I wrote an AI-assisted ABC biography for my fifth great-grandparents Zachariah Hildreth and Elizabeth Prescott in ABC Biography of the Zachariah Hildreth (1728-1784) and Elizabeth Prescott (1734-1812) Family of Massachusetts based on my genealogical research over 38 years.
I wondered what Elizabeth (Prescott) Hildreth might have said in a life memoir told to her grandchildren in 1810.
(AI Google NotebookLM Infographic for Elizabeth Hildreth's memoir)
1) I requested Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 to create a memoir told by Elizabeth Hildreth about her life in 1810. The prompt was: "Please write a life memoir for Elizabeth Hildreth based on the attached biography, as she might tell to his grandchildren in 1810."
2) The AI Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4.5 memoir (edited for accuracy and completeness) is:
Grandmother’s Stories
The Life of Elizabeth (Prescott) Hildreth
As told to her grandchildren in the year 1810
Come sit by me, children, and I’ll tell you how it was when I was young. I’m an old woman now—seventy-five years I’ve walked this earth—and my bones ache on cold mornings. But my memory is still sharp, and there’s much you ought to know about where you came from and the times we’ve lived through.My Childhood in Westford
I was born Elizabeth Prescott on the fifteenth of September, 1734, right here in Westford. My father was Jonas Prescott, a good man who served as town clerk for many years. You could always find him with pen and paper, recording births and deaths and marriages in his careful hand. In fact, he recorded my own birth himself.
My mother was Elizabeth Harwood, and oh, how I wish I could remember her better! But she died when I was only five years old. I have just the faintest memories—the sound of her voice singing, the feel of her hand on my head. She had other babies after me, two little brothers, but they died as infants. That was common then, children. We lost so many babies in those days.
After Mother died, Father married Rebecca Jones. She was kind to me, as kind as could be expected. She gave Father two more children, and I helped raise them. That’s what girls did—we learned to cook and spin and weave and keep house by helping with the younger ones.
Growing up, I spent my days learning what every woman needed to know. I learned to card wool and spin it into thread. I learned to work the loom, though I never loved it as some did—it was hard, tedious work. I learned to make soap and candles, to preserve food for winter, to tend a kitchen garden, to cook over an open hearth. My hands were never idle. A woman’s work started before sunrise and didn’t end until well after dark.
Meeting Zachariah
I was eighteen years old when I married Zachariah Hildreth. He was twenty-four, a hardworking man with a good reputation. My husband’s mother Dorothy was also a Prescott before she was married, so we were distant cousins, though that was common enough.
I remember the first time I really noticed him. It was at a town gathering, and he was hauling wood for Mr. Craft, the minister. He had a steady way about him, quiet but reliable. He wasn’t one for fancy words or grand gestures, but when he said he’d do something, it got done. That matters more than poetry, I can tell you.
We were married on the twelfth of April, 1753. It was a simple ceremony, as was proper. We joined the church together that December, standing before the congregation to declare our faith. That was important to us—to start our life together right with God and our neighbors.
Building Our Family
Our first baby came nine months after we wed—a healthy boy we named Zachariah after his father. Oh, how my heart swelled when they put him in my arms! I was nineteen years old and terrified I’d do something wrong, but babies are sturdier than you think.
Then came Elizabeth, then Hannah, and then—Lord have mercy—twins! Timothy and Esther, born on the same day in April of 1760. I thought I’d never manage with two babies at once, but you do what you must. Your aunts and cousins helped when they could, and the older children learned to help with the younger ones.
The babies kept coming. James, Lucy, Jonas, Ruth, Edy, Jesse, and finally little Mehitable in 1775. Twelve children I bore, and by God’s grace, every one of them lived past infancy. Do you understand what a blessing that was? So many women I knew buried half their babies. I’d wake in the night sometimes and go check on them all, just to be sure they were still breathing.
Your grandfather worked so hard to provide for us all. He worked on the roads for the town, delivered wood, did whatever honest labor was needed. In the winter of 1773, he served as town constable—quite an honor that was. He was respected, your grandfather. People knew they could count on Zachariah Hildreth.
