’s experiences in seventeenth-century Virginia.

Some suggest that a man who went by the name of Thomas — Elizabeth’s partner — is the family’s African ancestor. Others insist that the ancestor in question could have been a different person on the Gibson side — or perhaps even a maternal ancestor.

Other researchers have also suggested that Jane, the woman named here, is the daughter of Hubbard’s grandfather. His aunt, then.

Jane’s mother, following that line of thought, was perhaps Hubbard’s grandmother. These same researchers have introduced the possibility that Jane’s mother was Paspahegh or affiliated with another tribe from the area.

Some have said that a connection between the two — Jane and the other Gibsons — may be the happenstance of sharing geography and a surname, but little else. Others think these are more than mere coincidences. (I’m uncertain, but I find it plausible.)

In summary, the assertions about the family are as follows:

(1) At least a couple of generations of Hubbard’s descendants identified (or were identified by their contemporaries) as free people of color.

(2) At least one of Hubbard’s parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents was Black.

(3) Hubbard’s grandmother might have been Native. (Might is key, here.)

I’ve spent time trying to look into this further — but, with such an interesting family, there are pages and pages of information to parse through.

About some things, however, the information is incomplete. Because of the somewhat limited information we have on Mr. Gibson and Elizabeth, we can conclude that Hubbard had one of the following: (1) Black and Native ancestry, (2) Black and white ancestry, or (3) Black, Native, and white ancestry.

The second and third scenarios seem the most likely. After all, the family’s members were described as, to quote directly, “free colored men.”

As the Gibsons were among the people identified as biracial and triracial who lived in the Chesapeake region, the family could aptly be described as Atlantic Creole. But where were their own African ancestors from?

Speaking quite broadly, researchers and historians have suggested they may be descended from Bantu peoples or, perhaps, from the historic Kingdom of Kongo.

Thinking about the process of how they left Africa and arrived in the Americas — it’s overwhelming.

My North African ancestors journeyed from the Maghreb to Western Europe, and then from there to North Carolina — but their journey to the States was ultimately by choice. For the ancestors of the Gibsons, choice was not part of the equation. Sitting with that thought is difficult.

And — on my father’s side of the family — I have a branch of Bryant ancestors who we know were of Congolese descent. (I’m eighty-plus percent certain I descend from the Hubbard Gibson branch of the Gibsons, but I’m one hundred percent certain that I descend from the Bryants.) So, in any case, I often find myself thinking about their arrival in the Americas.

I think about the fear, the confusion, the desperation, the sorrow, the anger — all of which are still beyond my comprehension. I will never be able to wrap my mind around it all.

I’m still reading up on the various branches of the Gibson family — and I’m always learning something new. Something fascinating. And, sometimes, something heart-wrenching.

But I keep searching.

Late last week, I logged into one of the more popular cousin-finding sites. I matched with another person who has Gibson forebears. Right there, while looking at her tree, I saw it — something that amazed me. My tenth great-grandfather’s brother, the formerly indentured boy, was her direct ancestor.

I’m certain we share other ancestors — perhaps on that same line. But to be able to connect the dots between the descendants of two brothers — two brothers who lived three-hundred years ago — completely amazed me.

For us to be able to retain the names and the stories of our ancestors, and to maintain connections to distant history, is a testament to the enduring strength of ancestral connections.

The past and the present are as intertwined as the ties that bind me to my family tree.