52 Ancestors 2026: An Unexpected Strength – Ready for an Adventure?

 

I am not sure any 19-year-old would be ready to endure a year in captivity after expecting to embark on a great adventure, but that is exactly what happened to my 5th-great-grandfather, Christian Fast, son of German immigrants Nicklaus and Catarina Fast. I have written about him before, but during the American Revolution he joined a militia to fight against British and Native American forces on the western frontier. Warfare in the West was brutal, with frontiersmen and warriors attacking settlements and often sparing neither women nor children.

While traveling down the Ohio River near the Falls of the Ohio, Christian’s company was ambushed by Delaware Indians, and the men were either killed or captured. Captured militiamen were not always spared, but Christian used both determination and quick thinking to survive. Wounded in the leg and unable to walk, he reportedly moved on his hands when ordered to keep going.

Whether it was desperation or remarkable presence of mind under pressure, his life was spared, and he was adopted into the tribe, living among them for about a year. But that was not the end of his story. When he learned of plans to attack settlements in western Virginia and Pennsylvania, he decided it was time to return home. He could not take up arms against his own family and community, so he devised a plan to escape and warn them.

Pretending to go for water, he left his containers and belongings by the riverbank, crossed the stream, and made his way back to his parents’ settlement. After convincing the villagers—reportedly speaking in his native German, which must have been quite a sight coming from someone dressed and living as an Indian—he warned them of the coming danger.

What makes Christian’s story even more remarkable is that this was not his first military service. He had already enlisted in the militia at ages sixteen and eighteen, making him a seasoned young frontiersman. Still, this was surely an ordeal and adventure far beyond anything he could have imagined.

52 Ancestors 2025: Written – Blasts from the Past

 

Finding something written by an ancestor is like uncovering buried treasure. Not only does it create a personal connection, but it also offers a unique window into history—a chance to see the past through the eyes of an ordinary person (unless, of course, your ancestor happened to be famous).

Some writings I've shared before, such as those of Rev. John Hale, a key figure in the Salem witch trials whose A Modest Inquiry into the Nature of Witchcraft remains a remarkable firsthand account. Another example is Jairus Abijah Bonney, who described his journey along the Oregon Trail.

A particularly rich source of ancestral writing comes from military pension records, especially from the Revolutionary War and the Civil War. These statements—often dictated to county clerks—detail hardships, illnesses, battles, and the testimonies of neighbors and comrades. Christian Fast recorded his capture and escape from the Delaware Indians during the Revolution. Civil War pension files for David Cassatt, Anthony Gilmartin, and Benjamin McWilliams also provide vivid snapshots of their lives.

But the richest writings of all belong to my 2nd-great-grandfather, Ben McWilliams. He chronicled his enlistment in the Union Army, his capture and imprisonment, his release, and his life afterward. We’ve already met Ben through his descriptions of Andersonville prison, his emotional homecoming, and even his return to everyday chores like hog butchering and barn raising. His account of the unbroken prairie is especially striking—typical of what many settlers saw when they first arrived in new territory.

Ben wrote all of this by hand. I remember my Uncle Jim typing the memoirs so they could be shared, and more recently I used ChatGPT’s OCR tools to digitize the original pages. Reading through his story, several things stand out. He describes the “Raiders” from Confederate prison camps who targeted other prisoners, such as a fellow prisoner from the early days, John McElroy. Ben wondered what became of McElroy; it turns out he survived the war and made his mark in print. He later became a journalist and wrote extensively about those same camps.

Ben’s writings also reveal what a hustler he was. In prison, he figured out ways to get extra rations and outwit illiterate guards. After the war, he worked wherever he could—as a collier, mason, fisherman, laborer—and eventually settled into farming and family life. He mentions numerous relatives whose names we can now trace on FamilySearch. He also recounts conflicts with local rascals, which may explain some of the legal records I’ve uncovered.

There is so much to learn from the written traces our ancestors left behind. It makes me wonder what kind of written legacy we should be leaving for those who come after us.

