“Weakness and Lack of Patriotism:” Resolutions of the Granville Moody Post, G.A.R.

Questions over how American society remembers the Civil War are not unique to the 21st century, having been around since the war ended and the decades immediately following it. 

That issue is not usually a major emphasis of my writing, but one example involving men from Campbell County appeared in the early 1900s, not quite 50 years after the war had started, and recently came to my attention. It is among the most unexpected local stories I have uncovered. 

The Granville Moody Post of the Grand Army of the Republic was based in Bellevue, Campbell County. During my research, I’ve seen many mentions of this post, including names of group members and mentions of post meetings and officer elections, all in various local newspapers I have perused. I must say that coming across this in the National Tribune, of Washington D.C., was certainly out of left field.

To me, it is intriguing that this otherwise quiet group of veterans made such strong and public resolutions on this situation and that a newspaper in the nation’s capital published these concerns. The men of this post certainly left no doubt of their feelings on the proposed homage to their wartime enemies. 

Two accounts, basically the same information, but with different wording, appeared in the Tribune.

The first, on November 25, 1909, consisted of these few lines.

Then, a few months later, on March 17, 1910, it printed another version.

One surprise was in finding this in a paper from out of the area instead of one of the local journals, but after another search, I did find this mentioned in the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune on November 9, 1909. Perhaps my research had not been good enough at first, but I’ll take a lead to a good story anywhere I find it.

A major part of this complaint concerned the statue of Robert E. Lee shown below. The state of Virginia had provided it for the National Statuary Hall in the U.S. Capitol in 1909, the same year that the G.A.R. men expressed their disapproval. It was removed from the Capitol on December 21, 2020, more than a century after the Moody Post had made its feelings known. 

The Robert E. Lee statue that stood in the US Capitol, photo courtesy of Wikipedia. 

It may seem surprising that a group in Kentucky, which had supplied thousands of men to the Confederate army and which a cliché claims “joined the Confederacy after the war” would issue such a statement against Confederate iconography, but perhaps this was a reaction to such feelings. True Union men like these did live throughout the state despite its reputation, and it would not be hard to believe that these men were frustrated at (or embarrassed by) the state’s split loyalties and reputation. Perhaps the plans to give national honors to Confederate leaders was the proverbial "straw that broke the camel’s back” that convinced these men to express their feelings. Were they pushing back against the “Confederate Kentucky” narrative or did they look at this as a purely national issue of loyalty? Did they believe the concept of reconciliation was going too far? It is too bad none of their meeting minutes or other comments are known to exist.

Whatever the exact motivation the men of the Moody Post held, they did issue this statement, and though it had no immediate effect as the Confederate displays continued to exist long into the future, the sentiments they expressed became far more widespread in the second decade of the 21st century, eventually leading to the removal of the Lee statue and other Confederate symbols from public places. These Union veterans did not live to see it, but their wish eventually came true as part of a new fight of public memory 150 years after the fighting on the battlefields had ended.

Book Review: Anatomy of a Duel: Secession, Civil War, and the Evolution of Kentucky Violence

Anatomy of a Duel: Secession, Civil War, and the Evolution of Kentucky Violence

By Stuart W. Sanders 

2023

University Press of Kentucky 

At first glance, using one duel taking place on one afternoon in an obscure Kentucky community to explore a state’s culture may sound like a challenging proposition, but Stuart Sanders tackled that idea and turned it into a fine book describing a key piece of nineteenth-century life in Kentucky. 

In this deeply researched book, involving many sources, Sanders, author of multiple books about Civil War Kentucky, as well as one about violence on a period steamboat, uses his experience and writing ability to craft a fascinating story about how the confrontation between William Casto and Union Colonel Leonidas Metcalf illustrates the importance of the code duello in Kentucky life. He, however, goes beyond just that confrontation to show why it happened and why it was a bit unusual for its time as change was slowly happening in the Bluegrass State as civil war approached.

As the book’s title so aptly says, this work is truly an anatomy (or dissection) of this one fight, showing how state (and southern) culture, combined with the Civil War (and the tensions that led to war), the background of the individuals involved, and the actions of Union leaders who were trying to keep Kentucky (and Kentuckians) out of the Confederacy, all somehow worked together over time to lead to this contest. It was not simply a case of two men suddenly becoming angry and immediately dueling. It was a process based on those factors that Sanders explores and describes in a very readable and enjoyable book.

This book is more than a story about the duel, even as that word in the title is the attention-grabber. The author discusses violence in Kentucky, particularly the art of dueling, and how the state's citizens and government accepted it as part of life, but also shows how that form of manhood and honor had started changing in the Civil War era, especially during and after the war. Violence and fighting remained an unfortunately large part of life in the Commonwealth, but the formality of duels, with strict rules, regulations, and traditions, gradually changed into more improvisational street fighting, including the use of concealed weapons. The book’s title refers to this as “evolution,” but a reasonable argument could contend that “de-evolution” would be just as or perhaps more appropriate.

