Friday, May 16, 2008

"Twenty-thousand letters by the men who wore the blue"

Bell Irvin Wiley wrote in the introduction to his book Life of Billy Yank: The Common Soldier of the Union, that:

Twenty-eight years ago, when I had completed research for The Life of Billy Yank, I estimated that I had read twenty thousand letters by the men who wore the blue. These personal documents, along with the ten thousand Confederate letters that I had examined while preparing The Life of Johnny Reb (plus several hundred diaries of participants on both sides), while admittedly a small sampling, afford a more intimate and revealing insight into the mind and character of the American masses than any body of material treating of any other period in the nation's history.
Wiley's book, a departure from many written treatments of the Civil War detailing battle after battle and focusing on generals and strategies, instead looks at the experience of the common Union soldier: his purpose, his struggles and his day to day life in the field.

I am looking forward to reading more of Wiley's insights into the life of the Union soldier. And who knows, maybe I can start working my way through some of those twenty-thousand letters in my spare time...

Thanks to Jennifer of Rainy Day Genealogy Readings for suggesting Wiley's Life of Billy Yank in her post How Did That Civil War Soldier Really Die?

Saturday, May 10, 2008

A modern poet looks back at the Civil War

Daniel Nathan Terry recently took a trip back into the world of the Civil War with soldiers and photographers, both real and imagined. His resulting book of poetry, entitled Capturing the Dead, has won the 2007 Stevens Poetry Manuscript Competition amidst high praise from the National Federation of State Poetry Societies.

The organization's April 2008 issue of Strophes announced Terry's win and described the nature of his work of poetry focusing on the Civil War:

[Capturing the Dead] is a sequence of dramatic lyrics in the imagined voices of Civil War soldiers and photographers, primarily that of a fictional war photographer named Noah Williams...

[Contest judge Jeff] Gundy has high praise for the manuscript he selected as winner of the 2007 Stevens Competition: “Among a very strong set of manuscripts, Capturing the Dead stood out for the clarity of its focus, the precision of its language, and the depth and subtlety of its emotional resonance.” He expresses great admiration for Terry’s “ability to create individual characters,” noting that figures both historical and invented, both obscure and famous, “take on weight and solidity, captured in words that emulate the precision of film.” Even more than this vividness, he admires the poems’ avoidance of claims of absolute truth, their “acute recognition of human subjectivity.” He sees Terry’s Capturing the Dead as belonging in the company of “other great sets of war poems from the last two centuries”: From Whitman’s Drum-Taps to Andrew Hudgins’ After the Lost War. Terry’s poems, he sums up, “offer both fidelity to history and relevance to our own predicament. They have much to teach us.”

Terry's poetry manuscript was chosen out of 201 submissions from both the U.S. and abroad. He is currently enrolled in the M.F.A. program at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington. His book will be published by the National Federation of State Poetry Societies' Press and will be available for purchase in June 2008.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

The 1892 Pottsville train explosion: How & why?

After reading about the work of steam engine firemen and engineers, I really enjoyed my recent ride as a passenger on a vintage train and my discussion with its engineer. One thing that I don't want to come close to experiencing, however, is the type of steam engine explosion that took the life of my great-great-grandfather William Cowhey. In fact, just reading about it is difficult enough. The newspaper accounts of the accident show what a sudden and extremely powerful explosion it was. I can't help but wonder about just what would cause an accident of this magnitude.

Now thanks to Ronald Bailey I have an insight into what might have caused that accident on the railroad back in 1892. Ronald Bailey is the President of the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania Advisory Council, an avid railroad historian, and a licensed steam locomotive engineer. He was able to provide me with an understanding of the technicalities of an explosion such as the one that Engine No. 563 experienced.

Here is his technical explanation of the workings of a pre-1900 steam engine and the possible causes of the type of explosion that killed William Cowhey and the rest of the crew and passengers of Engine No. 563:

A locomotive boiler explosion is usually caused by one of two factors - a defect in the boiler shell or the crew allowing the level of the water in the boiler to drop below the crown sheet of the firebox. In the 19th-century locomotive boilers were commonly made of cast iron rather than steel because steel was far more brittle. Cast iron was stronger than steel and more pliable without tearing. Unfortunately, cast iron could contain unseen inclusions and defects that could cause a failure. As metallurgical techniques improved better types of steel were developed and by the 1890’s almost all locomotive boilers were constructed using steel. Boiler defects were rarely the cause of a boiler explosion in locomotives built after 1900.

