The title says it all, really. I'm sorry for not updating for over a week--I'm in the midst of applying to grad schools, and I had a re-enactment in upstate New York I was prepping for (and let's not forget the nine hour drive one-way). I'm also probably coming down with a cold, so I may not be updating for the next few days. I think I'll write up a couple summaries next time and save them for when I'm swamped.
In other news, the rough draft for chapter 1 is done, and we are on to chapter 2. Also, I'll probably be revising my intro sooner than I expected so I can send it in to grad schools as my writing sample, so watch that page count climb!
Monday, November 5, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Amanda Stokes
Pension File: 485143, 243304
P.O.: Lebanon, Ohio
Service: regularly commissioned nurse, serving primarily in Tennessee
Applied: 1883
Status: Accepted (special act)
I was plowing through files today to flesh my first chapter and pulled Stokes's file. It's a thin file--since hers was a special act the pension file itself is depressingly sparse, and the legislative file is one letter asking for her papers to be returned, so, of course, nothing there. But when I googled her name to see if she had a file somewhere elsewhere or maybe a published memoir, I got several hits for a DUV post named for her out in her native Ohio. All of the sites have extensive biographies on Stokes, but there was no mention of her pension file, so here is my small contribution based on what I gleaned from her files.
Amanda Stokes was working as a school teacher in Ohio when the Civil War broke out. She volunteered her services almost immediately through her local Representative, Thomas Corwin, and was commissioned in the fall of 1861. The file doesn't list specifically where she served, but does state she spent most of her service in Tennessee. As a commissioned nurse, Stokes was technically supposed to be paid, but, as her senate report put it, "because of the ignorance or carelessness of the surgeons in making the necessary reports of their employes [sic]" she often went without (did you expect anything less?). When she was paid, she used that money to purchase delicacies for the wounded she tended. All very typical.
None of the women who applied for special acts before the push for the ANPA began in 1886 escaped the war without some sort of physical scar. Stokes wasn't captured or injured by shot or shrapnel like some of her fellow petitioners, but she definitely did not come out better for it. In March, 1865--one month before the war ended! She was this close to getting out unharmed!--Stokes and another hospital nurse loaded themselves and a patient into an ambulance wagon and set off from Knoxville to Lookout Mountain. To get there, they had to cross a river, and on this particular day the waters had risen, almost completely immersing the bridge. The ambulance driver apparently thought he could make it and urged the team onward...and off they went over the edge. Down went the wagon into the mud, with the occupants fighting to get free. Luckily everyone managed to get to shore--several soldiers on the nearby shore pushed a log into the water so that Stokes could grab onto it and float to safety--but apparently Stokes's near-death experience left her deaf in one ear, and in her petition she complained of rheumatism and neuralgia in her head and neck, which she claimed were the result of the accident.
Which brings us to her special act. Again, very little. We know her application was accepted on May 31, 1883, and she was granted $15 a month. At the time she was 60 years old, 5'2", with auburn hair and black eyes. She died only two years later.
Like I said, there are some very detailed biographies out there on this woman--one of them even as a picture of her--so if you want more details, I highly suggest you look them up. Otherwise, I am off to tackle chapter one (rough draft due tomorrow!). Probably no update tomorrow night--it's homecoming here and my room is right next to party central, so I doubt I'll be able to hear myself think, let alone do work. Until Monday!
P.O.: Lebanon, Ohio
Service: regularly commissioned nurse, serving primarily in Tennessee
Applied: 1883
Status: Accepted (special act)
I was plowing through files today to flesh my first chapter and pulled Stokes's file. It's a thin file--since hers was a special act the pension file itself is depressingly sparse, and the legislative file is one letter asking for her papers to be returned, so, of course, nothing there. But when I googled her name to see if she had a file somewhere elsewhere or maybe a published memoir, I got several hits for a DUV post named for her out in her native Ohio. All of the sites have extensive biographies on Stokes, but there was no mention of her pension file, so here is my small contribution based on what I gleaned from her files.
Amanda Stokes was working as a school teacher in Ohio when the Civil War broke out. She volunteered her services almost immediately through her local Representative, Thomas Corwin, and was commissioned in the fall of 1861. The file doesn't list specifically where she served, but does state she spent most of her service in Tennessee. As a commissioned nurse, Stokes was technically supposed to be paid, but, as her senate report put it, "because of the ignorance or carelessness of the surgeons in making the necessary reports of their employes [sic]" she often went without (did you expect anything less?). When she was paid, she used that money to purchase delicacies for the wounded she tended. All very typical.
None of the women who applied for special acts before the push for the ANPA began in 1886 escaped the war without some sort of physical scar. Stokes wasn't captured or injured by shot or shrapnel like some of her fellow petitioners, but she definitely did not come out better for it. In March, 1865--one month before the war ended! She was this close to getting out unharmed!--Stokes and another hospital nurse loaded themselves and a patient into an ambulance wagon and set off from Knoxville to Lookout Mountain. To get there, they had to cross a river, and on this particular day the waters had risen, almost completely immersing the bridge. The ambulance driver apparently thought he could make it and urged the team onward...and off they went over the edge. Down went the wagon into the mud, with the occupants fighting to get free. Luckily everyone managed to get to shore--several soldiers on the nearby shore pushed a log into the water so that Stokes could grab onto it and float to safety--but apparently Stokes's near-death experience left her deaf in one ear, and in her petition she complained of rheumatism and neuralgia in her head and neck, which she claimed were the result of the accident.
Which brings us to her special act. Again, very little. We know her application was accepted on May 31, 1883, and she was granted $15 a month. At the time she was 60 years old, 5'2", with auburn hair and black eyes. She died only two years later.
Like I said, there are some very detailed biographies out there on this woman--one of them even as a picture of her--so if you want more details, I highly suggest you look them up. Otherwise, I am off to tackle chapter one (rough draft due tomorrow!). Probably no update tomorrow night--it's homecoming here and my room is right next to party central, so I doubt I'll be able to hear myself think, let alone do work. Until Monday!
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Julia Freeman
Pension File: 818007, 505512
P.O.: Marshall, Michigan
Service: agent for the Michigan Soldiers Aid Society
Applied: 1889
Status: Accepted (special act)
We've hit my first bit of writer's block. Oh, goodie. So the rough draft is on the back burner until tomorrow morning, and then it's a full day session in Swem.
Anyway, here's your daily dose of new pension files:
Julia Freeman, nee Wheelock, agent for the Michigan Soldiers Aid Society. She served at Fredericksburg, White House Landing, City Point, Strasburg, and Falmouth, Virginia over the course of three years. During her last posting at City Point she contracted typhoid fever and spent the next several months bed-bound and under the care of Dr. Bliss, the surgeon in charge of Armory Square Hospital. When Freeman applied for her pension in 1889 (she was married by now), she claimed to still be suffering from the effects of the disease. In 1890, Congress granted her a $12 pension--it was discontinued in 1903 after Freeman failed to collect her check for over three years.
Freeman is another one of those nurses I would dearly love to dig into more. For one, she published a memoir in 1870, called "Boys in White," drawing on the diary she kept throughout the war. If the letters in the pension file are any indication, it'll be a fascinating read. For instance, when Freeman wrote Mr. Chipman (the Congressman in charge of her claim) in 1890, she commented that "it seems to me that the general nurses bill is not exactly just to all--whether they served three months or three years, besides nurses who were appointed by Miss Dix or by the Sur. Gen'l received pay while I worked for nothing, sacrificed health, and, almost, life. On the "thesis" level, it demonstrates that Freeman was aware of what was going on with the ANPA, even though I can't find any connection between her and the WRC or the ANA. On a deeper level, though, it speaks to a rift I and other scholars have noticed between paid and volunteer nurses. I've never seen it articulated quite this bluntly before, though. Definitely need to get my hands on "Boys in White" and get a handle on this woman.
P.O.: Marshall, Michigan
Service: agent for the Michigan Soldiers Aid Society
Applied: 1889
Status: Accepted (special act)
We've hit my first bit of writer's block. Oh, goodie. So the rough draft is on the back burner until tomorrow morning, and then it's a full day session in Swem.
Anyway, here's your daily dose of new pension files:
Julia Freeman, nee Wheelock, agent for the Michigan Soldiers Aid Society. She served at Fredericksburg, White House Landing, City Point, Strasburg, and Falmouth, Virginia over the course of three years. During her last posting at City Point she contracted typhoid fever and spent the next several months bed-bound and under the care of Dr. Bliss, the surgeon in charge of Armory Square Hospital. When Freeman applied for her pension in 1889 (she was married by now), she claimed to still be suffering from the effects of the disease. In 1890, Congress granted her a $12 pension--it was discontinued in 1903 after Freeman failed to collect her check for over three years.
Freeman is another one of those nurses I would dearly love to dig into more. For one, she published a memoir in 1870, called "Boys in White," drawing on the diary she kept throughout the war. If the letters in the pension file are any indication, it'll be a fascinating read. For instance, when Freeman wrote Mr. Chipman (the Congressman in charge of her claim) in 1890, she commented that "it seems to me that the general nurses bill is not exactly just to all--whether they served three months or three years, besides nurses who were appointed by Miss Dix or by the Sur. Gen'l received pay while I worked for nothing, sacrificed health, and, almost, life. On the "thesis" level, it demonstrates that Freeman was aware of what was going on with the ANPA, even though I can't find any connection between her and the WRC or the ANA. On a deeper level, though, it speaks to a rift I and other scholars have noticed between paid and volunteer nurses. I've never seen it articulated quite this bluntly before, though. Definitely need to get my hands on "Boys in White" and get a handle on this woman.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Maria M.C. Richards
Pension File: 990033, 547263
P.O.: Unionville, Connecticut
Service: volunteer nurse as several hospitals (see below)
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted (special act)
Midterms are done (finally) so now I can get back to my thesis. Richards was one of the nurses I had a pension file for, but, as you can see, her pension came from a special act, so...need a legislative file. Half the time the legislative files aren't there--I have a suspicion as to where they are, but I'll save that for December--but Richards' file was there. Success!
Richards wrote to Representative Byron Cutchon, a Republican from Michigan and a former Union soldier whom she'd met in the service, asking for his help in securing a pension. She had three children to educate, she wrote, and her health was deteriorating. The "nervous strain of sympathy with the suffering, and the unaccustomed privations in mode of living," along with several months of fever after the end of her service in 1865 had permanently damaged her health. Cutchon wrote back, agreeing to help, but the bill had to come from her district representative, so off to another congressman she went, this time Mr. W.E. Simonds. Between the two of them, Cutchon and Simonds got the bill in front of Congress and it passed in February, 1891. Richards didn't get the $25 she wanted, but she drew $12 a month until her death in 1912.
There's a detailed description of Richards' service in her affidavit--this woman was all over the place. She took two Connecticut soldiers into her home even before the First Bull Run, then, since she lived in D.C. at the time (she was unmarried and living with her parents), worked at the Patent Office Hospital from its opening in August, 1861, until it temporarily closed in June, 1862, at which point she attached herself to the Army of the Potomac, working at Fortress Monroe, on hospital transports (apparently the boat was actually fired on once!) and field hospitals during the Peninsula Campaign and Antietam. After Antietam she remained at Smoketown Hospital until May, 1863, when she transferred to Annapolis and remained there for the remainder of the war. With that kind of service, I was really hoping to find some primary sources on her, so I went to check google books. And guess what I found? A list of army nurses created by the Woman's Relief Corps in 1888 Convention Report that I didn't know about...I am miffed. More information on Richards is going to have to wait until I go through the Convention Report, but there were some interesting things in Richards' file that will make their way into my rough draft, her description of her physical condition for one, and her brief mention of payment for another (she only received pay for two months, and that was because a "tyrannical" surgeon threatened to remove her if she did not sign the pay rolls). Her acquaintance with a member of the House of Representatives is also interesting. And then, of course, there's her connection to the WRC...
As a member of the WRC, Richards probably knew that the Army Nurses Pension Act was supposed to go before Congress some time in 1892. Even if she didn't, Cutchon mentioned the Act in his reply to her first letter. So why did she go ahead with it? Was it because she wanted the $25 instead of $12? Did she know something about the progress of the bill that I don't? Always there are more questions...
P.O.: Unionville, Connecticut
Service: volunteer nurse as several hospitals (see below)
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted (special act)
Midterms are done (finally) so now I can get back to my thesis. Richards was one of the nurses I had a pension file for, but, as you can see, her pension came from a special act, so...need a legislative file. Half the time the legislative files aren't there--I have a suspicion as to where they are, but I'll save that for December--but Richards' file was there. Success!
Richards wrote to Representative Byron Cutchon, a Republican from Michigan and a former Union soldier whom she'd met in the service, asking for his help in securing a pension. She had three children to educate, she wrote, and her health was deteriorating. The "nervous strain of sympathy with the suffering, and the unaccustomed privations in mode of living," along with several months of fever after the end of her service in 1865 had permanently damaged her health. Cutchon wrote back, agreeing to help, but the bill had to come from her district representative, so off to another congressman she went, this time Mr. W.E. Simonds. Between the two of them, Cutchon and Simonds got the bill in front of Congress and it passed in February, 1891. Richards didn't get the $25 she wanted, but she drew $12 a month until her death in 1912.
There's a detailed description of Richards' service in her affidavit--this woman was all over the place. She took two Connecticut soldiers into her home even before the First Bull Run, then, since she lived in D.C. at the time (she was unmarried and living with her parents), worked at the Patent Office Hospital from its opening in August, 1861, until it temporarily closed in June, 1862, at which point she attached herself to the Army of the Potomac, working at Fortress Monroe, on hospital transports (apparently the boat was actually fired on once!) and field hospitals during the Peninsula Campaign and Antietam. After Antietam she remained at Smoketown Hospital until May, 1863, when she transferred to Annapolis and remained there for the remainder of the war. With that kind of service, I was really hoping to find some primary sources on her, so I went to check google books. And guess what I found? A list of army nurses created by the Woman's Relief Corps in 1888 Convention Report that I didn't know about...I am miffed. More information on Richards is going to have to wait until I go through the Convention Report, but there were some interesting things in Richards' file that will make their way into my rough draft, her description of her physical condition for one, and her brief mention of payment for another (she only received pay for two months, and that was because a "tyrannical" surgeon threatened to remove her if she did not sign the pay rolls). Her acquaintance with a member of the House of Representatives is also interesting. And then, of course, there's her connection to the WRC...
As a member of the WRC, Richards probably knew that the Army Nurses Pension Act was supposed to go before Congress some time in 1892. Even if she didn't, Cutchon mentioned the Act in his reply to her first letter. So why did she go ahead with it? Was it because she wanted the $25 instead of $12? Did she know something about the progress of the bill that I don't? Always there are more questions...
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
The Results of Break
Finally back from break! Well, I don't know if you could really call it a break. I spent two days in D.C. back at my favorite place in the world, the National Archives, and pulled 25 new pension files and 25 legislative files. Most of the legislative files were for nurses I already had pension files for, and a few were vice versa, which is why the new grand total is 378 rather than 400. I'd still say that's pretty good for two days work though.I also realized something I'd missed before. One of the forms in practically every claim filed after the Army Nurses Pension Act announces the final decision of the Bureau; it list the claimant's name, address, attorney, and whether or not the claim was submitted for rejection or approval--and if rejected, it outlines why. At the very end of the form is a section called "Service Shown By Record." Normally the first line is what the claimant states her service was, and the second line is what the official records reveals. Just above or below that is the vague little phrase, "claimant writes," or, sometimes more clearly, "claimant signs by mark." Originally, I thought all it meant was that this was what the claimant said as opposed to the official records. When I opened my first file over break, however, a bigger meaning dawned on me (and then proceeded to scold me for being so slow). Bureau officials were taking note of whether or not a claimant was literate or not. Many of the studies I've read about pensions for widows and blacks note that success was tied to literacy. From the numbers I've pulled from my database it doesn't appear that literacy was a deciding factor in nurses' applications, but I plan on going back through the files and doing a more thorough analysis. When I have, I'll post some hard numbers. Right now, however, my priority is the rough draft of my first draft and surviving midterms. I'll post a file for one of the nurses I pulled over break tomorrow, I promise!