This work also discussed how the culture of violence, including both dueling and the newer style of fighting, injured, or even changed, Kentucky’s reputation nationwide. The frequent violence, fighting, and murdering came to define the state in many eyes, transforming the state’s reputation from the land of Henry Clay, compromise, and a forward thinking educated people to an image of a backward and poor population that constantly resorted to physically harming or killing fellow citizens. 

This truly is a good perspective not only on dueling or violence, but on the state of Kentucky in the mid-nineteenth century, including how the population was split in supporting the Union or Confederate side (even in the same towns and counties) and how that division sometimes led to violence like in the Casto-Metcalfe duel.  It is a much bigger story than just that of one of one fight or of that style of combat.

For those who seek satisfaction from books they read, I believe this one will accept and meet your challenge. I enjoyed this read and certainly recommend it.

Book Review: We Shall Conquer or Die: Partisan Warfare in 1862 Western Kentucky

We Shall Conquer or Die: Partisan Warfare in 1862 Western Kentucky 

By Derrick Lindow 

Copyright 2024

Savas Beatie

The Civil War provides many avenues for discussion and study - battles, generals, politics, technology, and social issues, among numerous topics frequently explored.

One which I have never particularly thought of often was partisan warfare, particularly in western Kentucky.

Oops.

In this fine book, still hot off the press, Derrick Lindow weaves a fascinating tale of this lesser-discussed style of war in an area not widely known for its role in the war. He describes this type of fighting and what a "partisan ranger" is, comparing it to the more well-known and popular term (especially among Union officials at the time), "guerilla.” He also introduces the readers to some of the Confederate irregular warriors, including a man with one of the more unusual nicknames of the war, Adam "Stovepipe" Johnson, as well as his partner-in-war Robert Martin, and some of their opponents, such as John Crooks and Gabriel Netter.

This type of fighting was much smaller in scope than the most famous battles associated with the Civil War, but even these smaller fights and skirmishes resulted in a number of deaths, men whose demise did make the news back home and affected their comrades-in-arms and families. This fighting and its effects were just as real as any “major battle,” as this book so ably shows.

As Lindow describes how this type of fighting in this area played out, it became reminiscent of ow cavalry usage and fighting in the war overall developed. The partisan war began with the Confederates having a significant advantage at first, as their forces attacked the enemy in ways (and places) the Federals did not expect or fully understand, and the Federals struggled to adapt to this style of war, to have enough men in the right places to meet the enemy, and even, at times, to find leadership courageous and skillful enough to combat the Confederates. As time went by, however, Union leadership and strategy improved, more troops were employed, and the understanding of both this style of fighting and the enemy progressed, all of which naturally led to better fighting by the bluecoats. Confederate victory was no longer as certain a result as it had been earlier in 1862.

This is simply a terrific book. 

More specifically, it is a terrific book for those who enjoy reading about the Civil War or this style of fighting, but especially so for people studying Kentucky’s role in the war. In a state in which politics and the general sentiments of the people were often divided, unclear, confusing, and frequently changing, this style of warfare - fairly described with similar adjectives - symbolized the state’s situation, and the author addresses that, showing how such uncertainty filtered through that region of the Commonwealth, especially for Union leaders trying to defend Union loyalists in a  state that included so many Confederate supporters who were more than willing to help the Confederate fighters. Which people in which towns or counties were on which side, and even on which day? Those were not easy questions to answer, yet the Union leaders (and even the southern forces) needed to understand the people they were dealing with and could or could not trust. 

The writing style is clear, easy to read and understand, and the length of both the book and the several chapters is suitable. It is a quick read, is based on research from many primary and secondary sources and uses well-thought-out analysis of those sources to bring this story together. The several maps and photographs are also helpful and appropriate. 

I gladly recommend this book.

Ramblings on Campbell County in the War

 For the past few years, of course, I have been researching individual soldiers/sailors who ever lived, died or are buried in Campbell County and finding their stories, hopefully to share them some day.

I have shared a few in posts on here and am still working on a couple more, with other ideas in store, but I have also started looking more at the county as a whole in the war. One person had suggested that as a topic for a book, and though I am not sure about that, recent discoveries have really opened my mind to exploring that angle of the war and writing some on the county home front during those years. I kind of figured that was a bit out of my league and too much to do, but some "exciting new developments" in recent weeks might have me rethinking what my project should be. Or if "project" should become "projects." 

I recently completed a story on James Guthrie, who was in charge of the fatigue forces in northern Kentucky during the "Siege of Cincinnati." I discovered a lot of details about that time period that I had not seen before, such as orders he had given about watercarts, impressing horses, and trouble having enough volunteers to fill the positions. His story in this time provides some very good insight into Campbell County and the area as a whole in that timeframe.

Some of his orders went to Henry Gassaway, the Provost Marshal of the county, and his story - including his arrests of numerous county citizens for disloyalty (one story mentioned 38! Campbell County residents being sent to Camp Chase at one time) and his dismissal from the position, after which a newspaper called him a tyrant - surprised me. I never thought I would read about a "tyrant" in this little place, so far away from the major fighting and the largest political factories. His story also shows new aspects of the county's war experience that I had not known of before. 

