52 Ancestors 2026: A Moment of Courage (And Perseverance) – Joining the Union Army

 

One could say that my family tree is full of courageous people—refugees who took a chance on a months-long sail to the New World; men, women, and their children who set out for the frontier; young men who went off to battle; and women who raised large families on their own after their husbands died. But one of my ancestors stands out for the two times he decided to serve the Union cause by signing up for the Army.

That would, of course, be Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams, my 2nd-great-grandfather on my maternal side. His Civil War journey began in the spring of 1862, when he was 19 years old and a company was being raised in Milton, Pennsylvania, in Northumberland County. But it was not to be. He took some time for his last day as a civilian, only to find out that the company had left without him. He and his friends and cousins, including Folders and Billmeyers, tried again later that summer, going all the way to Harrisburg, but once again Ben was unlucky.

He ended up becoming a sutler’s clerk, doing trade near Yorktown, Virginia. Maybe it was being in the presence of the monument where Cornwallis had surrendered, or maybe it was hearing about the Union victory at Gettysburg, but in July 1863 he decided to give it another shot and signed up to serve in the 16th Pennsylvania Cavalry, Company F.

It took some courage to sign up when the quota for the county had already been filled and he was unlikely to be drafted, but simply surviving the war would require another level of courage. Just three months after entering the service, Ben was captured while on retreat. The next 15 months would see him confined to five prison camps. At first, he was in relative comfort, indoors at Libby Prison in Richmond, but he was soon transferred a few miles away to Belle Island, where he lived outdoors and was subject to the vagaries of the weather.

As the cold winter weather set in at Belle Island, the prisoners were denied blankets, although blankets were available in plain sight. Ben decided to risk being shot by dashing across a ditch to get blankets and clothing:

I recollect when the guards first got their blankets they would throw them up on the bank between them and us. While I stood one day and looked within 8 feet of the blankets and realized how they came by them and how they was treating us, I made up my mind I might as well die with the bullet as starvation. Our camp was full of old tents which came close to the ditch where we was allowed to go and the banks of it was worn down by the trading done by the men and guards after night as most all guards traded every night. I saw that when two guards came together and then turned around to walk back 60 feet, the length of the beat in daytime, I had plenty of time to move the 8 feet, pull the blanket off the bank, get in among the crowd and old tents, and be safe. Well, I succeeded so well the first time, that I tried it again and by working the 3 reliefs that day, I got 13 blankets, a rubber poncho and 2 overcoats. The last time I was shot at. I got so bold by my success that I could not see a put-up job by one of the guards who threw his blankets further over than any of the others and then by looking over the crowd could easy tell who who was watching. When he turned by the blanket to walk back I went out as usual and when I put my hand on the blanket he turned suddenly around and say, "now, you Yankee (__), I have got you now" and fetched his gun to his shoulder and fired within 30 feet of me. If he would have kept still he would have had me, only for him saying what he did. When I heard him, I let go of the blanket which I had not pulled over yet only put my hands on. I rolled down in the ditch and his shot passed over my head. Then I said, "now you haven't got me", took the blanket and ran among the crowd and tents before the other guards could comprehend what had took place.

But the “good times” at Belle Island wouldn’t last. In February 1864, many of the prisoners were shipped out of Richmond and were given the opportunity to become charter members of Camp Sumter in Andersonville, Georgia. Andersonville. Yes, that camp notorious for squalor, disease, and death. It was still being built when the first prisoners, including Ben, arrived. There may not have been any specific acts of bravery, but the day-by-day need to survive the seven months he was imprisoned there, especially after getting the attention of the camp ruffians known as the Rangers, took a great deal of cunning and fortitude.

In October 1864, he was moved to a prison camp in Savannah, where he stayed for a month before being moved to Camp Lawton in Millen and then back to Savannah to be paroled on November 19, 1864.

After a period of furlough, and with no weapons and no horse, Ben ended up participating in the siege of Petersburg and then followed Grant’s army to Burkeville Junction and Lynchburg. With the war over, he eventually found his way to Richmond and camped across from Belle Island. And fished.