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Elizabeth Tuttle
Pension File: 762083, 480886
P.O.: Colebrook, Ohio
Service: nurse in Dix's nursing corps
Applied: 1888
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
I am ready for a vacation. Lucky me, Fall break starts this Friday (W&M is strange like that, we don't get the usual Monday holidays off, we get a Monday and Tuesday "break"), so I am heading up to Gettysburg tomorrow night to enjoy my couple of days off...and do work. Lots of work. There are a number of nurses who I have legislative files for, but no pension files, and a couple who I have pension files for but no legislative files, so I'm heading in to D.C. on Friday to fix that. It may carry over into Monday if I have too many files to pull, but I'm hoping not. And when I'm not in D.C., I'll be catching up on school work and writing chapter one of this behemoth. But at least Gettysburg is the perfect place to work on this, and I get home cooking...
Gotta earn it first. Alright, Elizabeth Tuttle: busy, busy woman. Nothing in the census records yet, but there are some papers at the Lilly Library at Indiana University which I'm having photocopied and sent to me. Tuttle started her nursing career at Locust Spring Hospital in Keedysville, Maryland, just after the Battle of Antietam as one of Dix's nursing corps. Apparently she cared for men from both sides, because her file contains a letter from General Cox acknowledging the receipt of her note. Her note had accompanied the letter of a Georgian prisoner, and she wanted the General to ensure it reached its destination--this he promised to do. Tuttle was transferred to Harper's Ferry in December, where she supervised the cooking department, and then to Camp Letterman after Gettysburg. She stayed there until Letterman was closed down in November, and then headed west per Dix's instructions to work for Mr. Yeatman (he headed the Western Sanitary Commission). She worked as matron of the linen rooms in General Hospital No. 2 in Chattanooga, then transferred to No. 1 on January 10th, 1865. Tuttle was finally relieved of duty on September 18th, 1865 and went home to Philadelphia, at which point we lose her story until 1888 when she applied to Congress for a special act.
Apparently Mary Bickerdyke was the lead on Tuttle's case. She filed the paperwork, and Tuttle wrote to her asking about her bill's progress, and once making corrections when the bill called her Miss Tucker instead of Miss Tuttle. Apparently Tuttle was living alone with her mother--who was 95 years old--and Tuttle's health was rapidly failing. "Nothing but need," she wrote, "would induce me to--well hope I may be excused for my impertunity [sic]." That was in mid 1888. Congress gave Tuttle a $12 pension, but it took them 2 years to get around to it.
Tuttle file is a wonderful example of networking between army nurses. Tuttle has Bickerdyke for her attorney--and at the same time Bickerdyke is also working on the claim of Harriet Dada Emens, another nurse. Despite the fact that Bickerdyke did work as a pension and claims agent, I've never seen Bickerdyke get involved in a pension before--I'm hoping the letters from Indiana U will give me some information on how she got wrapped up in all this. Bottom line, however: Tuttle and Emens are getting in touch with a fellow former nurse rather than a lawyer--something that doesn't happen so much post-1892. This is definitely going in chapter one.
I think I've earned at least one home cooked meal, no?
P.O.: Colebrook, Ohio
Service: nurse in Dix's nursing corps
Applied: 1888
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
I am ready for a vacation. Lucky me, Fall break starts this Friday (W&M is strange like that, we don't get the usual Monday holidays off, we get a Monday and Tuesday "break"), so I am heading up to Gettysburg tomorrow night to enjoy my couple of days off...and do work. Lots of work. There are a number of nurses who I have legislative files for, but no pension files, and a couple who I have pension files for but no legislative files, so I'm heading in to D.C. on Friday to fix that. It may carry over into Monday if I have too many files to pull, but I'm hoping not. And when I'm not in D.C., I'll be catching up on school work and writing chapter one of this behemoth. But at least Gettysburg is the perfect place to work on this, and I get home cooking...
Gotta earn it first. Alright, Elizabeth Tuttle: busy, busy woman. Nothing in the census records yet, but there are some papers at the Lilly Library at Indiana University which I'm having photocopied and sent to me. Tuttle started her nursing career at Locust Spring Hospital in Keedysville, Maryland, just after the Battle of Antietam as one of Dix's nursing corps. Apparently she cared for men from both sides, because her file contains a letter from General Cox acknowledging the receipt of her note. Her note had accompanied the letter of a Georgian prisoner, and she wanted the General to ensure it reached its destination--this he promised to do. Tuttle was transferred to Harper's Ferry in December, where she supervised the cooking department, and then to Camp Letterman after Gettysburg. She stayed there until Letterman was closed down in November, and then headed west per Dix's instructions to work for Mr. Yeatman (he headed the Western Sanitary Commission). She worked as matron of the linen rooms in General Hospital No. 2 in Chattanooga, then transferred to No. 1 on January 10th, 1865. Tuttle was finally relieved of duty on September 18th, 1865 and went home to Philadelphia, at which point we lose her story until 1888 when she applied to Congress for a special act.
Apparently Mary Bickerdyke was the lead on Tuttle's case. She filed the paperwork, and Tuttle wrote to her asking about her bill's progress, and once making corrections when the bill called her Miss Tucker instead of Miss Tuttle. Apparently Tuttle was living alone with her mother--who was 95 years old--and Tuttle's health was rapidly failing. "Nothing but need," she wrote, "would induce me to--well hope I may be excused for my impertunity [sic]." That was in mid 1888. Congress gave Tuttle a $12 pension, but it took them 2 years to get around to it.
Tuttle file is a wonderful example of networking between army nurses. Tuttle has Bickerdyke for her attorney--and at the same time Bickerdyke is also working on the claim of Harriet Dada Emens, another nurse. Despite the fact that Bickerdyke did work as a pension and claims agent, I've never seen Bickerdyke get involved in a pension before--I'm hoping the letters from Indiana U will give me some information on how she got wrapped up in all this. Bottom line, however: Tuttle and Emens are getting in touch with a fellow former nurse rather than a lawyer--something that doesn't happen so much post-1892. This is definitely going in chapter one.
I think I've earned at least one home cooked meal, no?
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Nancy Carey
Pension File: 438800, 505152
P.O.: Charlotte, Michigan
Service: Regimental nurse in Co. G, 105th New York from March, 1862, to March, 1865
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted (special act)
I like Ancestry and Google far too much.
The fruits of tonight's rabbit hole: one pension file, supplemented with two census records and a very, very unique auto-biographical letter published posthumously by the Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society.
Nancy Carey was born Nancy Cornell on August 13, 1812 in Lewiston, New York, where her father was stationed at the fort. On July 17th, 1832, she married C.L. Carey, a missionary amongst the Indians, and began almost thirty years of cross-country adventures. The way Carey tells it in her letter, her husband was always selling her possessions, especially her horse teams, and moving his family all over the west. Carey also had to deal with her growing brood of children: seven all told. Whenever someone was deathly ill, however, they returned to their original home in New York. Mr. Carey died there in 1850, just a few months after the death of their infant son, David.
The family settled in Tuscarora where her boys finished their schooling. When the war broke out, 18 boys from the school decided to enlist, including two of Carey's boys, Joseph (22) and Calvin (19). She doesn't say the reason for her decision, but Carey decided to go with her boys and serve as a nurse for the regiment, meeting them at Alexandria, Virginia in the spring of '62 just a few months after they were mustered in. She had been there three weeks when she suffered a heat stroke working at the hospital in Warrington, Virginia, and was bedridden for two weeks. After she recovered, she tried to join her regiment which had moved on to Culpepper, but apparently took a wrong turn.
This is where it gets interesting (and here I'm cursing myself for not having the legislative file because then I could see if she uses this story in her application, and see if she has any proof to back it up!). The following is quoted in full from a letter Carey wrote to her children before she died, and published by the Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society:
Back to her pension file: Carey applied for a pension in 1882, citing her sunstroke and claiming she was 1/2 disabled (remember, the Bureau was using a graded system where depending on how badly you were disabled you received a certain amount). The surgeon's certificate she filed with the claim gives us a rough idea of what she looked like: about five feet tall, 126 lbs, brown eyes, brown hair, dark complexion. It also states that she worked as a nurse after the war--something I haven't been able to confirm using the census records. In fact, the 1880 has her listed as having no occupation, while her widowed daughter kept house. Anyway, the application was rejected since Carey had no legal title to a pension at the time. So Carey started work on a special act. The act passed in 1890, and Carey received a $12 pension which she drew until her death on August 16, 1909. Her daughter Etta applied for reimbursement for funeral costs and medical expenses, which was granted, and the file closes.
Which means I need to get my hands on that legislative file!
By the way, the article also mentions that the umbrella Lincoln gave to Carey, as well as a lantern she used in the army, were given to the Historical Society and placed on display. I shall have to see if they're still there.
P.O.: Charlotte, Michigan
Service: Regimental nurse in Co. G, 105th New York from March, 1862, to March, 1865
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted (special act)
I like Ancestry and Google far too much.
The fruits of tonight's rabbit hole: one pension file, supplemented with two census records and a very, very unique auto-biographical letter published posthumously by the Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society.
Nancy Carey was born Nancy Cornell on August 13, 1812 in Lewiston, New York, where her father was stationed at the fort. On July 17th, 1832, she married C.L. Carey, a missionary amongst the Indians, and began almost thirty years of cross-country adventures. The way Carey tells it in her letter, her husband was always selling her possessions, especially her horse teams, and moving his family all over the west. Carey also had to deal with her growing brood of children: seven all told. Whenever someone was deathly ill, however, they returned to their original home in New York. Mr. Carey died there in 1850, just a few months after the death of their infant son, David.
The family settled in Tuscarora where her boys finished their schooling. When the war broke out, 18 boys from the school decided to enlist, including two of Carey's boys, Joseph (22) and Calvin (19). She doesn't say the reason for her decision, but Carey decided to go with her boys and serve as a nurse for the regiment, meeting them at Alexandria, Virginia in the spring of '62 just a few months after they were mustered in. She had been there three weeks when she suffered a heat stroke working at the hospital in Warrington, Virginia, and was bedridden for two weeks. After she recovered, she tried to join her regiment which had moved on to Culpepper, but apparently took a wrong turn.
This is where it gets interesting (and here I'm cursing myself for not having the legislative file because then I could see if she uses this story in her application, and see if she has any proof to back it up!). The following is quoted in full from a letter Carey wrote to her children before she died, and published by the Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society:
"They gave me a horse from the corral and I started for Culpepper. Instead of taking the right hand road, I took the left and rode into Lee's Guerillas. They said I was a northern woman and I said "Yes, and you are a southern man." One man reached for my bridle and I wheeled my horse and when I turned and rode away they shot my horse in the flank near Waterloo Bridge. I jumped from my horse and was captured. They took me to Lee and Longstreet at Waterloo Bridge. When they got me there, they bound my hands behind my back. I remained with my hands bound four days and I was fed by a colored lady, Jenny Mack. Then I sent for Stonewall Jackson, whom I had known at my old home. He came and soon as he came he knew me. He asked where my boys were. They were at Culpepper. He ordered my hands untied. When united, my shoulders and arms were very lame, so he ordered Jenny to bathe me with brandy, while they were getting dinner. He wrote a letter to Abe Lincoln and I carried it to him. After dinner we started on horseback, he holding me on my horse, to Strausburg station, there I was to take the cars for Washington. I got to Washington and stopped at Aurallia Hotel. I sent for Abe Lincoln and he came. I gave him the letter Jackson wrote. He treated me very kindly, and while there, he paid my expenses at the hotel. While there Mr. Lincoln gave me an umbrella, with a compass in the handle, which I prize very highly. From there I joined my regiment at Culpepper. I remained with them until after the battle of Antietam. There is where I met William McKinley..."The Society also added this to the end of Carey's article:
"Mrs. Carey's father was a Knight Templar, her husband a Mason and she belonged to the order of the Eastern Star. She knew both Gens. Lee and Longstreet were Masons and was sure they would protect her. On making her sign to them they both responded and came to her relief, and assuring her captors that she was no spy but a nurse doing work ordered her release."I'm honestly not sure quite what to make of all this. It's a fabulous story, but I'm skeptical as to how much of it as actually true. Carey mentions the sunstroke in her pension application. In fact, she had a doctor, Charles A. Merritt, fill out a surgeon's certificate when she first applied in 1882 which claims that as a result of the sunstroke she lost sight in both eyes. Merritt wrote at the bottom of the application: "I find the above applicant an old lady not well preserved for one of her years. Nervous system weak and instable. Complains of vertigo and pain in head and spine." I have no idea what kind of long-term effects sunstroke has on the body, but I'm going to see my grandmother this weekend and she should know--she's a retired nurse. As for the rest of it, they mention she was released by General Jackson in the report put before Congress, so apparently the Pension Committee believed it, as did the rest of Congress, but my eyebrows are still up near the ceiling. I want hard evidence before I take anything this woman says for granted. Which is why I am zeroing in on her legislative file when I go back to D.C.
Back to her pension file: Carey applied for a pension in 1882, citing her sunstroke and claiming she was 1/2 disabled (remember, the Bureau was using a graded system where depending on how badly you were disabled you received a certain amount). The surgeon's certificate she filed with the claim gives us a rough idea of what she looked like: about five feet tall, 126 lbs, brown eyes, brown hair, dark complexion. It also states that she worked as a nurse after the war--something I haven't been able to confirm using the census records. In fact, the 1880 has her listed as having no occupation, while her widowed daughter kept house. Anyway, the application was rejected since Carey had no legal title to a pension at the time. So Carey started work on a special act. The act passed in 1890, and Carey received a $12 pension which she drew until her death on August 16, 1909. Her daughter Etta applied for reimbursement for funeral costs and medical expenses, which was granted, and the file closes.
Which means I need to get my hands on that legislative file!
By the way, the article also mentions that the umbrella Lincoln gave to Carey, as well as a lantern she used in the army, were given to the Historical Society and placed on display. I shall have to see if they're still there.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Mary A. Newcomb
Pension File: 808881, 504066
P.O.: Effingham, Illinois
Service: Regimental nurse for the 11th Illinois Infantry
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
Turned in the rough draft for my introduction on Friday. Nine pages done, and probably a couple more added on once I break out the red pen. There are a couple sections too that I haven't fleshed out to my satisfaction. But for now, I'm starting work on the first chapter, focusing in on special acts: who applied for them, who won and who lost, the tactics they used, etc.
In keeping with that, I'm going back over my special act ladies, like
the opinionated Mary A. Newcomb. Her file is sparse--the majority of it
pertains to her widow's pension, and I don't have her legislative
file. But she published a memoir of her army experience in 1893 (or,
rather, it was posthumously published, since she died that year). I've
only read the first two chapters but she's already proving herself to be
a character. My favorite anecdote comes just after orders come down
from on high that women cannot stay with the army unless they work for
Dix. Newcomb didn't much care for it. "It is possible that Miss Dix
was a very nice woman," she wrote in her memoir. "She had power
invested in her and she meant well, but she knew as little of the wants
of a hospital as Queen Victoria." I know it's supposed to be biting,
but I find the comparison of Dix and Victoria is fabulous.
Anyway, Newcomb's husband Hiram was an orderly sergeant in the 11th Illinois, and when they settled for the winter at Bird Point, Mary came down to be with him. She remained with the regiment off and on until the siege of Fort Donalson, when her husband was shot through the lung. Newcomb succeeded in getting him to her son's home before he died. After his death, Newcomb returned to the front and resumed her work. She also applied for a widow's pension. To prove her marriage she sent in two pages from the family register, one with the date of her marriage, and the other with the dates of the births of her seven children. The application went through apparently without a problem, and she continued drawing it until 1890 when she got a special act past Congress granting her $24 a month for her service as a nurse. There is absolute diddlysquat on that process, but I have a sneaking suspicion that those contacts from the army came in handy getting this passed--for starters, the colonel of the 11th Illinois became a brigadier general. There's probably a couple more high-ranking friends tucked away somewhere in her memoir. The only other thing I could glean from her file was that her daughter tried to get the arrears on her pension after Newcomb's death in '93, but was denied. The correspondence regarding this though is gone. All I have on this comes from a few scribbled notes on the back of her file jacket (the Bureau kept a running log of what had happened in each case on the outside of the jacket. Most of the time it's Bureau shorthand and I can barely translate it into English--and they say my handwriting is difficult to read!). Anyway, it's another reminder that government record keeping is not perfect, and that there may be papers missing. The usual frustrating reality of working with history--not everything makes it. Grr.
