Black Sheep

 

I am pleased to introduce one of the black sheep in my family: my third-great-grandfather William Wright "Dink" Patrick.

Dink was born 9 October 1838 in Camden County, Georgia, a son of John Patrick and the former Mary Elizabeth Robinson.  Sadly, his mother was killed during a Seminole raid when Dink was a very small child, in 1840.  After this, his father remarried to his late wife's sister Malinda "Linnie" Robinson, but Dink was not raised by them.  Instead, he went to live with his grandparents Wright and Ellender (Jernigan) Patrick.

When he was 19 years old, Dink enlisted at Mellonville for service in the Third Seminole War as a private in Robert Bullock's Company of Independent Florida Mounted Volunteers.  He was described as standing 5'8" in height, with a florid complexion, blue eyes, and light hair.  The company's muster rolls note that Dink's horse was lost in service on 15 Feb 1858, and he had to be remounted (presumably at the company's expense).

A few years later, on 14 September 1861, Dink enlisted at Sumpterville, Florida, to serve as a private in Company D of the 1st Special Battalion of Florida Infantry.  The details of his service have not survived.  But, after the Battle of Olustee, his unit was mustered-in to Confederate service as Company E of the 10th Florida Infantry Regiment.  This newly organized regiment was expected to follow General Joseph Finegan to join the Army of Northern Virginia.  Apparently, this prospect did not appeal to Dink.  He had signed-up to defend Florida against the Yankees, not Virginia; so, he refused to report for service and was listed as a deserter in Confederate records beginning in May 1864.  (He would later claim that he had not deserted, but was home on furlough . . .)

The decision not to go north with the Confederates probably saved Dink's life.  His younger half-brother Dickie Patrick was not so fortunate and was horribly wounded at the Battle of Jonesboro in Georgia in August 1864.  This did not reflect well on Dink, with some even calling him a coward.  His own niece Drucilla Johns Tyler certainly had no respect for him, recording these scathing words in her memoirs:

"He was worthless, shiftless and lazy. He married into a respectable, proud-but-poor family. Somehow, he got a small homestead and got a house on it. I don't know how, for he was never known to work. They had 9 children and, quoting Little Sister in Laddie, 'not one of them ever offered to die.' They lived by visiting the neighbors at mealtime. They didn't know what it was like to have a square meal at home. About the time the last child was born, they had lost the little old home and moved to an old, abandoned house nearby."

Drucilla's recollections were not altogether accurate.  Dink married after the war to Sarah Ivey, a sister of former Orange County Sheriff John Ivey.  They may have been proud, but they weren't exactly poor.  In fact, they had a nice piece of property near the old Patrick homestead west of Orlando--part of which Dink inherited.  Over the years, he sold off portions of this land until he was left with just two acres, but this was probably a prudent thing to do with Orlando real estate values skyrocketing beyond what a small family farm could earn.

Anyway, Dink did not end up living in an old, abandoned house.  Instead, he and Sarah retired to a comfortable 6-room cottage in the town of Pine Castle, just south of Orlando.  It was only recently demolished to make way for the new Cornerstone Charter Academy.

In 1902, he applied for a federal pension based on his service in the Third Seminole War.  It took two years of battling federal red tape, but he was eventually awarded the additional income retroactive to the date of application.  In 1908, he applied for a state pension based on his Civil War service, but this application was denied because of the allegations of desertion.  Two years later, though, his federal pension was increased to $16 per month, more than enough to support both him and his wife.

In 1911, Dink made national news when he shared a funny story about himself with a roving reporter.  Apparently, he fell asleep one day while riding his horse through the words near Lake Conway.  Somehow, he fell off the horse's back and directly onto a very confused alligator.  The startled reptile only carried him a short distance before bucking Dink and slithering into the nearby lake waters!

Dink died peacefully at his Pine Castle home on 14 September 1913, age 75.  Despite his reputation as a hapless horseman, deserter; and despite his niece calling him worthless, shiftless, and lazy, his obituary in the Orlando Sentinel concludes, "He was an old resident and respected by all.  He was a Christian gentleman, a devout member of the Baptist church."

So, was he a black sheep at all, or was he simply misunderstood?

Your guess is as good as mine!