52 Ancestors 2025: The Name’s the Same — Not-So-Famous Davids Through the Ages

 

In researching my paternal line, one name appears again and again: David. Maybe it’s confirmation bias, but “David” seems to be the most common name encountered in my direct line; across all the variations of the Cossart/Cossairt/Cossatt/Cassatt name, there always seemed to be a David—at least until the late 19th century. Why David? The Cossarts were Huguenots, and as Reformed Protestants they often used biblical names, though not to the extreme of their Puritan cousins. Maybe this Huguenot family identified with the underdog who became king. My immigrant ancestor, Jacques Cossart, fathered three sons in the New World: Jacques (Jacob), David, and Anthony.

The first American-born David arrived in 1671 in New York City (formerly New Amsterdam). He married Styntje Joris Van Horne, worked as a stone mason in lower Manhattan, and began acquiring land in Somerset County, New Jersey. After being wounded in the 1712 slave uprising in New York, he moved his family to New Jersey. My line descends from his son Francis, born in 1717, but David also had an older son named David (born 1704). While Francis eventually joined the wave of westward migration, David moved north into the Mohawk Valley frontier. It is said that his three sons—David (of course), Jacob, and Francis—served the Patriot cause in the American Revolution.

Francis and his wife, Margaret Van Nest, later migrated with other Dutch and Huguenot families to the Conewago Colony in Pennsylvania, where he became a prominent figure and a committed Patriot. Like many frontier families, they were farmers, and their migrations mirrored their pursuit of new farmland. Francis’s son Pieter, born in 1746, continued the family pattern of moving into new territory. He and his wife, Maria Durie, eventually settled in newly opened Kentucky, where Pieter died during the frontier violence of the Revolutionary era. Meanwhile, David (born 1743) remained in the East, where his descendants became part of prominent Pittsburgh and later Philadelphia society.

We have already met Hendrick/Henry Cossairt and his twin brother David, born in 1778, who first put down roots in Kentucky and later moved into the Midwest—Henry to Ohio, David to Indiana. Henry’s son William Peter continued the line, but Henry, unsurprisingly, also had a son named David (born 1837). Records for this David—who altered the spelling of his last name to Cossatt—are scarce (future research opportunity?), but it appears he moved to Illinois before dying in Indiana.

From William Peter we move to his son David Cassatt, the Civil War veteran featured in several earlier posts. This David seems to have broken the longstanding naming pattern—he named his sons Orville, Virgil, and Bascom. (There was also a son George, who died in infancy.)

And two generations later, there’s me.

So much passes down through the generations: genes, traits, customs, and stories. This post is more about names—how they endure through family tradition or serve as tributes to ancestors who might otherwise be forgotten. As genealogists, we sift through records to uncover the pieces of our “who we are” and “where we come from” stories. Sometimes a simple name is the clue that connects them all.

52 Ancestors 2025: Cemetery – Low Dutch Cemetery

 

For a genealogist, cemeteries are like gold mines—so much information literally carved in stone. Of course, mistakes can happen, and tombstones cannot be edited, but they often provide valuable clues about families and their communities. With so many burial grounds scattered across the country, how does one choose a single cemetery to focus on?

For me, the choice was the Low Dutch Cemetery not too far from Frederick, Maryland, just east of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. This cemetery offers a snapshot of the Conewago Colony, a community formed by Dutch and Huguenot families who had first settled in New Amsterdam in the 1600s. As New Amsterdam (later New York) grew during the 1600s and early 1700s, farmland on Manhattan and Brooklyn became scarce. These families pushed westward and became some of the earliest European settlers in northern and central New Jersey.

The Conewago Colony was established in 1768 when some of these New Jersey settlers migrated farther west into what was then York County, Pennsylvania. The British victory in the French and Indian War had opened new lands beyond the original Atlantic colonies, particularly along rivers feeding into the coast.

Looking through the gravestone records posted on Find-A-Grave, I traced several family origins. These Dutch/Huguenot surnames appear frequently in the Low Dutch Cemetery, along with their original spellings and the New Jersey counties from which they emigrated:

• Brinkerhoff – Bergen County

• Bercaw (originally Broucard; also Brocaw) – Somerset County

• Cassatt (Cossart) – Somerset County

• Demaree (DesMarets) – Bergen County

• Monfort – Hunterdon County

• Van Duyn – Hunterdon County

• Van Orsdel – Somerset County

Although these families lived in different counties in New Jersey, they clearly stayed connected. Intermarriages were common, keeping ties strong across county lines.

