I started my Air Force career as an imagery intelligence analyst (also known as a “1N1X1” or a “squint”). It was my job to examine images taken by any of a plethora of “overhead” military platforms (U2 spy planes, as one example) and determine what was going on in them. American intelligence collection capability is truly amazing, and the origins of airborne intelligence collection were simultaneously humble and revolutionary.
The value of airborne intelligence gathering was pretty well evident in the earliest days of aviation. Only months following the first human’s ascension in a hot air balloon into the sky near Versailles in 1783, the French incorporated a balloon unit into its military. However, despite the notable contributions made during successive European battles, by 1802 the aérostiers were retired.[i] So by the time the US Civil War erupted in 1861, manned balloons had remained almost entirely outside of military operations for the better part of six decades.
At the outset of the conflict, experienced balloonists (called “aeronauts”) like Thaddeus Lowe, John La Mountain, and John Wise petitioned the US government for the opportunity to serve the country with the unique capabilities afforded by their aerial platforms. And while La Mountain was able to establish balloon operations in beleaguered Fort Monroe, Virginia, Lowe distinguished himself from his professional competitors by demonstrating the unique capabilities offered by aerial intelligence directly to President Lincoln. On 16 June, 1861, Lowe ascended in a balloon which was tethered near the White House. He then, using a telegraph machine in the basket, telegraphed what he saw directly to Lincoln’s office.
“This point of observation commands an area near fifty miles in diameter. The city with its girdle of encampments presents a superb scene,” reported Lowe in what could be described, using today’s military concepts, as an exercise intelligence report.[ii] Lincoln was impressed, and appointed Lowe head of the Union’s new Balloon Corps.
Telegraph message from Thaddeus Lowe to Abraham Lincoln, 16 June 1861.
From the earliest days of the war through early 1863, the Balloon Corps demonstrated the unique capability afforded by aerial intelligence. An early example of this is actually on display at the National Museum of the United States Air Force, in Dayton, Ohio. Set up in the front of the Early Years Gallery is a hand-drawn map. In April 1861, Union forces at Fort Monroe in Virginia were isolated thanks to Virginia’s secession. John La Mountain managed to get his equipment and a single balloon into the old fort, which was bracing for a possible assault similar to Fort Sumter. Major General Benjamin Butler, in command at Monroe at the time, needed intelligence, and La Mountain was the man to get it for him. On 10 August, La Mountain ascended in his balloon to 3500 feet. From that vantage, he was able to identify troop camps and naval activity. He also provided General Butler with this map, possibly the first example of aerial intelligence mapping.[iii]
Map drawn by John La Mountain, while observing from his balloon, 10 August 1861. (Exhibit at National Museum of the United States Air Force. Photo of exhibit mine).
The use of these military balloons not only advanced military intelligence collection capabilities, but the Union army was forced to devise new technologies to deploy the assets in the field. Thaddeus Lowe created a mobile hydrogen gas generator, as well as directed the conversion of a Navy vessel into a specialized balloon deployment asset. This vessel, the USS George Washington Parke Custis – a coal barge- was fitted with the special hydrogen generator, and the deck was cleared to allow for balloon inflation. This gave the Union the ability to tow the balloon along the Potomac and adjacent waterways, expanding the range and flexibility of aerial intelligence collection.[iv]
USS George Washington Parke Custis, a converted coal barge, was used by Thaddeus Lowe to increase the Balloon Corps’ effectiveness. It also represented military innovation and expanded intelligence capabilities.
Arguably then, the first military aviation platforms commissioned by the US Army were intelligence collection platforms. Yes, they were used for artillery spotting, but one of the primary drivers for President Lincoln to approve the creation of a Balloon Corps was the promise of real-time intelligence collection and transmission to commanders on the ground. It was not uncommon for an officer (at times, the commander) to ascend with Lowe to get a sense of the land and enemy disposition. The Confederates were vexed by the balloons, and tried to destroy them whenever they were observed rising.
Photographs would not be used with balloons, although some experiments of aerial photography (using kites and balloons) had been conducted by civilians around this time. However, the methodical use of professional intelligence gathering by specially trained aeronauts during the US Civil War is clear milestone (if not the first milestone) in the evolution of American aerial intelligence capabilities. A whole new dimension of warfare was emerging.