P.O.: Effingham, Illinois
Service: Regimental nurse for the 11th Illinois Infantry
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted (Special Act)
Turned in the rough draft for my introduction on Friday. Nine pages done, and probably a couple more added on once I break out the red pen. There are a couple sections too that I haven't fleshed out to my satisfaction. But for now, I'm starting work on the first chapter, focusing in on special acts: who applied for them, who won and who lost, the tactics they used, etc.
Anyway, Newcomb's husband Hiram was an orderly sergeant in the 11th Illinois, and when they settled for the winter at Bird Point, Mary came down to be with him. She remained with the regiment off and on until the siege of Fort Donalson, when her husband was shot through the lung. Newcomb succeeded in getting him to her son's home before he died. After his death, Newcomb returned to the front and resumed her work. She also applied for a widow's pension. To prove her marriage she sent in two pages from the family register, one with the date of her marriage, and the other with the dates of the births of her seven children. The application went through apparently without a problem, and she continued drawing it until 1890 when she got a special act past Congress granting her $24 a month for her service as a nurse. There is absolute diddlysquat on that process, but I have a sneaking suspicion that those contacts from the army came in handy getting this passed--for starters, the colonel of the 11th Illinois became a brigadier general. There's probably a couple more high-ranking friends tucked away somewhere in her memoir. The only other thing I could glean from her file was that her daughter tried to get the arrears on her pension after Newcomb's death in '93, but was denied. The correspondence regarding this though is gone. All I have on this comes from a few scribbled notes on the back of her file jacket (the Bureau kept a running log of what had happened in each case on the outside of the jacket. Most of the time it's Bureau shorthand and I can barely translate it into English--and they say my handwriting is difficult to read!). Anyway, it's another reminder that government record keeping is not perfect, and that there may be papers missing. The usual frustrating reality of working with history--not everything makes it. Grr.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Sarah Bloor
Pension File: 1140274, 867464
P.O: 408 Olive Street, Kansas City, Missouri
Service: Christian Commission Agent in Diet Kitchens at Gayoso Hospital
Applied: December 5, 1892
Status: Accepted
Sorry for the late post--midterm season just started here and I've been juggling that and writing my rough draft for the past few days. Here's another random file for your perusal.
Sarah Bloor, born 1817, widowed by 1883, at least one sister. She began her work midway through the war--one of the documents has her starting in 1863, but both she and the War Department records both claim she started in June, 1864. Bloor worked in the special diet kitchen at Gayoso Hospital, Tennessee--diet kitchens were Annie Wittenmyer's creation (love this woman) and were essentially what they advertised themselves as: special diet kitchens which produced food specifically for hospital patients. There are actually what appear to be menus of a sort in Bloor's file (shown right). Has anyone ever seen things like this before? It looks like the surgeon (or perhaps the nurse and surgeon) went through the ward, decided what each man needed for the day, and then sent the order off to the diet kitchens. Some of the things on there look absolutely fantastic, like the chocolate for breakfast. Others not so much. One of the entrees is gelatine.
No thanks.
Anyway, Bloor's file doesn't reveal a mustering out date, or any information on her life between then and the time she applied for a pension--for once, Ancestry has yielded nothing other than her presence in the Kansas City directory, which is how I know she was widowed. Bloor applied for her pension in December, 1892, and appointed local attorney J.A. Hays to take charge of her claim--remember, lawyers could not legally claim a fee for working on these cases. These had to be pro bono. By now, Bloor was 75 years old and suffering from old age and rheumatism, so well within the purview of the ANPA.
Isn't there always a catch?
The War Department records showed Bloor was attached to Gayoso in June, 1864, but didn't show a date of discharge, so they asked Bloor for original documents to prove the length of service. So, she sent them the beautiful original documents I mentioned before. Only problem was, the Bureau wasn't sure that Annie Wittenmyer had the authority to appoint nurses. So off went a flurry of letters to the Surgeon General, who responded, "In view of the fact that the instructions from the Secretary of War and the Surgeon General to Medical Directors and surgeons in charge of General Hospitals conferred authority upon Mrs. Annie Wittenmyer, Special Agent of the U.S. Christian Commission, "to employ such ladies as she might seem proper upon the request of U.S. surgeons," I am of the opinion that she was not thereby given any independent right to employ nurses." (That's a cue to me to double check the documents I have from the Bureau re Wittenmyer and the diet kitchen nurses, because I know at some point they make exceptions for diet nurses.) But, the affidavit of Acting Assistant Surgeon Sharp did constitute proof of service under competent authority, so Bloor's claim was allowed. Bloor continued drawing her pension until her death in January, 1897 and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery.
P.O: 408 Olive Street, Kansas City, Missouri
Service: Christian Commission Agent in Diet Kitchens at Gayoso Hospital
Applied: December 5, 1892
Status: Accepted
Sorry for the late post--midterm season just started here and I've been juggling that and writing my rough draft for the past few days. Here's another random file for your perusal.
No thanks.
Anyway, Bloor's file doesn't reveal a mustering out date, or any information on her life between then and the time she applied for a pension--for once, Ancestry has yielded nothing other than her presence in the Kansas City directory, which is how I know she was widowed. Bloor applied for her pension in December, 1892, and appointed local attorney J.A. Hays to take charge of her claim--remember, lawyers could not legally claim a fee for working on these cases. These had to be pro bono. By now, Bloor was 75 years old and suffering from old age and rheumatism, so well within the purview of the ANPA.
Isn't there always a catch?
The War Department records showed Bloor was attached to Gayoso in June, 1864, but didn't show a date of discharge, so they asked Bloor for original documents to prove the length of service. So, she sent them the beautiful original documents I mentioned before. Only problem was, the Bureau wasn't sure that Annie Wittenmyer had the authority to appoint nurses. So off went a flurry of letters to the Surgeon General, who responded, "In view of the fact that the instructions from the Secretary of War and the Surgeon General to Medical Directors and surgeons in charge of General Hospitals conferred authority upon Mrs. Annie Wittenmyer, Special Agent of the U.S. Christian Commission, "to employ such ladies as she might seem proper upon the request of U.S. surgeons," I am of the opinion that she was not thereby given any independent right to employ nurses." (That's a cue to me to double check the documents I have from the Bureau re Wittenmyer and the diet kitchen nurses, because I know at some point they make exceptions for diet nurses.) But, the affidavit of Acting Assistant Surgeon Sharp did constitute proof of service under competent authority, so Bloor's claim was allowed. Bloor continued drawing her pension until her death in January, 1897 and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Carrie H. Doll
Pension File: 1138485
P.O.: 607 East Chase Street, Baltimore, Maryland
Service: Patterson Park, Hicks General Hospital
Applied: 1892
Status: Abandoned
Another day, another random file pulled. Doll's claim is a scant 7 pages, but here's what I managed to pull from it.
Doll, who served under the name Carrie H. Perry (her first married name), began work in February, 1865 at Patterson Park Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. She was transferred to Hicks GH in May, and remained there until January 29th, 1866. The exact nature of her service is unclear. The hospital rolls for Patterson Park and Hicks Hospitals listed her as a cook, while she claimed her service was as a nurse. She was 67 when she applied; "the infirmities of old age" as she put it kept her from earning a living--she'd previously worked as matron at the city jail. When the Bureau began examining her claim and found her listed as cook, they wrote to her informing her of her status on the official records and asked for original documents to prove her claim. Doll never wrote back. She hadn't died (I checked the Baltimore city directory, and the Census Records and Doll is listed at East Chase Street until at least 1902), but for whatever reason she never tried to press her claim. Lucky for Doll, though, the 1900 census has her living with her widowed brother who had apparently come over from England just a few years previously, so she wasn't alone.
P.O.: 607 East Chase Street, Baltimore, Maryland
Service: Patterson Park, Hicks General Hospital
Applied: 1892
Status: Abandoned
Another day, another random file pulled. Doll's claim is a scant 7 pages, but here's what I managed to pull from it.
Doll, who served under the name Carrie H. Perry (her first married name), began work in February, 1865 at Patterson Park Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland. She was transferred to Hicks GH in May, and remained there until January 29th, 1866. The exact nature of her service is unclear. The hospital rolls for Patterson Park and Hicks Hospitals listed her as a cook, while she claimed her service was as a nurse. She was 67 when she applied; "the infirmities of old age" as she put it kept her from earning a living--she'd previously worked as matron at the city jail. When the Bureau began examining her claim and found her listed as cook, they wrote to her informing her of her status on the official records and asked for original documents to prove her claim. Doll never wrote back. She hadn't died (I checked the Baltimore city directory, and the Census Records and Doll is listed at East Chase Street until at least 1902), but for whatever reason she never tried to press her claim. Lucky for Doll, though, the 1900 census has her living with her widowed brother who had apparently come over from England just a few years previously, so she wasn't alone.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Act 2
I realized today that I haven't explained the new 'countdown' under the Final Tally, or said anything about what I'm doing now that I've finished the database. Way back in June when I started this blog I said that this is for my senior Honors thesis. Now that I'm back at school, the next step is to start writing. I sat down with my adviser a few weeks ago and came up with a schedule--one chapter (in rough draft form) every three weeks. With any lucky, I'll be done with the entire rough draft just before Christmas. After that, we'll go over it, refine it, figure out if I need to do more research in certain areas, etc. The 'Days Till Final Submission' countdown is the number of days until I have to submit my final draft: April 14. Once that's in, it'll go to my examining committee, who will read it and decide whether or not it's acceptable. If it is, I'll go through an oral examination, and they'll decide whether to award me Honors, High Honors, or Highest Honors.
But, like I said, that's in April. There's plenty of time between now and then to work on this project (I keep telling myself this...self has yet to believe me). The rough draft for my intro is due next week, so I'll be spending the weekend in the library pounding that out. Trying to drag myself out of the details and look at the big picture again so I can write this introduction is probably the hardest thing I've had to do so far with this project. If you couldn't tell, I love my rabbit holes. I want to find out as much about each woman as possible, both for the thrill of the hunt, but also because I want to do these women justice, and the best way to do that is to have as much information as possible. But since this is not a dissertation (as I am constantly reminded), I have to focus. And, as a historian, looking at the big picture, and answering the bigger, over-arching questions is my job. So, it's not going to be easy, but that is why this is a rough draft: so I can check myself when I start to slip.
I should probably go invest in some red pens...lots of 'em...
Wish me luck!
But, like I said, that's in April. There's plenty of time between now and then to work on this project (I keep telling myself this...self has yet to believe me). The rough draft for my intro is due next week, so I'll be spending the weekend in the library pounding that out. Trying to drag myself out of the details and look at the big picture again so I can write this introduction is probably the hardest thing I've had to do so far with this project. If you couldn't tell, I love my rabbit holes. I want to find out as much about each woman as possible, both for the thrill of the hunt, but also because I want to do these women justice, and the best way to do that is to have as much information as possible. But since this is not a dissertation (as I am constantly reminded), I have to focus. And, as a historian, looking at the big picture, and answering the bigger, over-arching questions is my job. So, it's not going to be easy, but that is why this is a rough draft: so I can check myself when I start to slip.
I should probably go invest in some red pens...lots of 'em...
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Alice Kelley
Pension File: 601310, 353717
P.O.: 1235 Pennsylvania Ave., D.C.
Service: 5th Corps Field Hospital, Navy Yard
Applied: 1886 (Special Act)
Status: Accepted
Since I've finished the database, I don't have a set system for going through my pensions and posting here, so I'm pulling random files, and double-checking my database as I go. Tonight's pick is Alice Kelley, one of my special act pensioners. She also lived on Pennsylvania Ave, right across from the Post Office building--which means I walked by her home practically every single day this summer!
Generally army nurses acted independently of one another or in groups. If they reported to someone, it was either the hospital doctor, or someone hundreds of miles away. Kelley, however, worked as personal assistant to Harriet Fanning Read, a well-known army nurse, and a poet. The two attached themselves to the Fifth Corps in the summer of 1862, and followed the corps through every campaign until September, 1864, when Kelley was ordered to report to the Provost in D.C. She spent the last few months of the war nursing men at the Navy Yard per the Provost's orders. And, typically, after that the record goes blank.
Kelley was one of the nurses who managed to get her pension act passed before Senator Cockrell et. co. passed the unwritten rule that nurses could only get $12 pensions. Because of that, she managed to get $20. Apparently this wasn't enough, because when Kelley heard that Mary Hill had received a $25 pension in '89 for her service, she demanded an increase, declaring she was "entitled to like pension, and have been from the first allowance." And to give her claim a little more weight, she had Hill give a statement on her behalf, stating that Kelley's services were "of the precise character of my own...[and that she] very much needs and deserves the relief she asks. She also had her doctor, Edgar Janney, testify to her inability to support herself. Then, in case she still didn't have enough support, Harriet Corts, Secretary for the Army Nurses Association, wrote a letter endorsing her (Kelley was apparently a member). In fact, if I'm right about the hand-writing, Corts actually wrote Hill's testimony (Hill could sign her name, but nothing beyond that), and Kelley's petition (Kelley signed with a mark--probably illiterate). Networking!
Despite her efforts, Kelley did not receive the increase, and continued to draw the $20 until her death in 1891. What struck me looking at the date was something one of Kelley's witnesses wrote: "This noble woman is now growing aged, her feebleness is increasing daily; she could not long be a pensioner on the bounty of her country; but if her few remaining years could be made more comfortable by a feeling of independence and the knowledge that at last her services had been recognized by those whom she had served so faithfully and so well in their time of need, then would both justice and charity have been satisfied." So what was it? (And here I play the cynic). Was it the fact she could not long be a pensioner? Or was it charity and justice? If I can answer that question...well, then I'll have my thesis. Or part of it, anyway. So much information!
P.O.: 1235 Pennsylvania Ave., D.C.
Service: 5th Corps Field Hospital, Navy Yard
Applied: 1886 (Special Act)
Status: Accepted
Since I've finished the database, I don't have a set system for going through my pensions and posting here, so I'm pulling random files, and double-checking my database as I go. Tonight's pick is Alice Kelley, one of my special act pensioners. She also lived on Pennsylvania Ave, right across from the Post Office building--which means I walked by her home practically every single day this summer!
Generally army nurses acted independently of one another or in groups. If they reported to someone, it was either the hospital doctor, or someone hundreds of miles away. Kelley, however, worked as personal assistant to Harriet Fanning Read, a well-known army nurse, and a poet. The two attached themselves to the Fifth Corps in the summer of 1862, and followed the corps through every campaign until September, 1864, when Kelley was ordered to report to the Provost in D.C. She spent the last few months of the war nursing men at the Navy Yard per the Provost's orders. And, typically, after that the record goes blank.
Kelley was one of the nurses who managed to get her pension act passed before Senator Cockrell et. co. passed the unwritten rule that nurses could only get $12 pensions. Because of that, she managed to get $20. Apparently this wasn't enough, because when Kelley heard that Mary Hill had received a $25 pension in '89 for her service, she demanded an increase, declaring she was "entitled to like pension, and have been from the first allowance." And to give her claim a little more weight, she had Hill give a statement on her behalf, stating that Kelley's services were "of the precise character of my own...[and that she] very much needs and deserves the relief she asks. She also had her doctor, Edgar Janney, testify to her inability to support herself. Then, in case she still didn't have enough support, Harriet Corts, Secretary for the Army Nurses Association, wrote a letter endorsing her (Kelley was apparently a member). In fact, if I'm right about the hand-writing, Corts actually wrote Hill's testimony (Hill could sign her name, but nothing beyond that), and Kelley's petition (Kelley signed with a mark--probably illiterate). Networking!
