Imagine Losing Three Children in Three Days

From "The History of Winchendon, Worcester County, Mass," by Rev. A. P. Marvin, 1868:

In 1810-11 there was a fearful malady among the children. From May 29, 1810, to December 1810 forty two children fell victims, nearly all of whom died of the same disease. In the Church records kept by Mr. Pillsbury, “Quinsy” or “Canker,” is written against their names. It is thought by aged persons, who remember the sickness, that it was the same form as that now known by the name of “diptheria.” Between February 17, 1811 and December 10 of the same year, fourteen children died, mostly of the same complaint, making fifty-nine deaths of children in about twenty months. Some families lost all their children. In August 1810, seven died, in September, twelve; in October, fourteen. 

The sickness prevailed in different parts of the town, but raged with special virulence in the south part, extending from Capt. Whitcomb’s, on the south-east, to Mr. Thos. Wyman’s, on the west, nearly four miles. The former lost two and the later four children. Capt. Stoddard lost three; Mr. Gideon Balcom, three; Mr. James McElwain, three. The seventh district lost more than half of the children within its limits. In other districts, Lieut. Isaac Morse lost two; Mr. Hapgood, four; Mr. Seth Tucker, Sen., two, and Mr. Jacob Hale, two. There has been no year since when so many children have died, although the population has more than doubled. Nor has there been a year when so large a proportion of persons of all ages have died; not even during the late war. (The Civil War)

Thomas Wyman Jr. and his wife Lydia (Bowker) lost four of their six children in November 1811:

           Franklin, age 5, died Nov. 7

           Olive, age 7, died Nov 10

           Asa, age 11, died Nov. 12

           Stillman, age 3, died Nov. 15

As a parent I am very, very grateful for modern medicine.

Memorial Day: Honoring John McClelland and Byron King

On Memorial Day we honor those men and women who did not survive their military service.

My family has been fortunate. Only one ancestor was killed in action, John McClelland. In 1776, John was appointed to a citizen's committee to procure arms and ammunition for the defense of the county against the British as the sparks of the American Revolution were kindled. He with two of his sons John Jr. and Alexander enlisted in the Colonia Militia of Pennsylvania.

When the Indians of the Western Frontier allied themselves with the British and began attacking settlers, John Sr. was commissioned a major and made third in command of an expedition to eliminate this menace. During the Battle of Sandusky (Ohio) on 4 July 1782, he and two other officers were captured, tortured, and killed. A gruesome eyewitness account recorded in the Pennsylvania Archives details the manner in which the bodies of the prisoners "were dragged to the outside of the town and their carcasses given to the dogs while their limbs and heads were stuck on poles." Because of this sacrifice, the commission of Lt. Colonel was conferred upon him.



My mother-in-law's favorite cousin, Byron King, was killed serving his country. On November 4, 1944. his plane was shot up during a bombing raid over Italy.  They ditched at sea, all crew members were saved except Byron.  He made sure the crew members made it out, and went back into the plane to get the life raft, but the plane went under while he was in it.



His body was brought back to the US, and he's buried in Cedar Park Cemetery, Calumet City, Cook County, Illinois. 

Uncle Ed and the Water Pump

Not every good story is about an ancestor. Some are about people we knew well. This is one of the latter. I think of it whenever I begin to despair about the human race.

In August 1979 Jim and I left New Jersey to move to California. We visited every family member between the two points We took our time, spending six weeks on the road and only spent three nights in motels. At the end, Bill and Karyn welcomed us into their home until we found a place to rent.

Dad Watson went with us to Arkansas and we all spent a week with Aunt Vivian and Uncle Ed. During Labor Day weekend, the five of us went up to Blanchard Springs State Park in Uncle Ed's Oldsmobile. Ed always kept his cars in perfect mechanical condition and immaculately clean. It always upset him when something went wrong.

We toured Blanchard Caverns and headed to a remote area of the park for a picnic lunch. Shortly after Ed drove through a flooded stretch of road when the water pump went out on Ed's car.