[i] I’m not going to pretend that my research into French ballooning goes beyond the reading of a few secondary sources at this point. Charles M. Evans, in War of the Aeronauts, gives a brief overview of the earliest days of ballooning as he lays the ground work for his in-depth telling the use of balloons in the US Civil War. But I found a fascinating and concise article on the subject in All the Year Round, a British periodical and literary journal edited by none other than Charles Dickens. All the Year Round, Volume 1; Volume 21 (27 Feb, 1869) pp297-299.
[ii] Lincoln, Abraham. Abraham Lincoln papers: Series 1. General Correspondence. 1833 to 1916: Thaddeus S. C. Lowe to Abraham Lincoln, Sunday,Telegram from balloon. 1861. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mal1031300/.
[iii] Evans, Charles M, War of the Aeronauts, a History of Ballooning (Stackpole Books, Mechanichsville, PA, 2002), 96-98.
Recently I’ve started doing something that I’ve wanted to do for years: I’ve become a volunteer at the Museum of the United States Air Force, located in Dayton, Ohio.* Once or twice per month, I get to spend several hours within this fine institution, walking among the legacies of the men and women who created modern air power. It’s an incredible experience, and if you haven’t visited, you need to make time to do so. The museum is truly a national treasure, comparable to the Air and Space Museum in Washington D.C.
My time spent within the museum has spurred a number of article ideas and projects that I intend to pursue. But before I get into one of them, I’m going to highlight an exciting upcoming event: on 17 May 2018, the museum will unveil the Memphis Belle to the public, the storied B-17 Flying Fortress that became the first U.S. heavy bomber to complete 25 bombing runs over Europe. The date selected for this is quite purposeful: it will mark the 75th anniversary of the final mission flown by the crew, on 17 May 1943. After months of careful restoration, the Memphis Belle will be presented amid a celebration from the 17th to the 19th. Check out the official web page, and the flyer below:
Apart from this, I’ve started to outline a blog series on airborne (and eventually space-borne) intelligence capabilities. The series is directly inspired by my time in the museum. The collections on display are divided into four massive hangars: Early Years/World War I, Southeast Asia/Korea, Cold War, and the newest, Space/Experimental/Presidential aircraft. With so much history within its walls, there are countless stories and themes one can explore. My interest in military intelligence has led me to start examining the displays that speak to the evolution of air intelligence capabilities. While there are many intelligence-specific exhibits, I hope to present a cohesive narrative of the milestones that have led to the breathtaking capabilities the US Air Force possesses today, starting with the humble balloon.
US Army aeronaut mockup at Museum of the US Air Force.
More to come.
WEL
*This is a good time to emphasize that, although I am fortunate to volunteer at the Museum of the USAF, I do not represent them. Everything posted to this blog is my opinion and analysis, and in no way represents the Museum.
This unidentified soldier wears a uniform similar to one worn by another soldier of the 10th Kentucky Cavalry. [Unidentified soldier in Union uniform with stocked Colt pistol, Remington, and cavalry saber]. United States, None. [Between 1862 and 1863] Photograph. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/2011648543/. (Accessed September 13, 2017.
Company A
In the summer of 1862, Captain Milton Graham began to recruit men to form a new volunteer cavalry regiment to defend the Commonwealth of Kentucky from rebellion. He set up camp at Harrodsburg, Kentucky shortly before 11 July 1862. Company A was one of the first four companies of the 11th Kentucky Cavalry (along with D, C, and F). [1] Volunteers assigned to Company A enrolled primarily between 18 and 22 August (probably after relocating to Louisville), coming mostly from the surrounding Garrand (30 men) and Madison (36 men) Counties, although a handful from Washington, Lancaster, and Boyle Counties were also assigned to the company.[2]
This closeup of an 1862 map depicts the vicinity of Harrodsburg and the movement of some Union forces during the Battle of Perryville. This was less than a month after the 11th KY Cavalry was mustered into service (although the 11th was not part of this battle). Blakeslee, G. H. Across Kentucky. [1862] Map. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/99446408/. (Accessed September 13, 2017.)Approximately 75 men (officers and enlisted) comprised Company A when the regiment was mustered into service on 22 September 1862 in Louisville. Interestingly, an additional 30 men were listed as “Within the enemy lines,” at the outset. What is meant by this is not entirely clear. One possibility is related to the first incursion into Kentucky by Confederate forces, which coincided with the formation of the 11th Kentucky. Then-Colonel John Hunt Morgan led several hundred troops north from Tennessee, and actually set up camp at one point outside of Harrodsburg. It was Morgan’s approach that prompted Graham to relocate to Lexington Kentucky on 22 July.[3] In recounting the activity, historian Lowell Harrison notes that while in the area, Morgan boasted of capturing and paroling some 1,200 Union soldiers.[4] It seems plausible that some of these were volunteers that never made it to officially joining the Union army. Their names were accounted for on the regimental muster rolls, but none of them were present when the regiment was officially mustered into service. Most of these would ultimately be removed from the rolls and some charged with desertion (although a handful eventually joined up with the company).[5]
Captain John G. Pond commanded the company (more on him below), and John Milton Cotton (age 27 from Garrand County) and Reuben F. Scott (age 34, from Madison County) were his lieutenants. The average age of the company was 26.22 years at time of muster, somewhat older than I expected. Captain Pond himself was 50 years old in 1862.