As often as I've heard or even talked about the "Siege of Cincinnati," especially in the halcyon days of the Ramage Museum, I still just learned quite a bit of information about the day-to-day operations that was new to me. It's almost embarrassing that I did not know some of this until now. Why didn't I research this period more ten or fifteen years ago?

Another man, a Connecticut born lawyer and politician, George P. Webster (not the same George Webster who died at Perryville) was a fervent Union supporter during the war, attending many meetings and giving quite a few speeches to round up support for the cause. He adds a layer of understanding to the political side of the county, and accounts I find about him in the newspapers often mention other names of prominent Union men in the area. Again, this is a new area of studying for me. 

These are just three men, but their stories, and the other names and stories to which they are connected just open more doors for exploration and study. I have gathered quite a bit of information on both Union and Southern supporters in the county. I have seen a few of the same names in several stories where I did not expect them, helping me connect these men and their causes together. Their actions did not happen in a vacuum. It can be confusing at times, but also clarifies just how complicated the county's situation was.

I also learned about two controversies over the status (free or slave) of African-American men in the county one in 1860, the other in 1861, both of which tie in the county's struggles to the nation's as a whole. One was mentioned on a local genealogy site that I frequently check, yet I had never seen it, and while researching this story, I found another similar situation. Webster was involved in these cases, but in my early research into them, I found a possible example of corruption by at least one county official, with it perhaps extending even into a minor conspiracy, though I need to research that and think about if I want to make that accusation based on what I've found, or just relate what I know to be true and not try to create a story that I cannot prove. 

Just these three stories by themselves have given me a lot of information about the effects of the war in this county and on its citizens. Studying the individual soldiers also did that, of course, but these three have provided so much more of what was happening right here on Campbell County soil during that time, instead of what county citizens were experiencing elsewhere. 

It really is eye-opening about what happened and just how many areas of exploration are out there and just how little I know. There is just so much more than I ever imagined or had heard. I wonder if anybody in the county has ever realized all of this. Has somebody else done this work but I've just not ever seen it? I feel like I'm covering new ground (and obviously am to myself) and that's a bit exciting too. Even if none of this becomes a book or website, at least I can share some of it on social media and give information to the local historical society where others might see it. My "attempted book" under its original format is now over 200,000 words, which blows my mind, and that's just focusing on the individual stories, not the county's home front. Who knows how much more I will write, as I have plenty of ideas of what else to explore and to ponder. 

Kentucky, of course, was a border state, and Campbell County, along the Ohio River at the northernmost part of the state, was a border county. As I read about some of the activity in Newport, the phrase "border town in a border county of a border state" has stuck with me and will probably be one of the themes I try to explore further. Only a few places in the nation were more on the "border" than this county and its residents, and I'm learning more and more about the strong Union patriotism that existed alongside quite a bit of Southern support. I had always thought that described Kentucky as a whole, but to find specific examples on both sides here in my home county has surprised me. I guess I just never looked at the right places and explored the right issues before. That's too bad, but better now than never.

I also just found an account of soldiers from a USCT unit shaking a resident's apple trees to get apples. The person's wife was at home and told them there were enough apples on the ground, but they yelled at her and called her names. Something like that won't affect my overall project at all but was pretty neat to find and is a reminder that daily life did go on outside of pure military or political activities. (A colonel of a regiment wrote a quick note that steps had been taken to stop such depredations, but I have not found any specifics. I doubt any still exist.)

The more I research, the more fascinating and fun this project gets. I am quite lucky in that regard. This is truly enjoyable, and though my reading and studying of the war in general has slowed down in these recent years, my knowledge of the local situation during that time is much better. The several Cincinnati newspapers of the time provided a lot of coverage.

A Good and Brave Soldier: Jacob Goetz, 15th Kentucky Infantry

Standing 5 feet, 8 inches tall, this new Civil War soldier featured a light complexion, gray eyes, and dark-colored hair. He worked as a steamboat man, and had been born in Baden, Germany. Newport, Kentucky was his current post office address. 

 This recruit was Jacob Goetz (sometimes spelled “Getz” as on his headstone), who was born in approximately 1820.

 

Before immigrating, he had married Mary Seabert (or “Seibert”) in January of 1843 in Baden. The couple produced three sons and two daughters during their time together.

 

After coming to the United States and witnessing the start of the Civil War, Jacob enlisted as a corporal in company I of the 15^th Kentucky Infantry at Camp Webster in Jamestown (now Dayton), Kentucky for a three-year term. He joined the unit on October 14, 1861, enlisted by George P. Webster, a local attorney who was raising a company. Jacob was mustered in on December 14 at New Haven, Kentucky. He was about 42 years old at this time in late 1861 though other paperwork shows different ages.*

 

The 15^th Kentucky, which mostly formed around New Haven, Kentucky, also included a few other men who, like Jacob, had joined at Camp Webster. It became a tough and reliable regiment in the Western Theater of the Civil War. It saw fierce combat near the Bottom House at Perryville, the largest fight of the war in its home state, and also fought at Stones River before marching in the Union’s successful Tullahoma Campaign, which maneuvered the Confederates out of central Tennessee with amazingly little bloodshed by the standards of this war. 