A locomotive boiler consists of a cylindrical boiler shell, fabricated of thick cast iron or steel. The boiler shell is thick enough to be able to resist the force of the steam, which, depending upon the locomotive, varied from 125 to 300 pounds per square inch. In 1892 a common boiler pressure was 160 to 180 pounds per square inch, and shell of the boiler was built to safely contain at least twice that pressure.

The steam in a boiler is produced by boiling water. The water is boiled by heat from a fire of wood, coal or oil. The fire is contained in a rectangular box that is placed inside the boiler at the back of the locomotive. To create additional heating surfaces a series of tubes or flues extend from the front of the firebox through the cylinder of the boiler to the front. The hot gasses from the fire are carried through the flues to be exhausted up the stack. The heat of the fire is conducted through the sheets that form the firebox and through the flues into the water, boiling the water and making steam. Most of the heat from the fire passes through the firebox sheets into the water.

This, however, created a problem. To be an effective conductor of the heat, which was necessary to boil the water, the firebox sheets needed to be as thin as possible. This made the sheets of the firebox too thin to be able to able resist being crushed by the tremendous pressure of the steam in the boiler. The solution was to use the strength of the much thicker outside sheets of the boiler shell to support the firebox. This was done by connecting the firebox sheets and the boiler shell with steel bolts, called staybolts. The staybolts conveyed the strength of the boiler shell to the firebox, preventing it from being crushed by the steam pressure. A space was left between the boiler shell and the firebox sheets, through which the staybolts passed, that was filled with water.

The added problem, however, is that the fire in a firebox burns at a temperature between 1,800 and 2,600 degrees Fahrenheit. This is hot enough to melt steel. In fact the only thing that keeps the fire from destroying the firebox of a steam locomotive is that the firebox is surrounded on all sides, except the bottom, by water, which absorbs the heat in the process of boiling and making steam.

Boilers were fitted with “try cocks” (three valves stack one on top of the other) that an engineer could use to check the level of the water. Most locomotives were also fitted with water glasses that displayed the water level.

As long as the water in the boiler was kept at a level that completely covered the firebox, everything worked fine. If, however, the water level was allowed to drop below the top of the firebox, which was called the crown sheet, the metal of the crown sheet would be subjected to the intense heat of the fire without any water to absorb the heat. This could cause the metal of the crown sheet to soften and begin to melt. As the metal softened the steam pressure could force the crown sheet to pull out of the thread of the staybolts. Without the support of the boiler shell through the staybolts, the crown sheet would deform and at some point of stress would crack or tear. This would suddenly create an opening that would allow all the steam and boiling water in the boiler to exhaust to the atmosphere. The almost instantaneous expansion of the steam from 150 to 180 pounds per square inch of atmospheric pressure produced a terrific force, which was usually violent enough to rip the firebox sheets and tear the entire locomotive boiler off of the locomotive frames. The effect was pretty much like a rocket taking off and exploding. Boilers were sometimes hurled hundreds of feet away.

Ronald Bailey goes on to extrapolate possible specific causes for the explosion of Engine No. 563 on November 14, 1892:

So what caused low water condition that created the boiler explosion that killed your great-grandfather?

The article from the New York Times says that Engineer Allison had just brought in a heavy train. It is possible that Allison had engaged in a dangerous practice used by some engineers of deliberately allowing the water level to drop to the bottom of the water glass (which was still a couple of inches above the crown sheet) in order to have more space in the boiler to generate steam to supply the engine when it was working hard. It may be that he miscalculated and allowed the crown sheet to become exposed to the fire without a covering of water.

