This column first appeared in April 2012.
But who was the real Garret Harsin? According to his Revolutionary War pension papers, Garret Harsin was born in New York City on June 15, 1753, (although the Brandywine tombstone lists January 4, 1750 as the birth date). According to the 1790 Federal Census, Garret was living in Bourbon County, Kentucky and his occupation was listed as a “farmer.” By 1826 he and his family had moved to Shelby County, Indiana where he died peacefully on September 24, 1838. But is it Garret Harsin or Andrew Harrison who is buried in Brandywine cemetery?
A story long circulated among family members questions the actual identity of the man buried under the tombstone, a man considered to be the forefather of most every Harsin in our state. Ray Harsin, a direct descendent of Garret, began researching the legend back in 1976. As his research progressed, the rumor of the identity switch and resulting cover-up gained in intensity and refused to go away. Ray was inundated with undocumented facts from branches of the Harsin family tree located all over the country and as far away as Washington state.
Historical accounts and the official report to ranking officers showed that Andrew Harrison was hung for his crime and died during the American Revolutionary War. Still, the story of the body switch was passed down from family members over the years. Ray discovered a couple of facts that he believes may corroborate the story. One, this individual moved to Kentucky after the war and was living in the same area as the Harrison family. Two, Elizabeth Doughty (Harsin/Harrison’s wife) hailed from a prominent Virginia family of English gentry with direct ties to royalty, as did the Harrison family. Garret and Elizabeth Harsin were married after the war in the same Dutch Reformed Church in New York that Garret attended from childhood. Ray Harsin asked the question, “If Andrew Harrison was to have married Elizabeth Doughty in front of the same congregation that the real Garret Harsin grew up with, wouldn’t the congregation and its pastor know that there would be an imposter?” Yet, the family rumor fails to go away. Seems that Garret Harsin took the secret with him to the grave.
Gary Poynter alerted me to this story in a prophetic e-mail titled, “Beyond the grave lies the truth.” Gary’s e-mail explained, “I told Tim the other day I keep passing this cemetery on the way home and something, or someone, was calling me to stop and see what was in this graveyard. The more I dig the more there seems to be a story.”
Gary exchanged e-mails with Ray Harsin, who now lives in Florida, and has visited Brandywine Cemetery many times over the years. Gary’s further research has turned over another mystery from the archives of history connected to the legend. According to Gary, “The cloud thickens . . . I found another story about a Capt. Caleb Gibbs who was also a Life Guard of George Washington . . . because of a disagreement between Andrew Harrison . . . Caleb Gibbs deliberately fouled up Andrew’s records and reported him killed and turned the rest of Andrew’s record in under the name of Garret Harsin. In order to get a pension, Andrew later tried to clear up the records, but even his youngest brother, William Henry Harrison (1773-1841), refused in 1832 to help him, because he was about to run for the Presidency of the United States, and did not want any “talk” about the Harrison name.”
Gary included a tract he found in the original pension papers of Garret Harsin that adds an ethereal element to the saga: “At his (Harsin’s) house prayer meetings were often held, and attended with great spiritual power. He lived in a cabin near where the I.C. & L. (Indianapolis, Chicago & Louisville Railroad) depot now stands. A gloom was cast over the community at the raising (demolition) of his house, by the falling of a heavy log, by which a man (named John Grisham) was killed. This was the first serious accident occurring in the town (of Brandywine).”
As for me, I read a passage about Harsin’s final resting place, Brandywine Cemetery (originally attached to the Brandywine Church) that appealed to me and should appeal to the wandering waymarker in search of the old boneyard. I found it in a book with the imposing title of Methodism in Shelbyville — A history of the origin and growth of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Shelbyville, Indiana from 1823 to 1878.
Describing the church’s early days after being formed in the home of Garret Harsin, the book relates: “At Brandywine…a church was built in 1849. The church had at first a hard struggle for life at Brandywine. Two sets of rough squatters had camped, one above the present town, and the other west. Between the two was a path which crossed Harsin’s farm. These squatters were an idle, worthless, drinking set of people. They were opposed to everything good, and gave out word that there should never be Methodist preaching in that community. On several occasions a company would come near where Harsin and others were at work, and hold mock prayer-meetings and preachings, mingling song and profanity in a most blasphemous manner. They gave notice that the path between their two parties should not be fenced up at the peril of the settlers. When a fence was built they threw it down and destroyed it. This they did two or three times, until the settlers in their indignation made the squatters realize that they were doing these things at their peril. So much feeling was excited in the settlement, by the licentious and lawless life of these squatters, that they were compelled to move on to other parts. In the course of three years all of them left, and the church was able to go on its way without further persecutions.” In other words, regardless of whose bones rest below the Andrew Harrison/Garret Harsin tombstone, as it applies to a gang of rowdy, profane, gypsy squatters, if you read between the Christianized lines, its easy to imagine the old soldier looking them straight in the eye and saying, “If you don’t get off of my land, I’m gonna blow your heads off.” Antebellum Indiana Frontier justice could not be made more plain. And this is just ONE of the discoveries sparked by the sport known as “Waymarking.”
Al Hunter is the author of the “Haunted Indianapolis” and co-author of the “Haunted Irvington” and “Indiana National Road” book series. His newest books are “Bumps in the Night. Stories from the Weekly View,” “Irvington Haunts. The Tour Guide,” and “The Mystery of the H.H. Holmes Collection.” Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.