In a way, his captivity had come full circle. He was discharged and, like so many of his comrades, began to make his way back into civilian life. He made his way west, first to Iowa and then to Missouri, where he bought a farm and broke the prairie sod in what became the crossroads of Verdella, Missouri.

In most times and for most people, his adventures heading westward toward an uncertain future would have been an act of courage. But after all he had been through, his new adventure must have seemed tame by comparison. 

52 Ancestors 2025: The Legal Troubles of Benjamin Cruiser McWIlliams

 

We’ve met my 2nd-great-grandfather, Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams, before. Through his writings on his Civil War POW experiences and life as a new settler on the Missouri prairie, we’ve had a window into our nation’s history. But I wasn’t expecting to see his name connected to the prompt “legal troubles.” Two unrelated events led me there: first, while using FamilySearch’s full-text search to check Ben’s land transactions, I stumbled across a couple of court cases. Second, my ace genealogist cousin, Cindy Cruz, sent me Ben’s complete Civil War pension file—and pointed out a rather heated dispute.

Details about the court cases were scarce, but in 1872 Ben was convicted of petit larceny and fined $5. In 1878, an appeal was filed but later withdrawn—though whether it was for that case or something else is unclear. By the 1870s, though, Ben was already a successful farmer. He had purchased land in 1866, and both the 1870 and 1880 U.S. Census agricultural schedules confirm his prosperity. This makes me suspect the case involved a minor dispute, perhaps a business deal gone wrong.

Ben was a survivor—both literally and figuratively. During his time in the notorious Andersonville prison camp, he had worked in the hospital, getting extra rations there until caught by the Raiders, and conducted shrewd deals with locals who couldn’t distinguish between worthless “old issue” Confederate money and the still-valid “new issue.” His resourcefulness, risk-taking, and business instincts no doubt served him well as a prairie farmer—but may have also landed him in conflict from time to time.

The pension dispute offers even more insight—and perhaps a glimpse into postwar Barton County, Missouri, where recently arrived “Yankee” settlers mixed uneasily with older residents whose sympathies leaned southern. Missouri had been a border slave state and a guerrilla battleground during the Civil War, with escalating violence between Union troops and Confederate bushwhackers.

From 1862, Congress provided pensions for Union veterans disabled during service. At age 37, Ben applied, providing testimony from himself, a physician, and several acquaintances. But in the file was a remarkable letter from Barton County neighbors declaring that granting him a pension “would be a fraud & swindle upon the Government and an outrage upon the feelings of every patriotic citizen and true lover of justice and right throughout this community.” Harsh words! They claimed he was well-to-do and appeared to have no disability.

Indeed, in 1880 his farm was valued at $5,000—far above the U.S. median of $600—and he was listed in the 1889 History of Barton County. Perhaps they had a point. Many successful farmers of that era claimed ailments like rheumatism or poor eyesight, and Ben’s claim of scurvy-related disability fit that pattern. Still, sworn testimony and a physical exam were required, and frontier farmers were known for working through pain.

Then I looked closer at the signatories:

J. C. Leonard, J. A. Eddlemon, T. B. Yount, Henry M. Mayfield, G. H. Dixson, J. H. Conrad, H. P. Schmalhorst, J. W. Schmalhorst, J. B. Geer, S. D. Reed, George Reed, D. H. Pierson, John J. Dixson, A. M. Comfort, G. W. Conrad, Lewis Stone, J. B. Eddlemon, Wm. Jones.

Some names were familiar—and in fact, many were in my own family tree. The Younts, originally from North Carolina, had roots in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, and had intermarried with the Mayfields, who came from Virginia. The Justice of the Peace, J. C. Krimminger, was from a family long associated with the Younts. The Reeds had Virginia roots before moving to Ohio, and according to family lore, S. D. Reed had gone into hiding to avoid Union Army service. Several others had parents or grandparents from Kentucky, North Carolina, or Virginia, while others hailed from Union states like Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois—but as we know, Union loyalty varied depending on local settlement history.