 

The 15^th was then part of the biggest battle in the theater, at Chickamauga, in northern Georgia, on September 19 and 20, 1863. Only the three-day fight at Gettysburg caused more casualties than did this contest, two months after which the men of the 15^thKentucky joined in the battles for Chattanooga.

 

In the new year of 1864, the biggest action in this region of the war was the Atlanta Campaign, and the 15^th Kentucky fought in multiple battles during the fight to control that important city. It mustered out of the war in January of 1865 in Louisville.¹

 

Starting in June of 1862, Jacob spent much of his service time on duty as a regimental teamster, at least until August 15, 1863when he was sick in a hospital at Cowan, Tennessee.

 

He remained in the facility until November 12, then helped guard Confederate prisoners being sent to Bridgeport, Alabama. 

 

At the end of 1863, Jacob was again with the unit and remained on duty at the start of the following year but soon became

 

sick during the month of May 1864 while on the March from Chattanooga Tenn. to Atlanta, Georgia, his disease was Typhoid Fever, he was unfit for travel and had to be sent to Hospital at Chattanooga where he died.

 

Surgeon Edward Dunn continued his statement in Mary Goetz’ pension application.

“I was at the time surgeon of the Regt., and it was by my order that he was sent to the rear.”

 

“He was a good and brave soldier and fought gallantly at Resaca” 

On June 5, Jacob passed away in U.S. Army General Hospital No. 2 in Chattanooga. 

 

Diseases killed more men than did bullets during the war. For Jacob, and many others, the scourge of typhoid fever was the killer. Poor drinking water was the source of this plague as “water near camps and battlefields in the early part of the war contained a bacillus that produced an acute, infectious disease that could be fatal.” This was typhoid fever, which “was among the first diseases to appear in army camps.”

 

 It spread quickly. “By the summer of 1861, it had attained epidemic proportions.” Its symptoms included “high fever, diarrhea, uncontrollable nausea, dehydration, and violent spasms,” and it was commonly known by several other names, including “camp fever”, “continued fever”, and “break bone fever,” among others. 

 

Treatment for the disease was not effective early in the war, often relying simply on “what the surgeon had at hand,” as the cause of the disease was still a mystery to military doctors. Treatment did somewhat improve as time passed due to better hygiene, “camp conduct,” and knowledge of the disease and its causes. 

The improved effectiveness in fighting typhoid did not help Jacob, and still “a fourth of all deaths from disease in the armies of North and South came from typhoid fever.”²    

Jacob was buried in Chattanooga National Cemetery.

 

His widow Mary received a pension of $8 per month, plus an additional $2 monthly for each child under age 16. 

 

*Most records show him to be around 42-44 years old early in the war years, but his findagrave.com page, memorial i.d. 2980931, as accessed on April 9, 2023, shows his birth year as 1830.

 

 

¹https://www.nps.gov/civilwar/search-battle-units-detail.htm?battleUnitCode=UKY0015RI, Accessed April 9, 2023

²https://www.wvtf.org/civil-war-series/2019-12-21/typhoid-fever#, Accessed April 12, 2023

More Distant Cousins in the War

One of many twists and turns my current project - which I hope will end up with a book in a few years - has taken is the discovery of some distant ancestors who fit the criteria of Campbell Countians who served in the war. 

This came to light when a local person responded to a query I had published asking for information on such soldiers. She sent me information about William Orlando Tarvin (a separate post focusing on him is in the works, but he apparently went by "Orlando," so I will refer to him that way) and while I was reviewing it, I realized that I had some Tarvins in my family tree, so I looked him up and found out he was a second cousin, five times removed. His  great-grandfather was Reverend George Tarvin, who was also my six times great-grandfather. (I note that Reverend George's mother was Eleanor Mudd, so I suppose I now need to investigate her family to see if she was related to Dr. Samuel Mudd of Lincoln Assassination fame. My first glance shows that it is a possible, perhaps likely, connection, but I wish to investigate it more and will post it here if I confirm it.)

I had some other Tarvins on my list of Campbell County soldiers, so I started looking into them. Alonzo and Alvin Tarvin turned out to be Orlando's brothers, making their link to me blatantly obvious. Then, as I was confirming their units, I found Edward B. Tarvin, who apparently was another of these brothers, though records on him are not as clear.

I turned my attention to the other Tarvins on my list, and they all had the same relationship as Orlando and his brothers - their great-grandfather was also Reverend George Tarvin.

 Orlando served in company F of  the 53rd Kentucky while Edward was in Company C of that regiment; Alvin and Alonzo joined company I of the 23rd Kentucky.

Their cousin William Charles Tarvin also was in company I of the 23rd, as was Abijah Tarvin, but another cousin, George Washington Tarvin (brother of Abijah) joined company C of the 53rd.