Our Daily Life
You want to know what it was like, day to day? Well, children, we worked from dawn to dusk and sometimes beyond. There was no end to the labor.
In spring and summer, we planted and tended the gardens. We had corn, beans, squash, onions, turnips, cabbages. We kept chickens for eggs and meat. We had cows for milk and butter. We had pigs—oh, how I hated butchering time, but we needed the meat for winter. We had sheep for wool, and that meant shearing and washing and carding and spinning, endless spinning.
In fall, we harvested everything and preserved what we could. We dried apples and beans. We stored root vegetables in the cellar. We salted meat. We made sausages. Your grandfather would go hunting for venison and turkey to help stretch our supplies.
Winter was hard. The cold crept through every crack in the house. We’d all sleep near the fire, piled together for warmth. We’d wake to ice in the water bucket. But winter was also when we had time for other work—mending and sewing and spinning by the fire. And we’d tell stories and sing songs. Those were good times, all of us together.
Every day there was cooking to do. Three meals for a family of fourteen! And washing—Lord, the washing. With so many children, there was always something that needed scrubbing. We’d heat water in the big pot, make our own soap, scrub everything on the washing board, and hang it to dry. My hands were red and raw most of the year.
The War Years
Now I need to tell you about the war, because you ought to know what we went through.
I remember when the trouble with the British started getting bad. We’d heard about the Stamp Act and the taxes, and folks were getting angrier and angrier. Then came that terrible day in April of 1775—the nineteenth, I’ll never forget it. The British soldiers marched right from Boston heading to Concord. We could hear the alarm bells ringing. Men grabbed their muskets and ran. Some of our neighbors went and never came back. Son Zachariah marched on the alarm to Lexington and returned some days later.
Your grandfather was commissioned as a lieutenant in the militia in April of 1776. He was forty-seven years old then, with twelve children at home and me nursing our last baby. But when your country calls, you go. That’s what men did.
He served in Captain Wright’s company, part of Colonel Reed’s regiment. I remember the day they marched off to join General Gates up in New York—that was in the fall of 1777. We didn’t know if we’d ever see him again. I was left here with all the children and the farm work. Your aunt Hannah was nineteen and a great help, thank God, but it was hard. We had to get the harvest in without him with the help of our boys Timothy and John and our family and neighbors.
When word came that General Burgoyne had surrendered at Saratoga, we wept with relief. Not just because we’d won a great victory, but because it meant the militia would come home. And sure enough, your grandfather came walking down the road about a month later, thinner and tired but whole. I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful in all my life.
The war dragged on for years after that. We had to make do with less of everything. British goods were hard to come by, and that was fine by us—we didn’t want their tea anyway! We learned to make do with what we had. We spun our own thread and wove our own cloth. We made our own candles and soap. If we couldn’t buy it, we made it ourselves.
I’ll tell you something I’m proud of. When the call came for cloth for the soldiers’ uniforms, every woman in town set to spinning and weaving. My daughters and I worked ourselves near to exhaustion, but we did our part. If the men were fighting, the least we could do was keep them clothed.
When Your Grandfather Died
Your grandfather’s health began to fail in 1781. He’d always been so strong, but something was wearing him down. In May of that year, he called in Mr. Fletcher and some neighbors and made his will. I think he knew his time was coming.
He made sure I’d be provided for—gave me the use of half the house and barn, some good land to work, livestock, and enough to live on. That was like him, always thinking ahead, making sure his family would be all right.
He died on the eighteenth of April, 1784, just a few days before his fifty-sixth birthday. We buried him in the cemetery here in Westford, on a gray spring day with all the children gathered round. I was forty-nine years old and a widow with children still at home. Mehitable was only eight. Jesse was ten. Jonas was seventeen. I wondered how I’d manage.
But you do manage, children. You get up the next morning and the cows still need milking and the bread still needs baking and life goes on whether you’re ready or not. And I had my children to think of. They needed me to be strong, so I was strong.
These Later Years
I’ve been a widow now for twenty-six years. It’s been a good life, even without your grandfather. I’ve watched all my children grow and marry and have children of their own—that’s you! I’ve dandled dozens of grandchildren on my knee.