Despite her efforts, Kelley did not receive the increase, and continued to draw the $20 until her death in 1891. What struck me looking at the date was something one of Kelley's witnesses wrote: "This noble woman is now growing aged, her feebleness is increasing daily; she could not long be a pensioner on the bounty of her country; but if her few remaining years could be made more comfortable by a feeling of independence and the knowledge that at last her services had been recognized by those whom she had served so faithfully and so well in their time of need, then would both justice and charity have been satisfied." So what was it? (And here I play the cynic). Was it the fact she could not long be a pensioner? Or was it charity and justice? If I can answer that question...well, then I'll have my thesis. Or part of it, anyway. So much information!
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Abby F. Harris
Pension: 1138529, 854430
P.O.: Scituate, Rhode Island
Service: Howan Hospital, Nashville (also known as No.1 and No. 4)
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
Let me just state up front that I went "down the rabbit hole" on this one, and checked out Ancestry. A lot.
Abby F. Harris was born Abby Francis Allen on June 15, 1828, the oldest of five children born to Reuben and Phebe Allen. She first appears in the records in the 1850 census, at age 21, living with her parents in Scituate, Rhode Island, where her father was a Baptist minister. I haven't found an 1860 census record yet, but the pension file fills in some of the gaps. In May, 1862, Harris began working as a contract nurse at Howan Hospital in Nashville under Dr. James F. Weeds (I'd love to know how in the world a contract nurse managed to wrangle a position in Tennessee!). She continued to work there until she was discharged in June, 1865.
By 1870, Harris was living in Scituate with her father and her sister Mary. She was still single, and teaching school--yet somehow her sister, who was "keeping house" was the one with $300 in personal property. Go figure. By 1880, she'd stopped teaching, and both sisters were living together.
Then, in 1883, she married James A. Harris. The marriage didn't last long. James died in 1891 after an illness of several years (Harris mentions this in her pension file), and Harris was left alone. She applied for her pension in October, 1892, on the grounds of old age, nervous prostration and general debility due to her service in the war. And the Bureau (ye old speed demon) actually managed to process it and accept it by March, 1893. The records were all there, Harris didn't have to jump through any hoops, so the pension file is pretty empty. The only papers left were the ones cancelling the pension after her death in 1914.
It is, in all honesty, a rather nondescript file, and the census records don't add a great deal more depth, but there are some intriguing little bits that I hope I can track down...especially that bit about Tennessee...I love a good challenge.
P.O.: Scituate, Rhode Island
Service: Howan Hospital, Nashville (also known as No.1 and No. 4)
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
Let me just state up front that I went "down the rabbit hole" on this one, and checked out Ancestry. A lot.
Abby F. Harris was born Abby Francis Allen on June 15, 1828, the oldest of five children born to Reuben and Phebe Allen. She first appears in the records in the 1850 census, at age 21, living with her parents in Scituate, Rhode Island, where her father was a Baptist minister. I haven't found an 1860 census record yet, but the pension file fills in some of the gaps. In May, 1862, Harris began working as a contract nurse at Howan Hospital in Nashville under Dr. James F. Weeds (I'd love to know how in the world a contract nurse managed to wrangle a position in Tennessee!). She continued to work there until she was discharged in June, 1865.
By 1870, Harris was living in Scituate with her father and her sister Mary. She was still single, and teaching school--yet somehow her sister, who was "keeping house" was the one with $300 in personal property. Go figure. By 1880, she'd stopped teaching, and both sisters were living together.
Then, in 1883, she married James A. Harris. The marriage didn't last long. James died in 1891 after an illness of several years (Harris mentions this in her pension file), and Harris was left alone. She applied for her pension in October, 1892, on the grounds of old age, nervous prostration and general debility due to her service in the war. And the Bureau (ye old speed demon) actually managed to process it and accept it by March, 1893. The records were all there, Harris didn't have to jump through any hoops, so the pension file is pretty empty. The only papers left were the ones cancelling the pension after her death in 1914.
It is, in all honesty, a rather nondescript file, and the census records don't add a great deal more depth, but there are some intriguing little bits that I hope I can track down...especially that bit about Tennessee...I love a good challenge.
Jane Howard
Pension: 1131824, 833797
P.O.: Birmingham, New York
Service: Columbian College, Harewood Hospital, Slough General Hospital, and Alexandria
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
As promised, here is Jane Howard's pension file. I managed to find both a special act file and a general pension file for Howard. The general file reveals that Jane Howard was one of Dix's corps of nurses, and served from October, 1864 to 1865. There was no mention of her service exhausting her or destroying her health like so many other women; instead, she suffered mainly from "advancing age." And for witnesses: Ellen S. Tolman, pension attorney, and Caroline Burghardt, M.D.
While having Tolman and Burghardt as witnesses is certainly not typical (I'd dearly love to know how she pulled that off), the rest of the file isn't anything special.
Ah, but don't forget the special act file! It's three papers, nice and substantial. And it conveniently reports that "the official records show that Jane Howard, colored female nurse, was on duty at the Patent Office general hospital...November 15, 1862." Problem is: it's not this Jane Howard. So I have to be doubly careful checking records now to make sure I don't mix them up!
I've tried to track Howard down using the census records, and apparently she had a family bible which hopefully someone kept, but the lack of information in the pension file and the destruction of the 1890 census means I've come up with nothing so far. But I will definitely be looking into her more when I have the chance.
P.O.: Birmingham, New York
Service: Columbian College, Harewood Hospital, Slough General Hospital, and Alexandria
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
As promised, here is Jane Howard's pension file. I managed to find both a special act file and a general pension file for Howard. The general file reveals that Jane Howard was one of Dix's corps of nurses, and served from October, 1864 to 1865. There was no mention of her service exhausting her or destroying her health like so many other women; instead, she suffered mainly from "advancing age." And for witnesses: Ellen S. Tolman, pension attorney, and Caroline Burghardt, M.D.
While having Tolman and Burghardt as witnesses is certainly not typical (I'd dearly love to know how she pulled that off), the rest of the file isn't anything special.
Ah, but don't forget the special act file! It's three papers, nice and substantial. And it conveniently reports that "the official records show that Jane Howard, colored female nurse, was on duty at the Patent Office general hospital...November 15, 1862." Problem is: it's not this Jane Howard. So I have to be doubly careful checking records now to make sure I don't mix them up!
I've tried to track Howard down using the census records, and apparently she had a family bible which hopefully someone kept, but the lack of information in the pension file and the destruction of the 1890 census means I've come up with nothing so far. But I will definitely be looking into her more when I have the chance.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
The Database is Finished!
It took me two months, but the database is finally finished! Woot!!
One of the things I was very interested in seeing was just who these women worked for. Dix only recruited so many women--so where did the rest of the women fit in? Here's the breakdown:
The number of regimental nurses also surprised me. In early June, 1861, Simon Cameron (Lincoln's first Sec. of War) issued an order that "women nurses will not reside in the camps, nor accompany regiments on a march," and there were several general orders issued throughout the war that removed women from the front lines. Though, there's not much point in ordering the women away if they aren't already there to be ordered away...so apparently, despite all efforts to the contrary, women did attach themselves to regiments and follow them to the front lines. At least half of my regimental workers also had a husband or sons in the regiment they were attached to--which gives them a strong reason for staying.
Another aspect I wanted to look at was color. I managed to positively identify 6 women as black, usually through sheer dumb luck. I think I mentioned this in a previous post, but color was not something the Pension Bureau asked about. The only way for them to tell was for the records to say "colored contract nurse" or "contraband" or someone to mention something in correspondence. Otherwise, short of hitting the census records, there's no way to tell.
4 of my black nurses were contract nurses--meaning they made arrangements with individual doctors or hospitals to work in return for pay. That I expected. I also found one women who was part of Dix's nursing corps: Jane Howard; and one woman who worked as a regimental nurse: Patsey Green. That I did not expect. I also did not expect Jane Howard's application to have the signatures of Ellen Tolman and Caroline Burghardt. Then, I started looking at the success rates. Only two of these women managed to secure pensions. However, of the four that didn't, only two applied after the ANPA. The other two were rejected on the grounds that there simply was no legislation that allowed the government to pension women. Keeping in mind that 6 women does not a full story make, a 50% success rate post-1892 is pretty dang good.
A couple more interesting numbers: the vast majority of women (over 200) had no attorney when they applied for their pension. Since the ANPA stated that any legal help in prosecuting these pensions had to be gratuitous, I'm not surprised. James Tanner (the former Commissioner of Pensions who offered to help the WRC nurses) is listed as attorney for at least 20 women, Ellen Tolman is listed in 5 (and acts as witness in several others), and Wittenmyer is attorney in 11 (but is, again, used as a reference in at least a dozen more). No one else comes close to managing the number of claims they do.
The final stat: success rates.
Okay, no more numbers, I promise! This week is dedicated to writing the rough draft to my intro, and I promise I'll be posting so you can see what I'm up to. There's a lot of stuff I haven't touched on yet, and I really want to talk about Jane Howard's file. So much to do!!
One of the things I was very interested in seeing was just who these women worked for. Dix only recruited so many women--so where did the rest of the women fit in? Here's the breakdown:
- 21% were contract nurses: women who enlisted or made contracts with individual doctors or surgeons rather than going through Dix, the USSC, or the USCC. These women were paid 40 cents a day.
- 18% enlisted under Dix and were a part of her nursing corps. They also received 40 cents a day.
- 11% were regimental nurses, who traveled with the regiment to the front lines.
- 11% served with the Sanitary Commission
- 3% served with the Christian Commission
- 12% volunteered their services and were never paid, per their own request. They didn't work for any larger organization.
- 2% worked directly for the army in some capacity--these are my "outliers," women like Kady Brownell, Mary E. Walker, and Mary Hooker, who served as soldiers, spies, or surgeons.
- .1% were arsenal workers--poor Mary Dougherty was the only one I found.
- 22% I couldn't identify. Sometimes it was because there was nothing in the file. More often, however, it was because these women called themselves "volunteer nurses" which could mean anything under the sun.
The number of regimental nurses also surprised me. In early June, 1861, Simon Cameron (Lincoln's first Sec. of War) issued an order that "women nurses will not reside in the camps, nor accompany regiments on a march," and there were several general orders issued throughout the war that removed women from the front lines. Though, there's not much point in ordering the women away if they aren't already there to be ordered away...so apparently, despite all efforts to the contrary, women did attach themselves to regiments and follow them to the front lines. At least half of my regimental workers also had a husband or sons in the regiment they were attached to--which gives them a strong reason for staying.
Another aspect I wanted to look at was color. I managed to positively identify 6 women as black, usually through sheer dumb luck. I think I mentioned this in a previous post, but color was not something the Pension Bureau asked about. The only way for them to tell was for the records to say "colored contract nurse" or "contraband" or someone to mention something in correspondence. Otherwise, short of hitting the census records, there's no way to tell.
4 of my black nurses were contract nurses--meaning they made arrangements with individual doctors or hospitals to work in return for pay. That I expected. I also found one women who was part of Dix's nursing corps: Jane Howard; and one woman who worked as a regimental nurse: Patsey Green. That I did not expect. I also did not expect Jane Howard's application to have the signatures of Ellen Tolman and Caroline Burghardt. Then, I started looking at the success rates. Only two of these women managed to secure pensions. However, of the four that didn't, only two applied after the ANPA. The other two were rejected on the grounds that there simply was no legislation that allowed the government to pension women. Keeping in mind that 6 women does not a full story make, a 50% success rate post-1892 is pretty dang good.
A couple more interesting numbers: the vast majority of women (over 200) had no attorney when they applied for their pension. Since the ANPA stated that any legal help in prosecuting these pensions had to be gratuitous, I'm not surprised. James Tanner (the former Commissioner of Pensions who offered to help the WRC nurses) is listed as attorney for at least 20 women, Ellen Tolman is listed in 5 (and acts as witness in several others), and Wittenmyer is attorney in 11 (but is, again, used as a reference in at least a dozen more). No one else comes close to managing the number of claims they do.
The final stat: success rates.
- 10% were abandoned
- 10% were rejected outright
- 7% didn't state if the claim was successful or not
- 73% were accepted
- 60% went through the Special Act process (meaning they could have been passed before the ANPA, or that they fulfilled the spirit if not the letter of the ANPA and got their pension via Special Act post-1892)
- 40% did not
- 88% were accepted right off the bat
- 9% were originally rejected and the claimants either filed again or managed to get a Special Act
- 2% were rejected twice, and had to apply a third time
- 1% were rejected three times, and had to apply a fourth time
Okay, no more numbers, I promise! This week is dedicated to writing the rough draft to my intro, and I promise I'll be posting so you can see what I'm up to. There's a lot of stuff I haven't touched on yet, and I really want to talk about Jane Howard's file. So much to do!!
Monday, August 6, 2012
Charlotte Bradford
Hey, all. Sorry I haven't posted in a while--it's been a little hectic. But I promise, I have been working. I went in to Boston yesterday to look at some Dix papers at Harvard, and I'm planning on hitting the state Historical Society some time this week. I also finished transcribing everything I found at Schlesinger, and the legislative papers on the Pension Act I found in D.C. I even started going through the 1888 petition, looking at state/Department reports to get a sense of where support for the bill was coming from. The best part, though, was going to Duxbury with Mum last week to see the Charlotte Bradford papers. Can you say "jackpot?" Because I nearly yelled it when I saw what was in that file.
Backing up: here's what I know about her from the pension file (yes, I'm being mean. So?)
Pension File: 777413, 486398 (Special Act)
P.O.: Duxbury, Massachusetts
Service: hospital boat 'Elm City', various hospitals in D.C., and the Sanitary Home in D.C.
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted
The file doesn't contain a great deal, since I never located the legislative file. According to the House Report, Bradford was seventy-six years old and one of three maiden sisters living together in Duxbury when she applied for a Special Act in 1890. She'd volunteered her services as a nurse in April, 1862, and continued to serve until 1865, by which time she was matron of the Sanitary Home (not technically a hospital, more like an inn with medical facilities where soldiers could find a quick meal or spend a few days and rest before continuing on). The only other thing of note in Bradford's file was a note in the House Report that Bradford was briefly mentioned in Frank Moore's book, "Women of the War," published in 1866.
I don't much care for Frank Moore. Regardless, the man always leaves a paper trail (Duke has a small collection of his papers which I've used before, and I'm pretty sure there are other collections out there). So, I plugged Bradford's name in to Google to see what was out there. That was when I found the collection at Duxbury. It is a spectacular collection. Bradford wrote her sisters regularly when she left for D.C. in '62, and continued to write them until she returned home in '65--which means there are a good number of letters.. Bradford also kept a diary from July, 1863, to some time in '64, and another diary of her time on the hospital boats in Virginia. There's also an account book where she recorded sheets and pillows sent out for cleaning for the Sanitary Home, as well as who was visiting (like "Emily Smith visited her brother, Jacob Smith, 1st MA"); a book entitled "Copperheads" which depicts various nasty things happening to Copperheads in caricature; several USSC publications; a soldier's pocket bible; and almost a dozen pencil sketches of the Virginia landscape and camp life. There was even a cookbook for Mum to study! Oh, and since her nephew was Frederick C. Knapp, director of the USSC Special Relief Department (which ran homes like the Sanitary House), some of his papers are included as well.
Specific to my research though, were three documents: Bradford's pension certificate, a form letter from the Bureau that accompanied the certificate, and a telegram from Massachusetts Representative Elijah A. Morse. It reads simply: "Pension passed house ten oclock tonight under suspension rules upon my motion and now only awaits signature of president certain."
I've been immersed in the pension process for months, but I've never felt this...connected to the process. I don't quite know how to say it, only that I felt for the first time that I was dealing with a human being at both ends, rather than a faceless Bureau employee. I could see the process, read the dialogue, if you will, between Bradford and Morse, trying to get this thing passed. None of my other Special Act files have yielded any evidence of this.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that between the telegram and the letters, Bradford is more human to me, more real, than almost any of the other women I've studied. I just hope I can do the same for the rest.