Another pair of bother Tarvins, Richard Lemuel and James Donovan, served in company H of the 3rd Kentucky Cavalry.

I suppose my next step will be to investigate their records on Fold3 to see if they had any special adventures or assignments and to study their regiments more, though I already have seen the 23rd and 53rd Kentucky in my book project quite frequently as they were locally raised units. (I'm still not 100% certain if the 53rd is the 53rd Infantry, 53rd Mounted Infantry or 53rd Infantry (Mounted) or if it matters that much in the big picture.) 

As with all things genealogical, other records may show different details (birth or death dates, etc.) for some of these men, but I believe I at least have the relationships correct, though "never say never" in genealogy.

I also have learned about a new ancestor on my mother's side and will write about it soon enough.

 This ancestor chart - or many others readily available through an internet search- is helpful in figuring out relationships once you have determined the common ancestor. Charts like this have helped me a lot in my genealogy work.

Injured at Perryville: Benjamin York,15th Kentucky Infantry

Today, the anniversary of the Battle of Perryville, seems like an appropriate day to share this story, thst of a common private soldier whose life changed on those Kentucky hills.

Another Campbell Countian whose Civil War service came to my attention thanks to the book The Battle Rages Higher is Benjamin F. York. The son of Joshua and Sarah (Moore) York, he was born in Alexandria, Ky., in July of 1844.

Location of Alexandria, Ky, courtesy bestplaces.net

By 1860, the family, including Benjamin and his four younger siblings, still resided in Alexandria, but life quickly changed later that year when Republican Abraham Lincoln won the Presidency in the 1860 election. Several Southern states soon announced their secession from the United States and, in April 1861, the Civil War began. Six months later, in October, Benjamin enlisted for a 3-year term in Company H of the 15th Kentucky Infantry regiment, joining at Camp Webster, Kentucky. Paperwork in his file indicates he was 18 years old when he joined, though he may have actually been 17. That was under the minimum age to join the military, but it was not unusual for young men to lie about their age in order to become a soldier or sailor and officials did not always make thorough efforts to verify the ages of potential recruits.

As previous posts have discussed, the 15th Kentucky was a busy regiment and fought in some of the more famous battles and campaigns in the Western Theater of the war, including Perryville, Stone’s River, the Tullahoma Campaign, Chickamauga, Chattanooga, and the Atlanta Campaign. 

Benjamin York was with the 15th for many of these, but he was wounded at Perryville - called “Chaplin Hills” in his file - and was in a hospital in Louisville for several months before returning to his command in April of 1863. He remained with the regiment for several weeks, but by around September or October had taken a role as a company cook, and, on December 10, 1863, was discharged from the army due to disability, as his wound at Perryville had cost him his hearing. 

Unfortunately, the certificate of disability for discharge in his file is difficult to read, but it still does provide some additional details. It confirms his inability to perform his duties was due to “Deafness, caused by gun shot wound received in line (illegible) at the Battle of Chaplin Hills,” and states that the bullet had entered near the “ramus of the inferior maxillary bone,” before causing damage as it exited through his neck. 

It further states that he was “sent to General Hospital, rejoined his command at Murfreesboro on April 6, 1863, at which time he was deaf and has continued to be up to the present time, in consequence of which he is totally unfit for the service. He is also unfit for the Invalid Corps.”

This injury ended his fighting days, but he managed to lead a long, productive post-war life, one of tens of thousands (or more) of American men carrying life-long wounds caused by the war. 

Benjamin married Nancy Cherry on October 6, 1865 in Alexandria and received a Civil War pension starting in February of 1869, according to a family history account. The couple had three children, all daughters - Mary Ann, Emma, and Cora.

Benjamin does not appear to be on the 1870 census, but by 1880 lived in Clermont County, Ohio, with his mother, a sister, and his three daughters. He worked as a flat boatman, likely on the nearby Ohio River. 

Unfortunately, Nancy had died in 1879, but Benjamin married Dulcena Perry in 1881, and they had two daughters, Bessie and Ella.

(Dulcena’s younger brother, Alexander, also served in the war, in Company F of the 192nd Ohio Infantry.) 

By the time of the 1890 Veterans’ schedule, Benjamin had returned to Alexandria. Ten years later, he remained in that same town, where he lived on a farm with his wife and two daughters.

Benjamin York passed away on March 19, 1910 in Covington, Kentucky at sixty-five years of age, and was buried in Linden Grove Cemetery.

Rest in peace, soldier.

Michael Gabbard, Part 1: Common Soldier

My previous post explored the life of Mary Ann (Mangan) Gabbard, a nineteenth century woman who was born in Ireland before immigrating to the United States, where she met and married the subject of this post, American soldier Michael Gabbard. Gabbard, a story claims, was a part of the honor guard which accompanied Abraham Lincoln’s body from Chicago to his burial place in Springfield

——

Michael Gabbard had been born on April 30, 1837, the son of Isaac Hugh and Jane (Isaacs) Gabbard. He married Mary Ann on September 15, 1864, while he was still serving in the Civil War, which he had entered as a private in Company D of the 8th Kentucky Infantry, which he joined in Owsley County on September 24, 1861 for a standard three-year term.