It may also be that the locomotive boiler was foaming without the crew knowing it. The steam that is produced by a locomotive boiler is not recycled but is exhausted up the stack in order to produce a partial vacuum that would draw the hot gasses from the firebox through the boiler flues. Unfortunately, water is never pure, and it contains solids and sediments that are left behind as the water turns to steam. These materials can concentrate over time as more water is added to the boiler and then boiled away. The solids can collect on top of the water forming a film. As the water boils, the steam bubbles are trapped by the film, creating foam that can make it appear that the water level is higher than it really is. If the boiler was foaming, the crew might not have had any warning that the water level was dangerously low.

The article suggests that the steam pressure was low and that they stopped to build up the pressure. When the throttle was closed, the water level dropped, either because Engineer Allison had allowed it to be low or because the water was foaming, exposing the crown sheet, and setting off an explosion.

The article notes that the “blower” had been turned on. The blower on a steam locomotive is a valve that controls a jet of steam that is piped on the side of the steam nozzle directly under the stack. When the locomotive is not moving and there is no exhaust from the cylinders to create a partial vacuum, the blower can be opened to produce an artificial draft, thus drawing oxygen into the fire. The blower had no connection to the boiler exploding.

The following image shows the remains of a locomotive boiler that exploded on the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad in 1947—a larger and much more modern locomotive than the locomotive from 1892. You can see in the photograph the curved boiler shell, the flat sheets of the firebox, the staybolts that connected the firebox sheets to the boiler shell, and how the steel plates had been ripped apart by the force of the explosion.


A boiler explosion can be powerful enough to rip through steel plates, half an inch thick or more. An explosion can be so violent and so powerful as to rip a boiler off of a locomotive frame, and literally hurl the wreckage of the boiler through the air like a missile.

In the accompanying photograph, the remains of a locomotive after a boiler explosion are visible. The boiler has been torn from the locomotive frame, thrown through the air, and has landed upside down in a nearby field. The rear of the boiler, with the remains of the firebox, is on the left. The smoke box has been deformed and flattened. Strips of lagging are visible where the sheet metal jacketing has been torn loose.


Ronald Bailey currently works a couple of days a month as a steam engineer and fireman. As he states, his "top priority is always to keep the water level up".

After reading his thorough explanation of the ins and outs of steam engine operation and the risk of explosions, I can certainly see why. It may have been an oversight of this type that took the lives of William Cowhey and the other railroaders that night back in 1892.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

"Along the iron veins..."

Along the iron veins that traverse the frame of our country, beat and flow the fiery pulses of its exertion, hotter and faster every hour. All vitality is concentrated through those throbbing arteries into the central cities; the country is passed over like a green sea by narrow bridges, and we are thrown back in continually closer crowds on the city gates.

~ John Ruskin, 1819-1900

Recently my family and I took an enjoyable trip on one of America's many tourist railroads. We boarded the train and immediately felt as if we'd stepped back in time to the days when the railroad was king. The passenger cars were vintage and had such a nostalgic feel to them. Although we didn't walk into it, we enjoyed a peek into the caboose which trailed behind us on our daylong trip. Our conductor was a gentleman who loved to tell stories. He shared many of them as he spoke about the flora, fauna and history of the areas that we were passing by on our rail journey. He also told us about the history of the railroad, and the very train that we were riding that day.


It was a special treat for me when the engineer took the time to stop and speak with us. With many years of experience as both fireman and engineer on a steam engine, he was able to tell me firsthand about the type of work that many of my ancestors had done for a living on the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad.

What a comfortable feeling to be carried along as a passenger on a train and watch the world go by out your window. It may be because of the fond memories that I have of childhood rail trips, or because of the knowledge that I have about my family's history with the railroads, but trains have always had a special place in my heart.

You are not the same people who left that station
Or who will arrive at any terminus,
While the narrowing rails slide together behind you.

~ T.S. Eliot, 1888-1965

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Tell your own Irish-American story!

Got a family story to tell, but not sure you can handle keeping up with a blog? Brian Reynolds has begun a website for people just like you. It is a place where you can share your family's stories and memories, or anything of interest related to Irish-American heritage.

The Irish American Story Project can be browsed by date of submission via the archives, or by category. Want to read "coming home" stories? Browse the articles written by a variety of submitters that fit into that theme, or browse through death, education, family, humour, love, travel and more...

Better yet, submit your own! Only one thing I ask: if your story relates to Small-leaved Shamrock families, please allow me to post it here also!