Moving on before I get sentimental. I'm heading back to Duxbury at some point to go through the collection again--my camera battery died before I got too far into the collection and I forgot to bring my charger, or a back-up. I'm also visiting the Maine Historical Society for Ellen Tolman's letters on Friday or Saturday--Mum's been craving a trip to the beach, and Dad wants to go bookshopping, so we're making it a two-day trip. No worries, the research comes first, then the beach.
One last thing: Bradford has a facebook page. Plug her name in and take a look--the curator takes an excerpt from her diary every day and posts it. it's wonderful reading.
Backing up: here's what I know about her from the pension file (yes, I'm being mean. So?)
Pension File: 777413, 486398 (Special Act)
P.O.: Duxbury, Massachusetts
Service: hospital boat 'Elm City', various hospitals in D.C., and the Sanitary Home in D.C.
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted
The file doesn't contain a great deal, since I never located the legislative file. According to the House Report, Bradford was seventy-six years old and one of three maiden sisters living together in Duxbury when she applied for a Special Act in 1890. She'd volunteered her services as a nurse in April, 1862, and continued to serve until 1865, by which time she was matron of the Sanitary Home (not technically a hospital, more like an inn with medical facilities where soldiers could find a quick meal or spend a few days and rest before continuing on). The only other thing of note in Bradford's file was a note in the House Report that Bradford was briefly mentioned in Frank Moore's book, "Women of the War," published in 1866.
 |
| Charlotte Bradford (Courtesy of the Duxbury HS) |
Specific to my research though, were three documents: Bradford's pension certificate, a form letter from the Bureau that accompanied the certificate, and a telegram from Massachusetts Representative Elijah A. Morse. It reads simply: "Pension passed house ten oclock tonight under suspension rules upon my motion and now only awaits signature of president certain."
I've been immersed in the pension process for months, but I've never felt this...connected to the process. I don't quite know how to say it, only that I felt for the first time that I was dealing with a human being at both ends, rather than a faceless Bureau employee. I could see the process, read the dialogue, if you will, between Bradford and Morse, trying to get this thing passed. None of my other Special Act files have yielded any evidence of this.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that between the telegram and the letters, Bradford is more human to me, more real, than almost any of the other women I've studied. I just hope I can do the same for the rest.
Moving on before I get sentimental. I'm heading back to Duxbury at some point to go through the collection again--my camera battery died before I got too far into the collection and I forgot to bring my charger, or a back-up. I'm also visiting the Maine Historical Society for Ellen Tolman's letters on Friday or Saturday--Mum's been craving a trip to the beach, and Dad wants to go bookshopping, so we're making it a two-day trip. No worries, the research comes first, then the beach.
One last thing: Bradford has a facebook page. Plug her name in and take a look--the curator takes an excerpt from her diary every day and posts it. it's wonderful reading.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
A.F.K.
I've been kidnapped by three insane women and taken to Pittsburgh, so apparently I'm unavailable to blog...hey, take it up with them, not me. Shall be back online as soon as I escape their dastardly clutches.
P.S. These girls are evil. Approach with caution.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Ellen Forbes Tolman
Pension File: 574183, 335290 (Special Act)
P.O.: Lawrence, Massachusetts
Service: various hospitals around D.C. from July, 1861 to February, 1863
Applied: 1886
Status: Accepted
Brace yourselves: here's a pension file I don't actually have. Horror! So why do I have her up here? Until a few weeks ago, I had no idea Tolman existed. I didn't find her in my pre-D.C. survey for special acts, nor did she turn up while I was going through legislative files. Instead, I found her through something of a back door. While I was in D.C. she turned up in one of the files (Clara Hoyt) as a pension attorney. I put her on the back burner though in favor of other rabbit holes. When she turned up as attorney for two more women, and a witness for a third, I knew I had to do some serious digging. Until that point, I had no idea she was ever a nurse! But the more I dug, the more I realized I needed to include her in my study.
Here's a brief sketch based on what I've been able to find: According to her petition to Congress for a Special Act, Ellen Forbes (her maiden name) left her home in Maine just after the Battle of Bull Run to nurse in Washington. She showed no signed of stopping until February, 1863, when she contracted typhus. In her petition to Congress she wrote that "her attack of fever was proceeded by convulsions, and for twelve days thereafter all was a blank to her." Tolman pulled through, but malarial abscesses kept her bed-bound for several more months, and on crutches for several more. She returned to Washington in September, but new abscesses appeared and she returned home, sick again.
Here's the silver lining to the cloud: in February, 1864, Ellen Forbes married Eleazer Tolman from the 2nd Maine. Schultz hints that they met while Tolman was in the hospital in D.C.--he was suffering from pleurisy and was discharged in 1862. The two settled down in Lawrence, Massachusetts, and had three children. Tolman applied for, and was granted, a $25 pension in 1886, endorsed by VP Hamlin and several respected veterans. Then, in 1892, she pops in three completely unrelated pension files: Clara B. Hoyt, Emily Taylor, and Georgiana Smith. There is nothing I can find to link these three women together other than the fact they served as nurses. They never served in the same hospital, lived in the same area, nothing. I'm betting, though, that it's a connection through the WRC or the Army Nurses Association. The only way to find out for sure is to go look through her papers at the Maine Historical Society. I love it when my nurses leave a paper trail.
P.O.: Lawrence, Massachusetts
Service: various hospitals around D.C. from July, 1861 to February, 1863
Applied: 1886
Status: Accepted
Brace yourselves: here's a pension file I don't actually have. Horror! So why do I have her up here? Until a few weeks ago, I had no idea Tolman existed. I didn't find her in my pre-D.C. survey for special acts, nor did she turn up while I was going through legislative files. Instead, I found her through something of a back door. While I was in D.C. she turned up in one of the files (Clara Hoyt) as a pension attorney. I put her on the back burner though in favor of other rabbit holes. When she turned up as attorney for two more women, and a witness for a third, I knew I had to do some serious digging. Until that point, I had no idea she was ever a nurse! But the more I dug, the more I realized I needed to include her in my study.
Here's a brief sketch based on what I've been able to find: According to her petition to Congress for a Special Act, Ellen Forbes (her maiden name) left her home in Maine just after the Battle of Bull Run to nurse in Washington. She showed no signed of stopping until February, 1863, when she contracted typhus. In her petition to Congress she wrote that "her attack of fever was proceeded by convulsions, and for twelve days thereafter all was a blank to her." Tolman pulled through, but malarial abscesses kept her bed-bound for several more months, and on crutches for several more. She returned to Washington in September, but new abscesses appeared and she returned home, sick again.
Here's the silver lining to the cloud: in February, 1864, Ellen Forbes married Eleazer Tolman from the 2nd Maine. Schultz hints that they met while Tolman was in the hospital in D.C.--he was suffering from pleurisy and was discharged in 1862. The two settled down in Lawrence, Massachusetts, and had three children. Tolman applied for, and was granted, a $25 pension in 1886, endorsed by VP Hamlin and several respected veterans. Then, in 1892, she pops in three completely unrelated pension files: Clara B. Hoyt, Emily Taylor, and Georgiana Smith. There is nothing I can find to link these three women together other than the fact they served as nurses. They never served in the same hospital, lived in the same area, nothing. I'm betting, though, that it's a connection through the WRC or the Army Nurses Association. The only way to find out for sure is to go look through her papers at the Maine Historical Society. I love it when my nurses leave a paper trail.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Schlesinger Library
Today I took the T into Cambridge and visited Schlesinger Library. Schlesinger is part of the Radcliffe Institute at Harvard University and specializes in Women's History, so I was hoping it would have some relevant files. Schlesinger did not disappoint. I pulled one file each on Clara Barton, Harriet Patience Dame (president of the Army Nurses Association), and Sallie Joy White (a female journalist who had a letter from Mary A. Livermore). They also had a box of WRC material which I also pulled.
The Barton folder would be interesting to a Barton scholar, but didn't have anything pertaining to my nurses or the Act. Same for Ms. White. Dame's folder was one letter, written to a Mr. Austin and thanking him for making her an honorary member of the Trinity Historical Society. There's nothing substantial in it, but Dame does refer briefly to her work assisting soldiers and nurses as one of the reasons for her late reply.
The gem of the trip was definitely the WRC material. In the file were two rosters, one from 1890 and one from 1895 (so now I can beef up my list of WRC members). There was also an order book from November, 1887 to August, 1892. The orders are from both the national and the state level, mostly announcing newly elected officials, updates on the upcoming yearly convention, or, around Memorial Day, giving patriotic speeches written by the National President. There are, however, snippets. For instance, this bit from General Orders No. 9, dated August 20, 1892:
The Barton folder would be interesting to a Barton scholar, but didn't have anything pertaining to my nurses or the Act. Same for Ms. White. Dame's folder was one letter, written to a Mr. Austin and thanking him for making her an honorary member of the Trinity Historical Society. There's nothing substantial in it, but Dame does refer briefly to her work assisting soldiers and nurses as one of the reasons for her late reply.
The gem of the trip was definitely the WRC material. In the file were two rosters, one from 1890 and one from 1895 (so now I can beef up my list of WRC members). There was also an order book from November, 1887 to August, 1892. The orders are from both the national and the state level, mostly announcing newly elected officials, updates on the upcoming yearly convention, or, around Memorial Day, giving patriotic speeches written by the National President. There are, however, snippets. For instance, this bit from General Orders No. 9, dated August 20, 1892:
"X.X. The Army Nurse Pension Bill, so long pending, passed the House June 28; the Senate, July 26; was signed by President Harrison August 5, 1892, and is now a law. Let us rejoice together that these women have at least received National recognition for their self-sacrificing services during the late war. Though small, $12 per month will add much comfort to their declining years."There is also mention of Certificates of Service issued to army nurses by the WRC--certificates which, if I'm right, turned up in my pension files--and the enormous petition from the Archives, which gives me some context for these pieces. Because the orders list newly elected officers, I also have a list of women who served on the National Pension Committee, when they took office, and when they resigned or left office. Now, if they mention the pensions the WRC awarded, or talk about how the WRC came to support the pension bill, life will be very good. Oh, and did I mention the collection was purcahsed from the Waltham Historical Society back in the 1970s and it looks like there's still some papers there--specifically letters? Time for a field trip.
Rose Russell
Pension File: 1139608, 868306
P.O.: Vicksburg, Mississippi
Service: contract nurse at McPherson Hospital, Vicksburg from 1862 to 1866
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
I know, I missed last night. I'm doing penance by posting two nurses tonight. First, as promised, is Rose Russell, formerly Rose Gibson. Like I said in my last post, Russell's file threw me for a loop, because there is nothing in the file to suggest that Russell was black until you hit the death certificate. And there it is: "negro." No where, I repeat, no where in the file is there any hint that this woman was black. I've across several white nurses who moved south after the war; also a fair number who are not literate and signed using a mark, just like Russell. Since the War Department couldn't find any records of her service, there was nothing there to indicate her color, and the people who gave affidavits certainly never mentioned the fact--I suppose they never felt the need. If there's nothing in the application then to suggest Russell was black, did the Bureau know? And did that have anything to do with her getting her pension? Another thing: was this something the Bureau was on the look-out for? I'm keeping in mind the fact that based on the Carded Service Index put together in 1890 of all the recorded nurses the Bureau could find, blacks were mostly listed as laundresses and cooks, not nurses. Based on this, was the Bureau likely to suspect a woman applying as a nurse was black--and did it matter? That is the biggest question here, and the one I keep coming back to: did it matter? I don't have enough black women plugged into my database yet to say one way or the other, but I've seen it go both ways. Clara Watson's application was denied, if you remember that far back, but Malinda Grimes, who served at Yorktown Hospital, managed to get a Special Act through Congress compensating her for her services (not a pension, I know, but the fact she got the Act through at all is impressive)--and I know there are more in my files. Better finish this Database quick before this drives me crazy.
P.O.: Vicksburg, Mississippi
Service: contract nurse at McPherson Hospital, Vicksburg from 1862 to 1866
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
I know, I missed last night. I'm doing penance by posting two nurses tonight. First, as promised, is Rose Russell, formerly Rose Gibson. Like I said in my last post, Russell's file threw me for a loop, because there is nothing in the file to suggest that Russell was black until you hit the death certificate. And there it is: "negro." No where, I repeat, no where in the file is there any hint that this woman was black. I've across several white nurses who moved south after the war; also a fair number who are not literate and signed using a mark, just like Russell. Since the War Department couldn't find any records of her service, there was nothing there to indicate her color, and the people who gave affidavits certainly never mentioned the fact--I suppose they never felt the need. If there's nothing in the application then to suggest Russell was black, did the Bureau know? And did that have anything to do with her getting her pension? Another thing: was this something the Bureau was on the look-out for? I'm keeping in mind the fact that based on the Carded Service Index put together in 1890 of all the recorded nurses the Bureau could find, blacks were mostly listed as laundresses and cooks, not nurses. Based on this, was the Bureau likely to suspect a woman applying as a nurse was black--and did it matter? That is the biggest question here, and the one I keep coming back to: did it matter? I don't have enough black women plugged into my database yet to say one way or the other, but I've seen it go both ways. Clara Watson's application was denied, if you remember that far back, but Malinda Grimes, who served at Yorktown Hospital, managed to get a Special Act through Congress compensating her for her services (not a pension, I know, but the fact she got the Act through at all is impressive)--and I know there are more in my files. Better finish this Database quick before this drives me crazy.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Catherine C. Ryan
Pension File: 1138672, 852811
P.O. New York City
Service: Portsmouth, Virginia; Cliffbourne and Lincoln General Hospitals, Washington D.C.
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
One of the things that bugs me about these records (and by "bug" I mean I'm miffed for five seconds, and then immediately hit up Ancestry or double-check the file for things I've missed because I love putting the pieces of the puzzle together) is that every once in a while I come across a file where everything points in one direction, and then you suddenly find a document that puts a completely different spin on it. I found two such folders today: Catherine Ryan gets the spotlight tonight, but Rose Russell will go up tomorrow night. Both did quite a good job saving the eyebrow-raising information until the end of their file.
In Ryan's case, we start off with the basic paperwork: she applied in September, 1892, and was granted a standard $12 pension in 1893, which she drew until her death in September, 1907. Although they couldn't find any evidence of her service at Portsmouth, her service at Cliffbourne and Lincoln General Hospitals, was well-documented (kudos to the War Department--or, rather, the men/clerks in charge of those hospitals). That should have been enough, but the Bureau wrote to L. Edwin Dudley, a steward at Lincoln Hospital, to corroborate Ryan's story. "When I reported at Lincoln General Hospital," Dudley wrote, "Miss C. C. Ryan, then known as "Sister Helen", was the Sister Superior in charge of a band of Sisters of Charity who were performing service there as nurses."
Sisters of Charity frequently served as nurses during the Civil War. In fact, many doctors preferred them to Dix's nurses or other volunteers. So, seeing a Sister appear in the pension record is not surprising. She's actually the third or fourth Sister I've come across. Those, however, identified themselves as former Sisters in their application. The other thing that intrigues me is the fact that every Sister I've found is a former Sister--I'm no expert, but usually when you "take the veil," isn't that supposed to be permanent? Is retiring or leaving something unique to Civil War Sisters of Charity? Katherine Coon has a book on Sisters and their wartime work...time to hit up Amazon.
P.O. New York City
Service: Portsmouth, Virginia; Cliffbourne and Lincoln General Hospitals, Washington D.C.
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
One of the things that bugs me about these records (and by "bug" I mean I'm miffed for five seconds, and then immediately hit up Ancestry or double-check the file for things I've missed because I love putting the pieces of the puzzle together) is that every once in a while I come across a file where everything points in one direction, and then you suddenly find a document that puts a completely different spin on it. I found two such folders today: Catherine Ryan gets the spotlight tonight, but Rose Russell will go up tomorrow night. Both did quite a good job saving the eyebrow-raising information until the end of their file.
