At the Roots of Rainbows

At the Roots of Rainbows

     I am a pilgrim,
     a sojourner;
     a seeker
     of scattered forgotten truth
     buried in dark earthen tombs.
     Born to chase elusive rainbows.
     Called to dig at their roots.
     I am a storyteller,
     the gate keeper of secrets
     with blessings for humanity.
     I am an oracle for ancestors
     seeing, hearing and doing
     what others won’t.
     I am an agent of new life
     digging at
     the roots of rainbows.
     I am a storyteller.

     Larry H. Spruill

A Weekend in Virginia

Early in 2011, I was able to connect with Barbara Harris and Craig Smith, two of my second cousins in Virginia.  We traded emails...the rest is family history.

A few weeks ago, my brother, Tim, and I went down to meet them in person.  We arrived late on a Friday.  Saturday morning we met Craig and his wife Gail. They were our tour guides. We went past several old family homesteads and cemeteries.  I am so glad we were able visit these sites together. 

Craig and Patty at Warrenton Cemetery

Barbara and her husband Stan hosted a reunion of eight second cousins (8 of 15 of Hugh and Willetta Turner's Great-grand children).  We had great time!

I will be forever grateful to my cousins and all they shared and did for us while we were there. 

July 14, 2012
Bottom Left - Tim Turner, Carolyn Armstrong Marshall, Elizabeth Armstrong, R. Kyle Smith, Barbara Smith Harris. Top Left - Patty Turner Campanelli, Bobby Armstrong, Tommy Armstrong, R. Craig Smith

"Old" Elijah McClanahan

Here is a narrative of "Old" Elijah McClanahan, my 6th great grandfather.


The Indian massacre took place in early 1764 in what is now known as Bath County, Virginia in an area called "The Cowpasture." It was here that "Olde Elijah" lost his wife, Ann and their youngest child, both killed by the In-dians. "Olde Elijah" himself was severely tomahawked, but was saved only by the fact that he had a pen in his hat. The Indians, realizing he could write, did not kill him and apparently wanted his writing ability for an unknown reason. However, not long after the massacre, Captain Lewis, following the raiding party with a group of local militia, came upon the Indians. "Olde Elijah" was rescued as well as several other cap-tives. This was attested to in a letter written by Reverend John Brown who wrote to Colonel William Preston in June 1764 the following" Captain Lewis came up with the Indians that killed the people at cowpasture and one Frenchman and it is thought wounded some Indians and res-cued several prisoners, among whom were old Elijah McClanachan."

Further evidence of this massacre was written personally by "Olde Elijah's" grandson, Colonel Elijah McClanahan of Roanoke, Virginia, son of William and Sarah (Neeley) McClenachan. Colonel Elijah McClanahan corresponded with Lyman C. Draper. In one of these letters, dated 19 March 1846, is given a vivid account of the massacre.

Letter dated March 19, 1846. Again, this is only part of the entire letter addressed to Lyman C. Draper: "Your other inquiry is as to my father's birth and decease. When I had the pleasure of seeing you at Bent Mountain, I mentioned the circumstances of my father's mother and his younger brother being killed by the Indians in what is now Bath County and that part of it called the Cowpasture, what county it was then, I can't say. My grandfather was wounded at same time and taken prisoner and pursued. The prisoners all retaken and my grandfather tomahawked and hurt in the head by the Indians on finding they were overtaken, but was carried in and lived. He told me of several incidents that occurred whilst on his march with the Indians. Such as taking two small children (There mothers prisoners) by the heels and dashing their brains against a tree because they cryed and that they held two counsels about him together, he being very unable to travel on account of his wound and that he was saved by a pen in his hat showing he could write for which they were desirous to take him to the nation. My grandfather was from Ireland and an excellent scholar."