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

What does it mean to be Irish?

As I learned through my experience writing the 5th edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture about the Irish language, Ireland and the Irish mean many things to many people.

What does the Emerald Isle and its heritage and culture mean to you? Share with us your stories about Ireland and what it means to be Irish in the upcoming 6th edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture. (Note: An Irish pedigree is not required to participate.)


Posts for this edition of the carnival are due Saturday, May 31, Bank Holiday weekend in Ireland. Submit your entries here. The carnival will be posted here at Small-leaved Shamrock on the actual June Bank Holiday, June 2.

Ireland has been known by so many names and means so many different things to different people. You might know it as:

  • Erin
  • The Emerald Isle
  • Hibernia (as the Romans referred to it)
  • The Land of Saints & Scholars
  • The Silk of the Kine
  • The Old Sod
  • The Poor Old Woman

Hope you'll join us to tell about your own personal experience with and understanding of the land so many love so well.

Because "one language is never enough"...

Want a little introduction to the Irish language, Hiberno-English and the Irish "gift of gab"? Stop on over at A light that shines again for A little Irish language, a bit of Blarney.... It's the 5th edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture and its not to be missed!


Agree with the Irish phrase Neamhleor atá teanga amháin? (Translation: One language is never enough.) You'll enjoy a tribute to the language of the bards of Ireland and how that language has influenced places and people throughout history - and how it still does today.

What are you waiting for? Be off to your reading! Go n-éirí an bóthar leat!

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Ode to Civil War soldiers

On the heels of the poem by Walt Whitman entitled The Artilleryman's Vision, I'd like to share two additional poems from the Civil War era that I came across while reading The Columbia Book of Civil War Poetry: From Whitman to Walcott edited by Richard Marius.

The first, All Quiet along the Potomac Tonight, reminded me of the hand-written description by Thomas Cowey of he and his brother's own time spent at the Potomac River during the year 1861.

All Quiet on the Potomac Tonight
by Thaddeus Oliver

"All quiet along the Potomac to-night,"
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.

'Tis nothing--a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost--only one of the men---
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.

"All quiet along the Potomac to-night,"
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming.

A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind
Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping,
While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard--for the army is sleeping.

There is only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two on the low trundle-bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.

His musket falls slack--his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for his children asleep--
For their mother, may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine as brightly as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips, and when low-murmered vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun close up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted
pine-tree, The footstep is lagging and weary,
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.

Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it the moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle--ah! Mary, good-bye!
And the life-blood is ebbing and splashing!

All quiet along the potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead--
The picket's off duty forever!


If my great-great-grandfather had met the same fate as the private in the poem, I would not be here today nor would hundreds of his other descendants.

The second poem, Ode, was first sung while decorating graves of Confederate soldiers in South Carolina in 1867:


Ode
by Henry Timrod

Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,

Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause;
Though yet no marble column craves
The pilgrim here to pause.

In seeds of laurel in the earth
The garlands of your fame are sown,
And somewhere, waiting for its birth,
The shaft is in the stone!

Meanwhile, your sisters for the years
Which hold in trust your storied tombs,
Bring all they now can give—tears,
And these memorial blooms.

Small tributes! but your shades will smile
As proudly on these wreaths today,
Than when some cannon-molded pile
Shall overlook this bay.

Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!
There is no holier spot of ground
Than where defeated valor lies,
By mourning beauty crowned!

For more poetry and song lyrics from the Civil War Era, you might enjoy Rick Hearn's Civil War Poetry website.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

One, two...a trí, a ceathair, a cúig!

Count with me:

A haon (uh HAY*N)...
a dó (uh DOH)...
a trí (uh TREE)...
a ceathair (uh KA-hir)...
a cúig (uh KOO-ig)...

One...
two...
three...
four...

...five more days to submit your post for the 5th edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture to be hosted by A light that shines again. The theme is Irish Gaelic (or your experience with it, no matter how limited) and the deadline is Sunday, April 27. Hope to see you there!

Numbers one through five in Gaelic (and their accompanying pronunciation guides) are courtesy of The Irish People's Learn Irish Gaelic Lesson 36.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

"Then resumed the chaos louder than ever..."