In Ryan's case, we start off with the basic paperwork: she applied in September, 1892, and was granted a standard $12 pension in 1893, which she drew until her death in September, 1907. Although they couldn't find any evidence of her service at Portsmouth, her service at Cliffbourne and Lincoln General Hospitals, was well-documented (kudos to the War Department--or, rather, the men/clerks in charge of those hospitals). That should have been enough, but the Bureau wrote to L. Edwin Dudley, a steward at Lincoln Hospital, to corroborate Ryan's story. "When I reported at Lincoln General Hospital," Dudley wrote, "Miss C. C. Ryan, then known as "Sister Helen", was the Sister Superior in charge of a band of Sisters of Charity who were performing service there as nurses."
Sisters of Charity frequently served as nurses during the Civil War. In fact, many doctors preferred them to Dix's nurses or other volunteers. So, seeing a Sister appear in the pension record is not surprising. She's actually the third or fourth Sister I've come across. Those, however, identified themselves as former Sisters in their application. The other thing that intrigues me is the fact that every Sister I've found is a former Sister--I'm no expert, but usually when you "take the veil," isn't that supposed to be permanent? Is retiring or leaving something unique to Civil War Sisters of Charity? Katherine Coon has a book on Sisters and their wartime work...time to hit up Amazon.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Ida L. Martin
Pension File: 776810, 486403 (Special Act)
P.O.: Huntsville, Alabama
Service: nurse at Jeffersonville Hospital, Indiana
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted
Martin's file is one of the slim ones: 7 papers in total. But it's definitely an interesting one. Ida's first husband, Zelotas H. Martin (love these names!) enlisted in 1862 in Co. M, 5th Michigan Cavalry, part of what would become the famous Custer Brigade. Zelotas died on July 5th, 1863, from wounds received at Gettysburg. Shortly after, Ida was assigned to Jeffersonville General Hospital, and remained there until July 6, 1865. Seems like a logical time to stop working: the war's over, hospitals are closing down. Apparently, Ida had another reason altogether. She was suffering from what she termed "paralysis of the nerves" and could no longer work. I don't know what that translates to in modern terms, but whatever it is, it's bad, because within a few years, Ida had one leg amputated below the knee. The second was amputated a few years later. Somewhere in the midst of all this, though, Ida met her second husband, Andrew J. Martin, also a Union soldier, and the two were married on August 3, 1868.
Ida and Andrew moved to Huntsville sometime before 1870, and continued to live there for the next twenty odd years. By 1890, Andrew was getting too old to support himself and an invalid wife, and Ida petitioned for a pension based on her disability. It looks like the fact that her service had so clearly disabled her allowed her to ignore the precedents set for how much to pay for nurses pensions--poor old Berry and Cockrell must have been miffed--because she won a $24 pension, twice the going rate. Martin's case is one of the first times I've seen a nurse so clearly disabled as a result of her service. Usually they list "general disability," "rheumatism," or just old age, sometimes linked to their service. I've had several cases of malarial poisoning, chronic diarrhea, broken bones, deafness, and in one or two cases actual gunshot wounds, but nothing approaching what Martin endured. It's time to dig out the medical reference books and figure out just what kind of "paralysis of the nerves" means and why it caused her to lose her legs.
On a side note, heading in to Boston within the next few days to hit up Schlesinger and Houghton Libraries at Harvard, finally check out Memorial Hall, and maybe swing by the Boston Archives and Massachusetts Archives if I have the time. They have more Barton papers, some Dix papers, and letters from Harriet Patience Dame which, fingers crossed, should be interesting. Also going to the Medford Historical Society on Sunday--the WRC had its headquarters there for several years, so they may have some documents. Shall let you know what I find.
P.O.: Huntsville, Alabama
Service: nurse at Jeffersonville Hospital, Indiana
Applied: 1890
Status: Accepted
Martin's file is one of the slim ones: 7 papers in total. But it's definitely an interesting one. Ida's first husband, Zelotas H. Martin (love these names!) enlisted in 1862 in Co. M, 5th Michigan Cavalry, part of what would become the famous Custer Brigade. Zelotas died on July 5th, 1863, from wounds received at Gettysburg. Shortly after, Ida was assigned to Jeffersonville General Hospital, and remained there until July 6, 1865. Seems like a logical time to stop working: the war's over, hospitals are closing down. Apparently, Ida had another reason altogether. She was suffering from what she termed "paralysis of the nerves" and could no longer work. I don't know what that translates to in modern terms, but whatever it is, it's bad, because within a few years, Ida had one leg amputated below the knee. The second was amputated a few years later. Somewhere in the midst of all this, though, Ida met her second husband, Andrew J. Martin, also a Union soldier, and the two were married on August 3, 1868.
Ida and Andrew moved to Huntsville sometime before 1870, and continued to live there for the next twenty odd years. By 1890, Andrew was getting too old to support himself and an invalid wife, and Ida petitioned for a pension based on her disability. It looks like the fact that her service had so clearly disabled her allowed her to ignore the precedents set for how much to pay for nurses pensions--poor old Berry and Cockrell must have been miffed--because she won a $24 pension, twice the going rate. Martin's case is one of the first times I've seen a nurse so clearly disabled as a result of her service. Usually they list "general disability," "rheumatism," or just old age, sometimes linked to their service. I've had several cases of malarial poisoning, chronic diarrhea, broken bones, deafness, and in one or two cases actual gunshot wounds, but nothing approaching what Martin endured. It's time to dig out the medical reference books and figure out just what kind of "paralysis of the nerves" means and why it caused her to lose her legs.
On a side note, heading in to Boston within the next few days to hit up Schlesinger and Houghton Libraries at Harvard, finally check out Memorial Hall, and maybe swing by the Boston Archives and Massachusetts Archives if I have the time. They have more Barton papers, some Dix papers, and letters from Harriet Patience Dame which, fingers crossed, should be interesting. Also going to the Medford Historical Society on Sunday--the WRC had its headquarters there for several years, so they may have some documents. Shall let you know what I find.
Electa Willard
Pension: 1133884, 1078866
P.O.: Detroit, Michigan
Service: agent for the Michigan agency for wounded and sick soldiers; also St. Mary's Hospital, Detroit
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
Sorry for not posting in over a week--I was up to my eyebrows in prep work for a re-enactment, and I spent the last two days trying to recover. The downstairs still looks like a disaster area, but today I am finally back in the swing of things--which means my desk is clean, the desktop is hooked up, my files are (semi) organized, and most important, I have the energy to work.
I went through the "W" pension folder today, plugging information into the Database. Amongst all the women, Electa's file stood out. It wasn't just the unique name (though I admit it was one of the reasons I decided to pull her pension in DC--it's just such a cool name!), it was the date her pension commenced: 1904.
Every pensioneer I pulled applied for a pension before 1892. That was one of the groundrules I went into this with. So the 1904 date had bells going off in my head. The thing with pension files is that there's ususally no rhyme or reason as to how the papers are organized. Sometimes they're ordered chronologically--it's a very rare sometimes. Willard's file was organized chronologically...but backwards. So the more recent papers were on top, and the older were on the bottom. And I started at the top.
A couple of "no, duh" moments later, here's Electa Willard:
When the war broke out, Governor Blair of Michigan commissioned Luther Willard to help supply and care for wounded Michigan soldiers by securing donations from private citizens, and seeing that they were put to good use. Electa, for whatever reason, decided to accompanied her husband. What happened to their three daughters (one them somewhere under the age of 1) is unclear. Electa, however, spent the vast majority of the next four years time distributing supplies at St. Mary's Harper Hospital; by 1863, she was a defacto nurse. Luther and Electa continued to work until the close of the war in '65.
With the war over, Luther and Electa returned home. Electa had another child in 1868--a girl as well--and Luther got a job as a printer. Luther, however, passed in 1877. Judging from the census records Electa wasn't in desperate need of money, but in May of 1892 she applied for a nurses pension--just before the Act passed. That didn't get very far--the War Department couldn't find any record of her service. When the Act passed, later that year she applied again, citing her service at St Mary's Hospital. For some reason, Willard abandoned the claim shortly after, but she applied again in 1898. This time she had a list of names: surgeons, fellow nurses, patients. Again, however, there was the problem that the War Department had no record of her service, and most of the people Willard cited were dead. The claim went nowhere. So, Willard resorted to other means to secure her pension: my favorite, the Special Act.
In 1904, Congress awarded Electa Willard a pension of $12 a month, arguing that her case came "within the spirit, if not the letter, of the army-nurse act," and citing her poor health and needy financial circumstances. I think, however, that Willard was keeping something from the esteemed body, because in 1911, when she died, the reimbursement claim filed by N.F. Hamilton stated that her home was worth $4000, and that Willard had $3000 in notes. Something doesn't add up here, and for once it's not because of the Bureau...
P.O.: Detroit, Michigan
Service: agent for the Michigan agency for wounded and sick soldiers; also St. Mary's Hospital, Detroit
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
Sorry for not posting in over a week--I was up to my eyebrows in prep work for a re-enactment, and I spent the last two days trying to recover. The downstairs still looks like a disaster area, but today I am finally back in the swing of things--which means my desk is clean, the desktop is hooked up, my files are (semi) organized, and most important, I have the energy to work.
I went through the "W" pension folder today, plugging information into the Database. Amongst all the women, Electa's file stood out. It wasn't just the unique name (though I admit it was one of the reasons I decided to pull her pension in DC--it's just such a cool name!), it was the date her pension commenced: 1904.
Every pensioneer I pulled applied for a pension before 1892. That was one of the groundrules I went into this with. So the 1904 date had bells going off in my head. The thing with pension files is that there's ususally no rhyme or reason as to how the papers are organized. Sometimes they're ordered chronologically--it's a very rare sometimes. Willard's file was organized chronologically...but backwards. So the more recent papers were on top, and the older were on the bottom. And I started at the top.
A couple of "no, duh" moments later, here's Electa Willard:
When the war broke out, Governor Blair of Michigan commissioned Luther Willard to help supply and care for wounded Michigan soldiers by securing donations from private citizens, and seeing that they were put to good use. Electa, for whatever reason, decided to accompanied her husband. What happened to their three daughters (one them somewhere under the age of 1) is unclear. Electa, however, spent the vast majority of the next four years time distributing supplies at St. Mary's Harper Hospital; by 1863, she was a defacto nurse. Luther and Electa continued to work until the close of the war in '65.
With the war over, Luther and Electa returned home. Electa had another child in 1868--a girl as well--and Luther got a job as a printer. Luther, however, passed in 1877. Judging from the census records Electa wasn't in desperate need of money, but in May of 1892 she applied for a nurses pension--just before the Act passed. That didn't get very far--the War Department couldn't find any record of her service. When the Act passed, later that year she applied again, citing her service at St Mary's Hospital. For some reason, Willard abandoned the claim shortly after, but she applied again in 1898. This time she had a list of names: surgeons, fellow nurses, patients. Again, however, there was the problem that the War Department had no record of her service, and most of the people Willard cited were dead. The claim went nowhere. So, Willard resorted to other means to secure her pension: my favorite, the Special Act.
In 1904, Congress awarded Electa Willard a pension of $12 a month, arguing that her case came "within the spirit, if not the letter, of the army-nurse act," and citing her poor health and needy financial circumstances. I think, however, that Willard was keeping something from the esteemed body, because in 1911, when she died, the reimbursement claim filed by N.F. Hamilton stated that her home was worth $4000, and that Willard had $3000 in notes. Something doesn't add up here, and for once it's not because of the Bureau...
Monday, July 9, 2012
The Database
I won't be posting a biography tonight--my pictures are all on the desktop which is currently sitting downstairs in the front room waiting for me to clear enough space on my desk to house it...since my desk is covered in books, that could take a while. Instead, I'm going to briefly explain part of what I'll be doing once the computer is hooked up.
'The Database' is an Excel file where I plug in certain information gleaned from the pension records. There are two reasons to have this file. One is so I can quickly find the file I'm looking for--I know I'm not going to keep all 350 women straight. If I remember if she was a Special Act or not, where she served, or other details, I can narrow down the possibilities and pull the relevant files. The other reasons is to look for patterns. It'll be easier to explain what kinds of patterns if I list off the things I'm pulling:
This bit goes out to the peanut gallery I know is out there: can you think of any other information I can plug into the database? Any questions I can ask? As I was reminded several times in D.C., multiple heads are better than one. Especially when one is pretty close to not seeing the forest for the trees. Sing out if you think of anything!
'The Database' is an Excel file where I plug in certain information gleaned from the pension records. There are two reasons to have this file. One is so I can quickly find the file I'm looking for--I know I'm not going to keep all 350 women straight. If I remember if she was a Special Act or not, where she served, or other details, I can narrow down the possibilities and pull the relevant files. The other reasons is to look for patterns. It'll be easier to explain what kinds of patterns if I list off the things I'm pulling:
- Name
- Year Applied
- Status (Accepted, Rejected, Abandoned)
- Year Dropped (if accepted)
- Residence
- Branch (was she in the USSC, the USCC, a contract nurse, a Sister of Charity, a regimental nurse, one of Dix's nursing corps, or was she an independent operator?)
- Color (white or black)
- Marital status at enlistment
- Children at enlistment
- Occupation at enlistment
- Family in the army
- Hospitals served
- Marital status and occupation at application
- If she has an occupation, is it a government job?
- Nature of disability sustained (was it in service, or is it general disability/old age?)
- Member of the Woman's Relief Corps
- Member of the American Nurses Assocation
- Attorney
- Special Act or 1892 Act application
- If a Special Act, who introduced the bill to Congress
- If an 1892 Act app., did they satisfy the 6 months service requirement? The competant authority requirement? Was it accepted?
- Subsequent action (any special investigations, increases, or if she was rejected the first time around, did she try again?)
- Evidence of networking with fellow nurses (did she have other nurses write affidavits, did the WRC or ANA support it?)
This bit goes out to the peanut gallery I know is out there: can you think of any other information I can plug into the database? Any questions I can ask? As I was reminded several times in D.C., multiple heads are better than one. Especially when one is pretty close to not seeing the forest for the trees. Sing out if you think of anything!
Friday, July 6, 2012
End Act 1
Today was my last day at the Archives. Which meant nose to the grind stone, trying not to listen to the nagging voice in the back of my head screaming, "You've forgotten something!" I can't say I completely succeeded in ignoring it, but I didn't run around like a madwoman. Always a good thing.
It's honestly a little surreal. My mind keeps going, Wait, there's no work? You mean I can sleep in every morning? What about my walk in the morning? I don't get to say hi to Barack and Booth? What am I supposed to do with myself?
The short term answer is come up with a final tally.
Pension files pulled: 322
Legislative pension files pulled: 103
Some of the legislative files and pension files deal with the same person, so the total isn't the combination of the two. Once you account for those, here's the grand total:
354 pensions
Now we add the goodies. I pulled Mary Ann Bickerdyke's and Clara Barton's papers from the Library of Congress. Bickerdyke was involved in securing pensions for a number of nurses, and Barton was a member of the WRC Pension Committee, so both women had something to add to the bigger picture. We also have the huge petition the WRC circulated, a few tidbits from the 1892 Act file, and the 1888 Act file I pulled today. I have transcripts for the debate surrounding both bills and the names of several Congressmen involved in the bill (both for and against) who I can look into. I have the names of over a dozen women involved in the WRC National Pension Committee and the Army Nurses Association. And let's not forget the names of 354 women I can plug into search engines or send to historical societies to try and find personal letters.
I don't have a battleplan for Act 2 yet. I know it will consist of going through every single pension file, plugging the information into some sort of spreadsheet to look for patterns, and following up on all the leads I've been finding. And, of course, keeping up the blog. But for now, I'm heading home and putting my feet up for a few days. Sleep...
It's honestly a little surreal. My mind keeps going, Wait, there's no work? You mean I can sleep in every morning? What about my walk in the morning? I don't get to say hi to Barack and Booth? What am I supposed to do with myself?
The short term answer is come up with a final tally.
