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!
Thursday, October 25, 2012
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.
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