I often think about the life of my great-great-grandfather and wonder if he told any stories to his family about his time in service of the nation during the "Great Rebellion". Surely he lay awake some nights remembering the trials he faced as a young soldier.

Walt Whitman's poem, The Artilleryman's Vision, describes such a night spent in memory of long-ago days still fresh on a soldier's mind. According to a description of the poem in The Columbia Book of Civil War Poetry: From Whitman to Walcott edited by Richard Marius, "All this is imagined since Whitman never saw combat. But no poem in this collection better expresses the nostalgia for the war once it was over, the remembered excitement that brought thousands of men on both sides together for reunions with their comrades as long as they lived. Probably no better description of combat emerged from the Civil War - certainly not in poetry."

Here Whitman takes us into the mind of a soldier as he remembers the war while his wife and child are sleeping nearby:

The Artilleryman's Vision
by Walt Whitman

While my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long,

And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes,

And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my infant,

There in the room as I wake from sleep this vision presses upon me;

The engagement opens there and then in fantasy unreal,

The skirmishers begin, they crawl cautiously ahead, I hear the irregular snap! snap!

I hear the sounds of the different missiles, the short t-h-t! t-h-t! of the rifle-balls,

I see the shells exploding leaving small white clouds, I hear the great shells shrieking as they pass,

The grape like the hum and whirr of wind through the trees, (tumultuous now the contest rages,)

All the scenes at the batteries rise in detail before me again,

The crashing and smoking, the pride of the men in their pieces,

The chief-gunner ranges and sights his piece and selects a fuse of the right time,

After firing I see him lean aside and look eagerly off to note the effect;

Elsewhere I hear the cry of a regiment charging, (the young colonel leads himself this time with brandish'd sword,)

I see the gaps cut by the enemy's volleys, (quickly fill'd up, no delay,)

I breathe the suffocating smoke, then the flat clouds hover low concealing all;

Now a strange lull for a few seconds, not a shot fired on either side,

Then resumed the chaos louder than ever, with eager calls and orders of officers,

While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts to my ears a shout of applause, (some special success,)

And ever the sound of the cannon far or near, (rousing even in dreams a devilish exultation and all the old mad joy in the depths of my soul,)

And ever the hastening of infantry shifting positions, batteries, cavalry, moving hither and thither,

(The falling, dying, I heed not, the wounded dripping and red I heed not, some to the rear are hobbling,)

Grime, heat, rush, aide-de-camps galloping by or on a full run,

With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-t of the rifles, (these in my vision I hear or see,)

And bombs bursting in air, and at night the vari-color'd rockets.
I share this poem to honor the memory of my great-great-grandfather William Cowhey and all fellow soldiers who did their part in the Civil War. It is posted in celebration of today's Poem in Your Pocket Day.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Everybody needs a little elf

I've written previously about leprechauns, but this is the first time I've written about an elf. Let me let you in on a little secret: I love my elf!

I had heard about this little fellow quite a few months ago, but never took the time to get acquainted. You see, I was busy with other things and didn't think I had time to intoduce myself. Now that I have, I see that we should have met much earlier. This little elf saves me time. I don't know what I did without him!

The elf I am speaking of is Library Elf. This "little fellow" is a godsend to someone like me who loves to read. You see, I love my local library and visit often. Not only am I a card-carrying member, but I also carry the local library cards of my children as well as my cards for various other local and not-so-local libraries. It seems I am always finding the need to search for a book that is not at my own neighborhood branch and often not even in my library system. That's why I've accumulated various cards and visited many, many libraries.

Library Elf, helpful little fellow that he is, helps me keep track of my various materials on loan from different libraries by consolidating all the due dates, holds, etc. into one email message sent at whatever intervals I prefer. The message he sends includes links to the libraries' websites for easy renewal and makes it easy on me to remember to turn materials in on time and therefore avoid late fees.

Visits to libraries have become a regular part of my life and that of my family. We frequent our local branch and many of the staff members there have become like family. On trips I often find myself working in a visit to a library. I have even benefitted long-distance from a few libraries, such as the wonderful help I have received from several in towns that hold my ancestors' records. And of course I would be remiss if I forgot to mention the amazing benefit that I've received from my local Family History Center which has brought microfilmed records from the Family History Library within my reach.