Photos from findagrave.com 

A brief recap of his time in the war is in a photocopy of a newspaper article which was among the documents I received from a cousin who alerted me to his story. The article is entitled It Happened Here, written by Jess  D. Wilson (copyright 1979, Jackson County Recorder, McKee, Ky.) It stated: Margie, as I told you, your great grandpa, Mike Gabbard, was wounded at Look Out Mountain during the Civil War. His entire kneecap was blown away. He used a cane and later a crutch, too. The wound never healed. 

After suffering the knee injury, he transferred to the Veterans Relief Corps (VRC.) His wife’s autobiography says he was in the 7th Regiment of that unit, but the Soldiers and Sailors database indicates he was in Company G of the 8th Regiment, as do forms on Fold3.com. Since she did not writ her story until about 1913 (according to a family history page,) it is likely that she misremembered the exact unit number.

Unfortunately, this newspaper story is untrue, as various observations and information contradict it. One example is that his wife’s autobiography (see my previous post linked at the start of this story) mentions nothing of him being seriously wounded, even as he pushed her on a swing. A man with a blown away kneecap might not be able to do a physical activity, or the wound would at least be noticeable, if as severe as the story described it. Additionally, would a man with a “blown away” kneecap have been able to participate in Lincoln’s honor guard, as he supposedly did? 

Even if Mary Ann  just did not remember that type of detail, or if the honor guard story is not true, a more irrefutable contradiction of this story comes from the timing of events.

The Battle of Lookout Mountain did not take place until November 24, 1863, after the couple had met. She acknowledges he was already in the VRC in Chicago when they met, and records on Fold3 show he had transferred to the VRC on August 5, 1863, after being listed sick on multiple muster rolls. This was three months before his reported wounding. This could be a case of her memory being faulty regarding details, but the dates on the military records confirm that he was in the VRC before the battle where he supposedly was injured. 

I did view pension index cards in his file but admittedly did not spend the time or money to request his pension file, so maybe I am missing key information about his specific ailment, though the earliest date I saw on any of them was 1876. He apparently fell ill more than once and the last illness was severe enough to remove him from his original regiment. This is one detail I wish I had, so perhaps I will request his pension records eventually.

The records I did find show that injury at Lookout Mountain was not the reason he transferred to the VRC as he was not even in that battle, being in the VRC long before that fight took place. (For anyone who may want to look at his paperwork, please note that I found some under “Michael Gabbard” and others under “Micheal Gabbard” on Fold3.)

Another piece of this story that is a bit puzzling is that some of the records on Fold3 seem to contradict each other, based on the dates and information on these documents (though none of these, even the differences, support the idea of him being wounded at Lookout Mountain.) With so many different military forms to complete and so many men involved in the war, such mistakes were probably inevitable.

Here is a recap of the information and dates on the paperwork in his Fold3 file:

Joined for duty Sept 24 1861 Owsley County, 3 years, mustered in  Lebanon Ky Jan 15 1862 

Muster roll cards: 

Sept 24 to Dec 31 1861, present or absent: not stated

Jan & Feb 1862 present

Mar & Apr 1862 present

May & Jun 1862 present

Apr 30 to Aug 31 1862 present

Sept & Oct 1862 present

Aug 31 to Dec 31 1862 absent, at convalescent camp, Nashville

Jan & Feb 1863 present

Mar & Apr 1863 present

Apr 1863 present 

Feb 28 to June 30 1863 absent, sent to convalescent camp, Murfreesboro, TN

July & Aug 1863, absent, left at Murfreesboro TN sick, 1st July 1863

Jun 30 to Oct 31 1863, transferred to the Invalid Corps Aug 5, 1863

Appears on muster-out roll dated Chattanooga TN Nov 17 1864, last paid to Feb 28, 1863,  transferred to Invalid Corps Aug 5, 1863 

Appears on returns (1 card): 

Jan 1863 absent sick Dec 26 1862, Nashville

May & June 1863 absent sent to convalescent camp at Murfreesboro TN

July 1863 absent sick, sent to convalescent camp Nashville TN

Aug & Sept 1863, absent sick, sent to convalescent camp, Murfreesboro May 11 1863

Oct 1863, Loss, Aug 5, 1863, Murfreesboro TN (over, but no 2nd page)

Some of the dates showing present or absent do not match other cards, but the main point for this story is that none of them show him available to the 8th Kentucky Infantry at the time of the fight at Lookout Mountain in November 1863.

How exactly his story developed into one saying he suffered a major injury at Lookout Mountain may be lost to history. Did he suffer a knee injury while in the VRC or perhaps in a non-military accident after the war? Did his memory falter or did he fabricate the story and share it? The 1890 Veteran’s Schedule Census does list him having a “damaged limb,” supporting the idea of his knee/leg being injured somehow, but I have found no other source stating how/when/where he was injured or where the Lookout Mountain fight entered the legend. Maybe the pension file would help with that.