-- From Janet Skelton's GEDCOM @ RootsWeb.com

Before and during the French and Indian War, the Scots/Irish were among the first to suffer, and among those who suffered most because of their inhabitation of the frontier and their proximity to the various Indian tribes, many of whom couldn’t get along with each other, let alone, with the white settlers. The Scots/Irish had fresh memories of the border raids from the days back in Northern Ireland and Scotland. The Augusta Stone Church and other dispersed meeting houses throughout the Shenandoah Valley became refuges against Indian attacks. During one such raid, the family of Col. Elijah and Ann Ewing McClanahan came under Indian attack and the lone survivor of that family was their young daughter Hannah (later the wife of John Greenlee, a son of James and Mary McDowell Greenlee) who hid under a log footbridge across the nearby creek. Many other Scots/Irish had been killed at Tickling Springs, 10 miles from Augusta. Joist Hite of Winchester, Frederick (old Orange) County, Virginia constructed a fort near his home of the Opecquon Creek, where the frontier families of that area, including the Hites, Woods, and McDowell families gathered for shelter during Indian raids.

- - From   http://home.comcast.net/~davidmartin/ppl/a/b/abc80ae0ab37d0d9005.html

Sgt. Charles Weller

As Memorial Day approaches, I can not stop thinking about an email my cousin, Charles Turner, shared with me last year about our great uncle, Sgt. Charles Weller, our grandmother's only sibling, who was KIA in World War II.

Sgt. Charles Weller

The email went something like this:

Greetings.  My friend Ray Ross has shared your letter with me. I knew  your great uncle well as we were in the same Platoon (the 3rd) in B. Company of the 58th AMD. He came to our unit in them early summer of 1944 at Camp Polk, Louisiana. Before coming to us, he had served in the ground forces where he earned his sergeant's stripes. He then transferred to the air force and began flight training. When the army decided that it needed more infantry men immediately than they did pilots later, several thousand air cadets were transferred back to the ground forces from which they had come. Weller (we called each other by the last name) was one of four former air cadets who ended up in our platoon. Unlike the returnees from the ASTP (like Ross and I), the air cadets retained their rank. Since the company had a full cadre of non-coms, some of the squads now had extra sergeants. Most of us ASTPers were 19, Weller was older, 28, I think. 

My connection with Weller was Dartmouth. Several friends from high school had gone to Dartmouth and the coach of the school's national champion basket ball team was an old family friend. On many of the hot, hot, Louisiana nights, too hot to sleep, your uncle and I would sit out on the tiny stoop of the barracks talking about Dartmouth and playing the"did you know?" game.

Fast forward to 1998. I was retired and living at our summer home in Quechee, Vermont, about ten miles away from Hanover, NH, home of Dartmouth. One day I decided to search out the college's monument honoring the sons of Dartmouth who had been lost in WW II. I expected to find the name of my boyhood friend Jim Kelly and your uncle. Kelly's name was on the monument, Weller's was not. I then found out that when the monument was set up, the alumni office had Weller listed as "alive but address unknown." I began a campaign to get his name added. As part of my effort, I produced a little essay which I shared with the current class president (Class of '38) the president of the alumni, and the school historian. It took a couple of years, but Charles Weller's name was added, chiseled in the marble. 

 A copy of that essay appears below. The soldier who was at his side when he was hit was Pfc. Stuart Geenberg, now deceased, but I shared a foxhole with Greenberg that night of the death and heard Greenberg's story. The sergeant Weller trusted with his effects is Art Woodall.  Your uncle's burial was in the then temporary American Cemetery in Margraten, (near Maastricht) Limbourg Province, The Netherlands. In 1948, at his family's request, his remains were taken home to New Jersey for reburial. About two-thirds of the American dead, through similar requests, were reburied in the U. S.

The Death of Sergeant Weller

Dartmouth, ’38

Sergeant Charles Weller, Jr., United States Army, was killed by a sniper’s bullet near the village of Linne in southern Holland, February 27, 1945. Although he was a Dartmouth alumnus, class of 1938, his name does not appear on the college’s monument honoring its sons killed in World War II because news of his death did not reach the alumni office until after the monument was erected. The circumstances of his death have not been known at the college until now. Weller was just one of the 300,000 American combat deaths in World War II, but an unusual circumstance surrounded this particular tragedy. He died bravely and on the attack even though he had an unshakable premonition that he would meet his death that day.