If I had to choose a favorite in library-land, however, it would have to be the New York Public Library at 5th Avenue & 42nd Street (particularly its Irma and Paul Milstein Division of United States History, Local History and Genealogy). Who couldn't love a library guarded by Patience and Fortitude?

Now to go check and see if I've gotten today's message from that little elf...

Thanks to Lori Thornton of Smoky Mountain Family Historian for suggesting a post about libraries during this week's celebration of National Library Week.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Things for pockets: maps and poems

As I mentioned over at 100 Years in America, I am a lover of maps. What joy when I found a map representing another of my favorite things: poetry!

Check out the National Poetry Map at Poets.org and make sure you don't forget to celebrate April (National Poetry Month) in some kind of poetic way.

You might even want to carry a poem in your pocket...

Happy National Poetry Month!

A challenge to all readers who write their own blogs: Share a favorite poem on your blog for Poem in Your Pocket Day, April 17, 2008. I look forward to reading all of your favorites!

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Two weeks left to work on your Irish Gaelic

...in time for the Irish Gaelic edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture, that is!

Do your spring cleaning (glanadh an earraigh) along with us and help us air out a few words and phrases by dusting off your Irish Gaelic dictionary and joining us for the carnival.

It is springtime! The time has come to put away the winter clothes (tá an t-am tagtha éadaí an Gheimhridh a chur ar leataobh) and bring some Irish Gaelic out into the fresh air!

Hope you'll join us for the 5th edition of the Carnival of Irish Heritage & Culture to be posted over at A light that shines again, We will honor the beauty of the Irish language with a focus on Irish Gaelic names and words.

  • Has the charm of the name of a place in Ireland always called to you to visit someday?
  • As a child did you secretly wish you had the Irish name of a great-grandparent instead of the name you were born with?
  • Do you have a story to tell about someone with an Irish surname?
  • Is there an Irish proverb that you have always loved to let slide off of your tongue in its original language?
Join us for the carnival. The only prerequisite is that your post must tie in with our focus on the Irish Gaelic language.

Posts for this edition of the carnival are due April 27. Submit your entries here. The carnival will be posted at A light that shines again on St. Ciarán's Day, April 30. (Well, one of the St. Ciarán's days - there are actually 14 in the calendar of Irish saints. Now there's one popular Irish Gaelic name!)

There is no better way to revive Irish
than for a crowd of people to spread it.
~ Douglas Hyde

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Just where was William Cowhey during the Civil War?

As always with the study of genealogy, one discovery opens up more questions and sets the seeker of family history off in new directions.

It was no different when I received the multi-page file from the National Archives & Records Administration detailing my great-great-grandfather William Cowhey's application for pension for his service during the Civil War.

The file is a fascinating series of affidavits, medical reports, declarations, claims, and other government documents, including a gem handwritten by his brother Thomas detailing a particular war experience that he suffered through with William. Read that story at Crossing the Potomac with William: a soldier's story.

One new piece of information that appears on various documents throughout the pension file had me puzzled initially. I knew from previous research that the two brothers had served together for 3 months during 1861 in Pennsylvania Infantry Company I-16 of Pottsville: from April 26, 1861 to July 30, 1861. Alongside William's service in Company I-16, his additional time in the service of the Union is also mentioned. According to affidavits signed by William and his wife Margaret (Foley) Cowhey and also according to the War Department, William also re-listed and served from January 30, 1862 to January 30, 1865 in Company L-5.

That's a significant time in the service of the Union. Of particular interest to me is the fact that it occurred after the onset of William's rheumatoid arthritis (which, according to his statements in the pension file, had its onset during his first three months of service in 1861).

These facts open up many more questions for me in terms of what type of action William Cowhey saw during the Civil War and what type of life he led, health included.

In my initial search for more information about these additional three years of William's life as a soldier during the Civil War I've received help from Military History Online and its Civil War forums. Thanks to the knowledgeable and generous individuals who read and comment on the forums, I've confirmed that William seems to have served in Company L 5th Artillery, Regular Army. (There is more than one Pennsylvania 5th, you see).