The history of the Conewago Colony also notes that many families later moved to Berkeley County, Virginia (now West Virginia), before continuing west along the Wilderness Road into Kentucky. The records of the 1780 migrations highlight several surnames:

• Banta – Bergen County

• Cosart (Cossart) – Somerset County

• Demaree (DesMarets) – Bergen County

• Duree (Durie) – Bergen County

• Voris (Voorhees) – Somerset County

These families left Pennsylvania only about twelve years after first settling there. Once again, they came from both Bergen and Somerset Counties, with some families—such as the Bantas, Durees, and Vorises—sending many more migrants than others. A few Bantas appear in the Southern Low Dutch Cemetery, while the Demarees are found in both Pennsylvania and Kentucky groups. Interestingly, Pieter Cossart and his family (my line) were the only Cossarts to migrate; the rest remained behind. His migration makes sense when we consider his wife, Marie Durie—her father (Samuel Durie), many of her siblings, and her mother (Wyntie Banya Durie, of the Banta family) also joined the migration to Kentucky. The stories of the Cossarts, Duries, and Bantas reflect the broader patterns of the Revolutionary era and early nationhood, when settlers moved westward as new lands became available (often while Native peoples were being displaced).

As for the Northern Low Dutch Cemetery itself, the church once located nearby is long gone, but its records have survived. Last year, after visiting the Gettysburg battlefield, my grandchildren and I toured the cemetery. Though it was heavily overgrown, we were able to locate the grave of Francis Cossart, Patriot (pictured).

The Conewago Colony no longer exists as a distinct community, but its legacy lives on through its cemeteries, its records, and its many descendants who blended into the broader population of the region.

52 Ancestors 2025: In the News

 

I can’t say that my ancestors were the type to make national headlines—those were more likely the provenance of some more distant relatives—but in the age of newspapers, most of them had obituaries. This obituary of my 2nd-great granduncle, George Washington Mayfield, is rich with information and stories. His sister, Polly Mayfield, was my 2nd-great grandmother on my father’s side. Besides learning about George and getting names of family members, we also gain stories about wars and westward migration.

The first remarkable story is that of his father, Stephen Mayfield, who fought for the patriots in the American Revolution and, at age 17, served as a spy in his native North Carolina.

Mr. Mayfield was the only son of a Revolutionary soldier living in Missouri, his father, Stephen Mayfield, having enlisted against King George when 17 years old. He fought through seven years of the war for Independence, his service being the spying out of the royal forces in North Carolina under the guise of a mill boy taking grain to be ground.

According to FamilySearch, Stephen was born in 1758, so age 17 would place his service from 1775 until 1782. North Carolina was a particularly important theater in 1780 and 1781, when General Nathanael Greene and Lord Cornwallis clashed, prompting the British army’s retreat to the Virginia coastline. Perhaps Stephen’s knowledge of troop positions aided the now-seasoned southern forces in their success against Cornwallis.

The obituary also notes the family’s westward migration after the war, first to southwestern Kentucky—possibly to the town of Mayfield, though that may have been named for a different Mayfield settler—and then to southeastern Missouri.

George’s own life was touched by war, this time the Civil War. His obituary records:

Then came the Civil war, in which Mr. Mayfield would take no part, although his sympathies were with the South. He was persecuted by both armies and was arrested by the Southern forces as a spy, being mistaken for another man.

And:

Outside the farmhouse on the plantation was a large black walnut tree and an end of the rope, which was about Mr. Mayfield's neck, was thrown over this in a last effort to make him admit he was the man wanted, or at least testify against the suspected spy, who was his brother-in-law. Mr. Mayfield refused to speak and maintained his composure so well that the captain of the troop released him, saying he was too open-faced a man to have a double heart.

Although his obituary notes his Southern leanings, I could not find George listed in the 1850 or 1860 slave schedules. I did, however, find John S. Yount, his sister’s brother-in-law, recorded there. Perhaps George’s interests were more regional than financial.