We walked back down the road, and had just waded through the stream when we met a ranger. I wish we knew his name, but we don't, so I'll call him Rick. That's him and his truck, with Bill Watson, in the picture on the left.

Ed and Dad told him they had enough tools that they could replace the water pump (meaning, of course, that Jim could replace the water pump under their supervision), if they could only get the part. Rick drove Uncle Ed and Dad to the park office where they could call auto parts store. And he gave them the keys to his personal car so they could drive into town and get the part!




Aunt Vivian, Jim and I amused ourselves by wading in the nearby stream while they were gone. If one has to be stranded, this was a beautiful place to be.


There was one parts store in the small town near the park, and fortunately it had the right water pump. But by the time Uncle Ed reached them on the phone, it was their closing time. The parts guy told Uncle Ed he'd leave the water pump on the porch by the front door.  He should pick it up, then on his way out of town just leave the old pump and the money by the door!

By the time they returned with the new pump it was dusk. Poor Jim did all the work tearing out the old pump and putting in the new one, while Dad and Ed told him what to do. Jim had replaced water pumps several times without supervision, but you would not have known it from the advice he received. Aunt Vivian and I tried to stay out of the way.

Ranger Rick came by to check on us, and to ask if Jim could give him a hand with something. So off they went in Rick's truck. Naturally we were all curious. It turned out Rick needed someone to hold a burlap bag for him while he transferred a live rattlesnake into it. He had a side business of making belts and hat bands out of snake skins.

Rick came back again when his shift was over, and held the flashlight for Jim. He distracted Ed and Bill with conversation, giving Jim the chance to work in peace. The man was a treasure.

Once the pump was installed, we packed up and headed back to Little Rock. Uncle Ed left the water pump and the money by the parts store door, like he said he would. He also wrote a letter to the Park Service about how helpful Rick had been to us.

What's a UEL?

In the post about Hannah Plato I said the answer to "What's a UEL?" was the subject of another post. This is it.

UEL stands for United Empire Loyalists, an honorific bestowed by Lord Dorchester upon American Loyalists who resettled in British North America (i.e. Canada) during or after the American Revolution. He was the governor of Quebec and Governor-General of British North America.

Lord Dorchester declared "that it was his Wish to put the mark of Honour upon the Families who had adhered to the Unity of the Empire". As a result of his statement, the printed militia rolls carried the notation:

"Those Loyalists who have adhered to the Unity of the Empire, and joined the Royal Standard before the Treaty of Separation in the year 1783, and all their Children and their Descendants by either sex, are to be distinguished by the following Capitals, affixed to their names: U.E. Alluding to their great principle The Unity of the Empire."

Besides the honor, men denoted as U.E.s received grants of land and their children were entitled to grants of 200 acres upon reaching majority.

My ancestor Christian Plato was a U.E., as was his son Peter. Both lost everything they owned in New York State when they served with Butler's Rangers. Peter was a bachelor during the War, but Christian's family had to flee to Niagara. His wife, Margareta May Plato, died during the journey. But their stories will be the subject of another post.

Robert William Johnson–Victim of Strike Violence

As I see violent protests on the TV news, I cannot help but think of Jim's mother's great-uncle, Robert Johnson. His story is one of violence and heartbreak, and of a person you're researching will be found when he wants to be (like Rufus Buchanan McClelland).

According to the family story, Robert Johnson had been beaten to death by strikers during the Pullman riots, and his wife saw it all. Mom's cousin Rudy Nyquist had created a family tree that included this story, and a death date for him of 3 August 1923. In researching Mom's family I found Robert's birth record in Sweden and traced him from his emigration through the 1920 census, but I couldn't find a death record for him. Neither could the Chicago expert genealogist who was kind enough to examine Cook County records for me.  The Pullman riots were in 1894, before Robert was in the US, so the Pullman Museum couldn't find anything either, though they were kind enough to look through their records for me.

One morning last summer I woke up knowing today was the day I would find Robert Johnson's story. There was no reason for me to have that conviction. I hadn't worked on Mom's line in months, but somehow I knew this was the day his mystery would be solved. I absolutely knew it, no doubt in my mind at all. Rational? Of course not. My conviction went beyond the rational to gut level belief.