He was a member of Company B, 58th Armored Infantry Battalion, 8th Armored Division, as was this correspondent. At the time of his death, we were serving on the extreme left flank of the American forces in Europe. We had relieved a unit of British Royal Marine Commandos on a salient thrust into the German lines on the east bank of the Maas River, twenty miles north of Maastricht, Holland. The enemy held fortified woods across the fields from us, blocking the road to the occupied Dutch city of Roermond and the German border just beyond. After ten days of artillery exchanges and night patrols, an attack on the woods was ordered. Intelligence from our patrols alerted us to the strong, well-manned defenses we would encounter. The dismounted, battalion-strength attack was planned for dawn, February 27, 1945. Late in the evening before the attack, Weller sought out a fellow sergeant in our platoon and gave him his personal effects—wallet, watch, a letter —and asked that they be sent to his family because Weller was convinced he would not survive the next day’s battle. The other sergeant tried aggressively and repeatedly to talk him out of his fear, but Weller persisted. “You will make it through tomorrow;” he said, “I will not.”

Our attack began under cover of a fierce artillery barrage. Three platoons of our company, 150 men, moved forward across the open field, spread out in a line of skirmishers. We advanced less than two hundred yards before we began to receive withering rifle, machine gun, and mortar fire from the woods to our front. A number of our friends, including our lieutenant—new that morning, fell to the first fusillade. We were pinned down, unable to move. Weller and another soldier found themselves relatively isolated in the front rank of our advance. On their own initiative, they began a maneuver called “fire and advance.” The other soldier rolled on to his elbows and rapidly fired off a full clip from his rifle, eight rounds, directed at the edge of the woods. In the eight seconds covered by the fire, Weller rose to his feet and dashed forward for fifteen yards before diving for the earth again. He called to his companion, “Ready?” before rolling on to his elbows to give similar covering fire for his friend. At that moment, Sergeant Weller was struck between the eyes by a bullet from a German sharpshooter. He died instantly.

For several hours, his body lay in the field at the front of our position before medical personnel could reach it. He was carried away to temporary burial in the American Military Cemetery near Margraten, Holland. His remains now rest in New Jersey. His earned decorations include a Purple Heart, Bronze Star, two battle stars, and a Combat Infantry Badge. Weller was one of nine members of our small unit to die that day on the field at Linne and in the woods beyond. Most soldiers who perish in battle believe that they will survive. Sergeant Weller expected his death, yet he had the courage to fulfill his duty and support his fellow soldiers in spite of his terrible premonition. Soldiers die for patriotism, to win wars, to honor families, and in response to the intense loyalty they have to their fellow soldiers. Sergeant Charles Weller performed his duty. He was a brave man in an era of brave men. As a son of Dartmouth, he deserves to be remembered on the college’s World War II Memorial.

                                                                                                                            Judd Alexander 

                                                                                                                            August, 1998


Many thanks to Judd Alexander to have the courage to retell this tale. I do not believe my grandmother, Charles' sister, ever knew this much. 

Thanks to the kindness of Nancy Beckley here are the photos she took of the memorial at Dartmouth College.

St. Mary's Church - Rahway, NJ

On May 22, 1869 Patrick McQuaid married Bridget Cain at St. Mary's Church in Rahway, NJ. They were Timothy G. McQuaid I's (Poppy's) grandparents.

Insanity

McQuaid Photos

I have been corresponding with my grandmother's first cousin once removed, Claire. She has been a wonderful source of knowledge. These are pictures she shared of people I have never laid eyes on before.

My great-great grandfather Timothy J. McQuaid. The baby he is holding is named Josh McQuaid (not sure of the relationship).

This is Sarah "Sadie" Pickard McQuaid with her daughter Margaret.

 These are: Anna, Maggie (Mary Pickard), Ruth, Timothy, Sarah (Pickard), and John McQuaid.