In any case, while George was known as a successful farmer, his greater legacy was clearly in the fields of medicine and education. Five of his sons became physicians, and he helped his son found Will Mayfield College. While records provide names, dates, and locations, articles like this obituary breathe life into our family history. We can also see the southern influences in my own family, as the Younts and various Mayfields migrated to Barton County, Missouri.

52 Ancestors 2025: Military

 

I’ve already touched on some of my family’s military experience this year. There was the ordeal Benjamin McWilliams underwent as a prisoner of war during the Civil War, and the unusual prisoner/adoption story of Christian Fast during the American Revolution. We also explored the militia service of the Cossarts, also during the Revolutionary War.

This time, I want to focus on two more soldiers who rose to defend the Union during the Civil War: David Cossairt (Cassatt), my great-grandfather, and Anthony Gilmartin, my 2nd great-grandfather. Unlike Pvt. McWilliams, they did not leave behind personal memoirs of their time in service; however, through service records, unit histories, and pension files, we can get a feel for what their experiences were like. This is where libraries, archives, and online resources came in for me.

Both men served in the Western Theater, in battles that may not have reached the fame of Gettysburg but were crucial to the Union victory.

My first experience using ChatGPT last year involved piecing their stories together. I had copies of their service and pension records from the National Archives, collected back in the last century. By scanning these handwritten documents, I was able to generate digital transcripts, filling in words that had been misread or were previously unclear. I then entered the service details, including dates and locations, and let AI assemble a narrative. Perhaps influenced by the dramatic accounts of wartime disability, the resulting stories were a bit flowery, yet they gave new life to these old records. I also used ChatGPT to identify and verify online references to supplement the story.

David Cossairt

We’ve already met David, but here is his military story:

On May 9, 1864, at the age of 20, David volunteered for the 146th Ohio National Guard Regiment, Company G. This unit, comprised primarily of men from his community, was mustered into service during a critical phase of the war. The 146th was part of the Hundred Days Men—a strategy employed by the Union to bolster forces for a crucial summer campaign. David and his comrades were assigned to guard duty and logistical support in Fayetteville, West Virginia, and Washington, D.C. Though not on the front lines, their role was essential in maintaining the Union’s strategic foothold and ensuring that frontline soldiers had the support they needed.

After serving with the 146th, David’s unwavering commitment to the Union cause led him to re-enlist with the 183rd Ohio Infantry Regiment on September 26, 1864. This newly formed regiment was quickly thrust into the heart of the conflict, joining the Army of the Cumberland under Major General George H. Thomas. The 183rd played a significant role in the Franklin-Nashville Campaign—a series of battles that proved decisive in the Western Theater.

One of the most notable engagements David participated in was the Battle of Franklin on November 30, 1864. This brutal confrontation saw Union forces repelling repeated assaults by Confederate troops under General John Bell Hood. The 183rd held their ground with remarkable tenacity, contributing to the devastating losses suffered by the Confederate Army.

Following the victory at Franklin, David and the 183rd marched to Nashville, where they once again faced Hood’s Army in the Battle of Nashville (December 15–16, 1864). The Union’s decisive counteroffensive shattered the Confederate Army of Tennessee. The 183rd was crucial to this triumph, further cementing their place in Union military history.

As the war drew to a close, David fell ill. On April 10, 1865, he was admitted to the U.S.A. General Hospital in Troy, New York. The final months of his service were spent in recovery, far from the battlefields. He was discharged on May 18, 1865, and his military career officially ended on May 27, 1865.

Born on January 23, 1844, in Warren County, Ohio, David’s story is a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made by those who fought to preserve the Union and end the scourge of slavery in America.

Anthony Gilmartin

Anthony Gilmartin also served in the Western Theater, although he spent a considerable portion of his service on the disability list. Here is a summary of his story:

Anthony Gilmartin was born on January 10, 1840, in Cook County, Illinois, and died on January 7, 1918, in Hannon, Barton County, Missouri. He spent much of his early life in Illinois and was living in Pleasant Plains, Sangamon County when he enlisted in the Union Army.

Gilmartin enlisted at age 21 in Company A, 32nd Illinois Infantry Regiment—a volunteer unit raised in central Illinois. He was mustered into service on August 29, 1861, though one affidavit later stated he held the rank of corporal at some point. His early service was marked by hardship. While stationed at Camp Butler in November 1861, he was stricken with a severe case of rheumatism, which became so serious he was sent home.