I lost two of my boys—James died young, just twenty-six years old, up in Townsend. And Jonas, my dear son, died two years ago. That was hard. No mother should have to bury her children. But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, and I’ve learned to accept His will.
Your Aunt Edy takes good care of me now. She hasn’t yet married, and sometimes I wonder if she stayed single to look after me in my old age. She’s a blessing, that girl. And the rest of you come to visit, and that keeps me young.
I’ve lived to see things I never imagined when I was a girl. I’ve seen us break free from Britain and become our own nation. I’ve seen President Washington come and go, and President Adams, and President Jefferson and now President Madison. I’ve seen Massachusetts ratify the Constitution. I’ve seen us grow from colonies into states, from subjects into citizens.
The young people today, they don’t remember what it was like before. They don’t remember being told what to do by a king across the ocean. They don’t remember when we didn’t have the freedoms we have now. They take it for granted. But I remember, children. I remember every bit of it.
What I Want You to Remember
I’m an old woman now, and I won’t be here much longer. So listen well, because there are things I want you to know.
First, remember where you came from. You come from people who worked hard and lived honestly. Your grandfather was a good man who served his community and his country. Your grandmothers and aunts and mothers worked themselves to the bone to keep their families fed and clothed. This wasn’t easy land to live in, but we made it home.
Second, value your family. Family is everything. When times get hard—and they will get hard—it’s your family that will be there. Not your neighbors, though they may be kind. Not the government, though it may help. Your family. Take care of each other.
Third, don’t complain about hard work. Life is hard work. There’s no getting around it. But hard work has a dignity to it. When you work with your hands and make something or grow something or fix something, you can be proud of that. Don’t be afraid of getting your hands dirty.
Fourth, keep your faith. I’ve lived seventy-five years, and I can tell you that faith in God is what gets you through the dark times. When I lost my mother, when I worried about your grandfather in the war, when I buried my sons, when the winters were cold and the harvest was poor—faith kept me going. Don’t neglect it.
Fifth, remember that you’re Americans now. We fought for that. Men died for that. We’re not British subjects anymore—we’re free citizens of these United States. That means something. It means you have rights and responsibilities. Don’t take it lightly.
And lastly, children, remember me kindly. I wasn’t perfect. I lost my temper sometimes when you were underfoot. I worked you hard when there was work to be done. But I loved you all, every single one of you. You were the joy of my life, watching you grow.
The End of My Story
I’ve had a long life, longer than many get. I’ve seen joy and sorrow, peace and war, birth and death. I’ve worked hard every day of my life, and I don’t regret it. This was a good life, in a good place, with good people.
When I’m gone, I’ll be buried next to your grandfather in the cemetery. We’ll rest together there, under the Massachusetts sky we loved. And you’ll go on, and your children will go on, and maybe someday your grandchildren will tell their grandchildren about old Elizabeth Hildreth who lived through the Revolution.
That would please me, I think. To be remembered. To know that something of me continues in all of you.
Now run along, children. It’s getting late, and old people tire easily. Go on, now. And remember what I’ve told you.
Elizabeth Prescott Hildreth lived two more years after telling these stories,
passing away on May 1, 1812, at the age of 77.
================================
3) The Video Overview of Elizabeth Hildreth's memoir, created by the Google NotebookLM AI tool, is:
5) I edited the Claude memoir text to correct minor inconsistencies and errors. Every large language model (LLM) AI tool writes descriptive text much better than I can write. The AI tools are very perceptive, insightful and create readable text in seconds, including local and national historical events and social history detail when requested.
6) This is historical fiction, based on my own genealogical research. It is what Elizabeth Hildreth might have told her grandchildren in 1810.
Please comment on this post on the website by clicking the URL above and then the "Comments" link at the bottom of each post. Share it on Twitter, Facebook, or Pinterest using the icons below. Or contact me by email at randy.seaver@gmail.com. Please note that all comments are moderated, and may not appear immediately.
Subscribe to receive a free daily email from Genea-Musings using www.Blogtrottr.com.