Throughout the war, troops being AWOL was a problem. Of the 145 men who enrolled into Company A from 1862 – 1865, 21% (31 soldiers) would be documented as being AWOL at some point in their service. If we consider only the original 75 or so troops, the rate of AWOL remains about the same percentage (15 soldiers, roughly 20%). The desertion rate was even higher, with 39 (25%) of the total number of soldiers who enrolled in Company A being charged with desertion (14 of these were from the original 75, or 18%). As expected, there is plenty of overlap between those that went AWOL and those that deserted. Some of these soldiers eventually returned to the regiment, and after forfeiting pay and taking on extra duties, the charge was often eventually dropped.
The company suffered significant casualties over the course of the war. Of the 75 men present at the mustering in, at least 19 (25%) would be captured over the following 3 years. Over half of those (12) died in prison. At least 24 men from Company A (15%) in total perished before the war’s end. A good number of these casualties resulted from two significant engagements that occurred as part of General Ambrose Burnside’s East Tennessee expedition in October (Philadelphia, TN) and November (Maryville, TN) 1863.[6]
Soldier Highlights
John G. Pond: As mentioned above, the company was organized by Captain Pond, who is arguably the most prominent personality to have served in the company, and possibly the entire regiment. A preacher from Round Hill, in Madison County, he was 50 years old when he joined the 11th Kentucky Cavalry. Described as “eccentric” after the war, he was evidently a staunch abolitionist who was fiercely opposed to the Confederacy. “[M]y greatest difference with the administration is that it is too lenient with Rebels, especially in KY,” he wrote in 1864.[7] Despite his age, he was not one to avoid combat. In July 1863, the 11th KY Cavalry was one of the many that took part in the pursuit of Confederate John Hunt Morgan as he raced across Kentucky, Indiana, and Ohio. Upon reaching Cincinnati, General Judah was forced to leave the bulk of the 11th behind due to a lack of fresh horses. Enough steeds were pulled together, however, to outfit a single company-sized element. This element was led by Captain Pond.[8] Morgan was ultimately captured, and the 11th was there when it happened.
Eventually, his age bedeviled him toward the end of his service with the regiment. In his resignation letter, Pond stated “I am in my fifty second year and from a fever last fall that fell on my muscles I feel that I am gradually declining.”[9] Interestingly, although Pond resigned from the 11th Kentucky Cavalry, he wasn’t finished with the war. Pond would quickly help found and lead the 117th Kentucky Colored Regiment Infantry as a Lieutenant Colonel in July 1864. Once the war concluded, he not only resumed preaching, but reportedly strove against the Ku Klux Klan in Madison County.[10] He died in 1899, in Boyle County. Clearly, John Pond deserves more scholarly attention.
Solomon Calhoun: This solider caught my attention both because of his colorful name and because his records hint that he may have been either an adventurer or a patriot with a taste for action, or some blending of the two. A 27 year old farmer born in Pulaski County, Kentucky, he enlisted with the 11th Kentucky Cavalry late in the war, during a recruiting push in Louisville in February 1865. The blue eyed, fair-skinned soldier enrolled as a private, and was quickly promoted to corporal. However, the soldier’s status became mired in some controversy, as he was discovered to have previously deserted from the 3rd Kentucky Infantry. In that unit, he started in September 1861 with the rank of sergeant, although he was dinged for losing his musket. His presence with the regiment is unclear until 11 August 1862, when he was given “recruiting duty,” something that lasted several months (at least into December 1862) and was certainly something of a break from combat operations. Evidently he wasn’t quick to report back, as by 1 January 1863 he was listed as AWOL, which was changed to “deserted” status on 31 July 1863. Interestingly, a note on his deserter’s form states that he was “probably to be found in 1st Ky. Cav. Supposed to be in KY.” Another note, dated 20 February 1864, clarifies “Probably to be found with Wolfords Cav.” In other words, he was suspected of abandoning his infantry unit so he could fight with a cavalry unit (this alone begs for some additional research). He was dropped from the 3rd Kentucky Infantry’s rolls 1 November 1863. It was at this point that Sergeant Calhoun was demoted and listed as “Private Calhoun.” Inexplicably, he returned in August of 1864 and was allowed to rejoin his unit, with forfeiture of pay. [11] On 13 October, 1864, he was mustered out of the regiment. Within four months, he would be with the 11th Kentucky Cavalry.