I've also received a brief summary of what type of action William's regiment saw during the course of their three years of service, but have lots more to learn. The history of the U.S. Regular Army Battery L 5th Artillery online at the Civil War Archive doesn't seem to square exactly with the dates listed in the documents that I have indicating William Cowhey's time of service. That and the History of the 5th U.S. Artillery online along with the Civil War Soldiers & Sailors website may provide some clues as to William's life as a soldier from 1862 to 1865, but I have a lot more research to do before I can make sense of it all.

Now, there was no draft back during the time of the Civil War, so William had to have been recruited as a volunteer. Why would a man with rheumatoid arthritis (which presumably was first set off because of his duties as a soldier) offer to enlist again - and how would he serve for three full years?

I was interested to read the suggestions of one commenter on the Civil War forum: "Maybe his arthritis was better, and maybe he had liked his stint in the 13th PA. Possibly he was down on his luck and 'three hots and a cot' sounded good. Maybe he had a friend(s) enlisting in the Regular Army."

There is probably no way for me to learn what William Cowhey's motives were for serving in the Union Army those three additional years. (Unlike William, his brother and fellow-first defender Thomas never re-enlisted.) But just what did William Cowhey experience during the Civil War? Three years fighting for the Union is a long time. With a little more research I hope to find out just where Company L-5 went and what they did during their three-year tour of duty.

Stay tuned for more on the story of my great-great-grandfather William Cowhey, Union soldier...

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

PA records access: not the good or bad, but the ugly

With my genealogical research focusing in on only a few key states in my family history, I don't have experience with searching for vital records and other documents in too many states around the nation.

In light of my resulting tunnel vision, I found it interesting to read Craig Manson's post over at GeneaBlogie entitled "Open" State Vital Records: The Bad and the Ugly. A law and public policy professor as well as a genealogist, Craig has written several posts about open government laws and genealogy. His post on states with limited vital records access listed 15 states as "bad" (including a couple from whom I need records for my 100 Years in America side of the family) and 7 as "ugly" (including Pennsylvania, the home state of Small-leaved Shamrock history).

Yikes!

Genealogy is tough, tedious work, fellas. Can't you give us a hand?

If you have an interest in improving access to Pennsylvania's vital records, don't forget to visit the website of PaHR-Access (People for Better Pennsylvania Historical Records Access) and see what you can do to help.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Vrrooomm!!! Vrrooomm!!!

An early "Wordless Wednesday" entry for you, sponsored by some favorite cars in Small-leaved Shamrock history...

This 1952 Studebaker owned by traveling salesman Charlie Stanton (beloved husband, father and grandfather; favorite uncle and great-uncle to many):


This 1956 yellow and white Pontiac, first car of the eldest daughter of George & Anne (Cowhey) McCue (photo taken in 1958 in Hicksville, New York):


For more family car photos (and stories, too!) see The love of fine cars: it's in the genes and A ring, yellow roses & a Flying Cloud over at 100 Years in America, or visit the 45th edition of the Carnival of Genealogy whose theme is Cars as stars!

A Wordless Wednesday entry (such as this one, which I've posted early on a Tuesday just to confuse you!) is a picture that speaks for itself without a lot of description. The picture may be one whose subjects are not yet identified or whose story is not fully understood. If you have any information about the subjects, date or location pertaining to the above photographs, please post a comment or send an email and share what you know.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Celtic blessing: food for the soul

This year, in the midst of a very busy month, my birthday came and went without the traditional celebration. It was certainly not an ordinary day. In fact, it was a little too exciting. I spent the day at an out-of-town event and for some reason ran into several minor crises and unpleasantries along the way. In the midst of all the hubbub, the occasion of my birthday was lost and the turning of another year occurred without much commemoration.

In the time since this birthday had passed, I had reflected on its absence as a missed friend, sorry that I had not had a chance to spend time with it while it was near.

Time went on yet this sentiment remained with me as another year of my life was unfolding when I picked up a new book of blessings written by the Irish poet John O'Donohue. Interestingly enough, the first page that I opened to was entitled For Your Birthday. I looked again closely to be sure of what I was reading, and then read on.

