Wordless Wednesday: Campfires of The Boys of '61 in 1894

I never thought much about the sheer numbers of American men who wore either the Blue or the Grey back during the Civil War.  All I thought of while researching my genealogy roots is why did they have to be injured or die.  What about their poor widows?  And the children they left behind as they marched off to fight for their beliefs.

It also really didn't occur to me why I couldn't find my Yanks in the GAR post near the little town in which so many lived.

Today, I stumbled across a souvenir edition of the Pittsburgh Press from September 9, 1894.  The number of stories, posts, and regimental histories combined with poetry and drawings is enough to have me reading for days.  The men had all come to Pittsburgh for a grand reunion from many states.  There's ton of history and names in these pages.

How many of my loving names which are only a memory will I find?

How many families suffered from the war?  How many hearts were broken?

I submit to you the poem "For Freedom Died" found on pg 33 with the notation it was from the New York Evening Post.

"Forward!" was the word when day
Dawned upon the armed array.


"Fallen!" was the word when night
Closed upon the field of fight.


"Hurt, my boy?" "Oh, no! Not much!"
"Only got a little touch!"


"Forward!" was the word that flashed
Homeward, when the cannon crashed.


"Missing!" was the word sent home
When the shades of night had come.


"Fallen?"  "Yes; he fell, they say,
In the fiercest of the fray!"

"Died last night!" the message said,
Thus the morrow's papers read.


One young heart that heard the word,
Fluttered like a wounded bird.


One was broken! Bowed her head
"Mother! Mother! Mother's dead!"


Two green graves we'll deck to day,
Son's and mother's side by side,
None will dare to tell us "Nay!"
Both for right and freedom died.


While we honor him who fell
In the fiercest of the fray,
We will honor her as well
Lying by his side today.


Let the flowers forever fair,
Bloom above our fallen braves,
While the angels guard them there,
Glory lingers o'er their graves.


Long ago one sweet soul
Entered her Gethsemane,
Death to her the greatest goal,
As it must to many be!


But life lingers   Oh! so long!
And the years so weary grow!
Tears have choked her heart's sweet song,
Dimmed those eyes that used to glow!


Oh! the bleeding, broken hearts,
Living long their lingering death,
Pierced by countless cruel darts,
Smothered sobs beneath each breath.


Comrades! Call the roll again!
Write their name on glory's page!
Whose who bore the grief and pain,
Fiercer far than battle's rage!


When they lie there side by side,
Dearer to him than his life,
Mother, sister, sweetheart, bride,
Or his dear, devoted wife.


And you deck his grave again,
Write her name- but not beneath!
By her agony and pain
Crown her grave with fairest wreath!


Angels called the roll again,
Wrote her name above the stars
For her patient faith in pain,
Deeper far than battle scars.


Three green graves we deck today,
This the third, where lies his bride-
None will dare to tell us "Nay!"
For these three for freedom died!


Take some time to dig through these pages.  It's a tear jerker you don't want to miss.

http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=djft3U1LymYC&dat=18940909&printsec=frontpage&hl=en

Oh- and here's a picture of cousin William James GLENN.  You can read more about him on an earlier blog: I am Simply a Survivor.

Below the drawing of GLENN is William H H LEA, the brother of my 2g-uncle, Cassius LEA.

Sources: 

Pittsburgh Press
Sept 9, 1894
http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=djft3U1LymYC&dat=18940909&printsec=frontpage&hl=en

Tip of the hat to cousin David for sending me to this newspaper date to find the drawing of WJ GLENN.

Ahh, genealogy.  Tis grand to find the family history so intertwined with that of our great country.  Tis humbling to know my kin have fought for this country since its beginning.  My thoughts and prayers go to all veterans and the ones they leave behind.  Thank you.

©2011 AS Eldredge

Treasure Chest Thursday: Digging in the Graveyard

It's a cold blustery October day in Pittsburgh. An unexpected early snow flake or two can be seen in the air as everyone's bones are not quite used to the rapidly dropping temperatures. A small old graveyard is across the street from the church that is getting ready for a big celebration. For it is this year the church celebrates its 200th anniversary of its founding. Inside, the members are getting ready for the dinner which will honor the Founding Families as well as other people who have contributed to the church over the years.

Strangers appear in the door where preparations are being made for the festivities. The strangers, who are covered from head to toe in winter gear, ask for a shovel. A shovel? Absolutely. The strangers have some digging to do in the cemetery and time is of the essence for death is on the way.

Does this sound a little strange? Well, this is no story as it really happened back in 2004 at the Mt Lebanon United Presbyterian Church in Allegheny Co, PA.

The minister was perplexed when he heard that someone had come in looking for a shovel to dig in the cemetery. He looked across the road and saw people digging in the graveyard and he just knew who the strangers were, and he wasn't about to stop them.

Members of my family had traveled to Pittsburgh for one of our parties we hold from time to time in the St. Clair Cemetery, which was part of Associate Reformed Congregation of Saw Mill Run. The church was founded in 1804 by a number of men, including two of my 4g grandfathers. The cemetery's first known burial was in 1806 (my 4g-grandmother). Over the years, my family has laid many to rest in the St. Clair Cemetery. Stories from different sources indicate we are buried in layers. One of these sources was my great aunt who paid for the family plot upkeep for many years. While they rest peacefully, I do not.

I am on a mission. I have to know more about them as I am related to over half the cemetery occupants. Over the years, I have been able to assist the Historical Society of Mt Lebanon in providing information on many of the families, participating in resetting tombstones and honoring the contributions these early settlers gave to Pittburgh. Descendants have gathered to celebrate genealogy and our blood. The last reunion we had there in 2005 had descendants from nine states come to honor our roots.

Oh, and who were the strangers? They were my spouse and me. Why the shovel? The caretaker of the cemetery had called me to say he was cleaning up and getting rid of the overwhelming number of daylilly plants on my family plots. When I gasped, he said he would keep some of them and that he would not kill the plants until I got there.

I got there, grabbed the shovel, and dug up plenty of those wonderful daylilly plants. Now these plants grace the yards of several of my cousins-- from Pennsylvania to Florida to Montana.

My treasure is the memory of those wonderful days in the cemetery with my cousins as we celebrated our heritage. All I have to do to remember is to look out my door each day to see the evidence --- in those daylilly plants.