William P. Pierce: This 20-year old from Garrand County managed to secure the rank of sergeant at the outset, but he wouldn’t remain enlisted for long. Evidently resourceful, he became the acting adjunct for the company within weeks of the regiment mustering into service. This meant he was acting in the capacity of a first lieutenant, which wasn’t officially recognized until May 1865 (backdated to 1 October 1862). On 14 November 1863, he was one of 8 others of the company captured at Marysville, TN, but he was paroled 30 April 1864. After a few weeks of leave, he accepted a promotion to Captain on 6 August, to fill the vacancy created by Captain Pond’s resignation.[12]
The above only scratches the surface of the preceding soldiers, and there are so many others I’d love to highlight. I’ve marked a few more for additional research. I’m trying to block off time this month (September) to visit the Kentucky Historical Society and the Kentucky Military History Museum in Frankfort. They have some research materials there that I hope will provide further insights into the shaping of this regiment, and perhaps into the men who fought within it
WEL
This is the first part of a company-by-company look at the Union’s 11th Kentucky Cavalry Regiment. These should be considered works in progress, to which much will be added over the coming months (plus, I need to clean up my footnotes, as some aren’t in proper CMS format). Once we’ve had a chance to look at each company, we’ll roll it all up together to see what we can learn of the regiment as a whole, from the individual soldier on up. We’re kicking off this study with, appropriately enough, Company A.
Methodology: I queried the National Park Service’s (NPS) Civil War Soldiers and Sailors data to extract all soldiers identified as serving under the 11th Kentucky Cavalry (this is how I have this data), then copied the data into a spreadsheet. To make sure I had as complete a roster as possible, I then compared the names in the database query to the roster listing published in The Union Regiments of Kentucky. This helped to clean up the data, as the NPS database contains some duplicate entries and plenty of spelling errors (e.g. one solider was represented 4 times as his name was spelled 4 different ways). The raw NPS data provided great information on each soldier, such as “first name,” “last name,” “Rank in,” “Rank Out,” etc. Then, stepping soldier by soldier through Fold3, I added additional columns to capture data points not contained in the NPS database. This was a mix of demographic data (e.g. age, where the soldier entered service, whether they were part of the original regiment mustered into service, were they captured and/or killed). I’ve posted the combined data into a spreadsheet here. Note on the Fold3 data: you’ll either need an account with them (they charge a fee) or you’ll need to go through a library or university if you want to follow the Fold3 addresses where I pulled the info.
After pulling what insights I could from the NPS and Fold3 databases, I switched gears into old-fashioned historical research, pulling together what I could find for the regiment in general and Company A in particular from the Official Records as well as additional primary and secondary sources. The articles that follow will be updated continuously, as additional primary source research will almost certainly provide expanded insights. Each article will present the statistics gleaned from the database information, then conclude with a few soldier vignettes, where I introduce you to these soldiers mostly obscured by time. My ultimate goal is to produce a scholarly regimental history that captures the stories of as many of the individual soldiers as possible.
[1] Thomas Speed, R.M. Kelly, and Alfred Pirtle, The Union Regiments of Kentucky, Volume 1 (Louisville: Courier-Journal Job Printing Company, 1887), 224
[2] County of origin determined by review of Company A member muster rolls.
As a lead-in to a more analytical article I plan on posting here toward the end of the month (hopefully), I thought it’d be useful to highlight this wonderful tool. The National Park Service’s Civil War Soldiers and Sailors Database (CWSS) is a thing of beauty. With a little info on a relative or subject of interest (say, a surname, a state, and on what side the subject fought), one can find service data on anyone who fought in the US Civil War. This includes what regiment they fought with, what company assigned to, rank in, and rank out. For me, it probably helped that “Greenberry Shanks” is a fairly unique name, because the CWSS immediately gave me the right data.