Old wartime animosities may have still been smoldering. Ben was a proud Republican, outspoken about his service. Perhaps his pension application struck some as self-serving, or as an attempt to profit while their own families had suffered in different ways.

In the end, his 1882 application was denied. He eventually received a pension in 1890, when eligibility expanded to all veterans. But whether the wounds healed is another matter—though the families certainly intertwined over time. Ben’s granddaughter, Ruby Fast, married Stephen A. Reed, grandson of S. D. Reed. Their daughter married the grandson of Henry Yount, brother of T. B. Yount, and one-time farmhand for J. H. Conrad. These were my parents.

The opening of the prairie drew settlers from all over—bringing with them their cultures, grudges, and histories. Some conflicts played out in courtrooms or in letters to authorities. Others, eventually, were resolved at weddings and family dinner tables.

52 Ancestors 2025: Diary - The Civil War Writings of Benjamin C. McWilliams

 

The Civil War in America was a harrowing experience for those who lived through it, especially those who served in the armed forces. While the war has been extensively documented in writing and photographs, for our family, the writings of my great-great-grandfather, Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams, reveal more suffering than glory.

The McWilliams family, originally Scots-Irish from County Armagh, Ireland, settled in the northern Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania after arriving in the American colonies. The early generations of the McWilliams family, along with the German families they married into, have been extensively researched by my cousin Cindy Cruz (starting here).

Benjamin was born on October 18, 1843, and grew up on the family farm in Chillesquaque, Northumberland County, Pennsylvania. Inspired by patriotism following the Battle of Gettysburg, he enlisted in the 16th Pennsylvania Cavalry in the summer of 1863. However, in October of that year, his horse went lame, and he, along with other dismounted soldiers, was captured by the Confederates.

His first stop was Libby Prison in Richmond, where his group of prisoners encountered a notorious gang:

Here was the first start of the ‘Raider’ of which 6 was hung afterwards for murder in Andersonville in 1864. I will trace them from prison to prison as I go along.

Shortly after his time at Libby, McWilliams was transferred to Belle Isle Prison, also in Richmond, where he described his first experience with hunger:

We was issued bean soup of the famous shick pear with more bugs than pear. Well, we had never had enough to eat since captured and we was ravenous with hunger so that the half loaf of bread we received tasted sweeter than any sugar we had ever tasted. We all felt curious to know if they would get enough to fill up on; filling was what we was after now.

In early 1864, he was sent south to the infamous Andersonville Prison in Georgia:

After 8 days we finally brought up at Andersonville. It was in the daytime and we had a chance to see as poor a country as ever layed out of doors. The timber came up nearly to the station and consisted of nine of the long leaf varieties. … A man by the name of White had charge of all who came there and we were turned into the stockade made of logs hewed on 4 sides and cut 20 feet long; set 5 feet in the ground leaving 15 feet out. … There was some stragglers there who was captured different places and sent there, perhaps 20 men when we got there. So we were the first lot of prisoners who arrived there.

At Andersonville, he again encountered the Raiders:

I drew my rations among the rowdies and cut-throats who were most all in the first squad, thinking they could get out first and if anyone came in for any cause, they were the first to know. They were most all Catholics and all the six who were hung were. I spent little time there, attended roll call, drew my rations and went back. My name being Mc they thought I was a Catholic and I never told them better. After about 6 weeks, when I went down for my rations, my sergeant, whose name was Jimmy, says, "Mc, there's no grub for you here. You played it fine but they have caught you. Don't blame you." So that confined me to one ration besides the toll from our sifter. I was in a shape to know who the Raiders were as I had come in contact with the "Molly McGuires"of the coal region and knew how they worked and it did not take me long to tell them.

From Andersonville, McWilliams was transferred to prisons in Millen and then Savannah, where he was fortunate to be present at the conclusion of Sherman’s March to the Sea. Like other Civil War veterans in my family, he eventually settled in Barton County, Missouri. He married Mary Ann Cloud (from an earlier blog post) and became a respected member of the community.

Much more of his writings have been transcribed, offering insight into the unimaginable hardships these prisoners endured, their interactions with enemy soldiers and guards, and the clever ways they used their wits to survive.