Blessed be the mind that dreamed the day
The blueprint of your life
Would begin to glow on earth,
Illuminating all the faces and voices
That would arrive to invite
Your soul to growth...

"How beautiful," I thought as I read. And what a gift.

There was more. I kept reading. As I came to the end I found:

...Blessed be the gifts you never notice,
Your health, eyes to behold the world,
Thoughts to countenance the unknown,
Memory to harvest vanished days,
Your heart to feel the world's waves,
Your breath to breathe the nourishment
Of distance made intimate by earth.

On this echo-ing day of your birth,
May you open the gift of solitude
In order to receive your soul:
Enter the generosity of silence
To hear your hidden heart;
Know the serenity of stillness
To be enfolded anew
By the miracle of your being.

Reading these poetic words, in the form of a blessing, gave food to my soul - the soul that had been harried and rushed through a milestone of life meant to be counted and tasted and treasured.

In the process of learning about the history of my family, I have often made a point to remember the birth and death dates of family members who have passed before me. Yet, here I had not taken the time to commemorate my own birthday properly. What a gift these words were which reminded me to do so, and to open my eyes to the "gifts that I never notice" and to the possibility of "harvesting the memory of vanished days", as John O'Donohue put it.

To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings is the concrete result (if poetic sentiments such as these can be considered concrete) of his belief in the importance of stopping and recognizing the meaning behind each of life's thresholds and journeys. O'Donohue provides food for the soul for those facing various crossroads in life: beginnings (such as starting a new day), desires (for friendship, for love...), thresholds (for a new father, for old age...), states of heart (for grief, for failure, for loneliness), callings (for marriage, for work...) and more. Special blessings that I thought interesting were "For the Artist at the Start of the Day", "For Love in a Time of Conflict", and "For Someone Awakening to the Trauma of His or Her Past".

Perhaps my favorite is O'Donohue's soul-touching blessing "For a Mother-to-Be". I don't believe that I have ever read words that describe the experience of motherhood so perfectly as these do. Now just how did he know? Here is an excerpt:

Nothing could have prepared
Your heart to open like this.

From beyond the skies and the stars
This echo arrived inside you
And started to pulse with life,
Each beat a tiny act of growth,
Traversing all our ancient shapes
On its way home to itself.

What an amazing look at the gift of a child's new life and his or her tie with their own mother, father and ancestors. O'Donohue's blessing to the new mother goes on:

Once it began, you were no longer your own.
A new, more courageous you, offering itself
In a new way to a presence you can sense
But you have not seen or known...


~

...May the emerging spirit of your child
Imbibe encouragement and joy


From the continuous music of your heart,
So that it can grow with ease,
Expectant of wonder and welcome

When its form is fully filled

And it makes its journey out
To see you and settle at last
Relieved, and glad in your arms.

The tremendously insightful words of O'Donohue's To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings have broadened my understanding of the importance of the Celtic tradition of offering blessing. Almost everyone who knows anything about Irish culture is familiar with common Irish blessings. Probably the most famous is:

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

John O'Donohue, by renewing the tradition of the Celtic blessing through his new book, has given us a fresh reason to remember to take time to mark and savor the thresholds on the journey of life.

Now for me to get this new day, threshold that it is, off to the right start.

Sadly, John O'Donohue passed away unexpectedly in January 2008. The loss of this fine Irish poet will be felt sorely throughout the world and in his home of Connemara in the west of Ireland.

For more information about O'Donohue's life and other writings, see
his official website.

Monday, March 24, 2008

A joyful Easter Monday to you!

In Ireland of long ago (at least as far back as the early 19th-century) Easter Monday was a day of fun and festivity along with an additional day to attend Mass in celebration of Easter. Unfortunately, many of the special traditions carried out on Easter Monday are no longer followed.

Bridget Haggerty's article entitled Easter Monday Mirth & Merriment at the Market on the Irish Culture and Customs website gives a nice explanation of the ways in which the Irish used to spend this special day.

Here's hoping that your Easter Monday will be special, no matter how you spend it. If you do nothing else, the least you can do is try your hand at an Irish jig in celebration of the Easter season!

Image of the 1904 postcard from the collection of Scott Williams of St. Louis Time Portal.