Then, to add context to this service, one can follow the link to the regiment. This leads to a fantastic summary of major engagements, such as this for the 11th Kentucky Cavalry.
You’ll note that many of these engagements are themselves hyperlinked to even more detail. I selected the first conflict at Saltsville:
The other kind of cool functionality that has one massively frustrating limitation, at least for researchers interested in unit data, is the link under the regiment’s history, View Battle Unit’s Soldiers. This brings you to a page where soldiers are listed alphabetically. That’s okay, if you’re unsure of how a name was spelled and need to page through 20 soldiers at a time.
I first discovered the CWSS through a blog post from another Civil War blog (Dead Confederates). In his post, which was published a couple of years ago, he highlighted another fantastic capability: there was an export button that allowed you to download an excel spreadsheet of the entire regiment. This was very exciting to me, since I’m currently taking a close look at the people who made up the regiment that my ancestor belonged to. So it was pretty aggravating when I went to the CWSS last year and discovered that this feature had been removed for some reason. I searched everywhere, and even emailed the site administrators and the NPS, but unfortunately never heard back.
Well, I was determined to get this data one way or another. I started scouring the National Archives and the farthest reaches of my search engines for anyone who may have stored it somewhere. All I found were broken links. On May 4 of this year, however, I had a breakthrough. After searching the corners of the Google-verse, I eventually turned up the data files used by the CWSS. The search was maddening, at least for me, as it was quite hard to find. I don’t even remember how I finally found it. I just tried to find it again, and the only way I could was to go back into my browser history and locate the download address. Here it is, if you’re interested:
Keep in mind, this is the raw data, over 800 MB of historical goodness, but not anything that is quickly used. Fortunately, I have a little background in SQL and excel, so I converted the data into a SQL table, and now I’m able to query the data in a number of ways. I’m trying to figure out how I can make this data available on my website, but I’m not sure this blog is the right medium. Until I crack that nut, feel free to ask for regimental soldier queries, as I’d be happy to help.
Speaking of which, my next article will be on Company A of the 11the Kentucky Cavalry. I’m using the CWSS data as a starting point to give me the name and rank of each member of the company, and then cross referencing those names in Fold3. Using that, I’m adding additional data to the names: their ages, the county where they’re from, occupations (if known), casualty data, and a few more data points.
Example of cross referencing CWSS Data with other sources (e.g. Fold3).
This will allow me to get a feel for the men who made up the company, as well as how they fared throughout the conflict. I’m almost a third of the way through the Company A roster (I’m trying to finish one company per month), and I’ve been fascinated with what I’ve learned so far. I look forward to sharing it with you.
In early morning on April 18, 1942, a small Japanese vessel detected a large American
” Take off from the deck of the USS HORNET of an Army B-25 on its way to take part in first U.S. air raid on Japan.” Doolittle Raid, April 1942. 80-G-41196. National Archives Identifier: 520603
naval force powering toward Tokyo. That the Americans were intent on attacking the Empire was without question: the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, scarcely 4 months prior, was still a recent, searing memory. However, the fleet was still 600 miles from the coast. Because of the limited range of conventional carrier-borne aircraft, detection at such a distance normally would have given the Japanese ample time to intercept the invaders. Yet this invasion was far from conventional.
Shortly after detecting the Japanese vessel, 16 highly modified Army Air Forces (AAF) B-25 bombers took off in rapid succession from the USS Hornet. Led by Colonel Jimmy Doolittle, the aircraft skirted over Tokyo at mid-day, dropped their bombs, and egressed toward China without immediate loss. Unable to reach landing strips on mainland China, they were forced to ditch their aircraft. Eight airmen were ultimately captured by the Japanese, with three being executed. One crew, accidentally landing in Russia, were detained there. The rest returned safely.[1]
17 B-25’s arrived at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base on 17 April, 2017 as part of the 75th anniversary of the Doolittle Raid. They are on display at the National Museum of the US Air Force until 18 April.
April 18th 2017 marks the 75th anniversary of this most amazing military feat. As part of the commemoration, 17 B-25s touched down at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, behind the Museum of the United States Air Force, early this morning on the 17th. I walked among the restored aircraft, took pictures, and marveled at the thought of that daring, and highly symbolic, mission. Doolittle was well aware that the likely impact to Japanese warfighting capability would be limited. But what was important was to show America, her friends, and her enemies that even in the wake of such a disaster as Pearl Harbor, the United States could fight. In that, the mission was a powerful success. Doolittle and his Raiders were instant American heroes, and the commander would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for the raid.