Right after breakfast I pulled up his record on my Reunion file. As I stared at my notes I thought, "What f Rudy had the year (1923) wrong?" I knew from my own experience people often remember the day something traumatic happened, so 3 August was probably right. But the year something happened often gets muddied as time passes. I went to FamilySearch.org's Illinois Death Records data base, typed in Robert Johnson, died 3 August 1920-1925, and he appeared, died 1922. All the information on his death record was accurate: parents, spouse, occupation, etc.

A search of newspaper databases confirmed the gruesome family story. Robert Johnson was one of the few deaths in the railroad workers strike that crippled the transportation industry in 1922. He's listed in the Homicide in Chicago 1870-1930 database at Northwestern University, though the Chicago Coroner's office can't find the file though and the police can't confirm anyone was ever tried.

His death made papers all over the country. Editorials were written condemning the violence. His wife Selma never really recovered from his death and, according to Mom, Robert's extended family always blamed her a bit for his death. "If only she hadn't insisted he go to work," and other thoughts along those lines. How sad. The only ones to blame are the men who used the bricks. 

Chicago Tribune 4 August 1922 page 5

Rail Workman Killed by Four; Second Slugged

Six Alleged Strikers Held in Two Attacks

[Picture on back page.]

Murder of a Burnside railroad shop workman–the third death in this city due to the shopmen’s nation-wide strike–and the serious injury of a car repairer marked recurrence of violence in Chicago yesterday.

While his wife screamed for aid Robert Johnson, a carpenter employed at the Burnside ships of the Illinois Central railway shops, was beaten to death by four men said by Kensington police to be striking shopmen.

Four suspects arrested shortly after the crime were being held at the Kensington pollice station last night.

Johnson, who was 42 years old and who lived at 10748 Forest avenue, was among the Illinois Central employees who declined to join the walkout on July 1. As he was proceeding to work yesterday morning the four thugs set upon his(sic) at 107th streed and Edbrooke avenue.

Attacked from Ambush.

Mrs. Johnson had walked a short distance with her husband and had just turned back to their home when the men sprang forth from the bushes lining a footpath.

Her cries for help served to frighten the carpenter’s assailants, but not before they had beaten him into unconsciousness with a brick. He was dead when police from the Kensington station responded to a riot call.

Miss Regina Ossman, 10754 Forest avenue, told police she had seen four men as she started for her work at the Central Manufacturing District bank 1112 West 35th street. Fearing they were following her, she ran back to her home, later resuming her way without knowledge of the murder.

Four Suspects Arrested.

Sergts. John Bush and Thomas Cassidy of the Kensington police, arrested four suspects. These are John Jakebansky, 10501 Lafayette avenue; John Hanless, 10554 Edbrooke avenue Frank Sineers, 10605 State street, and Carl Razanes, 10405 Indiana avenue.

Blood stains showed on Razanes shoes, according to police.

Los Angeles Times, 4 August 1922, page 14 column F

RAILROAD WORKER KILLED BY THUGS

Carpenter Who Refused to Strike Beaten by Four Sluggers

(Exclusive Dispatch)

CHICAGO, Aug. 3.–Set upon by four sluggers who waylaid him in a bit of prairie covered by high weeds, Robert Johnson, aged 42 years, a carpenter employed in the Illinois Central shops, who refused to go on strike, was beaten to death. A brick covered with blood, the weapon used by his assailants to crush the skull of their victim, was found lying beside the body.

A woman living near witnessed the murder and telephoned the police. This evening the police found another woman who saw the murder. Both women say the thugs were hidden in the weeds lining the path and sprang upon Johnson from behind. After he had been knocked down, the four sluggers worked over him for a few minutes and then ran away. An immediate round-up of the neighborhood resulted in the arrest of ten suspects and the police believe they have the murderers in the lot.

