When I was a young girl in the late 1960s my grandmother, Florence Nightingale Henry Moore, would tell the story of her father, Alexander Henry, coming to America. Each time she told the tale she would remind us how important it was for it to never be repeated. It was hard to understand why I could not tell the story. How could there be any repercussions to our family for something that had happened so long ago, in another lifetime? In November 1855, my great-grandfather immigrated from Huntly, Aberdeenshire, Scotland on the ship The Franklin King to a southern port in the United States. He was 19 years old. On board this ship, Africans were being transported across the Atlantic Ocean to be sold into slavery. My great-grandfather was horrified and sickened by the treatment of these human beings and, once in port, spoke out freely against their mistreatment. Early one morning, while looking through the local newspaper, he read that he, Alexander Henry, had been hung in the town square as a slave sympathizer; a crime that was punishable by death prior to the Civil war. Shortly after reading his name in the paper, probably that very same day, my great-grandfather headed west, became a farmer, and fathered eleven children. He died in 1928 in Tacoma, Washington. - Marion Devaney, Mother of Peter & Daniel Devaney