The 17 B-25s will be on display through the morning of the 18th. Weather permitting, they will then conduct a flyover of the museum, followed by a memorial service, and then a B-1 Lancer flyover. LtCol Richard E. Cole, the last surviving Doolittle Raider (he’s 101 years old) plans to attend.
[1] Geoffrey Perret, Winged Victory, The Army Air Forces in World War II (New York: Random House, 1993) 150-153.).
On December 7, 1862, in the early morning hours, Confederate forces led by General John Hunt Morgan launched a surprise attack on approximately 2,000 Union soldiers situated at Hartsville, Tennessee. The Union soliders, which included Company E of the 11th
Kentucky Cavalry (the rest of the regiment evidently remained at Gallatin, some 15 miles east) were charged with guarding the Cumberland River where Confederate Cavalry crossed to harass Federal forces. The occupied position was assessed as quite strong, and was only 9 miles from Castalian Springs where 2 Union brigades were located. At approximately 6:45 AM, battle commenced. The bewildered Union force, led by Colonel Absalom Moore (who had only taken command 5 days prior) attempted to organize a defense, but to little avail. Though many of his troops fought nobly, at least one regiment panicked and fled, exposing the Union center which forced Moore to at first attempt to regroup, but then to ultimately surrender. The fight was over in less than two hours, with just over 2000 Union soldiers captured, wounded, or killed. The Confederate casualties were about 125.[1]
The US Army was furious at the humiliating defeat. General Halleck pointedly asked, “What officer or officers are chargeable with the surprise at Hartsville and deserve punishment?”[2] Most blamed Colonel Moore (Halleck certainly did), who would ultimately resign rather than be dismissed from service. Moore gave several reasons for his defeat: the scurrilous use of Union uniforms by the rebels to sneak up on vedettes, a massive enemy force (he estimated Morgan’s strength at about 5,000-6000. The Confederates reported having 1,200 men), the “shameful” retreat of one of his regiments, and popular support from the Tennessee locals.[3] However, one additional reason was of particular interest to me: in his report on the battle (submitted after being paroled by the CSA), Moore states that his force was greatly reduced by sickness. The day before the battle, Moore said that he had sent about 200 men back to Gallatin to escort a provisions train. Between losing those men and “a great many[men] being sick in hospital at the time of the attack, left me but the small force of about 1,200 men to contend with 5,000 of the rebels…”[4]
One of those sick was quite possibly my great-great-great grandfather, who, according to a note on one of his muster rolls, was left in a hospital at Gallatin when the 11th KY Cav departed that town on 26 December, 19 days following the defeat at Hartsville. I’ve come to find that some form of chronic illness bedeviled my ancestor throughout the war, and may have crippled him in the years after. The nature of this sickness has become one of my top research questions in regards to the life and service of Greenberry Shanks.
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Making good on the plan I mentioned in the first article of this series, I took to the road in search of more details on the life of Private Greenberry Shanks of the 11th Kentucky Cavalry (Company D). Focusing my search in the part of the state where he had been raised seemed like a good move (although it’s unclear if he was born there). Before leaving, I located the main public libraries that seemed most likely to help me find records not currently available online, namely the Bourbon County and Clark County libraries in Eastern Kentucky. On February 24th, I jumped in my car and drove the 3 hours or so from my home in south-central Ohio, through surprisingly green farmlands (it had been a warm winter) set among the meandering hills of the Bluegrass State, to Paris, Kentucky (the location of the Bourbon-Paris Library). My brother, who is as determined as I am to get to know Greenberry, met me there.
To make a half-day story short, we turned up no new documents around Greenberry or his wife Serilda. Although both libraries were quite impressive, we never located birth or death certificates for either, and no marriage certificate. We poured over local documents and collections of cemetery data, marriage records on microfiche (although in this matter, I realized I had overlooked a clue in the documentation on hand as to the date he and Serlida were married) and family trees donated to the libraries. The only documents to mention Greenberry were the published census documents I had already found online.
But the trip was still enlightening. It was a pleasure to work with the genealogy librarians at both locations, who were knowledgeable and helpful. The librarian working in the Paris-Bourbon library immediately recognized the Shanks name, thanks to an infamous “Shanks family massacre” that occurred in the area in the late 1700s, when Shanks pioneers were attacked by native Indians. I couldn’t find any documentation to connect the survivors to my family, but I’ve got that tucked away for additional research later. In addition, the librarians provided tips on other places (the local courthouse, and a private genealogy library only open during the spring and summer months) that I could research when I return at some point.