Peace maneuvers in the railroad strike experienced a lull today. There was no indication of where the next peace effort would originate. Among the developments was the official announcement of formation of an association of new employees by Santa Fe workers; preparation for a meeting in the future of the twelve unions not on strike, including the brotherhoods, to discuss possible action. the Texas and Pacific annulled twenty trains, and violence was reported to be increasing everywhere.

John Hudnall, Revolutionary War Pensioner

I love reading military pension applications. By the time the government offered a pension most who served had died. The ones who survived long enough to apply were old men, and the government expected them to remember details of long-ago service.

John Hudnall, ancestor of Charles Rutledge, was awarded a pension based on his service in the Bedford County, Virginia militia. According to his deposition, he did nothing during his service except march. That's probably pretty typical of soldiers in any war.

He was drafted the end of May or first of June, 1780, and served 6 or 7 weeks guarding some Tories and an ammunition magazine in New London. When he filed his pension application he could not remember the names of any officers, except Maj. Nathan Reid of the regular army, who he thought was stationed in New Bedford.

He was drafted again in January 1781 and served at least 3 months. The militia rendezvoused at New London, Virginia, and marched through Prince Edward, Dinwiddie and Petersburg to Cabbin Point in Surry County, Virginia where they were placed under the command of Gen'l. Peter Muhlenberg).

According to his deposition, "After remaining at Cabbin Point for some time he was marched some distance to a place called McKey’s Mills where the troops had a day of rejoicing on account of Gen’l. Morgan’s victory over the British, he thinks, at the Cowpens . He was then marched about to several places southeast of Petersburg under the same officers. He thinks at a place called Cobb’s[?] old field the army was drawn up in line & volunteers invited out to go & watch the movements of the British, then in possession of Portsmouth & Norfolk Va. He was one of the number who volunteered on the occasion under his officers aforesaid & marched from thence to the lower part of Virginia some distance south east of Portsmouth to a place called Edmund’s Hill near to a fort in which the British were stationed. His field officers in this volunteer expedition were Col. Merriweather [sic: Meriwether] & Maj DeCloman, a Frenchman. On their march to this place a British picket guard by some French light horse & taken. At one time the American troops were drawn up in line of battle within cannon shot of the fort & offered a fight, but the enemy would not come out, tho’ they fired a few shots. The troops then went back into quarters & kept up scouting parties until near the end of the tour."

"They suffered every kind of hardship. He marched across the Dismal Swamp, 8 or 10 miles on logs to Prince George court house Va. where he was discharged, by whom he cannot recollect, sometime in April 1781." 

Again sometime about the last of May or first of June 1781. he was drafted into the service of the United States from the militia of Bedford County  and served at least seven weeks: His company rendezvoused at New London & marched through Buckingham & Cumberland Counties & crossed the James River at Jude’s Ferry [17 miles above Richmond]. He did not march thro’ Richmond, because it was reported the small pox was there; but continued on to Bottom’s Bridge below Richmond [on Chickahominy River 10 miles east of Richmond], commanded by Gen’l. LaFayette & from there he marched to Mobbin’s Hills [sic: Malvern Hill in Charles City County]. 

The troops were marched about the country continually & sometimes thro’ mud half leg deep in the lowlands of Chickahominy River. He was finally marched to New Castle on Pamunkey River, where he received a discharge sometime in July 1781 from Capt. Leftwich, but it was not written.

The pension file includes a genealogical treasure–pages from the family Bible where births, deaths and marriages were recorded. I once heard an English genealogist say a major difference between research in England and the US was these Bible records because the literacy rate in America was so high.

Serendipity: Birth of Samuel Bonnell 26 May 1707 Woodbridge NJ Town Records

One of the truisms in genealogy is when an ancestor wants his information to be found, it will be. There are countless stories to back this up. 

Here's one of mine.

I was helping a distant relative who wanted to find a marriage record in a New Jersey town's records. My local family history center had the film in its library, so I volunteered to find it for him. When I looked at the film every page was ripped, blotched and stained and the film images were so dark the words were almost illegible. I dutifully made digital scans of every page anyway. I randomly picked a page to attach to my e-mail to illustrate how hard it would be to find anything in them. To my absolute amazement, in the middle of my screen appeared the very marriage record he was looking for. It's the one with the most faded ink, in the left column just to the left of the blot.