Despite this, Gilmartin returned to duty in late December 1861 and participated in major campaigns across the Western Theater. He served at Cairo, Illinois, and then moved with Union forces to Fort Henry and Pittsburg Landing (Shiloh), participating in some of the roughest fighting of the war.

In June and July 1862, while stationed at Grand Junction, Tennessee, his health again declined—this time due to a severe eye condition later diagnosed as amaurosis, a disease causing partial or complete blindness.

On January 2, 1864, Gilmartin reenlisted as a Veteran Volunteer at Natchez, Mississippi, and was mustered in at Vicksburg on February 2, 1864. But cold, wet conditions during that winter severely worsened his eye problems. He was eventually discharged for disability on September 12, 1864, at Camp Butler. Though official documents first noted that he was discharged for reenlistment, later records clarified that his final discharge was due to near-total blindness resulting from disease and exposure during service.

In reading these records, I was struck by the ill health suffered by my Western ancestors. One possible explanation is that many of those living “out west” were from rural farms, not crowded city centers, and may not have developed resistance to common infectious diseases of the time. Once placed in crowded military camps, where sanitation was poor and exposure was constant, their immune systems were quickly overwhelmed. Add to that the harsh weather, poor nutrition, and stress of battle, and it’s easy to understand how even the strong fell ill.

52 Ancestors 2025: Siblings - The Cossart Family’s Diverging Journeys

 

There are many families in my family tree, and except for recent generations, there may not be many interesting sibling stories that have been passed down. However, one family intrigued me because its various siblings took dramatically different paths.

My 5th-great-grandparents, Francis Cossart and Margaret Van Nest, came from Huguenot-Dutch families in New Amsterdam and later New Jersey. Before the American Revolution, they settled in the Low Dutch Colony of the Conowago Valley in York County (now Adams County), Pennsylvania. They had seven recorded children, and here are the stories of three of them.

Francis was an important member of the community. Before the Revolution, he served on the Committees of Correspondence. During the war, he worked to supply soldiers with clothing and, as a member of the Provincial, then State, Assembly, helped draft the first Pennsylvania Constitution.

David Cossart (1743–1823)

The eldest son, David, followed in his father’s footsteps, serving in the local militia during the Revolution and later in the Pennsylvania Legislature. Even before the war, he had purchased a farm near his family’s land and remained in the area for the rest of his life. His son Denis moved westward to West Virginia, and that branch of the family found great success. One descendant, Robert Cassatt, made a fortune in land and stock trading in Pittsburgh before relocating to Philadelphia. His children became famous: Mary Stevenson Cassatt, the renowned Impressionist artist, and Alexander Johnston Cassatt, president of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

Christina Cossart Clopper (1755–1801)

Christina married Cornelius Clopper, a fellow member of the Low Dutch Colony, and they divided their time between Pennsylvania and Maryland. Their son, Francis Cassatt Clopper, bought a gristmill in Gaithersburg, Maryland, along Seneca Creek. He married an Irish Catholic woman and donated land to the local diocese to build St. Rose of Lima Church. His prominence led to the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad building the Metropolitan Branch to serve the D.C. and southwestern Maryland region. The road passing his mill, Clopper Road, later inspired lyricists Billy Danoff and Taffy Nivert, from Gaithersburg, to write that song that was completed by John Denver. Interestingly, this branch of the family also began using the “Cassatt” variation of the surname.

Pieter Cossart (1746–1781)

The second son, Pieter (Peter), was also a Patriot and militia member. Unlike his siblings, who remained in the east, he was drawn to the west, lured by the promise of land in Kentucky. In 1781, he migrated with many in-laws to the Fort Harrodsburg area of the Bluegrass region. Tragically, he was killed by Native Americans within six months of his arrival. His descendants, including Hendrick, William, and David, became farmers, shaping my lineage. His choice to move west remains one of the great “what ifs” of my ancestry. Interestingly, some of his descendants also adopted the “Cassatt” variation of the surname, suggesting that family ties transcended the distances as their paths diverged.