Pension files pulled: 322
Legislative pension files pulled: 103
Some of the legislative files and pension files deal with the same person, so the total isn't the combination of the two. Once you account for those, here's the grand total:
354 pensions
Now we add the goodies. I pulled Mary Ann Bickerdyke's and Clara Barton's papers from the Library of Congress. Bickerdyke was involved in securing pensions for a number of nurses, and Barton was a member of the WRC Pension Committee, so both women had something to add to the bigger picture. We also have the huge petition the WRC circulated, a few tidbits from the 1892 Act file, and the 1888 Act file I pulled today. I have transcripts for the debate surrounding both bills and the names of several Congressmen involved in the bill (both for and against) who I can look into. I have the names of over a dozen women involved in the WRC National Pension Committee and the Army Nurses Association. And let's not forget the names of 354 women I can plug into search engines or send to historical societies to try and find personal letters.
I don't have a battleplan for Act 2 yet. I know it will consist of going through every single pension file, plugging the information into some sort of spreadsheet to look for patterns, and following up on all the leads I've been finding. And, of course, keeping up the blog. But for now, I'm heading home and putting my feet up for a few days. Sleep...
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Catherine Quinn
Pension File: 1141084, 854963
P.O.: Cincinnati, Ohio
Service: nurse at Camp Dennison Hospital
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
Another day, another fun story. Catherine Quinn served as a contract nurse at Camp Dennison Hospital from 1862 to 1865. She applied for, and was granted, a pension based on that service. No hitches, no jumping through hoops to prove anything. The good stuff comes later.
In August, 1898, the Pension Bureau received an anonymous letter from "an old soldier." He was writing, he said, because the government was being swindled: Catherine Quinn never served as a nurse--in fact, she'd been a washerwoman, and she'd had $2000 in her account when she'd applied for her pension. Oh, and she was a drunken, abusive person.
Within a month, the Bureau launched a special investigation. Turns out the "old soldier" wasn't really an old soldier. His name was William McLusky, and he'd fought with Quinn because she'd refused to give him money. As pay back, he'd tried to sabotage her pension claim. As the investigator dug deeper and called in other people to give affidavits, he observed that "all parties who appear in the matter are of very ordinary class hardly entitled in my opinion to be rated even "fair"...they have until recently all been cronies and the seeming cause of their troubles has been the unwillingness of Mrs. Quinn to supply liquid refreshments to the extent they demanded."
This should have been written off as a petty prank, but the purpose of a special investigation is to determine if a nurse did actually serve--essentially, a nurse has to apply again. The people who testified on Quinn's behalf though were by now dead. So, the investigator was left with a choice: based on the current evidence, did he rule in favor of Quinn, or listen to the not-so-fair McLusky?
For once, the Bureau did the decent thing, and gave Quinn the benefit of the doubt. I guess the Bureau does have a bit of a heart after all.
P.O.: Cincinnati, Ohio
Service: nurse at Camp Dennison Hospital
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
Another day, another fun story. Catherine Quinn served as a contract nurse at Camp Dennison Hospital from 1862 to 1865. She applied for, and was granted, a pension based on that service. No hitches, no jumping through hoops to prove anything. The good stuff comes later.
In August, 1898, the Pension Bureau received an anonymous letter from "an old soldier." He was writing, he said, because the government was being swindled: Catherine Quinn never served as a nurse--in fact, she'd been a washerwoman, and she'd had $2000 in her account when she'd applied for her pension. Oh, and she was a drunken, abusive person.
Within a month, the Bureau launched a special investigation. Turns out the "old soldier" wasn't really an old soldier. His name was William McLusky, and he'd fought with Quinn because she'd refused to give him money. As pay back, he'd tried to sabotage her pension claim. As the investigator dug deeper and called in other people to give affidavits, he observed that "all parties who appear in the matter are of very ordinary class hardly entitled in my opinion to be rated even "fair"...they have until recently all been cronies and the seeming cause of their troubles has been the unwillingness of Mrs. Quinn to supply liquid refreshments to the extent they demanded."
This should have been written off as a petty prank, but the purpose of a special investigation is to determine if a nurse did actually serve--essentially, a nurse has to apply again. The people who testified on Quinn's behalf though were by now dead. So, the investigator was left with a choice: based on the current evidence, did he rule in favor of Quinn, or listen to the not-so-fair McLusky?
For once, the Bureau did the decent thing, and gave Quinn the benefit of the doubt. I guess the Bureau does have a bit of a heart after all.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Clara B. Hoyt
Pension File: 1133681
P.O.: Rush Center, Kansas
Service: Nurse at Columbian College Hospital and Point of Rocks Hospital
Applied: 1891
Status: Rejected
This is one the annoying files where you know there's more somewhere, but for whatever reason it's impossible to find. Hoyt has a legislative file--and an interesting one at that--but her pension file is MIA. I've requested it twice, and each time I've gotten a rejection slip. I am not happy.
A brief of sketch of Hoyt based on what her legislative file contains: Hoyt served as a nurse under the direction of Dorothea Dix under her maiden name, Clara B. Clark, from the fall of 1864 to around the 20th of May, 1865. After the war, Clara married and moved from her home in New York to Kansas. In 1889 she contacted Congressman Ingalls about obtaining a pension through a Special Act. Ingalls did what he could, and the bill was brought before the Senate twice, one in May, 1890, and again in December, 1891, but each time it was referred back to Committee. Search me as to why. Once the 1892 Act passed, Hoyt applied for a pension through the Bureau rather than a Special Act--and as a result, the file ends, which is why I'd so like to get my hands on that file! I know her claim was rejected, since her pension file number doesn't have a certificate number (the first number, and generally the only one, is the application number, and the second is the certificate number, only given when a person is granted a pension).
Here come the surprises:
First, another reason why I'd love to get that pension file: Hoyt's attorney was named Ellen S. Tolman of Lawrence, Massachusetts Unless I'm reading that name incorrectly, or Ellen was originally a guy's name ("Oh, Ashley, Ashley!!"), we have a female lawyer on our hands! There's also the question of why Hoyt hired an attorney living in Massachusetts when she herself lived in Kansas.
Second, the WRC made a guest appearance in the file. This time it wasn't Annie Wittenmyer, it was Sarah E. Fuller, a former president and Secretary of the National Pension Committee. In 1890, Fuller wrote Ingalls a letter in support of Hoyt's claim, and attached an "Army Nurses Blank" provided by the WRC. My guess is that the WRC used these forms in their own pension process--the WRC provided pensions to its members, but emphasized these were supposed to be temporary relief. The blank asks who commissioned the nurse, dates of enrollment and discharge, age at enrollment, if the applicant has any papers to back her claim, her pecuniary circumstances, marital status, state of health, and how employed. That's how I know that Hoyt suffered from rheumatism and catarrh, and her pecuniary circumstances were "at present not flattering." It also presents another research possibility--where are the WRC-issued pensions, and can I use the information in those files to supplement what I've gathered from the Archives? Another rabbit hole! Madness!
P.O.: Rush Center, Kansas
Service: Nurse at Columbian College Hospital and Point of Rocks Hospital
Applied: 1891
Status: Rejected
This is one the annoying files where you know there's more somewhere, but for whatever reason it's impossible to find. Hoyt has a legislative file--and an interesting one at that--but her pension file is MIA. I've requested it twice, and each time I've gotten a rejection slip. I am not happy.
A brief of sketch of Hoyt based on what her legislative file contains: Hoyt served as a nurse under the direction of Dorothea Dix under her maiden name, Clara B. Clark, from the fall of 1864 to around the 20th of May, 1865. After the war, Clara married and moved from her home in New York to Kansas. In 1889 she contacted Congressman Ingalls about obtaining a pension through a Special Act. Ingalls did what he could, and the bill was brought before the Senate twice, one in May, 1890, and again in December, 1891, but each time it was referred back to Committee. Search me as to why. Once the 1892 Act passed, Hoyt applied for a pension through the Bureau rather than a Special Act--and as a result, the file ends, which is why I'd so like to get my hands on that file! I know her claim was rejected, since her pension file number doesn't have a certificate number (the first number, and generally the only one, is the application number, and the second is the certificate number, only given when a person is granted a pension).
Here come the surprises:
First, another reason why I'd love to get that pension file: Hoyt's attorney was named Ellen S. Tolman of Lawrence, Massachusetts Unless I'm reading that name incorrectly, or Ellen was originally a guy's name ("Oh, Ashley, Ashley!!"), we have a female lawyer on our hands! There's also the question of why Hoyt hired an attorney living in Massachusetts when she herself lived in Kansas.
Second, the WRC made a guest appearance in the file. This time it wasn't Annie Wittenmyer, it was Sarah E. Fuller, a former president and Secretary of the National Pension Committee. In 1890, Fuller wrote Ingalls a letter in support of Hoyt's claim, and attached an "Army Nurses Blank" provided by the WRC. My guess is that the WRC used these forms in their own pension process--the WRC provided pensions to its members, but emphasized these were supposed to be temporary relief. The blank asks who commissioned the nurse, dates of enrollment and discharge, age at enrollment, if the applicant has any papers to back her claim, her pecuniary circumstances, marital status, state of health, and how employed. That's how I know that Hoyt suffered from rheumatism and catarrh, and her pecuniary circumstances were "at present not flattering." It also presents another research possibility--where are the WRC-issued pensions, and can I use the information in those files to supplement what I've gathered from the Archives? Another rabbit hole! Madness!
Monday, July 2, 2012
Clara Watson
Pension File: 1141792
P.O.: Ebenezer, Pennsylvania
Service: nurse at General Hospital 5, 6, and 7 at Murfreesboro, Tennessee from December 31st, 1863 to end of the war
Filed: 1892
Status: Rejected
Most nurses were well into their seventies when they applied for a pension--by extension, they were in their thirties or forties when they served in the war. Clara Watson, however, was only 22 when she began to work as a nurse. She was my age. And she'd already given birth to two daughters, Susan and Melissa, and had just run away from her owner, Doctor Allison.
Clara was another escaped slave, just like Mehala Edwards.
According to her affidavits, Clara and her two daughters ran away from Dr. Allison's farm on the Manchester Turnpike just after the Battle of Stone River in 1862. Shortly after she began working at General Hospital 5 in Murfreesboro. The only compensation she received, she claimed, were her rations. After a year she was transferred to General Hospital 6, where she was paid $2.50 a week--roughly the same as a regular enlisted nurse. There's some confusion as to dates, but Watson claimed she was transferred to Hospital 7 in June, 1865, and served there until the close of the war.
Once she was discharged, a man named Frank Speedy took her and her daughters to Indiana County, Pennsylvania, where she settled down. I checked the census records: in 1870, a woman matching Watson's description was listed in Conemaugh, Indiana County, living with her husband John Watson, a man thirty years her senior, as well as four children: Susan, Frank, Martha, and Banks. Watson also appeared in the 1880, 1900, and 1910 census. She apparently gave birth to 8 children, and outlived at least six of them.
Watson applied for a pension in 1892 based on her service in Murfreesboro. She supplied the names of at least half a dozen doctors and hospital stewards who could testify to her work, and ensisted that someone had placed her name on the rolls on several occasions. Guess what the Bureau said? "Sorry, no record exists, and most of the people you named are not in our records or are dead. Got anything else?" When Watson couldn't produce any additional proof, they rejected her claim--took them three years to tell her. But Watson tried again. She sent a letter in 1897 asking what more she could do to prosecute her claim other than getting rid of her attorney, Frank Donahue, who apparently had done a less than stellar job. "I am entitled to [my pension]," she wrote, "and have furnish [sic] evidence so it is now over four years since I made application." The same thing happened: no records, no affidavits, rejection. Watson tried a last time in 1910, this time enlisting her local Congressman. Third time's the charm, right? Wrong. This is the Pension Bureau we're talking about. Watson never got her pension.
I know that at least two black women received a pension: Ann Stokes and Maria Bear Tolivar. And I have at least three black women who were rejected. Time to do some comparisons and see what let those two women succeed where others failed.
P.O.: Ebenezer, Pennsylvania
Service: nurse at General Hospital 5, 6, and 7 at Murfreesboro, Tennessee from December 31st, 1863 to end of the war
Filed: 1892
Status: Rejected
Most nurses were well into their seventies when they applied for a pension--by extension, they were in their thirties or forties when they served in the war. Clara Watson, however, was only 22 when she began to work as a nurse. She was my age. And she'd already given birth to two daughters, Susan and Melissa, and had just run away from her owner, Doctor Allison.
Clara was another escaped slave, just like Mehala Edwards.
According to her affidavits, Clara and her two daughters ran away from Dr. Allison's farm on the Manchester Turnpike just after the Battle of Stone River in 1862. Shortly after she began working at General Hospital 5 in Murfreesboro. The only compensation she received, she claimed, were her rations. After a year she was transferred to General Hospital 6, where she was paid $2.50 a week--roughly the same as a regular enlisted nurse. There's some confusion as to dates, but Watson claimed she was transferred to Hospital 7 in June, 1865, and served there until the close of the war.
Once she was discharged, a man named Frank Speedy took her and her daughters to Indiana County, Pennsylvania, where she settled down. I checked the census records: in 1870, a woman matching Watson's description was listed in Conemaugh, Indiana County, living with her husband John Watson, a man thirty years her senior, as well as four children: Susan, Frank, Martha, and Banks. Watson also appeared in the 1880, 1900, and 1910 census. She apparently gave birth to 8 children, and outlived at least six of them.
Watson applied for a pension in 1892 based on her service in Murfreesboro. She supplied the names of at least half a dozen doctors and hospital stewards who could testify to her work, and ensisted that someone had placed her name on the rolls on several occasions. Guess what the Bureau said? "Sorry, no record exists, and most of the people you named are not in our records or are dead. Got anything else?" When Watson couldn't produce any additional proof, they rejected her claim--took them three years to tell her. But Watson tried again. She sent a letter in 1897 asking what more she could do to prosecute her claim other than getting rid of her attorney, Frank Donahue, who apparently had done a less than stellar job. "I am entitled to [my pension]," she wrote, "and have furnish [sic] evidence so it is now over four years since I made application." The same thing happened: no records, no affidavits, rejection. Watson tried a last time in 1910, this time enlisting her local Congressman. Third time's the charm, right? Wrong. This is the Pension Bureau we're talking about. Watson never got her pension.
I know that at least two black women received a pension: Ann Stokes and Maria Bear Tolivar. And I have at least three black women who were rejected. Time to do some comparisons and see what let those two women succeed where others failed.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
One Week Left!
One Week Left!
When I started this project, my first goal was to put together a list of women who applied for pensions between 1866 and 1892. My total is somewhere around 625—and if fold3 would update its database every once in a while, and Ancestry let me limit pensions by year, it’d be much bigger. Anyway, since the Archives only allow a certain number of pulls a day, and I’m only here for five weeks, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to pull all 650, so I printed out a list, highlighted every other name, and hoped that this would be a good random sampling. And if it wasn’t, well, in five weeks I can pull a maximum of 400 pensions, and since 625 divided by 2 is 312.5, I have some wiggle room. One week, to be precise. Next week.
Which is why yesterday there was no post. I know I can always come back to D.C. this summer, or come up in the fall, but I want to get as much done now as possible. So yesterday was planning. And here is the to-do list:
I have time for 72 more pension pulls. Go back through the rejection slips (you know, I got 9 yesterday. 9!! And Harriet Stinson Pond is not an officer from a Kentucky regiment! Geez…), and decide which ones I want to/can request again. Then, go through the master list and see if I missed anyone I particularly wanted to pull—blacks, nuns, women who are particularly well-documented. Random sampling for the rest of the list. DONE
Legislation has the list of Special Acts I want to see. Pull those, go through. Make sure to check for women not on the list. Also go through the other file related to the 1892 Act.
Put together a list of the Congressmen on the Committee on Invalid Pensions and see if they have papers here or at the LoC. I have a few letters between the WRC and various Congressmen, so I know the correspondence is there, it’s just a matter of finding it.