The newspaper story quoted previously may partially clarify how this version of his story came into being, as it states: Nell wrote down... a lengthy (24 typed pages) family history from their oral tradition. “Nell” was a granddaughter of Michael and Mary Ann. Since the stories came from family oral history, it is likely that failing memories and mis-worded stories (wording might change with every telling and every attempt to recall them) led to a tale that does not match official records. 

This explanation might also apply to so the next part of this story as well. The next post will explore the story of Michael Gabbard’s reported role on Lincoln’s honor guard.

Not a Happy Marriage: The Story of Mary Ann (Mangan) Gabbard

A while ago, I began working on a story about a Civil War soldier named Michael Gabbard, who supposedly was on the honor guard transporting Abraham Lincoln’s body from Chicago to Springfield. I planned to do a post exploring that story, but part of the information a cousin gave me about this was a typed autobiographical sketch of this man’s wife, Mary Ann Mangan. I started to use excerpts from it in my post, but the sections related to him and/or the Civil War were much longer and more interesting than I expected, so I realized that her story would make a worthwhile post itself. It provides unique perspectives of life in that era, including how a relationship developed into the life of an immigrant, marriage, family loyalty, even an example of teenage rebellion (not a new concept), and, overall, a life story of one young woman in mid-nineteenth century America. Those interested in studying gender roles or race relations in Kentucky might find parts of this story valuable. (For anyone curious about her entire story, a copy of the full document is here.)

In my transcription of the pieces of the document relevant to this post, I attempted to correct most spelling/grammar errors, but intentionally left a couple grammar mistakes which I thought added authenticity or a “down-home” feel to this tale, making it read how I imagined she spoke. I have italicized her words below, but added a few links and other details.

Mary Ann Mangan was born March 25, 1848 in Ireland. In her youth, she lived in both Ireland and England, before sailing to the United States in 1858, landing in New York Bay. In New York, “we exchanged our British money for U.S. money. I saw the first Negro I ever saw in New York.” Her family travelled west to Milwaukee. “There I saw my first watermelons, cucumbers and squashes. There I saw the first ear of corn. I didn’t know whether it was hand made or natural.” They eventually moved to Illinois. 

While living in Peru (Illinois,) I attended church and Sunday school regularly. While attending school, I became acquainted with a number of nice young men and girls who were my classmates. In the spring of sixty-one, while on my way to school, I was told the South had seceded and war was inevitable. War was the topic of the day. The war cloud was darkening the northern horizon and the valiant sons of the North were preparing to rush to the awful encounter. 

I quit school, went home, and went to clerk in a store in my home town. The proprietor of the store was a Southern lady and she it was who persuaded me to marry your father, my husband. I stayed with this Southern storekeeper in the summer. When school opened, I would quit the store and go to school. I left the Southern lady and went to work for an old gentleman and his wife. The lady was an invalid. She was very kind to me and I liked to live with her very much.

I was living in Chicago and, with a friend, went to visit the great Senator Douglas’ grave on the bank of Lake Michigan. There was a picnic on the grounds. There were swings. I got into one and my friend was going to swing me when a young man stepped up and said: I’ll swing you if you wish me to. I let him move the swing a short time. Then I said Please stop the swing. He done as I requested. I thanked him and went walking off. It was time to go home. When I was getting to the street car, my acquaintance of the swing was at the car door and asked me if I enjoyed myself. Yes, I answered in a happy, joyous way. My friend who was with me was an old lady and she requested the name of the young man who swang me and had been so nice to her. He gave her his name and address. He promised to get a pass for the lady to go inside of Camp Douglas. The law of the camp was ‘No citizen allowed inside,’ unless some friend was a soldier and on duty there. The young man’s name was Michael Gabbard, Co. G 7th Regt., V.R.C.  Camp Douglas, Chicago, Ill.  He got my address and I hadn’t been at home but two days when I got a letter from said Michael. 

And what began in an indifferent acquaintance ended in marriage. I had not been long acquainted with Mike Gabbard when he asked me to marry him. I was not thinking of such a thing. I was young and told him I didn’t want to marry. He was persistent. I went home. Mike wrote to Mother while I was at home, asking her consent. She was furious. She made life so hard for me. I went to my southern friend with my trouble and of course she was for her Southern friend. She persuaded me to leave home and marry him, which I did. If Mother hadn’t been so harsh to me, I wouldn’t have left home and married a strange man. Mother never forgave my Southern friend for what she done in the matter. After I was married and with Mike in Chicago, mother wrote to me to come home and stay with her until Mike got his discharge as Mike could not get a house to move into as the houses in camp were all occupied. Mike consented for me to go. I was but a short time at home when he got a pass for twelve hours, which he lengthened to eight days. When he went back to camp, he was put in the guardhouse four days. It was Christmas time and he had lots of company in the guardhouse. Mother and my good stepfather treated him royally. Aunt Sally and Aunt Kate gave us a dinner as also did Mike’s Southern friend. Mike went back to duty at Chicago. I stayed with Mother.....Mike was at this time waiting for a house to become vacant. At last, the happy time arrived. He notified me to come. He had a house. Well, we got to housekeeping.