Despite the frustrating lack of the aforementioned vital documents, thanks to the online research (fleshed out somewhat by what we learned in the libraries) Greenberry’s life is coming more into focus, and it’s an exciting thing. He lived more than half of his life in Bourbon and Clark counties (it’s possible he never actually moved, as the county lines were evidently being disputed around this time). He worked as a laborer on a farm owned by one Hezekiah Owens, where he likely met Sarilida Owens. Sometime around 1850 or 1851, they married. It’s unclear where exactly the two lived after being married, but prior to 1860, he moved his family west, to Washington County. It was from there that Greenberry would travel to Harrodsburg in 1862 to join the cavalry in defense of the Commonwealth and the Union.
In my last article, I stated that he left behind a one year old son, James, when he went off to war. The evidence now suggests he had five children by 1862: three daughters (Martha, Mary, and Amanda) and two sons (Samuel and James). He would father one more daughter (Annie) before dying sometime before 1880.
He had assumed several different vocations over the course of his life: laborer, stonecutter, school teacher, and soldier. In my research at the Clark County library, there were evidently one or two Shanks enclaves in that area that were classified as stonecutters/masons in the census. The marriage certificate of his youngest daughter, Annie, also indicates her father was a stone mason.
His various professions, large family, movement to Washington County, and his enlistment into the army as a private suggest that Greenberry was not a wealthy man. So far, I haven’t found much in the way of probate records for any Shanks in the region where he was raised, suggesting that that the Shanks were not a family with property. The fact that he was listed on the census as a laborer on another family’s property in 1850 supports this. Of course, I still need to check out the genealogy resources in Washington County where (presumably) he died, to determine if he had any estate.
While I’m eager to unearth any aspect of Greenberry and Sarilda’s lives I’m particularly interested in his wartime service (to include the reasons why a 43 year old man would enlist for war and leave behind a large family). Although a relatively simple exercise, I previously never took the time to assemble Greenberry’s muster rolls into chronological order. I suppose I thought, with the limited information on them, that it wouldn’t yield much information. I was very wrong on that. After lining up his recorded service alongside some of the 11th KY Cavalry’s wartime operations, the scope of Greenberry’s health issues (or, possibly his malingering) became evident:
Data in the first 3 columns taken from Greenberry Shanks Muster Rolls. Data in the next 2 columns (11 KY Cav Operations and Date) pulled from National Park Service Battle Unit summary.
Three things stand out from the above that will help guide my research now: first, sickness of some sort colored the majority of his service during the war, taking him down at first in Tennessee not four months after the 11th KY Cav mustered in. I’d like to find out if the nature of this ailment was ever recorded in any surviving records in the hospitals in Louisville or Gallatin. Second, although he evidently saw only about a year of active service (plus several months in various hospitals), there’s a reasonable chance Greenberry participated in one of the 11th KY Cav’s most notorious operations, the pursuit and ultimate capture of Confederate General John Hunt Morgan during his raid of Kentucky, Indiana, and Ohio in July 1863. I’ve read the Official Reports for the Union pursuit of Morgan, and the 11th was engaged throughout the arduous chase. I’d like to delve into any letters, reports, or diaries of the 11th’s leadership and men to get more intimate details of their involvement. And third, Greenberry was reported away without leave (AWOL) for 10 months (1 Sep 1864 – 3 Jul 1865). Whatever the story is behind that, Greenberry evidently wasn’t punished, as he was allowed to rejoin the unit and collect the remainder of money still owed to him by the US government. Nevertheless, I would really like to know the story behind the AWOL (I assume it has to do with his apparent chronic illness).
My next move will be to visit the library in Washington County, and possibly the main branch of the Jefferson County library in Louisville, Kentucky. Plus, there are medical records that may not be online stored at the National Archives, copies of which are available at a government facility in Chicago. If so, that may give me some insight into what affliction Greenberry struggled with throughout the war. So a trip to the Windy City may be in order later this summer as well.
More to come!
WEL
[1] United States War Department, War of the Rebellion: a Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, Series 1, Volume XX Part 1 Reports (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1880 -1891), 43-66.