Hannah Plato Johnson and the Siege of Fort Erie

There’s a truism in genealogy that every family story has a grain of truth in it. My mother always told me her great-great-grandmother Hannah Plato Johnson carried water for the soldiers at Fort Erie in the War of 1812 when she was a little girl. When I was little I cherished this tale since it showed you didn’t have to be an adult to help your country. I was really proud of her.

Well, Hannah Plato probably did carry water to soldiers during the Siege of Fort Erie, but not to my countrymen. She helped the British, not the Americans.

Hannah’s parentage had always been a challenge. What little the family knew came from her daughter Sophia, who married Ebenezer Felton on May 6, 1845. At least that’s what they wrote in their family Bible. They came from upstate New York, near Buffalo. Sophia’s father, Jacob Johnson, was supposed to have been a politician there. Ebenezer’s parents supposedly died young and he was raised by a family friend, Richard Graham. 

Hannah and her husband Jacob

The information was sketchy as my Grandma’s sister made notes at her grandfather Felton’s funeral in 1903. By then Hannah had been dead 40 years. Sophia bore and raised 15 children and had lost touch with her aunts and uncles decades before. (My research showed Hannah’s six children scattered long before she died.) Ever since that funeral various Felton family members have tried to trace Hannah, including Mom. I have copies of the letters she wrote to & received from her aunts and cousins. I made my first tries in 2004, when I visited Aunt Vivian.

In the summer of 2014 I wrote a post on RootsWeb asking if anyone had information on a Hannah Plato who carried water to the soldiers at Fort Erie.

Within hours I received a message from Fred Blair, a Canadian 1812-enthusiast, “I am collecting stories about Upper Canadian life during the War of 1812 and am interested in your story about Hannah Plato who carried water to the wounded soldiers at Fort Erie.  She would have been quite young at the time.  This suggests that one or both of her parents were there supervising her.  Do you have any other details about this story?  I suspect that it would have occurred in 1813 or 1814.  Settler’s homes were often taken over as temporary hospitals and possibly the wounded soldiers were billeted in her home which may have been near the fort.”

He told me the British/Canadian militia records show the troops attacking Fort Erie billeted on a farm owned by a Peter Plato on the Niagara peninsula.  After the War Plato filed claims for losses and damages (he wasn’t paid until almost 20 years later).

I wrote Mr. Blair the little I knew and two days later, in one of those random acts of genealogical kindness that ties the community together, Mr. Blair sent me a document that clarified Hannah’s parentage and lineage: Hannah Plato Johnson’s petition to the Crown for a grant of land.

The file included affidavits affirming she was married to Jacob Johnson and was daughter of Peter Plato, UEL. What’s a UEL, you’re wondering. That’s the subject of another post.

A Blog Reinvigorated

I love genealogy. I love tracing people and tracking down sources to prove what I've found. It's detective work, history, geography and economics all mixed up together.

It is impossible to describe the feeling I get when I solve a mystery, like why I can't find Thomas Norris in any Virginia census when his grave is in Culpepper, Virginia? (See this post.) Or why can't I find Rufus Buchanan McClelland in the 1880 census? (Answer here..)

The thrill of the hunt is very real if you have the genealogy bug. It may be hereditary. It jumps around in families. Mom had it. Grandmother Watson and her sister had it. Grandfather Watson's sister had it, and so did both his parents. So far neither of my children has been bitten, but they have time to catch it.

The best part about genealogy is everywhere one looks there are stories. Stories too good to keep to myself. Good stories always have to be shared.

That's why I started this blog, to have a place to put those stories.

That's why I'm picking it up again. This time, however, I'm going to concentrate on stories about my children's ancestors. There are too many good stories and they need to know them.

Because the world is an interesting place right now, I will adopt an 18th century convention, and refer to living people by their first initial filled by dashes. Everyone who knows me will know who I mean. It shouldn't matter to the rest of you.