Mother hated to see me go very much and I hated to leave her and my good old stepfather. He and mother came to the train to see me off and bid me goodbye. That was the last time I ever saw my stepfather. I parted with him forever; he was a good man. Mike liked him. I went to housekeeping in Camp Douglas, Chicago. I liked to keep house very much. There was three young men, soldiers, of Mike’s company, (who) boarded with us.  We enjoyed their company very much. One was a New Yorker, one was an Indianan, and one was a Canadian. They were cultured gentlemen, and we enjoyed their company very much. (Let me say here, your Father was well liked by all his comrades.) In the latter part of sixty-five, the war was over. The prisoners were all discharged, and gone home. And the soldiers wanted to be discharged also. They had enough of war, such a cruel war.  They wanted to follow their peaceful avocations of life. 

Mike got his discharge from service at Chicago, Ill. Your Father received two honorable discharges. We left Chicago in the latter part of Nov, 1865, arrived on Lexington, Ky., and stopped at the Broadway Hotel. Took the stage next day for Richmond, Ky., stayed over night at the Webster Hotel. Next day took the stage to Irvine, Ky. We arrived in Irvine on Sunday evening, the landlady was not at home when we arrived at the Iiamson House, our hostess being a colored lady. She took charge of my things, waiting on me very politely. In the mean time, plying me with questions. She asked me where I was from, and when I told her I was from the North, she asked me if she was free. I told her “yes! You’re as free as I am.”  She gave me an earnest look, threw her arms up over her head and shouted “Thank you Lord. I’ll just stay with them through Christmas.” Her mistress had told her she was not free in order to get her work. She was a good cook and her place couldn’t easily be filled. The landlady got very angry at me for telling her black woman she was free. I had no apology to make to the landlady. 

Mike and I walked to Proctor, stayed all night at an old acquaintance of Mike’s, Frank Daugherty. Next day we started to walk to Booneville Ky.

She then writes more about her life before concluding with the following revealing, especially sad lines: 

Married at Chicago in September 15th - 1864

Michael Gabbard of Booneville Ky to Mary A Mangan of Henry, Illinois.

The marriage was performed by a Justice of the Peace. His name was Charles Chilson. I kept his business card a long time after I came to Ky. It was not a happy marriage with me but I remained true to my obligations as a wife and as a mother. I done the best I could for my children, whom I dearly loved. They are all married and in homes of their own and I am in the evening of life. I wish to live in quiet until I reach the Home not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. 

A family history site claims Michael may have been known as “Drunk Mike,” perhaps the cause of the unhappiness, and my cousin wondered if he may have been shell-shocked or had what we now call post-tramautic stress disorder, especially since he had been serioysly injured in the war (thus his presence in the Veterans Reserve Corps.) Could such a condition have led him to the bottle? 

I find it extremely interesting - perhaps even suspicious - that this account makes no mention of her husband as part of Lincoln’s honor guard. Could she have forgotten this information from about 50 years earlier? Any memoirs or reports written so long after an event or time may include faulty memories. (For instance, she noted Michael I. The 7th regiment, VRC, but re olds show he was in the 8th. That was likely a slip of the memory on her part.) Another possibility is that the nature of the marriage may have discouraged her from praising him, but she did make other positive comments about him, so her intentionally omitting the honor guard situation seems improbable. The document does not read as though she was bitter, nor that  she intended to discredit him. It makes no mention of his supposed fondness for the bottle and only includes that one line about unhappiness.

I do wonder about this omission because if her husband was on that honor guard, that would have seemed like an important piece of his life, but maybe it was not important to her. Otherwise, did she not believe he was on the honor guard? Was he truly part of that unit? If not, where did the story come from? In the next post, I will explore this part of their story more. 

The lack of a name for her “Southern friend” also puzzles me, but 50 years is a long time so her memory may have failed or she felt it too insignificant to include.

Mary Ann (Mangan) Gabbard passed away on November 14, 1923 and was buried in the Elihu Reynolds Cemetery in Cow Creek, Owsley County, Kentucky. Her husband had died in 1902 and was buried in the Esau-Gabbard Cemetery in Ricetown, Owsley County. Was her burial in a different cemetery due to her unhappiness with the marriage? Or was her spouse buried in a family cemetery which ran out of room before she died? 

One of their granddaughters, Edna Gabbard, married Charlie McIntosh. My family tree includes a McIntosh line (including a direct ancestor in the war) though any relation to this particular family is likely quite distant. That might be a genealogy project for the future.  

I will continue to work on the story about her husband Michael Gabbard and will post it when it is ready. 

These undated photos are from findagrave.com.

  

Michael and Mary Ann Gabbard

Mary Ann Gabbard

Headstone of Mary Ann (Mangan) Gabbard.