The Battle of Leghorn, 4 March 1653 (Willem van Diest, mid-17th Century)
European fleet commanders learned during the first Anglo-Dutch War (1652–54) that once close combat began between ships, effective control of large numbers of fighting vessels was nearly impossible. The Royal Fighting Instructions were intended to provide guidance to British admiralty and their fighting ships, effectively creating a command and control doctrine. With roots stretching back to the 16th Century, the overall objective of the instructions were to enable the “better ordering and managing the fleet in fighting.”[1] While the earliest forms of the Instructions (such as the Commonwealth Orders, 1648) scarcely provide anything more than broad guidance for a limited number of scenarios, we see some evolution as British Naval authorities attempted to standardize guidance for increasingly complex engagements over subsequent decades.
All of the Fighting Instructions provide guidance on actions to take upon encountering an unknown fleet. Initial contact directives evolve somewhat into a more orderly process over the years. In 1653, general guidance is given that “they” are to approach the fleet and determine size and intent. Apparently these early instructions did not specify whether one, some, or all of the fleet would be involved in this action. Subsequent revisions specify “two frigates” will be responsible for this task, and ultimately that “one frigate appointed out of each squadron” were responsible.[2] Once the Admiral ordered an attack, the Instructions dictated how the King’s fleet should respond to various situations or specified commands. As with the initial contact orders example, we see some adjustments between the 1653 instructions and the more complete instructions from the mid to late 1700s. For example, the 1653 Commonwealth Orders state that any enemy vessel captured was to be burned immediately so that “our own ships be not disabled or any work interrupted by the departing of men or boats from the ships.”[3] By 1665, this order was replaced with instructions to leave the vessel if fighting was still ongoing, allowing for action against the disabled vessel afterwards.[4]
This demonstrated a maturation of the Fighting Instructions to provide better control over time, as the aforementioned lead-in sentence indicated. Perhaps the original guidance to immediately burn the enemy ship was breaking the commanding admirals’ lines, and so modifications were given to ensure that ships in the line did not unexpectedly depart to sink now nonthreatening vessels while firepower was needed elsewhere. We see a similar evolution in regards to caring for a disabled British frigate. Supplementary Instructions from 1650 ordered that when a friendly ship was “distressed or disabled” or in danger of sinking that the ships next to it should immediately make toward the vessel to assist.[5] However, again perhaps because this order to aid resulted in unexpected and/or unnecessary breaks in the order of battle, this command was made much more specific. The Fighting Instructions of the Duke of York in 1665 clarify that if a royal ship is “not being in probability of sinking nor encompassed by the enemy, the following ships shall not stay under pretence of securing them…”[6]
Following the First Anglo-Dutch War, the Fighting Instructions slowly evolve in order to achieve a balance between the admiral’s need to know where his vessels are and how he should expect them to respond, with an individual captain’s need for flexibility in the midst of combat. For example, the Commonwealth Instructions from 1653 state that, once fighting commenced, “ships of every squadron shall endeavour to keep in a line with the chief.”[7] Similarly, the Duke of York’s Additional Instructions of 1665 repeat this: “In all cases of fight with the enemy the commanders of his majesty’s ships are to endeavour to keep the fleet in one line.”[8]
The Battle of Virginia Capes, 1962 by V. Zveg (US Navy employee)
But despite the value of maintaining the order of battle, by 1740, Admiral Vernon’s Additional Instructions allow for some decentralized flexibility: “And as it is morally impossible to fix any general rule to occurrences that must be regulated from the weather and the enemy’s disposition, this is left to the respective captain’s judgment that shall be ordered out of the line to govern himself by as becomes an officer of prudence, and as he will answer the contrary at his peril.”[9] So while the Instructions may have been somewhat cumbersome, we do witness a maturation in this attempt to codify an admiral’s ability to control his fleet in combat.
Within these documents, there appears to be an expectation that naval officers, particularly captains, are familiar with the Instructions. In several instances, severe punishment is promised for any abrogation of these rules. Even the earliest Supplementary Instructions from 1650 state that commanders and masters of “small frigates, ketches and smacks” were to know the disposition of enemy fireships, and to prevent them from engaging the fleet. If unsuccessful, they were to fight them directly, “the neglect thereof strictly and severely called to account.”[10] This warning is repeated throughout the years. Even a death sentence is threatened specifically for commanders who fire cannon over friendly vessels.[11] This expected knowledge in indicative of a growing naval professionalism quite separate from land forces.
[1] This opening line is present on several iterations of the Instructions. Royal Navy Fighting Instructions, from Fighting Instructions, 1530-1816, ed. Julian S. Corbett (Naval Records Society, 1905) 1.
Fog and Friction 