Pension: 1130592
P.O.: 80 Bloomington St., Indianapolis, and 1003 N. 4th Street, Arkansas City, Kansas
Service: contract nurse as regimental nurse for the 18th Indiana, then at Nashville General Hospital No. 23 and Murfreesboro General Hospital No. 7; served the duration of the war
Applied: September 8, 1892
Status: Abandoned
I've been seeing a surprising number of files like Ross's lately--maybe it's because I've been going through some old files, trying to track down burials and death dates. Ross is one of the women who died while her claim was pending.
Pensions were loaded with social meaning in the nineteenth century--were you the 'deserving poor,' whatever the government and your community decided that meant, and thus qualified for a pension? Could you bring yourself to discuss your wartime service as something other than charity, as something that deserved recognition and compensation from the government? Could you accept charity? Could you make certain aspects of your private life public and admit that your living conditions were desperate, and take the shame that came with that? But sometimes I need a reminder that buried underneath all that social meaning is often a very simple issue: many of these women are old, and they need these pensions to survive.
Charlotte Ross served during the war as Charlotte Gill (her maiden name). Interestingly, I haven't been able to find any family members in the 18th Indiana (yet!) that would explain her presence--she mentioned she was attached to Co. K, so I'll be digging deeper into them. Gill remained with the regiment until July, 1862, during which time she participated in every march, and every battle, including the Battle of Pea Ridge. That July, however, she attached herself to General Hospital No. 23 in Nashville, while the regiment continued on to Arkansas. Gill continued to work in Nashville until April, 1863, when she transferred to General Hospital No. 7 in Murfreesboro, where it seems she remained for the rest of the war.
Following the war, Gill married twice: the first to a man named Overturf (there's not much on him in the file), and then Thomas Ross, whom she married on November 24, 1873. I might have found them in the 1880 census--there are a couple Charlottes and Thomas' in the Indianapolis area, and, to add to the confusion, it looks like one of them had a child prior to this marriage, because in the 1880 census, Thomas and Charlotte have a son, Archibald, who is seventeen years old. That puts his D.O.B. at around 1863. It's possible Charlotte was the mother, but given she served out the war, and there's no record of a name change in the pension file it seems more likely that Archibald is Thomas' child from a previous marriage, or they adopted him...or that it's not them at all!
At the very least, she was known to the WRC; she and her friend/fellow nurses, Harriet Hopp, whom she'd worked with in Nashville and Murfreesboro, were both listed on the WRC's nurse list from 1888. She and Hopp appear to have kept in touch--Hopp testified during Ross's application.
Ross applied for her pension in September, 1892. The Bureau could only find enough evidence in the records to prove three months service, so she sent in testimony from Hopp, as well as one of the soldiers from the regiment whom she'd nursed, Allen Kelley. "I am in pressing need of it," Ross wrote Commissioner Raum that December, "and if I am going to get it I would like to have it soon for I am very old and cant live all ways and would like to get it in time to enjoy it before I die so please let me hear from you soon." Unfortunately, there must have been a miscommunication somewhere, because when the Bureau next wrote Ross they said she application was completed. When she hadn't received anything by April, however, Ross, understandably concerned, wrote the Commissioner again. "You stated in your last card that my [pension] was on completed file and will you please answer this and let me know what si the delay of me not getting my Pension will you Please hurry it up as I stand in great need of it and oblige me, yours in F C and L." None of the previous letters had the F C and L at the end, and this letter is in a different hand, which makes me wonder if the WRC or a friend in the WRC had taken an interest in Ross's case...
Ross sent one more letter in May, again asking why her pension hadn't been sent and for the Commissioner to get back to her quickly. Finally, someone in the office got back to her, asking for additional information, since Ross only appeared on the rolls for three months, and none of the testimonials she provided counted as competent authority. The problem was that the Bureau sent the letter to the wrong address. When the letter finally made its way to the correct address, it was delivered not to Ross, but to her only living heir. Ross had died on May 15th, just two days after she'd sent her last letter.
Showing posts with label Murfreesboro GH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Murfreesboro GH. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
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.
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!
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