Check to see if the LoC of the Archives have anything on the WRC women on the National Pension Committee: E. Florence Barker, Kate B. Sherwood, Lydia A. Scott, Mary A. Logan, Sarah E. Fuller, Clara Barton and Annie Wittenmyer (technically she’s not on the Committee, she’s the WRC president, but she’s endorsing so many applications she might as well be on the committee). Also, see if there’s anything on James Tanner—Tanner was Commissioner of Pensions in 1889 and had very liberal policies about who he gave pensions too. After he exceeded the Bureau's budget and had to resign, he set up a private law firm, specializing in pensions. In 1892, he offered to help nurses obtain pensions. Legally, he couldn’t ask for a fee for his work; it all had to be pro bono. But, he still offered, and a significant number of the nurses on my list have power of attorney papers giving him the ability to prosecute their case, or affidavits and forms with his firm’s stamp on it. If he has papers, they could shed some light on how these women found out about the pensions, the process of applying, and why so many women chose him to act for them.
If there’s time, go through the microfilm of letters to/from the Pension Office from 1860s to 1890 and see if there are letters relating to the project (they have the letters from 1890 onward nicely indexed by subject and sender, but not these—why?!).
A number of my nurses lived here in D.C. for a time, like Susan Edson and Caroline Burghardt (I actually live a block and a smidge from one of them—her home is now a Bertucci’s…). Check the D.C. historical society and see if they have files on these women. Chances are slim, since the last time I checked they were looking for a new head librarian, and have been closed for nearly a year, but you never know.
Finally: if the weather ever cools down enough to leave air-conditioned comfort and permit long walks, I want to go to Arlington. A few of my nurses are buried there, and I’d like to see them and get pictures for their files.
So, no problem, right? Right.
One more week, guys! Keep your fingers crossed it’s a good one!
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Susan Barry
Pension File: 599141, 352072 (Special Act)
P.O.: San Francisco, CA
Service: served under Dix at at least 11 different hospitals from 1861 to 1864.
Applied: 1887
Status: Accepted
Susan Barry's file was really two files in one. One was her husband's pension file; the other was hers. Robert, the husband, emigrated from England as a child. Susan was a native. Robert enlisted in the Stokes Battery, Illinois Light Artillery; Susan was selected as a nurse in May of 1861 and began courses at Bellevue Hospital. After two months, Dix assigned her to Alexandria, Virginia. She stayed there for eight months before being transferred to Winchester. From then on, every few months found her at a new hospital: Harpers Ferry, Georgetown, Aquia Creek, Murfreesboro--she was everywhere. There's no indication in the records as to how Robert and Susan met, but the two were married in May, 1866, at Hoomer, New York.
Robert almost immediately began to suffer from neuralgia and a variety of other maladies which he traced back to his service. The Bureau, however, didn't buy it until 1890, and in the meantime, Susan applied for a Special Act of her own. In 1887, Congress granted her a $12 pension. Once again, the file's a little sparse on exactly how Barry pushed through a Special Act, but given the trouble Robert was having getting his own pension, it was probably a good thing. The Bureau didn't think his disabilities kept him from doing manual labor in any significant way, and there were allegations that his 'nervous prostration' was due to some excessive drinking. Susan, however, supported her husband's claim, writing letters, signing affidavits, and helping with the special investigation launched in 1900. Robert died in 1905 at the age of 67; Susan passed a few years later in 1912.
No big surprises, no intriguing mysteries or hints, just a simple story of a woman and her husband and their experiences. Though...Susan has a special act file buried somewhere in the depths of the Archives--with four years of service, I bet there'll be some interesting finds!
P.O.: San Francisco, CA
Service: served under Dix at at least 11 different hospitals from 1861 to 1864.
Applied: 1887
Status: Accepted
Susan Barry's file was really two files in one. One was her husband's pension file; the other was hers. Robert, the husband, emigrated from England as a child. Susan was a native. Robert enlisted in the Stokes Battery, Illinois Light Artillery; Susan was selected as a nurse in May of 1861 and began courses at Bellevue Hospital. After two months, Dix assigned her to Alexandria, Virginia. She stayed there for eight months before being transferred to Winchester. From then on, every few months found her at a new hospital: Harpers Ferry, Georgetown, Aquia Creek, Murfreesboro--she was everywhere. There's no indication in the records as to how Robert and Susan met, but the two were married in May, 1866, at Hoomer, New York.
Robert almost immediately began to suffer from neuralgia and a variety of other maladies which he traced back to his service. The Bureau, however, didn't buy it until 1890, and in the meantime, Susan applied for a Special Act of her own. In 1887, Congress granted her a $12 pension. Once again, the file's a little sparse on exactly how Barry pushed through a Special Act, but given the trouble Robert was having getting his own pension, it was probably a good thing. The Bureau didn't think his disabilities kept him from doing manual labor in any significant way, and there were allegations that his 'nervous prostration' was due to some excessive drinking. Susan, however, supported her husband's claim, writing letters, signing affidavits, and helping with the special investigation launched in 1900. Robert died in 1905 at the age of 67; Susan passed a few years later in 1912.
No big surprises, no intriguing mysteries or hints, just a simple story of a woman and her husband and their experiences. Though...Susan has a special act file buried somewhere in the depths of the Archives--with four years of service, I bet there'll be some interesting finds!
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
51A-H10.1
Today promised to be a big day. Wednesday is the first day of the week I can put in twenty pull requests instead of sixteen. And this Wednesday I was going to finish Mary E. Walker's microfilm, and look at the rest of the 51st Congress Senate Private Acts and move on to the 52nd. The cherry: legislation pulled 51A-H10.1, the Committee on Invalid Pension's file on the Army Nurses Pension Act. All kinds of good things lined up.
And it didn't disappoint. Walker is finished and I'm in the midst of transcribing the documents; the 51st and 52nd Congress Private Acts are done, and I have a couple extra nurses who weren't on my list. And 51A-H10.1 is photographed. I feel virtuous.
51A wasn't what I expected though. I was hoping for correspondance between committee members and members of the WRC arguing for support, letters between committee members debating the merits of the bill, or discussing who they needed to persuade and how to go about it. I didn't get much of that, though. There were two identical letters, sent to George Seney and D.B. Henderson by Kate B. Sherwood, the Chairman of the National Pension and Relief Committee for the WRC, presenting the Army Nurses Bill and asking for support. There's no indication of whether or not either Congressman gave the bill their support.
There were also more of the petitions I'd found earlier--apparently Indiana sent theirs in late. Their late arrival necessitated a letter from Armilla Cheney, the WRC treasurer explaining the situation, and a letter from Clara Barton to Mr. Cogswell forwarding them on to him.
I don't remember if I mentioned this in previous posts, but Barton was an active member of the WRC. She served on the WRC Pension Committee until the bill finally passed, and also served as National Chaplain for a number of years. She was so often in D.C. that the Pension Committee effectively made her their agent in the capitol. What exactly being that agent entaled I didn't know until I read this letter, which reveals a little of what Barton was up to. Apparently, the petitions I looked at earlier were sent to Barton, and she in turn sent them to Senator Blaire, the head of the Committee on Invalid Pensions and a strong advocate for the Nurses Pension Act. When these stragglers arrived, Barton sent them on to Mr. Cogswell to add to the petition; as Barton put it, "from the size of that 'cart wheel' roll one would judge that it needed no further accessories--but vast as the sea is, the drops still fall in it and the little brooks flow to it, so I suppose it's all right."
I also found an intriguing little pamphlet tucked in the folder: Joint Resolution No. 3. from the General Assembly and Governor of Iowa, "asking Congress to enact a law providing for pensioning certain women enrolled as Army Nurses."
Any ideas why Iowa of all states is endorsing the Nurses Pension Act?
And it didn't disappoint. Walker is finished and I'm in the midst of transcribing the documents; the 51st and 52nd Congress Private Acts are done, and I have a couple extra nurses who weren't on my list. And 51A-H10.1 is photographed. I feel virtuous.
51A wasn't what I expected though. I was hoping for correspondance between committee members and members of the WRC arguing for support, letters between committee members debating the merits of the bill, or discussing who they needed to persuade and how to go about it. I didn't get much of that, though. There were two identical letters, sent to George Seney and D.B. Henderson by Kate B. Sherwood, the Chairman of the National Pension and Relief Committee for the WRC, presenting the Army Nurses Bill and asking for support. There's no indication of whether or not either Congressman gave the bill their support.
There were also more of the petitions I'd found earlier--apparently Indiana sent theirs in late. Their late arrival necessitated a letter from Armilla Cheney, the WRC treasurer explaining the situation, and a letter from Clara Barton to Mr. Cogswell forwarding them on to him.
I don't remember if I mentioned this in previous posts, but Barton was an active member of the WRC. She served on the WRC Pension Committee until the bill finally passed, and also served as National Chaplain for a number of years. She was so often in D.C. that the Pension Committee effectively made her their agent in the capitol. What exactly being that agent entaled I didn't know until I read this letter, which reveals a little of what Barton was up to. Apparently, the petitions I looked at earlier were sent to Barton, and she in turn sent them to Senator Blaire, the head of the Committee on Invalid Pensions and a strong advocate for the Nurses Pension Act. When these stragglers arrived, Barton sent them on to Mr. Cogswell to add to the petition; as Barton put it, "from the size of that 'cart wheel' roll one would judge that it needed no further accessories--but vast as the sea is, the drops still fall in it and the little brooks flow to it, so I suppose it's all right."
I also found an intriguing little pamphlet tucked in the folder: Joint Resolution No. 3. from the General Assembly and Governor of Iowa, "asking Congress to enact a law providing for pensioning certain women enrolled as Army Nurses."
Any ideas why Iowa of all states is endorsing the Nurses Pension Act?
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Mary A. Huff
Pension File: 1133684, 815217
P.O.: Nova Scotia
Service: Nurse at Carver Hospital, D.C.
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
I know I promised you Mary Walker, but her papers are a two-day project. So, in the interim, I pulled out Mary Huff's file.
Mary Huff is one of those wonderful occasions where someone kept track of who served at the hospital, and the War Department managed to find it. She served at Carver Hospital in Washington, D.C. from October 17th, 1864, to June 3rd, 1865 alongside a number of other women whose pension files I pulled, like Mary A. McKee, Waitie Harris, and Sarah Cowgill. The catch (it's not a real blogpost if there wasn't a catch): the rolls listed her as a cook, which meant she didn't fall under the 1892 Act. She was also no longer a resident of the US. There's nothing in the file on the problems created by Huff living in Canada. There is, however, tons on the problem created by listing her as a cook.
In fact, it looks like the Bureau had a minor meltdown. Huff's file is full of official letters, briefings, and legal decisions centered on the specifics of the 1892 Act. I promise I'll try to keep the legalese to a minimum.
There were two major problems. By 1892, many surgeons and stewards who could testified to a woman's service were dead, and nurses had to rely on the testimony of enlisted men and nurses. The issue here was whether or not that testimony was sufficient to establish service under a competent authority. The other problem was the exact status of the women who worked for Annie Wittenmyer in the special diet kitchens, since they served both as nurses and cooks--cooks, of course, being completely left out of the 1892 Act.
Hoke Smith, the Secretary of the Interior at the time, made the final legal ruling. The "fact of service," or whether or not a woman served as a nurse under competent authority, could be proved by any competent witness, including enlisted men and nurses. However, they did not have authority to employ nurses. Self-explanatory. As to the women employed by Wittenmyer,
There were also two substantial "opinions." As dull as it sounds, the briefs answered some of the questions I kept asking as I went through the files. One brief, an Opinion in re Nurse Pension Act acknowledged just how difficult it was to establish a nurse's service using service records or testimony. Some times, no evidence could be found, and other times the record listed women as cooks, laundresses, waitresses--positions other than nurses, as was the case with Mary Huff. They were listed as such, the opinion stated, "presumably in compliance with a request from the Surgeon General's Office, that [because] a larger number of nurses had been accepted in the Department...than had been intended," they should be listed under another name, but given the same pay. The problem here was finding evidence to controvert the records. Then there was my favorite: sometimes the records showed a woman paid for less than the required six months (usually because the records were spotty or the women signed vouchers allowing the Surgeon to draw their pay to buy things for the soldiers), but the woman claimed more than six months service. And then there were the people whose homes were used as hospitals and they themselves worked as nurses.
What to do, what to do?
Here's the short answer. Yes, you can get a pension if you are listed as something other than a nurse, so long as you can deliver proof and were appointed by a competent authority. So, if you were listed as a cook, laundress, or opened your house, as long as you actually nursed, you come under the Act. No, you can't deny a pension based solely on payment records (or lack thereof). Payment records are only corroborative evidence.
So why do payment records still have so much 'oomph' in later records? And why are Wittenmyer's nurses still having issues getting pensions a few years later? In short, why do they make a somewhat hasty retreat on all these decisions within months?!
P.O.: Nova Scotia
Service: Nurse at Carver Hospital, D.C.
Applied: 1892
Status: Accepted
I know I promised you Mary Walker, but her papers are a two-day project. So, in the interim, I pulled out Mary Huff's file.
Mary Huff is one of those wonderful occasions where someone kept track of who served at the hospital, and the War Department managed to find it. She served at Carver Hospital in Washington, D.C. from October 17th, 1864, to June 3rd, 1865 alongside a number of other women whose pension files I pulled, like Mary A. McKee, Waitie Harris, and Sarah Cowgill. The catch (it's not a real blogpost if there wasn't a catch): the rolls listed her as a cook, which meant she didn't fall under the 1892 Act. She was also no longer a resident of the US. There's nothing in the file on the problems created by Huff living in Canada. There is, however, tons on the problem created by listing her as a cook.
In fact, it looks like the Bureau had a minor meltdown. Huff's file is full of official letters, briefings, and legal decisions centered on the specifics of the 1892 Act. I promise I'll try to keep the legalese to a minimum.
There were two major problems. By 1892, many surgeons and stewards who could testified to a woman's service were dead, and nurses had to rely on the testimony of enlisted men and nurses. The issue here was whether or not that testimony was sufficient to establish service under a competent authority. The other problem was the exact status of the women who worked for Annie Wittenmyer in the special diet kitchens, since they served both as nurses and cooks--cooks, of course, being completely left out of the 1892 Act.
Hoke Smith, the Secretary of the Interior at the time, made the final legal ruling. The "fact of service," or whether or not a woman served as a nurse under competent authority, could be proved by any competent witness, including enlisted men and nurses. However, they did not have authority to employ nurses. Self-explanatory. As to the women employed by Wittenmyer,
"the dietary nurse sustains a relation to a patient which is much akin to that of a medical adviser. Physicians are themselves constantly urging the efficiency of diet as a safeguard against disease as well as a remefy therefor. It requires intelligence as well as delicate knowledge of the nature and effect of certain foods to fit a woman for such a position. They often have, for this, a peculiar fitness, and the services rendered by such women are invaluable and entitled to great consideration."Therefore, Smith considered their pensionable status under the Act "unquestionable."
There were also two substantial "opinions." As dull as it sounds, the briefs answered some of the questions I kept asking as I went through the files. One brief, an Opinion in re Nurse Pension Act acknowledged just how difficult it was to establish a nurse's service using service records or testimony. Some times, no evidence could be found, and other times the record listed women as cooks, laundresses, waitresses--positions other than nurses, as was the case with Mary Huff. They were listed as such, the opinion stated, "presumably in compliance with a request from the Surgeon General's Office, that [because] a larger number of nurses had been accepted in the Department...than had been intended," they should be listed under another name, but given the same pay. The problem here was finding evidence to controvert the records. Then there was my favorite: sometimes the records showed a woman paid for less than the required six months (usually because the records were spotty or the women signed vouchers allowing the Surgeon to draw their pay to buy things for the soldiers), but the woman claimed more than six months service. And then there were the people whose homes were used as hospitals and they themselves worked as nurses.
What to do, what to do?
Here's the short answer. Yes, you can get a pension if you are listed as something other than a nurse, so long as you can deliver proof and were appointed by a competent authority. So, if you were listed as a cook, laundress, or opened your house, as long as you actually nursed, you come under the Act. No, you can't deny a pension based solely on payment records (or lack thereof). Payment records are only corroborative evidence.
So why do payment records still have so much 'oomph' in later records? And why are Wittenmyer's nurses still having issues getting pensions a few years later? In short, why do they make a somewhat hasty retreat on all these decisions within months?!
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